Lords of Creation: Omnigenesis [IC]

[bryn0528]

The Skulls and the Dwarves
A thick mist coated the world on this cold morning. The sun took a long time climbing over the vast peaks above. The low fort's outer wall was so subtle, rough hewn stones among the mountainside, they did not notice it at first. Only after climbing higher and looking down did they see it's peeking architecture. It was another half hour of climbing before they came upon the city gate. Hardly impressive, really just an old wooden door carved between the enormous rocks. They noticed more battlements, stone perches haphazardly overlooking the slope.
TAB A small band me them, having seen the group from afar--much longer a time before the Skulls had noticed them. Small, in that each stood the height of a child. But perhaps not all small, the figures were quite stout and wore piercingly bright armor. Tulio thought it pure silver, at first, then glass. He only realized later it to be made from snow and ice. A curiosity, that. Their beards full and carefully braided, a strong musk of sweat and ale. Each brandished a wicked looking spear, and outnumbered the Skulls four to one. The air was thick with tension. One stepped forward, his spearpoint ready, and spoke in language the Skulls did not understand.
TAB But in this curious moment, Tulio notices something new. Their spears cast shadows, of course, and the light of the star caused them to have power, to have Oroi. But he could not touch that power, before. But now, he sees that shadow and knows. Tulio raised a hand, waved it casually, and his spear shatters into dust. The Dwarfman blinks and falls back in surprise.


The fate of Clint.
All smiles. Oh, he says. There is so much that you deserve for all your actions. Perhaps I can convince your captor to free you into my service. Perhaps I will barter for your being. He strokes the side of the foxkin's face with the back of his hand. Perhaps, he says, I will simply take what is mine from you. You will long for it dearly for the rest of your days.
TAB He laughs, a sound like cracking bones. His feet have burned away to ash by now, but he stands just as tall atop the pool of boiling magma. His robes burn and fray, flecks of light escaping as the fibers part. But no, he says. I would wish for the entire deal. It is no fun if I can't have you all to myself.
TAB As the walls begin to collapse, as the chains begin to slack, as the rocks begin to fall all around casting magma high into the air, the Marquis grabs Clint by the throat. Perhaps, he says and then laughs. He pulls Clint free from his now loose bonds. The pact of Ordon held him true enough, but the physical connection was no more, the chains and their Oroi dissolved into nothing. A flicker of night, and it was as if they were never there.
TAB Save for the mysterious note left behind, glowing black obsidian. Elegant white script emblazoned the letter in the divine words--no mortal could look upon the circles and be left whole. I owe you one.


Morgause and the Child of the City.
She did not sleep easy again for several days. Each night she feared the man would come back to her room, attempt again to take the journal. She feared his desperation might consume what shard of reason he still claimed. She feared what he might do to seek the journal.
TAB She never saw him during her daily walks, but one hardly saw a Vahnatai at midday. Her days the easier, thus. She collected only the vilest of herbs and kept them in a pouch on her person at all times. She collected blue bell flowers of Goblinweed, the bright green mushrooms that caused violent shakes, the velvet leaves of Dragonbeard.
TAB As her pregnancy advanced, the household assigned her a personal handmaid, who stayed with Morgause nearly all hours of the day. Morgause could call the girl's name and she would appear. It really did seem the Ing spared no expense of their serfs for the welfare of the babe. It made her shudder to think of what fate they might dispose upon her after the birth. She held little belief that the Ing would want to keep her around. She practically no skill beyond what she hid, and it remained moot to say that a viable option for her continued existence.
TAB And when the pains came, her heart raced. The fated day had come, the child was ready to be born. The midwife was summoned, and Morgause taken to her room. The pain was intense, and her coherence failed her. She moved in and out of consciousness, but all she remembered was the blood. So much blood.
TAB Perhaps in the third hour of delivery, she left the room. No, her body did not simply stand and walk away, but she found herself in the middle of a grey wood. Her belly no longer swollen with child, she could not even recall the pain. She looked around in all directions, but nothing to be found. A light haze drifted around and she remembered.
TAB Morgause took the pouch from under her dress, and removed two blood red berries. Fireberries, she thought herself lucky to find such a thing growing within the bounds of the ghetto. Usually they only bloomed in winter, or high in the eversnowing mountains. She came upon a very unique atrium one afternoon, enchanted by the powers of an Arcanist Quartizan to hold an everlasting chill. Heavy snowflakes fell softly around her and the bush held just a few scant berries. The last of which she crushed with her molars.
TAB Flames smoldered in her chest, the juice of the fruits burned her lips and throat. She felt faint on her feet, and nearly fell to the ground. She coughed up a thick, black smoke, which formed into the shape of a young girl. Morgause straightened her back as much as possible, and walked to the smoke-girl. How much like a shadow, the figure looked. Morgause took her by the throat and rattled her ashy body. She dragged her from the woods, until she came upon a plain.
TAB Morgause opens her eyes, and finds herself looking upon a disturbing scene. She sees herself laying in her bed, blood staining the sheets. She looked confused, weak. In her arms a mewling child. She could barely hold the thing. A doctor was summoned, he tended to the wounds. Morgause reached out to take the baby from herself. The girl laying there, bemused, offered the child. Morgause smiles, and walks from the room among the commotion. Perhaps the dwarven maid, head of the inn, yelled at her to stop. But Morgause did not hear. She held the babe close to herself, still splattered in viscera, and kissed its cheek. She walked from the inn, everything around her fading away. She walked down the streets, not taking care to notice those around her. Nothing could touch her. Not the hands of man, not the minds of Vahnatai, not the pulling of time and space of the Ing. Morgause walked down the streets, and came upon the main avenue. And she walked to the Vast Gate, and she stepped through into the unknown beyond.
TAB "Did you see? Did you see?" A maid speaks in a loud, desperate hush to another. "Emilia, the young girl that was looking after Morgause and her unborn child? She just ran off with the baby. Up and took it out of Morgause's arms, the mother so weak couldn't even fight back none. But Emilia, she just run off and no one stopped her! Them denizens was just standing around her, and no one could touch her 'til she got to the Vast Gate. And then she just stepped through it and disappeared and no one knew where she went."


Boar's Pass.
The Dwarves called it a city-state, a nation concerned only with the lands within her own walls, and not the continent as a whole. The lands here were too dangerous, too separated to be brought under one rule. So the varying clans established their own forts, and ruled them absolutely, devoid of laws among the other cities. That isn't to say they are always at war with each other, often the opposite. The Dwarves were a sturdy people, with strong fundamental beliefs. It was rare that two should have differing opinions, and often the other city-states were in accordance with each other in policy. Besides, the harshness of Terastia was enemy enough to their peoples, not to have brother at brother's throat.
TAB They learned this from the Queen's adviser, an old dwarf man. He wore branches in his thick, white hair, and called himself Arisdor. He said he, as a young boy, learned of Druidism from the Ents, the walking trees in the forest. It was by this power he could speak in their human tongue. He often served as translator for the Foxkin traders which appeared from time to time. But more often they did not come to this remote sector of the world.
TAB The city was not particularly grand. The short, wide tunnels were finely carved and paved into the mountainside, but their function too spartan to impose awe. If there ever was a city so labyrinthine, it was Boar's Pass. An alien concept to the Skulls to be in a city, let alone a city so confined to the sprawling halls. It was less a city and more one giant, cthonic castle.
TAB She called herself a Queen, though she looked no more regal than her attendants. A tall Dwarven woman, with bright golden hair, she was certainly more handsome than beautiful. Arisdor told them that though her title was Queen, it was not an inherited title, but a position elected to her. Arisdor told them the Queen was interested in them, as she had never encountered humans before. She had said the Foxkin mentioned other races, but that it was a difficult life to leave the protection of the Hall. She also seemed interested in Tulio's magic, which she believed to be another form of druidism.
TAB Tulio and the others were treated fairly, and given quarters and supplies. The warmth appealed the most to the weary group. And did the ale, which there seemed in abundance. They were fed, but there were no feasts in the Dwarven Hall. Everyone made due with what was given. It was much to their surprise, then, that on their third day, the Queen announced that she was throwing a party in honor of her human guests. They would be expected to entertain, in exchange for their current accommodations. The city practically buzzed in anticipation.

Spoiler

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The Marquis AP = 1. (1) + (4, Refresh; 20.10.2012) - (3, Create Magical Concept; Opahi Medicine) - (1, Bless; Save Clint).

[mystic1110]

Arlom - The Academy's Librarian.

Thane was a member of the Long Debate in Lisgovo. He was a young foxkin, and brimming with good ideas. During his travels he actually met with fellow members of Nous' order and was able to set up a sort of traveling caravan school. The traveling school was twice blessed by the Traveling King and the Great Scholar. They used the gates at the end of each path to travel to new places and obtain new questions and answers. They even traveled somehow to dark Urogivv. Thane spoke with the heads of the council there and was even able to publish an article in V’tai J. L. Deb concerning the causality of speech. An interesting problem in whether the question being answered wasn't actually the answer to the question of the answer it provided. He was quite proud of it. From what he heard months later it was cited almost ten times!

One day a found a strange man sitting on the side of the road. They called out to him and they saw .... no.... wait.... they saw his face, yes that's right. He definitely saw that the man had a face. He definitely saw that. They definitely saw that. They agreed to it. He remembered. The man was a tall man, too tall, as if his bones would have snapped at the mere thought of supporting his weight, yet he walked and their were stranger creatures in this world. He was dressed in a finely tailored black suit, with a black tie - that when seen up close reminded one of deep red instead. Was red ever as black as black? He wore a pristine white shirt. He fixed his tie with normal human hands, and then carefully attached a red flower to his lapel. He spoke to them and told them he was an envoy of Nous, and they were invited to join the grand Academy.

They heard of the grand academy before of course. Who said they didn't? No it was true. They met a highly respected man in The Speared City, the grand capital of the Giants. He was a known man of the debate, despite being a giant and all that, with over a hundred published articles in the V’tai J. L. Deb. He spoke how he was invited to the Academy, he was even a visiting professor there he said. He was very proud he said. They didn't quite believe him - despite his genius and reputation he never left his room, never left the shadows as if he was afraid of his own shadow (or later Thane would learn, lack thereof). He was slightly.... mad.

But now this man was inviting them to The Academy. But he said there was a price. A small price... a very small price in order to increase their knowledge. After all why would you care about your stupid foolish childhood and all it's games and play when you were concentrating on answering the first question? Why would you care? It was such a small price. Thane and the others paid it gladly.

They were sure the man smiled. He had too. He had a face and a mouth and everything - they remembered that. They agreed they had. They swore to Ordon that they would never say he didn't smile then. They saw him smile.

