LoC: Answered Prayers. [IC]

[The Succubus]

Las Vegas: Requiem

The desert wind walks the streets
As skyscrapers stand as a silent vigil
To an empty and desolate world below

Life has fled, leaving grim remains
For the beasts and birds that feast
On joy and hope and love

The sand consumes

The footsteps of doom march north
The tramp of ancient leathers the only sound
Echoing through a tomb of glass and steel

The angels came too late to save them
With all of heaven's armoury and succor
Imprisoned behind a maelstrom of earthern grains

There are none to mourn for the meadow's children
For none will dwell within those thrice cursed walls
Those that fled dream of the man in black
And drop by blessed drop, life slips away

[Hank McBadass]

The Empire Strikes Back


President Obama signed the necessary paperwork. It was the first time since the Civil War that martial law had been declared by the president and not a state, but what was there to do? Vegas had been emptied, New York was in chaos under the heel of some bad poetry god, the bedrock of tradition, religion had been upended d, bring riots across the country. This could quickly get out of control. Society works because we know what to expect. No one did anymore. If things started snowballing, the initial violence would be nothing to the misery that would follow as, people stopped working, supplies ran short, and billions would go without. That is when the real violence would begin.


Of course they should have been better prepared. Four years ago he had met her -- the operative codenamed Yellow Rose, the girl from the future. Every president for the past 25 years had. She wasn't much of an asset at first, her memory didn't extend back far enough. By the time she was, time had killed too much detail to be of much use. But the talk of gods! Intelligence had thought she was speaking of aliens, or some kind of enhanced human.


If only they had been able to control her, maybe hypnotize her? But the story goes no matter how they tried to secure her she always managed to escape. When they posted armed guards, they all ended up dead. When they sealed her under 12 inches of steel, when they opened the cell up, it was empty. Typical of those military boys, really. If they had just made the child like them there wouldn't be a problem. Now they needed her, she was the only one that could help. It wasn't even clear the shooting solutions for the Individually Targeted Tactical Nuclear Devices would be developed in time.


He looked over his speech again. He needed to be perfect -- nothing else would do. Lincoln had his civil war, he had this.


Meanwhile, In Texas


"Senator Williams, was your trip a success?"


A flash of annoyance passed over the senators face before relaxing into a smile. "Please, call me Alice. You know how I hate that position, it is just necessary for what comes ahead. And yes, it was. She's asleep now. I'll wake her later and explain."


"That's great, I'm glad to here it! Hopefully it will all come together so nicely."



"Hopefully." The senator's voice became businesslike. "Anyway, left a report on your desk. See if you can find any discrepancy in that summary and the news reports. I want to make sure I've been keeping up."


"Will do ma'am. Anything else?"


"No that's it. I'm going to meet Roosevelt Wright today about some fool project he wants to hurry past the regulators. I guess he figures I run a tight enough ship that I can scrounge up a quorum even with all the **** going on."


"Ok well I'll see you when you get back." Jack left her office.


Alice gathered her stuff. So much to do and so little time. She looked in the mirror and didn't like her hair so she put it up. Honey blond might look more sophisticated but she was a platinum girl at heart. She wouldn't normally care but a little bird had dropped that Roosevelt was newly single. Looking good never hurt.

Alice focused and let out a phrase . Dream of me. All she wanted to do was to see her mother but two decades of planning and scheming were finally coming to fruition. Her reunion could wait a little longer.

Spoiler

Show

AP: 9 (leftover) + (3 rollover) = 13

-5: Raise Hero -- Alice, The Yellow Rose of Texas

= 8 remaining

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yalc-vvtWFE)

[mystic1110]

The word palimpsest refers to a piece of parchment where something is written, then scratched off, then written upon again. It is a story that is erased and rewritten thousands of times, the same way many lives in a city begin and then wink out in the same places over time. Palimpsests – that was what life and story were, blank pieces of paper fluttering in the wind, stray lines of blotted ink sprayed upon them, and then erased. What is life but a palimpsest?

And what remains of the writing and the life that was erased? Was it erased never to return, was the memory of it, itself erased? Yes, as long as no one remembered, but life and story are not mere figments of ink and parchment – they exist in relation to other lives and stories. And thus in these half-forgotten, half remembered eulogies and retellings, a gigantic black fox walked, and weaved. The fox’s skin was black, or a deep blue that reminded one of ink, on its back was a cage that would have crushed any lesser being, it was bronze with gilded bars, and filled with the remains of curdled milk colored cocoons and white butterflies that glowed with ethereal ephemeral light.

The fox walked, no . . . it strode through a world resembling clotted-cream – so full of palimpsests long since discarded but still recalled that she left ripples in the tales in her wake. It is not true that the dead cannot be folded. Square becomes kite becomes swan; history becomes rumor becomes song. Even the act of remembrance creases the truth. And the black fox with the cage on its back plucked and pruned the knots and the folds, and chose the ones that were the most tangled – those stories and lives that were retold so many times, and with so much faith, that they were no mere rumor – no mere history – they were in more ways more alive than the living.

And thus as these tangles stories rose from the clotted-cream world they had lived in of blotted ink and misshapen sentences – from the world of imaginations, but from the world of history and worship and fond memories, they rose as mortal palimpsests – ghosts. And thus the great black fox with its cage on its back, or the cage with its beast of burden beneath, full of white butterflies and their remains, walked on, and the specters began to walk the earth.

There were few – and rare. Only the most tangled story, the ones that people truly believed and cared about, the ones they retold over and over and not as mere history, but with the hopes that they still walked among them would rise from the curdle milk of rumor. Ghost stories brought to life. . . oh, if only that were true, for they were always alive, this was merely the first time that mortals realized that memory and faith had actual power. It was a terrifying realization.

***

Ceno’s mother knelt in front of her in a simple but shudderingly expensive black yukata with ghostly ultramarine jellyfish trails their tendrils at the hem. Her mother knelt in front of her in a knight's gleaming black armor, the metal curving around her body like skin, a silk standard at her feet with a schematic of their childhood house stitched upon it. Her sword lay across her knee, also black, everything black and beautiful and austere and frightening, as frightening and wonderful as Ceno , thought her mother to be.

Or at least remembered; for her mother was dead. But it had been years, and she told stories of her mother to her children, and they told stories of the great woman to their children – their stories told how she was always watching, always protecting, always vigilant, always judging. And what she would do to intruders, and what she would do to disappointment. It was a family story, one that walked the halls and rose when they awoke. Yet now it actually roamed the estate – the black robes and black sword, somewhat translucent, so that you can see another person’s face through the armor, but only if you stood right next to the apparition.

Ceno, one hundred and nine now reached out to the ghost and the ghost reached out to her, and caressed her forehead, then slowly and apologetically unleashed her katana, black, and raised it up high with the other hand. A mother’s mercy, a mother’s disappointment – Ceno remembered the bitter stories she used to tell. . . and then, she became part of the story, and her head rolled away.

Spoiler

Show

AP 10 + Rollover {4} = 14

Legendary Concept: Ghosts. Ghosts are not the souls of those who are dead - they might think they are, and it might cause them great anguish to realize it, but they are merely living stories, those stories that are retold so many times, over and over and over that they become real. Basically Ghost stories, in any culture - BUT also Saints and historical figures people claim and think walk among us - Elvis and Rasputin for example.

AP 9

[THEChanger]

Zurich, Switzerland

It was a Tuesday when the wind blew in.

It was a strange wind, for that mountainous country. It smelled of sweet oranges, bitter herbs, and the sharp scent of a rushing river. It felt like softest silk, a child's cheek, like a midsummer night. It sounded like a sighing maiden, the gentle creak of a redwood, like a world about to wake. This was the wind that blew through the city of Zurich, as the sun rose. One moment, the wind swirled and blustered. The next, in the middle of the city, stood a man.