And just like that he opened a door and they walked in one by one... and entered the Academy. And it was Marvelous. They would be crafted into the perfect scholars. It was so easy hear - there childhoods, who needed them now? They looked back and the door was gone, instead they were in a room with a tall vaulted ceiling with hundreds and hundreds of books. Millions. There were home. The Academy Rises.

[Draken]

Arlom - A certain Ing Neighbourhood

Adult Ing live in Arlom as various lenghts of retirement from an adventurous youth. That is not to say their time is continuous leisure, they do perform a few chores of their own in their little realms, rotating these jobs daily among the Ing of a given neighbourhood.

At any given time, some of the Ing keep watch of the surroundings, making sure they miss as little as possible in the shifting frontier of their domains, and beyond. At any given time some of the Ing travel the city, seeking out lost ones to bring back as serfs and to shatter any of Vylcent's crystals that are found. At any given time some of the Ing take their most imposing and trusted servants as a retinue of peacekeeping guards. At any given time, some of the Ing merely relax however they see fit.

Sometimes Arlom brings a crystal to the border of a neighbourhood, and in rarer times still, a serf of the Ing sees the crystal before his betters do, and runs off in search of freedom, quite often they succeed in reaching the stone, they escape Arlom, they are free from the city, they are home.

They are not free from the Ing.

Sooner or later, the Ing go to the crystal, they feel the spatial distortion in the air, and they follow the trail after smashing the accursed gem. This too is a task for the peacekeepers, whoever was on guard duty when the serf escaped is bound by his honor to find him again, this is nowhere as difficult a task as it might sound, because among the endless truths of time written in the endless archs of Ing'dras is the simple fact that you can't escape from the Ing.

But that line probably refers to something else, anyway.

When an escaped serf finds himself in the loving arms of his long lost relatives and walking the streets of his home, and rightfully wary of unknown doors, he canot help but be startled by the sounds of goats and horses in the cobblestones, because these bring about the memory of the sounds of cloven feet in the safest streets in Arlom. His nights are worse than his days, for his dreams are haunted by a marble stone inscribed with the universal tongue given by the Traveller King to all of the mortal races who use his streets.

Sooner or later, their fears come true, as a great silvered thing appears on the windows of their homes in a tempestuous night, a fiendish visage that terrifies their wives and children and all their beasts who never knew the toil of burden. Then he knows that he escaped Arlom, but he did not escape the agreement he made with the Ing, so he does as reason tells him not and a Gjol Maduur teached him to and he runs in fear, he runs and runs under street and rain, and never once does it cross his mind what the Ing did to those he left behind, he only wants to escape.

But he can't escape the Ing.

Nobody can escape from the Ing.

The Night of a Birth in Arlom

Ve'Qim is irate, a serf of hers fled, one of her best maids is trapped within a failing body. Her vahnatai servants were not fooled for long by Morgause's charade.

She sent the guard who was on duty that day, Qu'Mos walked up to the Gate, the girl was clever in her cluelessness, they can't trace her across the Gate, if Ing'dras let her through, it is because she needs to be somewhere.

But just the same, Ing'dras is quite clear in all he says, he gave language to mortalkind after all. And Ing'dras said nothing about Morgause, but said something about her situation.

Nobody escapes from the Ing.

Qu'Mos stepped through the Gate, Ing'dras would take him where he needed to be, his chase could start from there.

Plaza of the Vast Gate - Gjol Maduur arrives

His middle brother didn't quite bother the Vast Gate much.

But being poked in such a manner while he went about his job was somewhat...

Annoying.

"..."

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Rollover bookeeping.

Ing'dras has 13 Ap (7 from last week + 6 from this week).

[Elemental]

Velharan - Trials and Tribulations of Protecting Those Under his Care

He had wished to examine those who were preyed upon by the monster, but they had vanished. Their cells in the asylums that housed them were empty, a lingering trace of a faded divine presence on the air.
Furthermore, he had heard reports of witchcraft in outlying communities. Hysterical accounts of witches causing plague and illness. Tales of people being unceremoniously whisked away after failing to uphold oaths. The Academy... A course of wisdom possibly corrupted by fear...

And all this time, his brother Vylcent missing...

This was unacceptable. If this was allowed to continue, people would get hurt.
Organisation, safety rails and education were key.
As such, he stepped away from his Temple in Ciarathra and walked to the city of Truvan located near the centre of the lands of the Tel'Velharan. And he called a summit.
A summit of the Members of the Debate, of those who practised sorcery and of those who read the law.

And he waited for them to arrive. In the meantime, he set his mind to other matters. Matters that only he could deal with.

Spoiler

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Societal reorganisation and the foundation of Universities and Colleges of magic are likely to result from this.

All Across Sol Lumaria

A soft light shone around the outlines of every conceivable door to Arlom, and they faded from view, never to be seen again unless they are searched for.
The legends of them still remained, but who would waste their time searching for doors that no-one has ever returned from?

Spoiler

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Starting AP: 6 + 1
Bless: Only those who search for Arlom's Doors will find them. That way, only those who desire to go there can. Huzzah for free will?
Remaining AP: 5 + 1

[Lord_Asmodeus]

Ensirex, Asylum

Ensirex' eyes seemed to glow more fercently than before, readying his bone pen and his scroll as he spoke. "I studied the internals of living and dead mortals to learn of their functions, and through my studies after their odd sparks formed I could find no physical manifestation of their inner energy so much like that of the divine. I was informed you were the source of this inner mortal energy. I investigated if the same would be true with you as the mortals, but your divine energy seemed to manifest itself more tangibly in your physical form, your biological body being both a manifestation of divine will as well as a more physical permanent form capable of receiving injury and healing itself. To what end did you give mortal beings this energy, and how did you do it? I am most curious about the growing similarities in some ways between mortals and the divine, and growing differences in others."

[bryn0528]

Spoiler

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The Night of a Birth in Arlom

Ve'Qim is irate, a serf of hers fled, one of her best maids is trapped within a failing body. Her vahnatai servants were not fooled for long by Morgause's charade.

She sent the guard who was on duty that day, Qu'Mos walked up to the Gate, the girl was clever in her cluelessness, they can't trace her across the Gate, if Ing'dras let her through, it is because she needs to be somewhere.

But just the same, Ing'dras is quite clear in all he says, he gave language to mortalkind after all. And Ing'dras said nothing about Morgause, but said something about her situation.

Nobody escapes from the Ing.

Qu'Mos stepped through the Gate, Ing'dras would take him where he needed to be, his chase could start from there.

Sol Lumaria, an idyll.
Morgause raised the babe in a small hamlet. He grew into a healthy young boy. She married a man from town, who grew apples in the orchard, in the spring with flowers and ribbons in her hair. She cherished her son dearly, and her husband raised him as his own. She never had another child, each pregnancy ending in bloody miscarriage. They cherished their son perhaps even more so, because.
TAB Morgause often told the boy fantastical stories of different places. Of enchanted forests where the trees walked and the beasts grew to tremendous size. Of haunted streets and metal covered insects. Of a door that could set you free. Of a door that could condemn you for life. She told many stories, and all the parents thought her quite daft for it.
TAB In secret, she taught him the ways she knew. She taught him how to take care of the delicate blooms which steal life's breath, and she taught him how to cut a throat in one fluid motion. She taught him the ways of the Marquis, and it was their secret.
TAB What was the turn of phrase? All is not well in the state of Tel'Velharan. She spent the years of her life constantly looking over her shoulder for shadows that were no longer there. She looked for things that didn't exist. She spoke to people that weren't there anymore.
TAB Her son a grown man, he married and conceived three children. His wife passed away one winter with terrible fevers, and no medicine the man gave to her lips could bring her back. She died during birth of a fourth child. Morgause herself pulled the son from the wife's now limp body, and passed him to his grieving father.
TAB "What will you name him?"
TAB "I shall call him, if he is to live, Tulio. For the sounds of the blooms which you have taught me so well to master, as will be his birthright." And Morgause cried and cried, and her son thought it for the death of his wife or perhaps at the joy of spreading the Marquis' teachings. But she cried, because she knew a man named Tulio, once.
TAB If you could wake up in a different place, as a different person, then why not a different time? The Traveler King paved the path from beginning to end, ushering us all forward among the flow. It is not time which passes through the gate, but the rest of everything else. The Vastest Gate ever constructed. One side held the past, the other the future. All the rest was relative.
TAB The Marquis, along this path, reached out for Morgause. He took her within his vast boned hand, and took a step backwards. Passing through the Vast Gate in Arlom's Plaza, she found herself elsewhere in the world, but also elsewhen. For years she lived her life wondering where the wonderful Oroi had gone, and in this one important moment, realizes the truth. The Marquis pulled the wool over Ing'dras' eyes just this once, a fact he would apologize later, and rearranged the fates of his subjects. Let it be spoke to the kindness of the Marquis.
TAB Of course, it was not impossible for Qu'mos to follow the god's journey in retrospect. A path once walked exists. That is the nature of paths, after all. But what is to say how long the journey may take? What is it to delay Qu'mos' arrival?
TAB Morgause lay in gentle repose. They lowered her body into shallow earth, and covered it with stones. That much was easy to see from a distance. A small congregation placed flowers atop the cairn. A young boy, with dark curly hair, was detained. Later that night he would escape. In his fleet, he passes Qu'mos, a briefest of glances, before disappearing into the trees. But that is later. Now, Qu'mos stands before the grave. Let it be spoke to the kindness of the Marquis, but nobody can escape from the Ing.

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Velharan - Trials and Tribulations of Protecting Those Under his Care
This was unacceptable. If this was allowed to continue, people would get hurt.
Organisation, safety rails and education were key.
As such, he stepped away from his Temple in Ciarathra and walked to the city of Truvan located near the centre of the lands of the Tel'Velharan. And he called a summit.
A summit of the Members of the Debate, of those who practised sorcery and of those who read the law.

And he waited for them to arrive. In the meantime, he set his mind to other matters. Matters that only he could deal with.

The summit.
In three days time she came to the temple steps. A half dozen fine warriors accompanied her, dressed in thick hides and brandishing crude blades. She herself wore a long draping dress, pale yellow against her dusky skin. Her hair tied into tiny braids, further braided in a lazy rope. The antlers cut from a stag and tied to her brow with hemp chain. She walked like a natural born queen, chin high and each step elegant. She and her entourage walked up the stairs without looking down. The summons had been answered.
TAB "I am Valentina, and I represent those who practice Sorcery."