He was dressed in no grand clothes. A simple burlap robe, patched with a multitude of odd fabrics. In one hand, a rough walking stick, carved from a willow branch. His hair hung down his back, far below the shoulders, a wavy, deep brown, the color of fertile earth. His head was crowned with a circlet of flowers, and the pipe in his mouth billowed with soft puffs of smoke. The man smiled, and began to wander the city. He knew where he was going. He always knew where he was going. Sometimes it took him a little while to get there, but get there he would.

Today, he was visiting Penelope. The Scientist to his Teacher. Sister P had put out the call, and Everything would answer, sure enough.

No, not Everything anymore. Close, very close, but not quite. He was Peacetrip now, definately Peacetrip Flowerdancer. It was an odd feeling, to not be Everything anymore, but Peacetrip rather liked it. Hopefully he would keep liking it.

"Sister P? Penelope? You out there? I got your message." The wind Peacetrip had arrived with carried his voice. It floated and flitted throughout Zurich, and would be sure to find the Scientist, wherever she was.

Peacetrip just hoped she wasn't asleep.

[Elemental]

The Man abandons his plans in England, the British Library be damned, Timbuktu was of greater significance.
In short; Timbuktu, January 29^th

All around the world chaos was springing up, existing chaos exacerbated by previous events. As such, the Man walked the streets of Timbuktu. He had not the time to copy the ancient manuscripts by hand so instead he listened to them. Each one a gentle voice inaudible to those who refused to listen for it. Some of the voices were contorted in screams of anguish, and it was these that he was here for. They were burning, and it pained him that innocent texts should be destroyed because they conflicted with another's agenda.


The Void of Space, 4.8 light years from Earth, give or take a few astronomical units.

In short, Earth was turning to ruin. Numerous gods and entities warred over it and if nothing would be done, human civilisation would be forever destroyed. It was a shame that the gods didn't seek to bring a golden age about, but it was hypocritical for the Lion to think such things as he himself had no such plans. Not even the Man cared that much.
However, preservation was in order. It was a shame that humanity couldn't travel among the stars. The laws of physics prevented them from doing so and altering them could prove... Difficult...

The Lion stretched out with its claws and grabbed at the fabric of space time. Floating aimlessly in the void was rather soporific. He stood on nothing and prepared to walk back to Earth, but alas, one of his claws remained caught without him realising and when he took his first step, the fabric of reality was torn asunder, leaving a gaping hole.
Taken by surprise, the Lion looked around in the vain hopes of finding something to plug the gap before his divine consciousness managed to reassert its control.
Something would have to be made to plug the gap. Perhaps the solution could solve another problem as well.
A new dimension was in order? One with its own laws. That would seal the gap and allow convenient travel among the stars. Plus, it would make a great place to keep all the knowledge that the Man keeps gathering.
Note to self: Find a quicker way of doing that.

As such, the Lion grabbed at the fabric of space time and dove straight into the gap. In four-point-eight years, the skies of Earth would be marked with a blindingly bright light for a few days. Hopefully the gravitational effect wouldn't interfere with any stray comets...
But at least the new dimension was stable. But a bit strange...

Spoiler

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Starting AP: 15
Weave Plane: Hyperspace. 5 AP
Hyperspace exists outside of and alongside normal space time, allowing faster than light travel through utilisation of the planes geometry. In essence, the shortest route between any two points in through hyperspace. By navigating through it, one can cut down a journey of several million years into a matter of moments, depending solely on random chance. As such, hyperspace is not suggested for short trips, as it may in fact take longer due to navigational errors exacerbated by the proximity of the start and end points. However, a good rule of thumb is that travelling through hyperspace cuts a journey down to roughly a week per light year depending on layer.

Hyperspace consists of multiple layers, each with a unique danger:
The "uppermost" layer, or the one most readily accessible from normal space time, consists mostly of an endless void, its only features being stars that appear long dead, incredible ancient lumps of degenerate matter that by all logic cannot exist as the Universe itself isn't old enough. An individual in this layer will age according to their "perception" of time. Unfortunately, it plays tricks with a person's mind, so what feels like years can in fact be mere moments. Anyone tasked with the difficulty of navigating this layer should keep in sight at all times an accurate chronometer and refer to it regularly. It is recommended that their heart be somehow silenced so as to not distract them. Passengers and non-essential crew members would be best placed into suspended animation.
The "lower" layers will be described when either the Lion or someone else manages to travel there.

[The Succubus]

“There are some things humans just know in their bones. One, those small red berries might look mighty tasty on the outside but they’re nothin’ but a world of bellyhurt. Two, a fella stumblin’ around in the dark is certain to meet a sticky end. An’ finally, humans know the stories. From the times of the Greeks, when their gods was out whorin’ and drinkin’ and makin’ merry with us mortal folks. Then there’s the tales from the cold hard north, where big strappin’ fellas wrestled with sea snakes and giants. Even back to the times of old Anansi hisself, humans tell the stories.

“So the tale I’m gonna be sharin’ with you – you’ve heard it before. Feel free to chime in when you know the words. The stars are shinin’ on from a clear sky above a desert, lookin’ down on a man sittin’ beneath a tree. Y’all already know there’s a small campfire beside him, burning bright as summer sunshine. It’s a cozy fire and the man’s lookin’ as comfortable and relaxed as Old Nick after a spell o’ mischief and for much the same reason. Why don’t ya tell me what kind of duds he’s wearin’? He ain’t exactly a city gent, this fella; all decked up in a Sunday suit. Naw, you know he’s lookin’ a little frayed around the edges, like a cowboy lost in time. He seems to be all on his lonesome for now…but we know the tale.

“He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a harmonica. Our scruffy friend also knows the stories; hell, he’s been in more than a few of them hisself. It used to be that the story he’s about to share was once told by a bunch of his kin; full o' blood an' fury an' terror. Mostly they was just to frighten the little 'uns with, no folks truly believed in the devils o' the desert.

“He start’s playin’. It’s a simple enough tune, barely more than notes strung together. If there’s a rhythm, it’s a slow one. ‘cross the campire though, things are pickin’ up a little. A little puff o’ wind carries some dust into the air before settlin’ down again, which is powerful strange when you consider the wind has taken the night off. The song speeds up a little, you feel your feet tappin’ along to it. The wind on the other side o’ him is getting stronger, wiskin’ back an’ forward. The branches on the tree though ain’t movin’ at all. Music fills the air and the man now has some company at his campfire – a small tornado, spinnin’ around in time to the melody. The song begins to slow a little now and the tornado opens a pair of eyes like green cracklin’ thunder. The man doesn’t say a word but continues playin’ his tune. It’s a trick o’ the ears, to be sure, but the notes begin to sound like words on the cusp o’ understanding. His companion seems to be graspin’ it just fine and replies in hisses and whistles.

“The man nods, just once, and his swirlin’ friend sinks beneath the sands. Our scruffy friend settles back down to sleep and the night is calm an’ still once more.

Y’all just know something bad is about to happen, don’t ya.”

*****

The brambles and sharp rocks were slicing her feet to ribbons but still she ran off into the black of the desert, maddened with fear. The soldiers couldn’t stop them and soon the refugee camp had been torn to tatters. Gunfire had passed through empty air until it had struck people fleeing. Some of them had shot back. Soon the camp had been torn about by fear and panic and whatever had come out of the desert.

In the dark, behind the sobbing and terrified woman, the wind was picking up.

Spoiler

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Create Sapient Life - Dust Devils (2 AP)

The dust devils are elemental spirits of air, a story from Sand's past given life for the first time. Essentially a living tornado made of wind and sand, they have emerald green eyes and very sharp teeth and claws, made from fragments of rock. They are mischievous to the point of being cruel and take great delight in recklessness behaviour. Greatly weakened by rain and getting wet, a dust devil must dry out completely before being able to move and fight again.