The fate of Clint.
A sun's passage through the sky. Then the second and the third. A moon which inches by. The streaks of stars, lost in the distance. Clint found himself, suddenly, in open air. He fell twenty feet, perhaps more, onto hard stone. He found himself in a closed chamber, perhaps twenty feet in diameter, completely circular. The walls made of stacked, flat stones, each razor edged and jagged. The walls stretched upward into the sky. A perfect circle cut out so high above. Perpetual night, a single star smoldered there. Bones crunched underneath his feet.
TAB The Marquis no where to be seen, but his voice shivered in the air. I do not wish to hurt you, he says. I wish to hurt you utterly. I will tear you asunder for your crimes. I do not wish to heal your wounds, he says. I wish to heal your wounds. I will reconstruct you to fit my will.
TAB And then, nothing. No more heavy presence of the god, just old bones and a star above. Clint starved in that pit. How many hours passed? How many days? How many years? There was nothing with which to measure time. No suns, no stars save the one. And it just hung there, stationary in the eternal twilight. He sucked every drop of marrow from each bone, till none was left, and then he laid in misery and cried himself to sleep sometimes.
TAB And the star draws ever closer. And its fires burn ever brighter. What fate it would bestow, he did comprehend. But each moment longer, and he could see his shadow more and more clearly. Oh, and that shadow danced with all manner of light and color and sight and sound and smell. It was so big, it was so vast, it was so very small. And every moment brought it into clearer focus. Let it be spoke to the kindness of the Marquis, let it be spoke to the cruelty of the Marquis.


Boar's Pass.
"Tell me Tulio, why did you run from your life? You've told me before of the beautiful trees which grew in your father's orchards. You were to be wed in the spring to a virgin. Why did you leave?"
TAB Tulio rolls over in the bed of furs. He is naked, as is Valentina, next to him. He traces a finger along her spine. The firelight crackles warmly. After long moments of silence, he says, "I committed crimes there. That is why the Marquis spoke to me, first. Because he approved of my heinous actions. He is a very, cruel god."
TAB "You speak hastily. Has he not given you gifts also? You shouldn't speak so ill about your patron."
TAB "To what ends does he play? What ends does he give his gifts. He left us here, in those wild forests. He left us until we were bare and exposed and exhausted. It is a people of a different god which lick our wounds now. The Marquis has no hand in his own gifts."
TAB "It is our god's wish to forge us through adversity, not by cherishing us with lavish gifts. He is a cruel god, yes, but you must come to think of him as a stern parent. His tone of anger is not disapproval, but the push for us to continue harder and stronger."
TAB Tulio smirks here, and Valentina straddles his waist with her thighs. Her long dark hair curled in lazy loops, brushed softly across his face. Her lips kiss his cheek softly. "What crimes have you committed, oh foul scourge? What atrocities has your hand placed upon the world?" Her lips begin to tease his.
TAB "I do not wish to speak of it."
TAB "Come now, can't you admit as much to me? Do you not trust me?"
TAB "Very well.... My grandmother was a very strange woman. They say she came from the forest, my bloody father wrapped in her arms, naked as the day he was born. Now, the people of the village showed her great care, for she was very weary in walking through the woods. But they gave her a place to stay, and she lived there for some time, raising my father. Eventually she married a man, but that is another story.
TAB "She raised my father well, and my father married a woman and had his children. I am the youngest of four. She died giving birth to me, a bad omen. The women always rumored my grandmother had bad blood for childbirth--she always miscarried when her and my grandfather tried to conceive. So she spent a great deal of time raising me and my siblings. She taught us the arts, as she taught our father.
TAB "But she was a mad woman. The times before her life in the village corroded her mind. No one knows where she came from and she never said so herself. She always told stories of fantastical places, and I am convinced now she comes from Terastia, though we have seen no humans here. Anyway, as she grew older, her mind weakened. Her hands began to tremble and she always feared the sounds in the night. I took pity on her, and feed her the grass of Goblinweed. She passed easily in her sleep.
TAB "But none in the village thought my actions very noble. My own father shamed me, disowned me from the family. They were to execute me for what crime I committed, but I escaped into the woods. I have never returned."
TAB Valentina is quiet for some time. She asks softly, fingers running through his curly locks. "What was her name? Your grandmother."
TAB "Emilia."

Spoiler

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The Marquis' AP = 0. (1) - (1, Bless, Morgause; Time Jump).

[mystic1110]

Sol Lumaria - Looking for Doors, and Doors looking for you.

Charles opened a door. It was just a door. He went to the Kitchen to make himself some food. Life was normal - mundane. Sol Lumaria was... boring.

Velharan's curse didn't stem the tide of so called victims all that much. Well it did - no longer would people like Charles, simply vanish by accident - but you would be surprised how many people were looking for a way out. The urban legend of Arlom's magical doors was still pervasive on the streets. Homeless men and runaways talked about what they would do when they escaped their misery - the riches that hid in the Empty City. The wonders and adventures. Under bridges and in the gutters of the city of the world lived a whole class of people who were ignored by men and gods alike.

Imagine if you will life in the slums. Looked down upon and hungry. And you hear a story. A foolish old story - a wish more than anything else. That a door exists. Somewhere, somewhen,that will take you elsewhere, elsewhen. Would you not search for that door.

Yes Velharan's blessing saved those poor souls who did not yearn, but it did not stop the yearning of souls who heard the stories.

Imagine if you will Charles in his Kitchen. A rich man, he is dressed in fine silks threaded with gold. He wore earrings of rare quartz traded by the visiting aliens. He held in his hand a knife only a rich man would own - ornate and more polished than its function deserved. What if he heard the stories of the magical doors? Dismiss them probably, but would he dismiss it completely? Would he one night lay awake in his bed, bored and depressed - unsure of the meaning of his life and it's direction? Would he yearn for the story of the door to be true? Perhaps he would stand up, robe himself and then walk to the door of his bedroom. Hopeful that perhaps this door would be the one the story told him it may very well be. Doubtful.

And he opens the door.

It was just a door. He sighs and goes to the Kitchen to make himself some food, a midnight snack of dried meet and cheese. Life was normal - mundane. Sol Lumaria was... boring.

He turns around and drops the plate... the meat falling to the floor with a sickening plop that reminded one of mortality all at once. The cube of cheese rolled to the finely polished shoes of the strange man sitting in Charles's favorite chair. Charles saw .... no.... wait.... he saw his face, yes that's right. He definitely saw that the man had a face. He definitely saw that. He definitely saw it. He reminded himself. He remembered. The man was a tall man, too tall, as if his bones would have snapped at the mere thought of supporting his weight. He was dressed in a finely tailored black suit (a sting of jealousy irrationally pierced Charles at the moment) with a black tie - that when seen up close reminded one of deep red instead. Was red ever as black as black? He wore a pristine white shirt. He fixed his tie with normal human hands, and made sure the red flower attached to his lapel was firm and secure.

The stranger picked up the cube of cheese and delicately put it to it's lips. Of course it had lips, of course! He had a face Charles remembered... Charles saw his lips, he saw his face. He had a face. The man ate the cube of cheese. How else would he he do it if he had no mouth.... he had to have had a mouth. He had to!

The man spoke to him... he said the doors existed. But that knowledge had a price. Charles almost asked what that price was when he blinked, and when he opened his eyes the man was gone. After all fear, like Arlom lives in the place between tick and tock. Fear was just space - objects and the present. And the present was very very brief, it was always passing into the future. There was nothing to denote it's passing, no sound, no left over clue, no hints, nothing. Except memories and lack thereof. It wasn't till much later did he realize that he couldn't remember his own mother or father. The price was too great, he had to get his childhood back.

Imagine if you will, Charles - rich, wealthy, powerful, naive. The memories of his gilded childhood stolen? Would you search for the doors that only appear if you are searching? Would you search for those doors? Charles would, and he did.

And he opens the door. It was not just a door. It was a passage into the City. He stepped through... and he was trapped.

Spoiler

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So going by Elemental's bless: I think this interpretation of looking for Arlom's doors is fine... Elemental any issues?

Current AP
Arlom: 2 AP
Librarian: 1 AP

[Draken]

Qu'mos - The Hunter

Morgause's trail never went cold, the Ing came for her, just like she knew they would.

In a dark and rainy night, her grandson saw a silvered visage leaning over the tomb of his grandmother, a great horror with long talons on its back and cloven hooves for feet. Maybe he noticed, maybe not, but his eyes locked with the all-seeing eyes of the hunter the woman he killed had feared all her life.

But the boy ran, he ran and did not look back, who knows how things would have gone if Tulio had tried to stop Qu'Mos from desecrating that grave, smashing through earth and coffin like they were nothing, locking his claws on a dead neck and his all-reaving talons on a soul that belonged to Arlom.

Nobody escapes from the Ing. Not even the dead. Especially the dead, since they have nowhere to run anyway.

But Morgause was just the tip of the iceberg, she was a serf, from the moment she agreed to the terms of the Ing until the day she died a runaway, she never went through the proper channels to free herself, she was a serf along with all her lineage.

So Qu'Mos stalked the night towards the home of her grieving son. The modus operandi this time around would have to be different from the usual, the fugitive didn't know what he was and the god of these lands was overly protective as he knew, the man would have to walk through a door.

So the Ing took a step to the side and left the moment, becoming a silver wind in the house of this wayward child of Arlom, his pacate pace was a typhon in the timestream, ad his passage blew the candles of the house away, the scratching of his talons on the woodwork was a subtle whistle, and he was long gone before Morgause's son lighted his house anew.

All he left was a message, like the mad scribbles of the City, but not like any of the mad scribbles in the city, this was a specific message, "Your mother is in the City".

Boar's Pass

Ing are wee folk smaller than a dwarf, seen only rarely in the cities of Terástia, some are bigger, that is for sure, and taller than the humans who were now in that small city. The dwarves knew little of them, nobody knew much about them, really.

Nobody knew how big Ing could get, that wasn't about to change.

Qu'Mos was a breeze blowing in from an open window in a room reeking of sweat and juices from an act he could have cared less for witnessing, so it was a great thing all around that he arrived when it was over and done with. The Ing walked over to a wall and put a talon to the stone, scratching it as slowly as he could, letters formed instantly in the timestream, predated by a streak of silver with the distinctive noise of nails on a blackboard.

"Granny is alive", wrote the letters.
"You will find her at the beggining of the roads", they continued.

The streak stopped and it was like a massive scythe for the briefest of spaces between moments, leading back to some ungodly silvered visage, but then he vanished.

The Night was young, and Qu'Mos knew a pretty good brewer in Boar's pass.

These people didn't know how big Ing could get, but they knew they could get pretty big nonetheless, and came from the big city in the center of the world.