[Draken]

Zurich, Undefined Day.

"Undefined?"

I don't know. Shut it.

A comitive whispers among themselves, men and women of several nations talking in a common dialect, discussing nothing of great import, mostly wether their attire would be better in blue, white or green, and if robes or suits are more fitting for this formal occasion, two of them favor robes, saying that since the great working befell their country, sleeves have become troublesome.

But for now, they merely wait by the sides of the mummy of scripture that is Mereon, who patiently waits for the goddess who called this meeting to present herself.

Of course, he is not doing only that, it would be a waste of time. And a shard of the Vast Speaker hovers at the atmospheric horizon, planning and designing. But most of all, he looks at a burning library in Mali.

And The Man furiously copying all that burned.

His voice came, without static, out of broken machinery.

"You there, deity."

"What is your name?"

[bryn0528]

What is it that brings a person to worship, to pray? His fountain pen flows liquid black lines. He is not language or words, but it is not as if the other he is magic. It is just a tool to employ means. Is it from fear or love that a man or a woman or a child would beg for their life? Would beg and plead for someone else's life? Are we not all just monsters anyway? Out for ourselves and our own interests. If you help someone, is it not because you just get what you want out of it in return? You might go on to argue that the human condition could never be quite so cruel, that we all possess, somewhere deep down, a sense of true compassion. Then why do I have no pity for them? Perhaps it is because I am so much not a human, at least anymore. Maybe I am just a real monster, the thing which lurks and all fear. Is this why I am praised?

Somewhere beneath the earth
Khet is here based on trite cliche, largely. Also, it just happens to be fairly convenient. The tomb is dark and musty, smells of dry dust which aggravates her sinuses. The room is filled with nearly a dozen wolves, laying around bored. Her voice snaps like a bullwhip. "You could at least clean up after yourselves if you haven't anything better to do. It smells like wet dog in here." She maybe didn't mean to sound so harsh, but her nerves wore thin. All the rioting outside in the city didn't make it exactly easy to get her plans done.
TAB Her what? Oh right, plans. She couldn't tell you what exactly provoked her so, or really what she was doing at all. Or what she was planning. But she did know it had to be here. Here was the place. Maybe she would take the city for herself. The country is afire with civil insurrection anyway. She could take the throne... the... parliament? Hell if she knew anything about this country. She grew up in America and didn't know very much of foreign countries at all. So what if her mother had been born here, in this city? Maybe it is why she came back.
TAB But yes, this city shall be hers. They will come to worship her as a living goddess. She smiled absently, running her fingers through her thick, dark hair.

Cairo, Egypt
They move through the city like shadows. It is surprising how something so large could be so quiet. A mass of writhing muscles and dark fur, of tooth and nail and blood boiling in the night.
TAB By dawn, the city is theirs. She sat on the steps of the capitol. The streets are empty of people, filled only with passing papers. The people of the city sit worried, huddled over television sets and radios, waiting for some help to come. But it does not, the city is now hers. She smiled absently.

[Hank McBadass]

Zurich, Switzerland

The divine meeting place was uncomfortably silent. Not that peaceful absence of noise and activity but that artificial silence, full of anxiety and a desire to get things underway. The Lady was not one for uncomfort.

A din was heard down the hall. As it grew louder and louder the silence became a genuine one -- What was that foolishness? Didn't they realize the somberness of the situation? Apparently not.

When the doors flung open the noise had grown to a roar ... and it only came from about 10 people. But the guards who had moved to keep decorum seemed to have a change of heart and joined in.

"Oh Hans, you silly GOOSE!" A lady in a green cocktail dress and and hair the color of dying embers lead them. "Now come on, pour us some more champagne."

Surrounding the lady were 9 of what must have been the most attractive men in the city. Hans was a particularly muscly specimen, as Swiss as they come with bright blonde hair and startling blue eyes. The lady tapped a table and crystal glasses appeared on the table.

"Oh no, not for everyone, just for us, hon." She gave Hans a pat on his hard, firm butt. "If those nerds squared want some they can get it themselves."

The party carried on as the security forces gathered around, taking glasses themselves.

"Kwame, just take one, don't worry, she's not going to stalk you all they way here." She said to another of her entourage. He wasn't quite the opposite of Hans -- he was well muscled and fairly tall -- but was more sleek than massive and a Ghanaian native, plus was playing it much more cool than Hans.

They ended up sitting down at the table and decided to play strip poker. They all knew that the Lady was going to win but none of them really cared. She gave them a few hands out of sport.

Thus the Lady waited for the meeting to commence.



Tampico, Mexico

"Juan better hold up his end of the bargain, or I'll kill him, you, and every other one of you slimy bastards. I'm tired of doing your dirty work for pennies and scraps. "

"Don't you see why he might be a little worried about moving you up the chain, amigo? Now Carlos, we've knocked out the Gulf Cartel stronghold but those bastards that tortured and killed our man are still alive. The job's not done until they are less so."

"**** them. And **** you. First you send me into take care of the Sinolas, then the Gulf Cartel, and now this so called witch? I'm just sayin' -- where's my money? Do you see me with any fancy cars or wearing gold chains? That bastard Juan does though. And so do you."

"Be patient, brother. Why do you think we called you all the way down from Nuevo Laredo? Juan wants you to run Tampico and Medero. That's the only thing that makes sense."

"Or cause I'm the best and he's hoping one day I'll take a bullet so you fat cats can keep all the spoils. Whatever. Am I supposed to take these bums?"

"Yeah, these are your guys."

"Oh. Great. Whatever, lets sack up men -- we've going in and killing this so called witch."

"Wait! I have to get out of here first. I don't want to be around when the Federales come."

"No, I don't suspect you do. Us hard men would have a field day with your pampered ass in jail."

Carlos walked up to the door. The Spanish colonial revival mansion was eerily quiet. The bosses thought that this witch -- what an interesting name for a hitman -- was inside but Carlos wasn't sure. It was a stout door, the wood was a solid 3 inches thick.

Carlos decided to set a charge rather than try to sneak in a window like a common criminal. The police wouldn't come, they'd seen to that. The boss was just being a pansy.

The explosion went off and Carlos entered the house. Time to kill a witch.

[Elemental]

Timbuktu

The Man's memorising of several hundred thousand medieval manuscripts was interrupted by a voice from a damaged radio. He turned to face it, the majority of his intellect still focussed on his task.
"My name is none of your concern. I'd ask your name, but I have a feeling I already know what you are.
"I assume there is some matter of importance you bring to my attention, otherwise, you would not seek to interrupt me."

[Draken]

Timbuktu

"No importance whatsoever. Merely curiosity."

"But why not entertain me, good kinsman? They call me Language and words are my awareness and purview. I could point you to where every one of these texts lingers on, such that all that is lost in these flames has no value other than sentimental or for its origins and craftsmanship. Such things that your copyism will not retain. An ethereal value, indeed."

"But that is minor, kinsman. You could halt this flame, you could take these texts and let the flame feast on chalk and mortar. Why not do so? Why waste good reading time in such a dreadful situation?"

----

Zurich

Mereon's... Priesthood... Whisper among themselves at the arrival of the newest posse. They have no kind words to speak about them, with gaudy being the kindest terminology to employ.

Why the ladies among them entertain the prospects of Speaking a few unkind Words at Miss Fortune's prized Sirs. They would surely...

"No. And cut the puns."

The priests fall silent. The narrator vows to make more puns.

[Elemental]

Timbuktu

"It is a shame that your curiosity may remain unfulfilled."
He thought for a moment.
"True. Each text lives on. But you are the self-proclaimed Lord of Language. I am not. Alas, I am forced to find another way to gather the written word. And indeed, all information."
At Mereon's last comment, he fixed his eyes at the broken radio, somehow managing to lock eyes with him across the distance of space, almost as though it meant nothing to him. Perhaps the Lion's creation of Hyperspace had unforeseen effects?
"The works may yet survive, and I will not deny the inhabitants of this city the chance to save their heritage. The presence of a God in the midst of a war brought about by religious militants may cause more harm than good. Should they desire to regain what is lost, they need merely seek me out."


Hyperspace

The highest layer was relatively benign. To the Lion at least. A mortal would likely wither and die in mere moments, longer if they were lucky. It was probably not the wisest decision to leave the majority of the plane's formation up to the laws of chance of what amounted to a newly formed reality. Still, it was easy enough to navigate once he worked out how.
Gently, or at least he thought it was gently, he prodded at the intraplanar boundaries to access deeper regions of Hyperspace. They proved unyielding, so he pushed harder and harder, until at last, it gave way. In quick successions, the Lion was assaulted by blinding light, inky darkness, twisting threads of brilliant colours, visions of fire and chaos and what sounded like screams of anguish, until at last, he came to an abrupt stop.
And where he came to, there was nothing. Well... Not much... Simply, an expanse of dark wispy clouds that moved in mesmerising patterns. Inexplicably, he found himself drawn forward, and he walked toward a point in the distance.
Here was a place of utter calm. Not even the humble clouds dared approach this spot. It was empty and in its emptiness, it seemed perfect.
Captured in a contemplative trance, the Lion stared into the void that was not a void.

[bryn0528]

Ciudad Madero
Night. Run down storefronts advertising cervezas. Witch. As good a place as any.
TAB Of course Santeria knows about the others and she knows about the wolf. The one who made her a goddess among men. The one who made her subjects unquestionably loyal, who gave them his own image to enact her will. But she finds the display in Egypt undesirable. Already her vanity has cost her life, still living but in constant fear the lobo negro will come for her.
TAB Could a goddess die? She doubted the implications, save from the one who gave her the gift of divinity. For there was no question... she is not a human anymore, something greater and bigger. Vast and infinite, she felt the alien thoughts throughout her mind. Yet still, she sat here huddled in an abandoned mercado.
TAB The sun had barely risen by the time they tore the tiled floors apart to the earth beneath. They dug and dug, deeper into dirt and into the hard rock below. She knew it was here, and she wanted it. Yes, he had told her that much at least.

[Yeshon]

Everything was collapsing. New York City went dark, Vegas had been ripped apart, and the President had declared martial law. The world could have survived two of these tragedies. But, with NYC went the NYSE and the CME group. Without any communication into or out of the city all the records of the exchanges vanished and far too many economies depended on that information. Disaster was not looming it had already struck. The NASDAQ, being an over the counter exchange, still functioned (somewhat), but even it kept most of its information inside the Big Apple. As such, no one really knew who owned (or owed) what to whom. It had become a mass of data, ownership of fundamentally intangible assets driven by speculation and demand for ownership. Neither of those factors were measurable any longer and the world was on the brink of anarchy.

The majority of the American commodity exchanges (being based in Chicago) still functioned but the prices of everything shot up. Far too many people thought it was the end of the world and too many of these commodity owners were willing to charge exorbitant rates for the material wealth they had stored for so long. Not all men were so greedy. But when the price of oil jumped over $600 a barrel, the actions of the few good men no longer mattered. If left unchecked the leaders of the world would see a chance to grab power, with the excuse of protecting their people. They were only human after all, besides what option did they have? Luckily, a guardian deigned to present an alternative.

One day, all the computers of the Chicago Mercantile Exchange received an email many terabytes large. It began thusly,

“See attached the records of the NYSE, CME, and NASDAQ from 1900 to the present. Also took the liberty of including the price fluctuations that occurred during the black out and any contracts that were supposed to take effect during this period of unrest.”

It was a miracle.

Days Prior
Alexi Koslov was dying. He had served the Communist government in the Ukraine as the Secretary of Agriculture. As a secretary he had done his best to make sure his farmers were treated fairly. Did whatever he could to satisfy the idiotic administrators who imposed unrealistic quotas on farms and expected them to be able to grow the same crop on the same ground in the same quantity year after year. Together, with his farmers, he had developed one of the most efficient agricultural systems in the world. Until they became more than a farming cooperative, they became family. When the USSR dissolved he kept the ‘family’ together. They formed a massive farming corporation that made all of them wealthy beyond their wildest dreams.
Alexi worried for them now, now that he was at the end of his life. Alexi saw his reflection in a mirror resting on the ceiling and was surprised how much his vigorous body had deteriorated. His farmers had come to visit him every day, now he wondered if it would be better that they not see him. Here he was far removed from the appearance of gods, he might not have cared even had he known. There was only one question on his mind: Who would keep his family together now? He had been grooming his son Pietro to take his place, but the boy had disappeared over a month ago. Alexi blinked away tears as he struggled to keep his heart pumping blood, what would happen to them?
Suddenly he saw something in the corner of his eye. And Alexi knew that someone else was in the room. He was a tall man, favoring his mother’s Germanic features more than his father’s Ukrainian. Alexi smiled. “Pietro.” He whispered and his heart stopped pumping. Alexi, who stood against the most powerful men in the USSR, stopped struggling. Finally he knew his family would be okay.

Petros kneeled next to the man and took his hand as he expired, “No father.” He kissed the kind old man on the forehead, “A second son, but a son all the same.”

The claim of a stranger to be the son of the late great Alexi Koslov was met with reasonable skepticism. All it took was a DNA test to prove he was the genuine article (admittedly faked since Petros doesn’t have DNA). And being that Alexi had not been in any state to change his Will prior to his death, in which he left the vast majority of his assets to his now missing son, all of those unaccounted for assets fell into the hands of Petros and he used them well.

Already he had set the wheels in motion; the next harvest would see unprecedented profit for his farmers and then, expansion. Petros was not without his critics. He was making many risky investments in a time when they were unlikely to pay off. He certainly was buying stock for 10% of its market value, but without the brokers, records, and analysts of the NYSE, what good were they? Still, he laughed such critics off as if he knew something they didn’t and when the information came to the Chicago Mercantile Exchange, Petros was the richest man in the world. To the world, he was a young man who had made an incredibly risky gamble and had it pay off. But he was much more than that.

Unknown to any but perhaps some of his kinsmen, he was no man, but a god. Petros saw a world destabilized by his own kind. If his kinsmen were left unchecked then humanity would either be enslaved by the gods or become dependent upon them. Petros found neither of these choices acceptable so he conceived a third option, where humans and gods coexisted peacefully, with neither seeking to dominate the other, a symbiosis, that while difficult, was achievable. With that, he came up with the first of many ideas.

Spoiler

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Intro

The Sears Tower, under new management.
Petros lowered his cigar as he surveyed the city; he had chosen this place for his headquarters. Chicago would be the only old financial center under his direct protection.

Hard to believe it had only been a few days since his birth.

“The question is, how do we keep these, ‘gods’ as they call themselves from destroying us?”

“Do you really think it would come to that?”

Behind him a black box chattered with conversation, corporate officers and select government officials from around the world discussed something that concerned every single one of them, the advent of gods. They were unaware of the true nature of the man who had called the meeting; no mortal knew his true nature. In fact, every member of the conference was confused as to why they had chosen this meeting.

Petros grimaced, in his first second of life he had gone over every scrap of information since the gods had reappeared. As near as he could tell there were least three but most likely four who were downright malevolent, though he could only name one. And a few who were relatively benign; Zurich would be a good place to pick out the good from the bad, or the good from the indifferent.

“Does he think it would come to that?? Look at New York! I just thank God my family and I were on vacation when the crazy hit.”

There was a long silence, when someone with a Japanese accent chimed in.
“What about this Cabal? Perhaps we could strike a deal with him.”