[ChrisClark13]

Spoiler

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Ensirex, Asylum

Ensirex' eyes seemed to glow more fercently than before, readying his bone pen and his scroll as he spoke. "I studied the internals of living and dead mortals to learn of their functions, and through my studies after their odd sparks formed I could find no physical manifestation of their inner energy so much like that of the divine. I was informed you were the source of this inner mortal energy. I investigated if the same would be true with you as the mortals, but your divine energy seemed to manifest itself more tangibly in your physical form, your biological body being both a manifestation of divine will as well as a more physical permanent form capable of receiving injury and healing itself. To what end did you give mortal beings this energy, and how did you do it? I am most curious about the growing similarities in some ways between mortals and the divine, and growing differences in others."

Arlom – Madhouse, Vylcent

TABVylcent sits on the operating table. ”I see. Well there’s no reason not to answer you before I break out of this place, probably somewhere in Arlom. I created souls because well… I guess I wanted to show off to my brothers, and I thought it was a nice idea putting a bit of divinity inside each mortal. I even left the door open, so to speak, for others to add to it with their own divine essences. I did that by raising my voice a bit and commanding the universe directly, it took a lot out of me to do that and I still don’t feel like I could do something like that any time soon again.” He looks around the room impatiently. ”Does that answer your questions? In any case, I’m outta here.” He stood up on the table and crouched down in preparation to jump.

Spoiler

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Arlom-Meeting

Venner helps his new friend keep his foot, he says a few words in a particularly hollow sound tongue, as both of their injuries slowly fade away. He had just used void magic to do this. Venner still had no idea what he was saying though.

Arlom – A Chance Meeting, Lucian

TABAs his wounds faded away Lucian was able to walk and breathe a bit better, but he was still hungry…
TABHe noticed a piece of graffiti on the wall: ‘FOOD AT THE FOUNTIAN.’ He pointed at it and looked around for a fountain pointing at that too. Still mostly relying on Venner for support, “Come on! This way! There should food at the fountain!” He dragged Venner along a bit as he tried to make his way towards the fountain. Hoping against hope that he would actually get to somewhere he saw in the distance for once.

[Hank McBadass]

Nous, Ordon's Prison

Ordon threw a tantrum. Nous unincorporated.


Nous, Home

Nous stood before the Vast Gate when the Madness arrived. For a minutia of time it had hoped the madness had left the realm of civilized consciousnesses to wallow it is own atrocity somewhere else. But now it was here.

Thank you City and Gate.

With that, Nous pulled the universe and stepped onto the grounds of The Academy. It was grand. Buildings of granite, limestone, glass, and iron assaulted the sky with gothic peaks, unaged copper roofs gleaming in the sunshine. Between and around the buildings was perfectly manicured grass and ancient oaks with a stream, cut into an orderly channel, meandered along. Around the compound was an iron fence raising to razor sharp points on top.

In the center was the library, massive even for Arlom. The main room stood 500 feet inside with stained glass windows telling of the first moments of creation; the birth of the Aberrant brothers, the Lords of Light, and the others by the Creator, the formation of the suns and the moons, the great kidnapping of Arlom, The Destruction of Veta, the birth of the Ing and everything else known to Arlom. There were events and gods that nous did not recognize. Nous considered for a moment before adding his own memories to the story held there.

Level after level of books were stacked along terraces up to the top of the great room. Nous investigated them. All empty. This will not do. Nous filled the books in the main room with the record of the Debate. Of course, the books could not contain the entire dialog and cross reference would be troublesome. Nous was displeased. It had hoped for a great center of learning, but how could it do so bound to the physical world?

A thought occurred to it. Nous vetted and considered and solidified it until it became action. Nous reached into its being, ripped out the stuff of creation, and released its essence onto the library. Nous pulled and strained against the fabric of the building. It was in flux. Nous had never tried anything on this scale before and its own energy fought back, seeking to take a life of its own. But Nous’s will was strong. It beat the essence of creation with will and folded the library back in on itself ten thousand times. It stretched here, looped there, took measurements, weighed possibilities. Nous labored for hours. Just when the god was prepared to give up something from beyond even Nous’s ability to fathom gave it the last needed spark.

From the outside it looked like Nous had made little real progress until it was done --which of course wasn’t true; Nous had got it very near completion when it was aided. Nous reached outside and wrote a sentence over the main doorway: “What is this?” Then with a pop what had been an ordinary library, became something else.

The library lost its end. Rooms inside of rooms, passages leading on in every direction forever, rooms of books, rooms with expanses the size of continents, passages that continued forever without ever going anywhere. Light and dark rooms, cold and hot ones, rooms with superheated plasmas and those with the cold of the void: all were found in the library. It would later be told that there was a room for every potential being that ever could have been somewhere in the depths that library with the exact ideal conditions for study and reflection. That said, the vast majority were relatively similar: well lit with a comfortable chair and desk. Colors and smells varied the most, particularly horrendous room with several tiers and a bright green carpet.

And the books. No longer was Nous bound by limited pages. Not only did they each contain a full record of the debate, but also a full accounting of every possibility from the moment of Creation for all eternity. Of course, it was only marginally useful. Nous did not have perfect knowledge of everything that was happening at the present moment, much less of everything that had happened in the past or would happen in the future. But it could conceive the possibilities and with study, possibly it could figure out the past and future based on the present. Nous gained power from this. The knowledge of the Library filled its mind and the actions and motivations that otherwise would have to be inferred could be guessed with much more precision.

Nous looked at the Academy and the Library and was pleased. It began walking down and endless passage into the unknown.

Spoiler

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Nous turns the library into a monument. It houses a record of every possibility ever, as well as a record of the long debate. To fit all this information, it is infinite, but searchers always seem to find what they need when they go exploring. Though every book has a complete record of everything in the library, as a practical matter to explore such great expanses, one would have to take someone of a random course through the material.

The controller of this monument has all this information in his, her, or it's mind and is better able to predict the future and motivations of others. It is of little consequence other than immediately before an action because there are so many possibilities covered. However, it is useful and it adds one dice to both attack and defense of the controller.

Nous now: 4+3+1/3+1/3 => 8/4/3

AP: 4 (rollover – 3) +2 (pantheon this week) + 2 (Previous Pantheon stolen by Mystic) + 4 (new week)= 10

-5 Create Monument

= 5 remaining

Order of the Long Debate, Summit

Anicetus may have been but a figurehead of the Order of the Long Debate but it had flourished under his watch. The Order’s education system had spread to all major landmasses and nearly every race was represented. Jei’Jei was still dealing with a thorny problem of how to deal with the Orcs on Terastia but other than that there had been little delay in the process. Journals and scholarship had flourished and idea from as far away as the Voidborn’s Comet, the Quartzians homeworld, and Vahnatai’s Underdark spread through all creation. And now the Acadamy had rose! No one who had went ins search of it had come back but they could all feel it. And at least some of it was because of Anicetus – the Vahnatai were even grateful enough to let him keep the title of First Speaker of the Order (though he suspected it was because Kosai’Ihrno knew Anicetus was not long for this world.)

Anicetus had an knack for pomp and circumstance – decadence might be a better word – so he was naturally the one selected to attend the summit called by Velharan. Yajera’Bok was also sent and could communicate through the old man to protect the image of the Order if need be.

Anicetus gathered one member of every race with a significant contingent in the Order for what he thought was a stately procession to meet the Sun God. An objective observer might call it over the top and impractical for such a long journey. He himself dressed in a robe of woven white gold embedded with black diamonds patterned after Nous itself. He even carried a book encased in gold to represent the record of the Debate like Nous.The other Order members wore the traditional black robes with their area of specialty designated on their hoods but even they were given jewelry to demonstrate the majesty and wealth of the Order. Yajera’Bok had a particularly large robe and kept the hood tight over her eyes to block out the light of the three suns and a rather out of place Frost Giant looked like he would rather be anywhere in the world than the warmth of Sol Lumaria. Anicetus liked this sort of thing, the rest thought it was stupid.

When their chariots arrived at the temple, followed by a retinue of servants, a crowd had gathered. It was not often that the Order made themselves known to outsiders. The children oohed and ahhhed at the strange races and the women swooned at gems the size of walnuts the members wore. Thankfully, the internal feeling of awkwardness felt by most of the Order members was not apparent behind their rich garb and Anicetus’s entry had its intended effect on those there.

“We are the representatives of the Order of the Long Debate, at your humble and true service,” said Anicetus as he arrived at the top of the stairs of the temple, slightly out of breath from the weight of his garment. “I am the First Speaker.”

[Elemental]

City of Truvan - Summit

As Valentina and Ancietus entered through the open doors of the Temple in Truvan, they saw an interior that was less grand than that in Ciarathra's Temple, but no less beautiful and certainly larger. At the far end of the great columned hall of the Temple was a dais upon which Velharan was seated in a meditative pose on a fine carpet. A short man in white silk stood at the side of the hall.
Velharan rose from where he was seated and spoke to those who visited.
Welcome Lady Valentina and Noble Ancietus.
The blades wielded by Valentina's entourage were gently wrapped with glowing golden cords. He looked saddened.
I am sorry for this intrusion Lady Valentina. But this is a house of peace.
He walked across the hall to the door and spoke softly to Ancietus and Valentina.
I must ask, Noble Ancietus, that you leave your companions outside for the duration of our discussions. Firstly, they are not Human and we discuss today matters concerning Humanity. Secondly, only one practitioner of sorcery has arrived to represent them. I feel it would be unfair otherwise.
But if you would feel more comfortable allowing their admittance, I will not bar their way but instead demand their silence.

Spoiler

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How did the non-human members of the Debate even get here? I thought only humans dwelt on Sol Lumaria... It was Ing'Dras wasn't it?
What is it with him and leaving portals everywhere...

[bryn0528]

Boar's Pass.
"What kind of joke is this?" A nearby object flies through the air, smashes into the wall. "Do you think this is funny? Is this some kind of game for you?" Tulio throws another thing at the wall. It breaks into a hundred pieces.
TAB "No, I promise I didn't do it!" Her words are barely understandable through the choking sobs. Tulio paces about the room, brewing an awful storm. Valentina is on her knees, pleading.
TAB The previous night they slept so well and peaceful. They did not wake to the sound of claw against stone. They did not wake to the gentle breeze of silver sand. Finally, around midday, when they first stirred, perhaps still a little drunk, Tulio noticed the message. He slams his fist into the brick walls. "This is just another one of your sick games." He spits on the floor and walks out the room, leaving Valentina alone to grieve.
TAB In the Main Hall, where they gather for meals, he is clearly in poor mood. Others seem to clear from around him, and that suits Tulio just fine. He eats the bland food without repose, and leaves soon.
TAB Gioseppe taps Alcide on the shoulder. "What's got him so worked up?" Alcide shrugs. "Maybe you should go follow him, and make sure he doesn't stir up any trouble. We're already stretching our invitation here, and after this party tonight, I don't know what they'll do with us." Alcide nods, and follows after Tulio. Gioseppe helps himself to the rest of Alcide's unfinished lunch.


The idyll.
Morgause's son saw the message, and some faint recognition rested in his red-rimmed eyes. He checked the graveyard, and sure enough the stones of her cairn spilled haphazardly around. The body, gone. He, in the earliest hours of morning, the sun just barely risen now, sets about the stones in their pile again. No one must know.
TAB Back in his humble home, half buried in the earth for coolness in the blazing summer of three suns, he writes a letter. He had no brothers or sisters, and never knew his real father. The man who raised him had passed away long ago. His wife, dead also. No, the only family he had were his children, and with Tulio gone... no, Tulio was not his son. His children were his only family, and they were now of proper age. So he wrote them each a letter, and folded each carefully. He left his worldy possesions among them, and spoke of how in light of his mother's death to his own once-son, he could no longer tolerate living in this realm anymore. Ensirex guide him now.
TAB And Tulio packed himself a small bag, containing provisions for several days, a knife, and various herbs. He brought with him various gear, as well, for he did not know quite where the journey would take him. And then he went to his front door, and stepped through it.
TAB His foot stepped against paved stone, rather than the small patch of dirt in the yard he knew so well. He closed the door behind him, and it vanished the next time round he looked. All about were buildings, vast and tall. He never had seen architecture quite like it, great stone monoliths to his squat wooden hut.
TAB He took a deep breath and walked down the city road. This was just the begining, and there would be some years before the events of the past reconciled with those of the present. But he did not know this, and so he went off in search of his mother's body, unknowing it would take him four years to finally find the truth. But in reality, he had all the time in the world. Nobody escapes the Ing.


The Summit.
The warriors looked at their peacetied weapons. An air of displeasure passed among them, but Valentina melted away any anticipation with a wave of her hand and a gentle smile. "This is a house of peace," she echoed in proper manner of speech. "And we are in the presence of a god." Her voice could melt even a stone heart; she was very beautiful.
TAB Valentina approached the last leg of the journey, a further walk towards the sun god. Her entourage followed closely behind in loose formation. She took to one knee, and her warriors practically scoffed. Valentina bowing? They awkwardly followed suit, they did not know the proper manner of gentle people. "Please, Divinest Velharan. There is no need to address me with title. I am Valentina, humble."


The Party.
A great deal and manner of folk arrived, that Tulio did not expect. Later in that evening, he felt calmer, more resolved. He had not spoken with Valentina again yet, and scorned, she avoided him as they mingled among various Dwarven nobility. Foxkin arrived as well, but their kind did not have nobility. They were more like celebrities. The highlight of the party though were the strange humans. Not so much an oddity to the Foxkin, who knew trade in Sol Lumaria, but an oddity that, somehow, these humans crossed into the first continent.
TAB A great meal was prepared. A hundred wolves hunted and slain to fill the tables with rich, succulent meats. Bird's eggs boiled, hardy stews of tough underground vegetables, jams made from the fruits of tree and bush. The Queen showed more regality this evening. Her daily wear certainly drab, and similar to that of her sujbects, this gown was fine indeed. Made entirey of ice mail, she shone like a star. The other nobles gathered were similarily dressed. It was difficult for Tulio to determine what was armor and what was evening attire.
TAB A Foxkin spoke to Tulio during a dance he shared with her. "Velharan has called a summit. He is at the ready to accuse those of us who worship the Marquis and practice the Medicines as witches and sorcerors."
TAB "You know of the Marquis, even here?"
TAB "The Marquis was born on this continent. Yes, we know of him here, though it is still a hushed manner."
TAB "If you know the Marquis, then you must know of his will. He is not a god to be seen or heard. He would never answer a summons."
TAB "Yes, and it is a shame. But something must be done. Velharan is ready to cut down Eregkung and Opahkung alike. He does not understand the divine magic of the Marquis, none do. He thinks of them as vile creatures, spreading disease and plague. It has been a while since you last saw Sol Lumaria, and the country is ripe for revolt. Revolt against our kind. They will slaughter us all."
TAB "Then yes, we will answer the summit."
TAB Later that evening, in a private hall, the five gathered. Tulio, Alcide, Gioseppe, Valentina, and the Foxkin woman named Cera. Tulio spread the news to his others. "Who will we send?" Gioseppe asked.
TAB "I am sending Valentina to answer the summons. She is the most personable of us all." A cold, hard glance was shared by the couple. These were really the first words he had spoken to her since earlier. She looked defeated.
TAB "Yes, I will go. I will answer the summit."


The Summit.
"I am Valentina, humble. And I ask to what ends you have called upon the ways of sorcery and witchcraft."

Spoiler

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The Marquis' AP = 0.

[Hank McBadass]

Amy and Tristan

Amy threw down her dissertation in disgust, tears welling in her eyes. “These fools wouldn't know a good idea if Nous itself shoved it in their faces.”

“Now Amy, I’m sure they will eventually …”

“Oh shut up, I don’t want your sympathy. Those stuffy bastards have their heads buried so far up they will never see. The Order has been good generally but they have no appreciation for the arts and their use to the debate.”

“Well Dean Omelas at the Physical Research Center has done some work on the matter.”

“Sure, the wave lengths of colors and sounds but that’s not art. They look at art as if all its good for is tavern entertainment and prettying up their whores. You’d think they would at least consider the possibility of the aesthetic existing as an independent truth and being a contributing part of the debate.” Amy looked venomously at the faculty suggestions lying on the ground.

“They didn’t like my first draft either, you know.” Tristan said sheepishly.

Tristan had focused on philosophical justifications for the jihad and the implications on the outward struggle. His main thesis had been that in the struggle of ideas, physical violence was not dispositive of which side was correct but may be useful and morally justified in furthering the debate. It was not the idea that garnered opposition but Tristan’s writing and inadequate defense of his thesis. He never was much of a scholar. He was applying to join the faculty and the Order for other reasons …

Amy shot up wiping her eyes. “We don’t need to wait for the pigs, The Academy has risen! I’m going.”

Tristan tried to talk Amy out of it. He told her about the danger of the trip, the risk that The Academy was just a rumor, and that the Order would eventually see that her dissertation was good. Amy was resolved and made preparations to leave in the morning. “All that may be fine with you but it’s not with me. I’m going.” Tristan gave up and helped her pack sullenly.


The next day, Amy set off down the road toward the mysterious gate. As she was approaching the limits of the college-township she heard someone calling in the distance. Tristan was running up the path with a pack with a shiny new spear in his hand.

“Wait up. I had to pick up some stuff. It was too late last night, the shops and market were closed.”

“What are you doing?” asked Amy. “ You have your second draft to turn in tomorrow and your classes to teach.”

“Well… I guess … there is noth … I want to see the Academy too.”

Amy looked at him skeptically. “Well this is new.” Then she laughed, “Though I must say, you look like a regular adventurer with that spear. Rub some dirt on it so it doesn’t look like such a newb.”

Amy and Tristan continued through the lands toward the fabled gates that the Foxkin used. “I think this should take us to Terastia where the Academy is supposed to.” Amy remarked. Amy went into the portal first, followed by Tristan.



The Summit

“Very well, bright one. My accompaniment will await me here.” Anicetus turned and gestured toward his companions.
Truth be told they were happy to be free from this duty and gladly returned to their research and met with the local teachers and tutors. Yajera’Bok reached out with his mind to Anicetus. “Call for me if you need assistance.”

[mystic1110]

Arlom - The Red Light District/The Mayor

We left to search for the promised food at midday. The Giant pink neon signs displayed the number 39776. The Mayor always kept us up-to-date on the date. The passage of time was important; not to us, sure as hell, but to him … it … The mayor. Day 39776 of our torment. Our immortal torment. Thanks. 39776. That would make it almost one hundred and ten years – I scarcely remember time outside the city. I scarcely remember the concept of time at all – for all we know the counter could be seconds, minutes, hours instead of days. It could have been months years, decades. It didn’t matter – the pink neon seared it eternally into our minds – along with sings blaring: loose girls, free women, young men, beautiful, handsome, sex, sex, sex, beware the mayor over and over again. Pink. The color of hell.

The dwarf of our small group of immortals carried the foxkin for a while, his hands locked with each other, a seat for her. The Vahantai and I walked before and after, just to make sure that, if anything happened, it would catch one of us and at least the foxkin woman would be safe. Fat chance, safe. Didn't matter. It was only a undisclosed forever miles or so to the promised visions of food, at this point we learned to ignore the graffiti of “food at the fountain” – at first the Mayors neon signs informed us the fountain was just as terrible as he was, and by the end we forgot it existed – the graffiti was just the mayor messing with us – there was nothing that was true except for him. The second day of our journey through the streets of the god-city, when we were lying out under the blistering neon signs, he sent down some food. Tasted like boiled boar urine. We ate it. Suddenly I heard, I heard the Foxkin yelling frantically, "No,! Don't, come on, don't please!" We didn’t use names. We had no names – at this point of our torment we knew who or what we each referred to through unsaid signals – the dwarf this time.

And then I realized I had been hearing the dwarf murmuring, under his breath, for several minutes. He was saying, "I'm gonna get out, I'm gonna get out …" over and over. His monkey-like face was crumbled up in an expression of beatific delight and sadness, all at the same time. The scars The Mayor had given him during the "peep show" were drawn down into a mass of pink white pulpy lines, and his features seemed to work independently of one another. Perhaps the dwarf was the luckiest of the four of us: he had gone stark, staring mad many years before. If it had been years – I shuddered to think that maybe our perception of time was so warped that 39776 – wait now it was 39778 – represented seconds. No it had increased by two – it had to be days. It must mean days. It must. It must. It must.

But even though we could call the Mayor any damned thing we liked, could think the foulest thoughts, he, it, Daddy, would not tolerate our trying to escape. The dwarf leaped away from me as I made a grab for him. He scrambled up the face of skyscraper, grabbing hold of the giant pink neon signs, climbing up and up with his gigantic hands. He squatted there for a moment, looking like the orc the Mayor had intended him to resemble. The dwarf reduced to the orc – how low had the mayor brought him.

Then he leaped high, caught a trailing beam of neon glass, and went up it, handover- hand like an animal, till he was on a girdered ledge, fifty feet above us.