”If you want to survive you should weary of all of these gods. I only agreed to hold this meeting over conference call because I think Mereon will be gracious enough to keep his own counsel on what transpires here.”

Petros could smell the fear in some of the delegates as Mereon’s name was mentioned. Only a few days, that was all it really took for mortals to begin trembling. It was different even a month ago, when they believed in a kind paternalistic deity, none-at-all, or many gods who would war for their safety. Now? Now gods were an ugly and intimate truth. Man had discovered, the hard way, that gods are petty, cruel, and selfish. Even the good gods allowed the people to suffer. Petros looked at his cane, even he allowed people to suffer. It was almost tragic really, Petros was reminded of an old belief; that all gods were real and in the end the good gods and the evil gods would battle for the souls of all men. Many had considered it heresy to think that the good gods would lose. But now that the gods existed, now that they were right in mortals’ faces, man was faced with the harsh reality that sometimes, Evil wins.

Petros growled.

“Apologies did you say something?”

”No, but I do have a speech prepared if you would allow me to present it….

“Ladies and gentlemen we are at a crossroads. We are no longer in a world where faith can neither be denied nor proven. There are gods, they are many, and they are powerful. I suspect New York City and Las Vegas will not be the last cities to fall before the gods have gotten tired of changing the world order and we settle into something resembling normalcy. By their own admission they are young and many will not act in the best interests of our people. Yet we still have people that depend on us. They depend on their wages, they depend on our legislation, our kindness, our morality. They depend on us to stay strong even in the face of deific opposition. Therefore I propose a council, a world-spanning organization, dedicated to the good of humanity, despite the gods. I’m certain we will find some we may cooperate with, but there are at least three we must oppose. Myth is coming alive gentlemen and humanity needs leaders who can guide them through the rough times ahead. We must work together, so that when the gods war, our people will make it through.”

Petros never liked to hear himself speak for so long, but he was pleased at how many accepted the invitation whole heartedly. He knew some of these CEOs and leaders may have had contact with the other gods, but that was fine. As far as he was concerned they could come to the council themselves, maybe see the creatures they wanted to exploit.

Almost as a formality they establish Petros as chairman. The first course of business was to select a name. The choice was ironic given the infamous reputation of the phantom organization. But the laughing southern oil tycoon, who suggested it, pointed out how it was supposedly formed to oppose the power of the Church and Petros agreed, the name was appropriate.

So, after hours of discussing the outline of his plans, the first meeting of the Illuminati council adjourned with 11 members selected to sit alongside Petros as the high council. They had also decided upon the dues payable by each member according to his annual net income. This was substantial, considering its 300 members were among the wealthiest individuals in the world. Petros would contribute over 50% of his personal annual net income, a function of his office and a disincentive for those not totally invested to seek the position. The other members of the high council contributed 25% and a regular council member would contribute 10%. Petros would of course know if they held back. Being god of wealth meant he knew how much they would make in a year.

The next order of business would be to establish the basic functions of the Illuminati, but Petros already had some good ideas. The sun set over Chicago just as the old world order crumbled. Petros did not bother to deny it, he was afraid for humanity. Despite his actions, he doubted it would survive the coming storm.

He would still try.

But before then, it looked like Zurich was the place to be.

Spoiler

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Starting AP: 15
Bless (Economy) -1AP The Fiscal Crisis is still ongoing but because of a marginal return to normalcy it's beginning to look like a recovery
Note: I have no idea how you would really recover from the loss of NYC, so I did the best I could think of.

Form Order (Illuminati) -2AP As described above, an organization of humans dedicated to the benefit of humanity. Any player controlled business owner or political official, except for Bryn's character, is welcome to be on the High Council. Only excluding Bryn's god because he did enough of a background check to tell if they were deities or not.

Ending AP: 12

[mystic1110]

The lights coming from people’s apartment windows have replaced the stars for us. Man owns his own destiny now. Look up – do you see the stars in the sky – all the stars? Or just the brightest, the rebels that refuse to fade into the pollution? The Eight of Cups smiles into the night sky as the sea breeze makes his red locks curls and wisp away into the wind as so many zephyrs. Here in the middle of the sea – as the desert, the light of the stars, all the stars, are clearly visible – perhaps they are merely escaped butterflies from the cage astride his goddess; perhaps they are that, now. . .

The Eight of Cups, the card that represents the search for deeper meaning, of growing weary and moving on. The card that relays that some changes can be wearying; that endings are not always easy; the card that reexamines your life and your priorities; the card of good friends outgrowing each other to pursue their dreams . . . but dreams are memories, and the Eight of Cups is the captain of memories, out here in the ocean – a roving Kingdom of ghosts; a sad kingdom – and a vengeful one. The stories say.

***

The Mary Celeste was merely one ship among many; they floated on the green blue waves with rotted wood and tattered sales. Other ships, like the USS Scorpion, were rusted hulks that should have sunk by their own weight, but parted the sea with their hulls. The Saragossa sea, the strange and a unique creation of the nature was bounded by ocean currents on all sides. To its west is the Gulf Stream Current, on its east is the Canary Current, northern side is bounded by North Atlantic Current, and the south by North Atlantic Equatorial Current. These were the boarders of the fledgling Kingdom. Each ship was filled with memories – Ghosts, specters, wraiths – the objects of stories passed through into rumor, and each story had a captain and those captains had a captain – they would call him the Lord of Eight Cups.

The ghosts had their own stories – they said that the Lord of Eight Cups owned eight cups, from which he received his name. Each cup held a fragment of the world’s soul; the ocean in the first, the sky in the second, the earth in the third, heart in the fourth, memory in the fifth, dream in the sixth, history in the seventh, and the eighth kept the world’s secrets. Other’s claimed that the Lord of the Eight Cups was merely another ghost – only as they were memories of those who long since passed but remembered – he was the memories of those who were forgotten. He did not have a ship, merely a little wooden row boat in which he navigated the sea – forever alone – searching. Rarely did he call for the captains to assemble, but often enough that they knew who ruled the triangle.

***

When the first mate was a child, his mother told him an old Tibetan story about an industrious but foolish troop of monkeys that lived in a forest near a well. One dusty night, a monkey elder woke thirsty. He crept away from his sleeping mate and went to the well for a drink. Inside, he saw a reflection of the moon. "The moon has fallen into our well!" he hollered.

His ruckus woke the other monkeys. They all agreed that it would be a terrible thing to live in a moonless world. They joined hands and formed a chain to climb into the well and rescue the moon. As the monkeys dove in, the moon's reflection broke, leaving blank dark waters.

The shamed monkeys climbed out again: shivering, wet, and empty-handed. The real moon chuckled above them, safe in the sky.

And so the moon laughed – but it was only a story – but the first mate wondered as he looked up into the night sky and the face of the full moon as the rotting ships with hollering pale figures approached – stories have power.

In Tibet they tell stories Tulpa. Tulpa are created through mental effort, purely from the thoughts of their creators. A very skilled Buddhist practitioner or sorcerer may have this ability, and in some cases a Tulpa may be created from the collective thoughts of the villagers. Such a ghost is not self-aware at first, but may gradually acquire awareness and go on to become a normal human being. But what if . . . these were the Tulpa of humanity – thoughtformed and free to roam – and what thought doesn’t devour its creator?

The moon laughed from the sky.

***

The Lord of Eight Cups, the Eight of Cups, sat in his row boat, red hair flowing in the wind, noticing the moss grow, covering his little vessel bit by bit, his green wild eyes seeing the stars glow above – Humanity was indeed master of its own destiny, but man was not.

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AP 9 + 4 Rollover = 13

Create Organization {2}: The Kingdom of the Lord of Eight Cups in the Bermuda Triangle

AP 11

[The Succubus]

Dreams of Distant Worlds

He walked through the empty streets, the barest handful of people remaining from the hundreds and thousands before. The road beneath his feet was covered with the lightest sprinkling of sand. As the months and years progressed, the sand would eat away at this city until it became naught but dust in the wind.