"Oh, please, help him, get him down before—" The foxkin begged us. Tears began to stand in her eyes. She moved her hands aimlessly.

It was too late. None of us wanted to be near him when whatever was going to happen, happened. And besides, we all saw through her concern. When The Mayor had altered the dwarf during its, his, whatever, his, utterly irrational, hysterical phase, it was not merely the dwarf’s face the mayor had made like a giant ape's. He was big in the privates; she loved that! She serviced us, as a matter of course, by command of the mayor – for the mayor was the pink red light district screaming whore, slut, bitch, free, free, free, beware the mayor all around us, but she loved it from him. Oh foxkin women, pedestal, pristine; oh, In my mind I called her Illeria the clean! Scum filth.

The Vahantai slapped her. She slumped down, staring up at the poor loonie dwarf and she cried. It was her big defense, crying. We had gotten used to it 27300 days earlier; please god let it be days. The Vahantai kicked her in the side.

Then the sound began; neon pink, sweet, musical, rhythmic, the sound of humping in a forgotten corner in the dark; the sound of snickering and laughter – the hum of the Neon Pink signs – soft and constant. Something that began to glow from the dwarf’s eyes, and pulse with growing loudness, grew more gigantic and brighter as the light/sound increased in tempo. Angry Neon Pink flooded from his eyes fifty feet above us. It must have been painful, and the pain must have been increasing with the boldness of the light, the rising volume of the sound, for the dwarf began to mewl like a wounded animal. At first softly, when the light was dim and the sound was muted, then louder as his shoulders hunched together: his back humped, as though he was trying to get away from it. His hands folded across his chest like a wounded wolf. His head tilted to the side. The sad little monkey-face pinched in anguish. Then he began to howl, as the sound (PINK) coming from his eyes grew louder. Louder and louder, brighter and brighter. I slapped the sides of my head with my hands, but I couldn't shut it out, it cut through easily. The pain shivered through my flesh like tinfoil on a tooth.

The dwarf was suddenly pulled erect. On the girder he stood up, jerked to his feet like a puppet. The light was now pulsing out of his eyes in two great round pink neon beams. The sound crawled up and up some incomprehensible scale, and then he fell forward, straight down, and hit the cement floor with a crash. He lay there jerking spastically as the light flowed around and around him and the sound spiraled up out of normal range. Then the light beat its way back inside his head, the sound spiraled down, and he was left lying there, crying piteously. His eyes were two soft, moist pools of pus-like jelly. The mayor had blinded him. The vahantai and myself … we turned away. But not before we caught the look of relief on the foxkin’s warm, concerned face. – the fall should have killed him. It didn’t and it wouldn’t but it should have. The Pink and squicky sound retreated from his head, but he was alive. Unfortunately for him – fortunately for the foxkin I thought bitterly.

We made camp and the Mayor provided some trash and we burned it, sitting huddled around the wan and pathetic, smelly fire, telling stories to keep the dwarf from crying in his permanent night. He was smiling sadly. He was also drooling again. The foxkin wiped the spittle from the corner of his mouth with the hem of her skirt. None of us knew why the mayor spent all his time tormenting us, or even why he had made us virtually immortal … except me I was special/ special! He told me with the neon signs. Just for fun.

Then we heard … I don't know …

Something moving toward us in the darkness. Huge, shambling, hairy, moist, it came toward us. We couldn't even see it, but there was the ponderous impression of bulk, heaving itself toward us. Great weight was coming at us, out of the darkness, and it was more a sense of pressure, of air forcing itself into a limited space, expanding the invisible walls of a sphere. The dwarf began to whimper. The Vahantai’s lower lip trembled and he bit it hard, trying to stop it. The foxkin slid across the cement floor to the dwarf and huddled into him. There was the smell of matted, wet fur in the cavern. There was the smell of charred wood. There was the smell of dusty velvet. There was the smell of rotting orchids. There was the smell of sour milk. There was the smell of sulphur, of rancid butter, of oil slick, of grease, of chalk dust, of human scalps.

The Mayor was keying us. He was tickling us. There was the smell of—

I heard myself shriek, and the hinges of my jaws ached. I scuttled across the floor, across the cold floor with its endless cobblestones and imperfections, on my hands and knees, the smell gagging me, filling my head with a thunderous pain that sent me away in horror. I fled like a cockroach, across the floor and out into the darkness, that something moving inexorably after me. The others were still back there, gathered around the firelight, laughing … their hysterical choir of insane giggles rising up into the darkness like thick, many-colored wood smoke. I went away, quickly, and hid. How many hours it may have been, how many days or even years, they never told me. The Pink Neon signs displayed the number 39801. Please let it be minutes – I was not gone for days, years – but if that was true – then… no it must be days… but…

The foxkin chided me for "sulking," and the Vahantai tried to persuade me it had only been a nervous reflex on their part—the laughing. But I knew it wasn't the relief a soldier feels when the spear hits the man next to him. I knew it wasn't a reflex. They hated me. They were surely against me, and the Mayor could even sense this hatred, and made it worse for me because of the depth of their hatred. We had been kept alive, rejuvenated, made to remain constantly at the age we had been when the Mayor had brought us below, and they hated me because I was the youngest, and the one the mayor had affected least of all. I knew, how I knew. The bastards, and that dirty bitch. The dawrf had been a brilliant theorist, a professor, a member of the fabled long debate; now he was little more than an animal. He had been handsome, the Mayor had ruined that. He had been lucid, the Mayor had driven him mad. He had been gay, and the Mayor had given him an organ fit for a horse and demanded that he pleasure a woman of all things. The mayor had done a job on the dwarf. The Vahatai had been a worrier. He was a conscientious objector; he was a peace marcher; he was a planner, a doer, a looker-ahead. The Mayor had turned him into a shouldershrugger, had made him a little dead in his concern. The Mayor had robbed him. The Vahatai went off in the darkness by himself for long times. I don't know what it was he did out there, the mayor never let us know. But whatever it was, he always came back white, drained of blood, shaken, shaking. Mayor had hit him hard in a special way, even if we didn't know quite how.

And the foxkin. That douche bag! The mayor had left her alone, had made her more of a slut than she had ever been. All her talk of sweetness and light, all her memories of true love, all the lies she wanted us to believe: that she had been a virgin only twice removed before. The mayor grabbed her and brought her down here with us. Had given her pleasure, even if she said it wasn't nice to do. She was his star – the one the mayor made strip on center stage in front of us. She loved it!

I was the only one still sane and whole. Really!

The mayor had not tampered with my mind. Not at all!

I was sane, sane, sane, sane, sane, sane, sane, sane!!!

I began to cry.

Arlom - The Son's Circumbilivagination of Time

Morgause's son entered the city - four years before his mother fled; time was flexible here between the tick and the tock. No one would recognize him since they only caught a glimpse of him as a babe - this was even before the story of Morgause fleeing into the vast gate would become a common hopeful myth, this was even before she even fled, it was before she was even here. The son could wander around the streets like any other - lost and in danger, fleeing shadows and fears, searching for truth and mystery. The son could in fact meet his mother.

Yet he was the child of the city, one born within, a citizen unlike the other tourists and immigrants - he was finally home. He just didn't know it yet. He was born to become a fear himself... but which one, Arlom only knew - but those who wish to become fears or are destined, or chosen to become - over came their own trials and tribulations. For all he knew he was to become the Librarian, or the Fountain, or - he would shudder years and years latter - he might become the Mayor. Or he might become something else. Till now he was simply another lost soul in the metropolis of lost souls...

Yet not just like any other: he had a journal. His mother's old ancient journal, her one proof that this city in which he was now in was real. He never believed her till he found her grave overturned. When he saw her grave desecrated, he tore through his mother's belongings and found it underneath some tools and herbs she had piled up in her shop. It was at the very bottom as if she wanted to forget that it existed. Perhaps it was important. Tattered, it was made of poor quality leather, the paper was wet and the words written in a scrawled chicken scratch handwriting that was bleeding through. Most of the readable ink were mere repetitions of the screams of a mad man written down. Yet he found one page towards the end that was... impossibly clear. Clear of blotched writing, scrawled script and free of damage. Almost as if this page was protected - the last sane thought of a poor traveler.

This melancholy city - the souls of the lost are compelled to walk through its streets perpetually. One feels them passing like a whiff of air. And when you are old and gray and full of sleep, and nodding by the fire, take down this book and slowly read, and dream of the soft look your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep - the librarian has had everything you didn't want to have, you gave it to him willingly and were his. Tread softly, for you tread on the dreams of children. And you that would judge me, you belong not to the mayor, so do not judge alone these words or that, come to this hallowed place where these children's portraits hang and look thereon; The City's history in their lineaments trace; think where man's glory most begins and ends and say my glory was I had fallen to his embrace. Mayor save me. Amen.

Perhaps this Journal would prove useful - just as he would later recall it had proved dangerous. Still it contained all the graffiti of the city - so he knew to avoid the shadows that put on puppet plays as he wandered the city - he knew according to a note in the journal NOT to go to the fountain. He knew the streets would take him where he was supposed to be - he knew to avoid the color pink - and red: that if a glow of neon pervaded the air around a bend to walk the other way. He knew....

One day he saw a Human and a .... a something shambling towards something - he heard them yell "to the fountain," "food at the fountain!" Did the city expect him to watch? To save them? Why was he here?

This was his first trial. To save Venner and Lucian. To warn them. Or watch them approach the Fountain. Which fear was he going to be. Because he will be a fear. The choice that Arlom left him was which one.

[AgentIndy]

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Arlom – A Chance Meeting, Lucian

TABAs his wounds faded away Lucian was able to walk and breathe a bit better, but he was still hungry…
TABHe noticed a piece of graffiti on the wall: ‘FOOD AT THE FOUNTIAN.’ He pointed at it and looked around for a fountain pointing at that too. Still mostly relying on Venner for support, “Come on! This way! There should food at the fountain!” He dragged Venner along a bit as he tried to make his way towards the fountain. Hoping against hope that he would actually get to somewhere he saw in the distance for once.

Arlom-Venner and Lucien

Venner helped Lucien along, he still had no idea what his new companion was saying, but he understood the intent. He felt disconcerted at this just appearing out of the blue, but then again, this was a strange city.

While walking, Venner whipped up a bit of magic to heal his ankle, and let him assist this starving man. He had found a sort of purpose, he guessed. He could help people, though he wasn't sure how though. He memorized the graffiti, adding to his limited knowledge of writing. But even this small realization of importance raised his on the cosmic scale. Not much ,but maybe a little. And sometimes knowing a little bit about yourself is all it takes.

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AP:2
Raise Hero:Venner-2
AP:0

Venner could swear he saw something watching them, but he didn't take time to dwell on it.

[THEChanger]

The Burning Pits-Ordon's Prison

As the deities vacated Ordon's realm, the tremors calmed, and he allowed himself to breath and take stock of his realm.

Which is when his eye turned towards two chains writhing in an approximation of pain.

Empty.

Not retracted, as the others were. The occupants of those chains weren't present in his realm. They had disappeared.

They had escaped.

"Units 001 and 002, initiate goal acceptance protocols."

Two Inevitables approached their creator. The human, and the dwarf, of the original three Inevitables. The knelt before the massive statue of Ordon, and two chains snaked forward. Tapping the rune upon their foreheads, the missions of the two were imprinted.

The dwarf would enter the city of Arlom. A human had escaped in the comotion, had wandered through the tunnels of the Burning Pits, and escaped into the sewers of Arlom. They were to be brought back alive, if possible, slain if not.

To the human was afixed the runes left by the Marquis. He would seek out Clint. Clint would be brought back alive, to be placed before Ordon for...special judgement.

Unit 001 proceeded to climb the Chains of Ordon, ascending to the surface. He was naturally attracted to what was once his home, the sun-kissed continent of Sol Lumaria.

Unit 002 left the halls of Ordon's Prison. He delved deep into the tunnels of the Burning Pits, and found the door which led to Arlom. Moving through, he emerged, deep in the sewers of that fabled city. His eyes shed the light of the fiery heart of the Burning Pits, allowing him to examine the darkness. And so, the first two Inevitables entered the world at large, their charges set.

The Mayor, Marquis, Velharan, and anyone else who might listen help those marked by the Inevitables.

[Elemental]

The Summit

Velharan began to walk back to his dais, motioning for Valentina and Ancietus to follow.
As you wish Valentina.
It has come to my attention that the influence of others. Others I have never encountered, is felt across Sol Lumaria.
That is why I have called you both, as well as Mr. Faraday. I worry how the common people will perceive these influences. Already they fear sorcery and witchcraft and seek to excise it from the world. An action that is partially my fault, and I apologise for that.
He stepped up onto the dais and seated himself, motioning those he had summoned to seat themselves upon cushions before the dais.
I desire peace and harmony, and the influences of other Gods disrupt this. I called you here to discuss how best Witchcraft, the Long Debate and Oaths made by Ordon can be best integrated into the society of the Tel-Velharan.
I have my ideas, but I desire to hear your own first.

[Darklady2831]

The Plaza of the Vast Gate

Gjol Maduur did not retreat from the gate, still probing the flow of alternate times, looking for unrealized dreams. "Hello, sibling." He whispered, flicking away an errant shadow and pulsing softly.

His whispers assailed both Ing'Dras and Arlom, but they were not incoherent, not maddening. They were audible, discernable. "The lights are watching, always watching. No, no, not watching, not, yes... waiting, watching. NO, it's a lie, all is a lie. They want our destruction, our demise. They wish us whole, us changed. They do not exist, they are our mind. NO! They are our foes, our enemies, our prey and predator..." They ramblings continued, unending, giving Gjol Maduur's siblings some insight into the many thoughts that coursed through the minds of Gjol Maduur. A multitude of voices, bickering back and forth, constantly paranoid, constantly arrogant, constantly afraid.

Alternate Reality, Terastia

The light from their torches flickered, the humans running through the endless forests. They screamed, gathering in a circle, before enormous monsters fell upon them, tearing their bodies, minds, and souls asunder. The nightmares gorged themselves on the terrified denizens of Zal'Cazarn. And in the distance, the faint light of the three suns shone, barely more than candlelight. They swirled, round and round, in a cosmic whirlpool. The broken bodies of Velharan, Valmyr, and Vylcent drifted between them, slowly deteriorating. And in the center of all of this, Gjol Maduur dwelt, sucking all of creation inward, devouring it, remaking it in his vision. There was a hole in the center of creation, dragging all in, even light could not escape it's pull. It was, a Black Hole. THE, Black Hole.

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Just to be clear, I'm only describing this alternate reality where Gjol got the upper hand very early on, and is devouring all of existence. None of this is going to make it into the real game, I'm just having some fun while Gjol Searched for the Old Ones.

[bryn0528]

The Son of the City.
Weeks it seemed. Weeks of walking aimlessly through empty streets. An echo of his mother before, condemned. Each new night spent in a different place, a different ghetto, a different neighborhood, a different castle. He walked in the sewers for a while, really just underground channels for drainage purposes. Some were catacombs--What people died here? He did not see any people--others for irrigation. Some sewers made chattering noises, and so he took to walking the streets topside. He noticed some swaying bridges higher up, and for a while he walked on those. The buildings were linked in multiple layers, streets and seweres and causeways. The wind always shook the rope and wood paths, so he stayed away from those. In more impressive parts of the city they were great stone arches dancing in the air, but there were not many of these at all so he again took to walking the streets. Some of the streets were sunken into the ground, like relics in the earth, and entire neighborhoods existed under brackish water. He took to swimming across some, but small things brushed against his feet and made him nervous. He took to walking the streets.
TAB Early morning again. Or at least, what seemed like early morning. Everything a neutral grey all the time, it was becoming more difficult to tell. A perpetual haze drifted among the tops of buildings and he could not even begin to comprehend how high some of them truly stood. Some strange signs blazed and blinked, but he always avoided those. He turned a new corner and voices echoed down the cobblestone road in long, stretched tones.
TAB "H-hello?" He called back. He froze in his boots. How long had it been since he spoke last? His throat felt dry and cracked. His voice was dust. "Hello!" He called out again with more gusto. When had he last seen people? He could no longer recall. Some time, at least. The voices, almost rings of joy, boomed along without him. "Hey! Wait! Don't go!" His feet began to slowly move forward. Soon, they flew down the alley way and onto a larger avenue. He saw a pair of figures in the distance. "Hey! Wait! Stop! Don't go!" He ran faster and faster, his voice threatened to fill the empty spaces. "It isn't safe!"
TAB He wasn't going to become a fear just yet. Not this day. Today is still hopeful. Besides, the fountain is not his destiny, is not his fate. Really, there is only one fate for this child of the city. Its whispers echo years from now, among hushed lips and eager ears. Rats in the sewers, Rats in the sewers.


The Summit.
Valentina stood and followed the God. She did not take her seat. The regiment behind her seemed anxious. She waved them away. Go wait with the others, unspoken words. I will be fine, her eyes flared. An immaculate shift from the sterness of her warriors to facing the god before her. She had to squint her eyes to make out the details of his form. It hurt her eyes to stare at him for too long, however. She made no mention of such, and led no action to indicate, save for the avoidance of looking directly upon him.
TAB "Then I find there no matter to properly discuss." Her words, elegant, yet pointed. Her words the edge of a fine dagger, rubbed with fine herbs. "You will find not sorcery nor witchcraft. Your guidance has made the minds of your people weak and fearful and reliant. They fear that which they do not understand, and seek to blame others. Others which I have come to represent."
TAB "You brand us as sorcerors and as witches, but that is not how it exists. We are worshippers of an old god, a god of nature. We admend to the hard ways, for that is what forges us stronger. Your doeful subjects do not understand such things. They blame us for their hardships, for it is an easier fate to condemn another than to face adversity. I stand before you now, in these desperate times.
TAB "We are worshippers of Arathor, god of wilderness and beasts. Our god does not seek to give us gifts which we have not crafted ourselves. Yes, it is true many of our kind practice the arts of remedy and other... less favorable acts. But just as many who do not worship Arathor also practice these arts. Find any surgeon, any healer, and he will have some manner of herb in his repetoire. But you will not find, among our leauges, the dark arts of sorcery or witchcraft. You will not find such things, for they are nothing but rumors, passed among your scared flock of sheep."

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The Marquis' AP = 0.

[Elemental]

The Summit

Velharan looked at Valentina with a passive stare, seeming to look through her as if she did not exist.
I call it Witchcraft and Sorcery for lack of a better word Lady Valentina. I do not know if you have had time to study etymology, but I have. There are no other words in the Human tongue.
I will guide them as I always have, but there are many things they do not understand. I am hardly all knowing.
He continued to stare at her, his voice betraying no emotion.
And this talk of herbs is not what I meant when I called this summit. Do not lie to me and claim that you know not of what I mean and try and hide your true master.
Valentina felt her gaze drawn to Velharan's shining eyes, almost as though she were falling through endless voids of light.
I speak of course, of the Marquis. He who brought herbs to heal and many more to kill. I have felt his touch across the land many times.

[bryn0528]

The Summit.
Valentina could hardly meet the god's direct stare. His light bathed her warmly. His voice spoke, and warm turned to hot. She bared teeth, not in pain, but in ire. A low growl upon her lips.
TAB "Then you are a foolish god. You do not understand the ways and brand them in darkness. Your words betray your own ignorance. Each herb is a twin, a pair--each can heal and each can harm. There is not one that does solely kill. Only the misapplication of a healing art. That is the way, and you do not understand that basic facet. There are reasons the way is hidden. You are but one of them. Rescind your words, withdraw your fear. The will of the Marquis is quiet, but strong. Your summons is an affront. Should you have felt his touch, but not seen his painted face, you would have known this truth. But you are a foolish god, shedding light onto occult matters which you do not understand."

[Elemental]

The Summit

In truth, there was no pain to feel. How her mind perceived things was her own business. In fact, no one else would have noticed anything.
I would be a fool not to seek understanding. And you would be a fool not to realise that any art that can be used such will be abused by those with less scruples. However, as it is, the knowledge of the healing arts is kept from most of the people. To them, it is a magic they do not understand and cannot without guidance.
What I propose is simple. Teach your art openly and spread word of its dangers and benefits. I will protect your order from those who still wish you harm.
He lowered his gaze and spoke softly.
Refuse this request, and I will be forced to protect you in another manner.

[bryn0528]

The Summit.
Of course there was no pain. Her fangs exposed in hate, not pain. Valentina represented here the will of an unknowable god, attempted to be made solid and written.
TAB "Only the true believers of the Marquis may learn the healing arts I have to offer. It is not a thing which can be taught or learned in schools. There is another who brings healing, why have you not summoned him? His ways are more bloody than those of the Marquis." A snarl twists into a smirk. Who did this god think he was? Pitiful.
TAB "Your efforts are futile. Extinguish your light on the matter, and let the secret and occult ways of the Marquis remain hidden in shadow. We are not your sheep to be shepherded uselessly. The will of the Marquis is quiet, but strong, and you mustn't forget that." She turned on her heel, all the ready to leave.
TAB "And do not threaten to tread in our ways, for we are more terrible than you could comprehend. Leave us be."