He found the idea comforting.

But there was still so much more to do - so many other cities, so many other countries. He had caught the humans by surprise with his assault on Vegas but they were remarkably resilient creatures and they would fight back. It would be exhausting, even for a god such as he. He needed somewhere completely untouched by humans where he could rest and regenerate, somewhere he could be truly alone....

Whether fate or happenstance heard his plea will never be known but a gust of wind carried a magazine from a looted store nearby and opened its pages to him. It was an astronomy magazine. A lot of the words spoken within its pages didn't make much sense to him - he had a reasonable grasp on the world but he was not omniscient. It spoke of siblings of the Great Mother that dwelt in the heavens alongside her. There was the Eye of Fire, whose gaze gave warmth to his beloved deserts. The Eye of Water, who danced in the heavens at night and gave her ghost light to the night sky. The Giant, with a cyclopean red eye and his slightly smaller bride, bound to a great ring around her and...

He stopped and stared.

A desert world. Completely devoid of life. A world of red dust, of canyons and great peaks. If this world was the Great Mother, then he had found the Great Father, whom the humans referred to as Mars.

In a frenzy, he tore through the streets of Las Vegas, trying to find some depository of knowledge that he might learn more about Mars. After some searching, he found a bookshop that was relatively unscathed and spent several days looking through the shelves for information. The books offered up their secrets to him and although he had to give a small amount of grudging admiration for humans exploring other worlds, they often spoke as though they had a right to the universe and its splendours.

Sand vowed that what they had done to the Great Mother, he would *never* allow them to do to Mars.

He exhausted the scientific section and instead found himself looking through science fiction. A small tome caught his eye by an author called Ray Bradbury. It spoke of a theoretical life on Mars and featured some rather delightful illustrations. He flipped through the pages and in the centre of the book was a picture that captured his imagination. He pocketed the book and quickly left the city and wandered out to the desert. With reverence, he placed the tome on the ground and opened it up at the image he had seen.

A roaring wind slowly came to life and in the empty air above him, faint lines of light slowly appeared. From time to time, Sand would turn his gaze between book and image, making sure that the majority of the image was the same, although with a few of his own small flourishes here and there. The lines of light grew and widened, becoming solid surfaces of wood, metal and bone. The wind intensified as Sand sought to bring fiction into being through divine might and will.

Eventually the wind settled and an object in the sky cast a great shadow over him. It was about 100 metres long and about half as thick. It hovered, suspended in the air by a large balloon and at its stern was a rather curious engine, that had had more emphasis on aesthetics than scientific understanding. Oddly enough, it did little to impede its almost frightening effectiveness.

Sand strode aboard his creation and almost immediately, the vessel came to life. A quiet whisper like a desert wind cam from the engine and the vessel rode higher and higher into the sky, physics having almost no say at all in its operation. Eventually the desert was lost beneath cloud and before long the clouds got smaller and smaller as the sky shaded from blue into inky darkness.

He cast his gaze, marveling at the beauty of the heavens above and the Great Mother below. He spotted a red glint in the distance, which he knew to be Great Father Mars. With a flourish, he flung out his arm and pointed towards it. The great ship turned and from the prow burst something akin to a great golden kite. Sand had never sailed and didn't know of the term "spinnaker" but it would have been an ideal description. The golden sail caught the gaze of the Eye of Fire and the vessel sailed into the inky blackness of the Void.

*****

Some months later

"Sir, I think you need to come take a look at this."

The mission lead walked over to the operator's desk and looked at the image on the screen.

"This has got to be a prank of some sort. Please tell me I'm not looking at a footprint."

The operator shrugged. "That's exactly what-"

"What the hell?!"

The image on the screen turned to the left slightly and there, in the distance, was the unmistakable silhouette of a man, some way in the distance. The figure turned and drew something. Curiousity's microphones picked up two deafening bangs before the the screen went black.

*****

He sifted through the wreckage of the probe with his boot. The man gestured to his companion and a small tornado spun fiercely around the probe's remains and ground them to powder. His friend had stowed away on the ship during its construction. At first he had been mildly annoyed but sensibly concluded that the Great Father would need protectors. There were only a few of the sentient tornadoes on the surface of this new world but more would always be welcome.

Sand gazed up through the skies of Mars, Earth a little blue glint in the far distance. One day, the Great Mother would be as beautiful as her mate and now that he had a sanctuary, he could begin his mission in earnest. His thoughts turned to his time in the bookshop and remembered a fragment from one of the astronomy books he had read:

"The sands of Mars are blood red in colour. This is extremely fitting, given that the planet derives its name from an ancient Roman God of War..."

He was unable to suppress the chuckle that came to his lips and the empty sands of Mars echoed with his laughter.

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Relevant media:

Sand ship image - Pretty much the one Sand has used, with a large black balloon above it, bound in brass.

Some mood music

AP Expenditure

Create Relic (4 AP) - Sand's Skyship (Name pending). This beautiful vessel was wrenched into being by Sand after reading Ray Bradbury's Martian Chronicle's books. The ship can traverse land, sea, air and space. (Hyperspace - we'll see. Odds are it'll need a bump of some sort). It looks kind of like a steampunk airship and moves very silently. It also undetectable on radar systems and the like but not invisible to human eyes. Slightly more difficult to spot at night. The ship has no weapons and reacts adversely to humans that set foot on its decks. Often has Dust Devils on board but only Sand himself is able to pilot it.

Create Sanctum (3 AP) - Mars - exactly the same as it is in real life, aside from the odd Dust Devil. Sand has claimed this world for himself and will defend it from human encroachment by all means at his disposal.

[mystic1110]

People weren’t people anymore. At least some people weren’t. Insects roved the streets – some, those that used to be half Chinese – walked around with a mantis arm, or a mandible – some with even remote Chinese genes had one bug eye, or antenna. It was weird. You think people were racist before? Try speciest! It was people verse buggers, buggers verse people, people verse halfers, halfers verse buggers. Gangs were reformulated quickly, the KKK was now a respected institution, and the porn industry was in a golden age – Seven of Swords smiled.

Weirdness breeds fetish. Yellow fever? Try straight up alien sex. Really wanted to get weird? Try feelers up your ass.

Amsterdam was perfect. At least now it was perfect. When Seven of Swords first arrived – he thought what everyone else thought – that Amsterdam is the modern Sodom and Gomorrah. You can do everything in Amsterdam. You can do drugs till you drop, explore the wildest boundaries of sexual debauchery, and have your fries with mayonnaise. Not true – it was just a regular city, no more adventurous or depraved than Brussels.

He changed that. That’s what Fairies do.

Now as the scent of sweat and whatever insects excrete filled the streets, Amsterdam really was the modern Sodom and Gomorrah. The citizens from dawn to dusk engaged in every pleasure of the flesh imaginable – imaginable to Humans and Mantise. Half breeds roamed the streets, insect skin and razor fingers, blood and everything else. It was gorgeous.

Ghosts started to appear – born from the rumors of the populace of Amsterdam – they were the old kings of Sodom and Elam – Chedorlaomer; Bera and Bishra. The Ghost of Marquise de Sade. Anne Frank sitting in her window watching the nightly parade. The Trip brothers and the Beuatiful Helena. They're the lost souls of those burned as witches or hung in the Dam Square. The shades of those executed at the Nieuwmarkt. The Netherlands had been subject to the worst forms of torture and horror known in history - and these new ghosts really knew their trade. Seven of Swords threw them into the mix as well – what orgy was complete without a ghost passing through the bodies, or a wraith taking them all.

He smiled as he relaxing into his black leather chair in some dungeon in the Red light district, now known as the capital of the city state. No one knew just how much he controlled the city, although some had a clue – they just called him Mr. S. O. S.