[Elemental]

The Summit

Then I seen no other choice Valentina. I will discuss matters with The Marquise before I make my final decision.
But until I do so... All those who follow the Marquise are under my direct protection. Abuse this and you will regret it.
Velharan rose and the doors to the Temple opened.
You and your kind are banished from this place and from the sight of every Temple and House raised in my honour until such time as your sentence has been decided upon. Be thankful for the mercy that is shown to you.
He turned from Valentina to speak to Ancietus and Faraday.
Noble Faraday, please see that this edict reaches all parts of the land. I shall enforce it personally.
I am sorry Ancietus. I had hoped for this to be a peaceful discussion such that bloodshed would be averted in the future. And it will be averted, just not through the means I had hoped.
He bowed his head and continued speaking softly.
I fear for your order. There are those who do not understand you and feel the secrets you seek to unravel are too dangerous. I wish to make it such that you will be safe.

[Hank McBadass]

"The Order spreads it's knowledge freely but only because it is Nous's will. Many articles have been contributed which argue that the knowledge of the order should in fact be guarded and this monopoly would serve the Debate more. If it is the the will of this Marquise that these arts be kept secret then there might be good reason." Anicetus waxed.

"As for the Order, what changes do you think would be advantageous? We teach all who seek knowledge and diseminate the knowledge we gain. If the Order is mysterious, it is only because that mystery gives us a mystique that draws students to us."

[Draken]

Plaza of the Vast Gate

"Hello, Gjol."

Not a whole lot else to say, truly. Examining the past was something that creatures did somewhat often. Nothing special about it.

Son of the City

Morgause's son, walking, swimming, rapelling the streets of Arlom, parkour at its best, almost a wordless praise to the Traveller King. He's got many futures, that is for sure, and Ing'dras knows them all, thought not which one will become the present, useless knowledge.

He is for sure the first son of the city, but just as certainly he was not the last. Perhaps there were cruel places where the Ing saw their serfs as slaves and beasts, the intellectual difference was certainly there, and made those small things breed among themselves for minions and maybe sometimes for voyeuristic pleasure, some of them did live awfully close to the pink streets, safe they were, sure, but not necessarily unscathed.

But what matters now is not the motives or the places of these parents, the first are irrelevant and the later are well known. What matters is their progeny born in Arlom, and the fact that these little fears are not human, nor dwarf, nor foxkin, nor orc. Quartizians, Giants and Vahanatai they most certainly were not, but the children of these races remained themselves.

No, the simple fact of the matters is that none of these inferior races gave birth to their own kind in Arlom, but to some strange critters that were native to the city. With skin the hues of bronze and hairs collored as granite, with statuesquely hardened visages to the skins of their faces and limbs, little gargoyles that gave the feeling that they would break with any and every little movement they made.

The Ing doted on their new serfs that much is for sure, they were on the same rank as the vahnatai for their favor, because they felt the touch of the brothers in their craft, and they bore powers of their own kind as well, powers over their peculiar flesh and the materials of the city (and probably other materials as well, but they were in the city for now, and what other materials were there?). They grew to become laborers, architects and engineers, as happy to serve their masters as they were to demand of their forefathers, a disturbing divide, indeed.

Plaza of the Vast Gate

Then again... Gjol was looking for something specific, it was quite odd, indeed.

"What are you looking for, Gjol?"

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13 AP:

3 AP - Create Greater Race: Gargoyles. Gargoyles are the children of lesser races, born in the city Arlom. They resemble whatever race they came from, but their skin and hairs resemble metals and stones, making them look like statues, despite being very much flesh and bone. They are natural wielders of the powers of psychometabolism and metacreativity, closing the psionic circle.

10 AP left!

[ChrisClark13]

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The fate of Clint.
A sun's passage through the sky. Then the second and the third. A moon which inches by. The streaks of stars, lost in the distance. Clint found himself, suddenly, in open air. He fell twenty feet, perhaps more, onto hard stone. He found himself in a closed chamber, perhaps twenty feet in diameter, completely circular. The walls made of stacked, flat stones, each razor edged and jagged. The walls stretched upward into the sky. A perfect circle cut out so high above. Perpetual night, a single star smoldered there. Bones crunched underneath his feet.
TAB The Marquis no where to be seen, but his voice shivered in the air. I do not wish to hurt you, he says. I wish to hurt you utterly. I will tear you asunder for your crimes. I do not wish to heal your wounds, he says. I wish to heal your wounds. I will reconstruct you to fit my will.
TAB And then, nothing. No more heavy presence of the god, just old bones and a star above. Clint starved in that pit. How many hours passed? How many days? How many years? There was nothing with which to measure time. No suns, no stars save the one. And it just hung there, stationary in the eternal twilight. He sucked every drop of marrow from each bone, till none was left, and then he laid in misery and cried himself to sleep sometimes.
TAB And the star draws ever closer. And its fires burn ever brighter. What fate it would bestow, he did comprehend. But each moment longer, and he could see his shadow more and more clearly. Oh, and that shadow danced with all manner of light and color and sight and sound and smell. It was so big, it was so vast, it was so very small. And every moment brought it into clearer focus. Let it be spoke to the kindness of the Marquis, let it be spoke to the cruelty of the Marquis.

Under the Marquis's Star, Clint

TABClint played with a small knife that he had found hidden in his boot, he had even forgotten it was there since it was so small. Held a bone in his other hand, chopping it into fine bits with the knife. He never remembered the knife being that sharp before, but it didn't really matter to him. He looked up at the star and then at the shadows it cast... and then to the walls that held him prisoner. He pushed the knife into the wall like it was soft butter, no even like it was just air.
TABHe cut away at the wall until there was a hole just large enough to climb through, his hand now scratched and raw from the sharp stones that made the wall. He took a look at it and decided that this wasn't enough. He cut away at the wall again, slowly but surely making a passageway that he could comfortably walk through. He looked at a long time before what was on the other side of the wall before deciding how to proceed.

[mystic1110]

Son of the City, The Many Trials of Lucian & The Adventures of Venner

The Fountain is many things. Fears are complex. It is not merely the fear of obsession - it is the fear of disappointment. It is the fear of what we are, what we have become, and what we might become. It is the fear of looking into the mirror and hating what you see. Not even hating - it is the fear of crushed expectations. Food at the fountain - and then hopes dashed along the stone structures, black inky waters and weeping angels. It is the fear of Hope. The fear of being offered a way out, yet that nagging feeling at the back of your head that the promise was a lie. The Fountain was the fear of drowning - the fear of searching, the search that consumed you all your life, and it was in the end the fear of the end of that search - the realization that the search meant nothing and was nothing.

And thus somewhere in Arlom the fountain stood. But it was not stationary. Just like Arlom could perhaps be any city, the Fountain could be any Fountain or Well. The Black water in the sewers, the ornate structures built outside what could only be considered magnificent hotels, the broken water fountain in the empty schools of Arlom's many districts. Unlike the Librarian - The Fountain and the other fears did not extend outwards from Arlom. Perhaps because the Librarian was not a structure, like the Mayor or the Vast Gate. But other smaller fears were not rooted to the ground and did not go against the hinges of Arlom's doors. Perhaps it was simply desire. What did the Librarian want? What did the Fountain? Who knew except themselves and Arlom?

Regardless the Fountain existed just past a couple corners, the graffiti was almost frantic "Food at the fountain," "Food at the fountain," "Food at the fountain," "Food at the fountain"

As the son of the city called out to Lucian and Venner, his voice echoed up and down the empty streets - becoming louder that it had any right to be. A whispered plea that became a commanding yell. The two wayward travelers stopped in their tracks, a mere corner away from laying eyes on the Fountain - a mere moment of becoming Food at the fountain. They turned around to face their savior, but did they know he was a savior? Did they know what fate he just spared them? Did even he?

[AgentIndy]

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The Son of the City.
Weeks it seemed. Weeks of walking aimlessly through empty streets. An echo of his mother before, condemned. Each new night spent in a different place, a different ghetto, a different neighborhood, a different castle. He walked in the sewers for a while, really just underground channels for drainage purposes. Some were catacombs--What people died here? He did not see any people--others for irrigation. Some sewers made chattering noises, and so he took to walking the streets topside. He noticed some swaying bridges higher up, and for a while he walked on those. The buildings were linked in multiple layers, streets and seweres and causeways. The wind always shook the rope and wood paths, so he stayed away from those. In more impressive parts of the city they were great stone arches dancing in the air, but there were not many of these at all so he again took to walking the streets. Some of the streets were sunken into the ground, like relics in the earth, and entire neighborhoods existed under brackish water. He took to swimming across some, but small things brushed against his feet and made him nervous. He took to walking the streets.
TAB Early morning again. Or at least, what seemed like early morning. Everything a neutral grey all the time, it was becoming more difficult to tell. A perpetual haze drifted among the tops of buildings and he could not even begin to comprehend how high some of them truly stood. Some strange signs blazed and blinked, but he always avoided those. He turned a new corner and voices echoed down the cobblestone road in long, stretched tones.
TAB "H-hello?" He called back. He froze in his boots. How long had it been since he spoke last? His throat felt dry and cracked. His voice was dust. "Hello!" He called out again with more gusto. When had he last seen people? He could no longer recall. Some time, at least. The voices, almost rings of joy, boomed along without him. "Hey! Wait! Don't go!" His feet began to slowly move forward. Soon, they flew down the alley way and onto a larger avenue. He saw a pair of figures in the distance. "Hey! Wait! Stop! Don't go!" He ran faster and faster, his voice threatened to fill the empty spaces. "It isn't safe!"
TAB He wasn't going to become a fear just yet. Not this day. Today is still hopeful. Besides, the fountain is not his destiny, is not his fate. Really, there is only one fate for this child of the city. Its whispers echo years from now, among hushed lips and eager ears. Rats in the sewers, Rats in the sewers.

Arlom--Venner, Lucien and Son

When he heard the warning, Venner's mind clicked into gear. For some reason he could understand every word that was said. A sort of transcendent point of view on this language it seemed to be,, possibly stemming from the calligraphy on the walls, and the void whispering secrets into his ear.

He opened his mouth, and responded in the common language,"Hmm, a warning from a stranger...What is down there, and what does Food at the Fountain mean?"

[ChrisClark13]

Arlom - Another Chance Meeting

Lucian whined at the man. "But what's wrong with the fountain? I'm hungry..." His stomach grumbled seemingly in agreement.