But there was no one to help, and the moss was growing.

[Elemental]

Hyperspace

Eventually, the Lion's trance was broken. He had stared long into the Spark of Nothingness as he came to call it. It felt like aeons, in fact, it could very well have been aeons, he did not know. But at last, he knew what he must do. In a way, the Spark had reached out and touched his mind, flooding it with trillions of new possibilities, so many that even his divine intellect grasped not one tenth of the total.
In the simplest terms, the Spark was energy itself. It was all things and a gateway to all places. Yet it remained nothing. The Lion wasn't even sure if it was there, the sensation from the Spark seemed so vivid, yet he knew it could not be. He doubted his own sanity and almost with certainty believed he was hallucinating. But the Spark had to exist, he could feel it in his soul, at least he would if he had one.
It was this realisation that broke the Lion's trance. He was a soulless creature and that meant he was nothing. Did he exist? He wasn't sure any more...
The Lion's eyes began to glaze over as he began to look into the Spark one more.
A voice jolted the Lion from his contemplation. Was it he who spoke? He must have... He looked away and once more felt himself. Subconsciously, he desired to look once more at the Spark, but he averted his eyes and closed them. The Spark was not for him and he turned to leave before he heard the voice again. It comforted him and he smiled as he wove his power to its silent instructions. Perhaps it was his soul that spoke? That was a comforting thought, and with that, he left the accursed place.


The Archive

The Lion left without even stepping foot inside or looking upon what he had created. But the Archive did not care. How could? It wasn't alive. It had no sensation or thought or emotion. It just existed.
And as its existence began, information began to flow in from across the Universe, knowledge no one may ever read. And as it did so, the lights began to turn on, shifting patterns of runes and letters moved across glass panes in the walls. It merely awaited now for someone to find it.

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Starting AP: 10 + 4 (rollover)
Forge Monument: The Eternity Archive - 7 AP
Centred around the Spark of Nothingness, the Archive consists of three interconnected ring-like structures all forged of black metal and stone. In size, the Archive easily approaches that of Germany, the rings being several kilometres thick. At the centre of the rings is the Spark of Nothingness which ensnares the minds of all who look upon it.
The exterior surface of rings are interrupted by numerous towers, spires and domes jutting above and below them. None of these features is large enough to significantly impact the overall shape of the Archive, but due to the overall size, they are more than substantial. In addition, the Archive has numerous windows of purple and green glass.
The interior consists primarily of long columned halls, the vaulted ceilings of which are lost in the darkness. In addition, there are many stairs, some leading nowhere, and numerous large chambers which cathedrals could sit comfortably inside. There is no source of illumination save for dimly glowing crystals suspended from long chains and glass panels along many of the walls covered by moving symbols in all languages. But these only heighten the gloom.
The purpose of the Eternity Archive is simple. By tapping into the unique properties of Hyperspace, the Archive is in touch with all points in space simultaneously. As such, it is able to gather all the knowledge in the entirety of the Universe and store it within the conduits of its structure. The sheer quantity of data available make searching through it nigh impossible, but given enough time and luck, one may use it to unlock any secret and defeat the unknown.
To use the Archive, find a data access terminal, there are several within. Unfortunately, they are not particularly user friendly, the only way to read the user's manual requires knowing how to ask the Archive for the user's manual, do not provide illustrations, staring at their holographic displays for too long causes severe headaches and eye strain and last but not least, the Lion will not give you a hand, he only has paws. Fortunately, maps, graphs and tables are available on request, otherwise, the entirety of the Archive is rendered textually.
Note: The Archive cannot look into the future and its range is limited to Hyperspace and ordinary space. Furthermore, it will not extrapolate the future for you or provide the probability of success for hypothetical actions as they have not happened.

[THEChanger]

Zurich, Switzerland

The door to the meeting room swung open, and a rather plain looking man walked in. He had been wandering around the city since dawn, and was rather miffed about how long it had taken to get here. Sister P had rather rudely not been there to greet him. She was somewhere else, the wind whispered to him that she was hiding. But there were two others, so Peacetrip felt he should be there.

"Lady L, Brother M. Good to see you. I'm afraid Sister P isn't coming. I don't know where she's got off to, but the wind tells me she's often like this. Gets distracted by some project or another." Peacetrip leaned his walking staff against a wall, and smiled at his siblings. It was good to be in the presence of his compatriots at last. "So then. We're here cause Sister P wanted to start a group of sorts. All us godlings getting together, laying down some ground rules and whatnot. If it's for the good of the people, I like the idea, yeah? So let's get the brains flowing. I know you've already been pretty involved with the people over in China, Brother M. Could feel it. Hear it on the news, when I pay attention to the news. What's up with that?"

[Draken]

Zurich

Mereon took a word up to his chin, 'rub', to be precise.

"A few governments reached out to me. Asking for all sorts of things. Advice, allegiance, subservience in one case."

One dead idiot in some forgotten corner of a microbial nation with boiling ink clotting in his veins.

"The orientals were much more reasonable, seeing me for what we are, powerful spirits to be appeased and perhaps bribed for boons. Primeval religion at its finest. They asked for strength, speed, for compliance. They offered to feed my vanity. It was a very good deal, I would say."

Mereon can't avoid but let the word "amusing" slip through and appear as part of his limbs. He is more fickle than any being of law should be.

[Yeshon]

Sears Tower

It was hard to believe such a short time ago they had decided to found the Illuminati Council. Petros looked into the Black box atop his conference room table, it seemed this was all he did anymore. He mentally checked off the names of the High Council members, he was the only one who knew them all and he preferred to keep it that way. The meeting had already been in full swing for about an hour, most of it centered around this 'kingdom' in the Bermuda Triangle and the alterations to the Chinese. He was a little concerned about the alterations, two of the High Council members were Chinese and at least one other had Chinese ancestry. He had decided to allow the Mantis men into the Illuminati despite their alterations, still, he would keep an eye on them.

"We lost Amsterdam."

"Could be worse."

"Loosing cities left and right isn't rock bottom?"

"Well- I mean it could've been somewhere important."

"Tell that to the people who lived there!"

Petros shook his head, "We're getting off topic. Can Tokyo give us an idea of what it's like on the ground over there?"

"Only bits and pieces, we can see that the city is in utter chaos, they are *ahem* vigorous in their new pass times."

"What does that mean?"

"I believe Rome under Caligula's reign is an apt comparison."

"Wait, yah saying it's turned into an orgy?"

"Among other things."

"And the humans are just going along with this?"

"I have seen plenty of destruction in the city, so perhaps there is armed resistance?"

"Or just the city going to hell."

"... this is news." Petros was aware that the gods could manipulate the human will. NYC had been driven insane over a poem after all. However, what he was hearing, was just blatant control and if the gods could do that! Well the implications were not pleasant.

"... So what're we gonna do about it?"

"What can we do? We are not an army."

There was a long and uncomfortable silence. Then, Petros sighed.

"You're right, we aren't an army, not yet. What we need are the tools to fight the gods, but more importantly their servants."

"Servants? Are you talking about the Speakers?"

"They're a relatively benign group compared to others I have had contact with." He lied, he hadn't ever met one of the Fae or the Dust Devils, but he knew of their existence, he had seen them and further he could feel their effect on the world.

"I'll speak plainly, we have no chance unless we become stronger."

"Umm, that doesn't tell us much."

"At the moment there's not much to tell."

"You don't sound confident."

"I'm not."

Petros looked at his watch and rather than explain himself, he said, "Apologies gentlemen but I will have to cut this meeting short, I have an important engagement I must attend."

"More important than this??"

"I hope so."

Zurich, Switzerland

A tall man in his mid to late 30s wielding a long black cane enters the meeting room. He had only just arrived, godly travel was strange like that. He surveyed those present, unlike with mortals, he didn't get a read on them right away.

Petros nodded to his fellow deities, "Kinsmen, I am Petros. A pleasure to meet you."

Waiting a suitable time for pleasantries to conclude he looked at Mereon.

"Compliance? Do you mean that you made the Chinese more obedient? Or was their compliance your price for helping them?"

Petros' face and voice were implacable, betraying neither outrage nor approval. It seemed as if he was asking merely for the pleasure of knowing.

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Forgot to do this

Starting AP 12

Create Relic: Cane of Wealth -4AP: The cane that supports the god of commerce absorbs some of his power. Drawing upon that stored power Petros is able to reduce the strain it takes to bless his followers and protect from his kinsmens' curses. Reduce the costs of blessings by 1.

Ending AP: 8

[Mynxae]

New York

Elizabeth hovered over New York, looking upon the order she had now created. There wasn't any more riots, nor rival gangs having wars of poetry against one another. She had put a stop to that. She decided to make an address to her people.

"My subjects, we must make a stand! For freedom!" she roared as the crowd roared with her. "We shall go north, taking cities along to the way until we reach the mighty expanse that is known as Canada, and it shall be ours, as is our right!" she screamed, the crowd looking at one another with glee. "Go, and find your destiny!" she yelled, as the crowd raged up the streets of New York, on their way to the next city along the East Coast which happened to be Hartford, weapons appearing in their hands as she said so, herself leading the great army on horseback.

Spoiler

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Start AP: 15.

Form Society AP1: Freedom Warriors, the army of Elizabeth, created from 90% of the people who were living in New York, the rest left to keep watch over the city.

Bless AP1: The Freedom Warriors are blessed with sophisticated weaponry of the modern day and age, stuff that Special OPS in the army would have etc.

End AP: 13.

Zurich, Switzerland

Beth entered through the door, looking slightly girlish in a long flowing blood red dress with a black vine pattern interwoven into the fabric. "You rang, Madam?" she said with a curtsy.

Spoiler

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Beth is the first shard of Elizabeth, she is more polite and kind to others than Elizabeth herself.

[Draken]

Zurich

Mereon brings a few words to his chin. Most of them are related to the concept of understanding.

"Hmm... No, not the way you think, not that you will enjoy it much either way. I would say I made them more... Solidary? Group-minded. Hive-minded even, but not so extreme. No."

"I guess I made their psyches more adequate to an eusocial environment than the human mind usually is... Yes. More prone to thinking of the group before the individual."

"It was part of the requests, really."

Better communists.

[Yeshon]

Zurich

Petros nearly missed Mereon's explanation as the girl entered the room. She had suspiciously similar aura to the one who had destroyed New York City. He kept his composure and continued to focus on Mereon, with some, significant effort.

After Mereon concluded Petros shrugged, "I understand keeping a contract better than you may think."

He said no more on the subject and turned fully to Beth. "Greetings kinswoman, I am Petros. Apologies but I'm afraid I do not know your name."

Chicago

The North Eastern U.S. was under siege. Many began to protest that it was God's judgement upon a corrupt and sinful nation. Others locked themselves in their rooms, convinced it was the end time. Both were right in a way. A god had judged them wanting and a world was ending. But, if the Illuminati had their way, this world would change for humanity's benefit, not the gods.

"Have you finished development?"

"...No, we are still processing many of the side effects of our program."

"Will they be controllable?"

"About as much as any human, all we're doing is jump starting evolution."

"Hmm, any word from the boss?"

"Not that I've received, I was just about to inform him that the prototypes were nearly done bu-"

*BANG*

*RING RING*

"It's done. Proceed as planned. Oh, and Michael? No screw ups."

*CLICK*

Well, for the benefit of some at least.

[THEChanger]

Zurich
Both of the new arrivals caused a shiver to run down Peacetrip's spine. Petros was capitalism, deception, forcing rules upon others. Peacetrip wasn't too fond of Mereon, but he recognized that rules had their place. Petros made other follow his rules, he could feel it. He was the MAN. And then there was Beth. War, death, and destruction. Careless disregard for human life. At least the MAN thought he was doing what was good.

But they came in good faith and peace to this little powwow. And so they must be respected.

"Brother P, Sister E. Good of you to come. With so many of us coming together, I've got a little hope." Peacetrip then turned back to Mereon, and pondered his explination. "Well, something about changing mortals doesn't jive with me on a basic level. But if they knew what they were getting into, I suppose that's they're choice. But I'd like, perhaps, to make this sort of an official, written down rule-like thing. You're good with the legalise, right Brother M?"

[Draken]

Zurich

Had Mereon any eyes, they would surely twitch.

One of the tendrils of words reached up to Mereon's neck and he coughed a bit. Before making a perfect impresison of Peacetrip.

"Brother P, Sister E. Good of you to come. With so many of us coming together, I've got a little hope."

"Well, something about changing mortals doesn't jive with me on a basic level. But if they knew what they were getting into, I suppose that's their choice. But I'd like, perhaps, to make this sort of an official, written down rule-like thing. You're good with the legalese, right Brother M?"

Well, he is a hard ass. That much is certain.

"That is not a regulament I am willing to make, because those who would be affected by it will be unwilling to comply to its terms, such as myself."

Why, Mereon knows all laws and rules. If he were bound by them all, he would quite simply go mad. There is some stupid legislation out there, you know.

"The mantise were, perhaps, somewhat sudden and maybe extreme. But can you imagine how many prayer strips have been burned from the first announcements until now, requesting transmutations into forms more noble to the large scale imaginary? Why, I would dare think this worship empowers myself nearly as much as it empowers... The other storyteller."

[Yeshon]

Zurich

Petros cleared his throat, hoping to move past Mereon's slight so that they could speak of the matter at hand. Still, this brief interaction between the two provided very useful information. "I for one am bound by my nature and I can break no contract once I've signed it."

There were of course loopholes.

"The other storyteller? Are you referring to the one who has caused Amsterdam to descend into anarchy?"

That, more than New York, disturbed him.

[Elemental]

Timbuktu

Mereon had obviously been distracted by other matters and the Man had too much to do without waiting for his response. Part of him wanted to see what the Lion had wrought, but Zurich kept surfacing to the forefront of his mind.
Courtesy demanded he attend...


Zurich

A shadow formed on the wall, pausing to count the number of attendees. Backup may be required.
Leo, I might need you. Bring an escape plan.
Contingencies out of the way, the shadow walked off the wall and formed into a man of average height, his hair streaked with silver.
"Forgive my intrusion and brief eavesdropping. Social occasions are not my forte."
He ignored the mortals who had gathered to observe the occasion, he felt no need to involve them as yet.
"Still, events concern me too much to not attend."

[Mynxae]

Outskirts of Hartford, Connecticut

The army raged across the countryside, recruiting anyone along the way that they could, killing the rest with their guns. Elizabeth rose atop a hill at the forefront of the army and saw their next target, Hartford. As she saw the city sprawled out before them, she crowed in triumph. "Onwards my children!" she screamed.

Zurich, Switzerland

"Greetings to you as well Petros, I am known as Elizabeth, or Beth for short" she said with a winsome smile and another slightly curtsy as her cheeks flushed. She turned to address the deities that had arrived. "To what do I owe the pleasure to all of you fine ladies and gentleman?" she said briskly.

[Draken]

Zurich

Gentlemen.

Being the god of grammar is a pain in the ass sometimes, his ears catch the most minute flaws of inflection that could be lost to others and written off as mere accents.

But that has to be the worst, most grating, secondary power imaginable.

"I wouldn't call it anarchy. There is an order to the debauchery, and an authority overseeing its proceedings. An entity akin to the ones in the triangle and in Britain."

Mereon's tendrils became a miriad of runes of celtic and norse origin, spelling out the endings of epics that were now written in the pages that comprised his body.