Godhood 3 IC: Who Worships the Worshippers?

[Tychris1]

Kalamar grinned, clearly effected by Sins comments "Why thank you. I always do try to be a real heart to heart fellow," He said, wistfully remembering the first time he ever ripped a heart out of its ribcage "Thank you, Sin. I was worried i'd have to mar such a perfect face, but to hear you are as kind and understanding as I brings such delight to my heart." Taking his eyes off the Goddess, he begins to look at the horizon where Anger lies. His smile becomes perverse, twisting until it is cruel and bloody, and only growing wider as he pulls a spear out of his thigh that was thrown into him earlier. "Do not worry about Hask. I can be quite persuasive," He slams the butt of the spear "When I want to. One way or the other, Hask will be evicted."

The mob around the two deities begins to howl and chant at the mentioning removing Hask, uplifting even Ehzas troubled face. As they continue to howl, chant, and carry on with their festivities Kalamr turns back to Sin. Sneering, he cuts through the air like a hot knife. His voice becomes a whisper, something so soft as to be undetectable by mortals, yet audible by the divine, and carrying far more impact then a shouted order "Perhaps they will turn on me. Perhaps they won't. That's half the fun really, and it'll be twice the fun if it happens. And I hope you're watching when they do."

[TheDarkDM]

Solace Comes to Anger

The sky was ash. It fell like snow from clouds engorged by black smoke, it rose from the ground with every footstep, it clung to wood and metal and flesh. In the wake of Hask and Sin's great and terrible experiment, the forest was laid waste. Nothing remained. Nothing but ash.

This is what Alue and her Dha'Vennox found when they emerged from the tangled grove at the heart of the forest, before the acidic fume of dying Velocadapter and Variation obscured the scene in a choking miasma. The Dha'Vennox faltered, even their bright colors dimming in the tenebrous fog, but with a whisper Alue conjured sweet breezes from dreams half a world away and the veil was lifted. Far in the distance, upon its blood soaked hill, sat the ruined walls of Anger, slouching over the desolation like the corpse of some great monster of legend, glorious and terrible in its rotting magnificence. The remains of the outer wall jutted out like ribs, stained by the all-too-real blood of those who had died to take them. It was a stained place, a tainted place, but not a place beyond redemption.

In the distance, Alue and her servants saw Hask, her bones shining in the iridescent colors of life and death, dancing among those most injured, seizing this moment of greatest despair to try and forge something new from her shattered people. And to her credit, those she touched found themselves moved by the goddesses' manic energy, her boundless hope and will. But Hask was a flighty goddess, and for every wounded Velocadapter or Variation she tended to a dozen others less injured slunk away to plan a final killing blow. Safe amid the shattered earth of the hill, Sin's chosen priest doled out deadly blessings upon the foolish and the desperate, while the Grassfoot's pleas for temperance were drowned out by a hundred different voices calling for blood. It was a drama that could only end in tragedy, and so Alue decided to change the players. Turning to her right, she beheld a Dha'Vennox whose scales gleamed with the pale green of morning dew, and pointed towards the rioting Variations.

"They are deafened by their fear - help them to listen."

Then she turned to her left, to a Dha'Vennox whose scales were as fire in the sunrise. Lifting her arm, she pointed towards where Velocadapters sold their souls for one more chance at victory.

"They are blinded by their hunger - help them to see."

And so the Dha'Vennox broke ranks, divided equally between those who would be known as Emerald and Ruby, for they had to names among themselves. They padded through the grey waste unmolested, for so intent were their brothers upon genocide that they had grown incapable of looking beyond it. The two groups passed through the outer walls like to trails of rainbow, and Alue ascended into the heavens - her labor was above.

The Ruby Dha'Vennox was the first to reach its goal, so close was the tangled mass of the Velocadapter army that it had scarcely gone a mile within Anger's walls before it heard their screeching cries. Despite their bloodlust and pain, the Velocadapters did not attack the strangers who walked among their ranks, for they had grown accustomed to strange kinships during their long siege, and no Variation could be so uniform as the Dha'Vennox. It was under cold eyes that Ruby and its cadre made its way to the center of the Velocadapter horde, where the largest and strongest of them that remained was calling for the blood of every remaining Variation. Yet at the sight of the slender red thing before it, the Velocadapter stopped and growled low in its throat.

"What is this? Another trick of the prey-things?"

Ruby's eyes quirked at the beast's accusation, before speaking in tones that broth to mind the crackling of a warm fire and the flush of strong wine.

"No. We are not a part of this conflict - we have been sent by the lady Alue to give a precious gift."

The Velocadapter's eyes flared greedily, its mouth salivating at the prospect of a gift.

"What is it? A weapon!? A weapon to kill the prey-things!"

"No. It is peace."

At once the greed in the Velocadapter's eyes was replaced by rage, and its roar tore through the air as it charged the Ruby Dha'Vennox. Yet Alue's messenger was unafraid, as it reached out a hand.

"Feel."

With that simple word, the Velocadapter stopped, its mind gripped in a fear unlike any it had known. For the Dha'Vennox had reached into the nightmares of the Variations, plucking for the strands of terror that had strangled them in the long years of their conflict and binding the Velocadapters in them as surely as if they were iron chains. With a weak cry, the Velocadapter leader collapsed to its knees, only to be followed by the rest of its kin. Struggling to lift its head, it looked up at the Ruby Dha'Vennox with eyes unclouded by hunger and hate.

"What have you done?"

"I have set you free."

Even as the leader of the Velocadapters knelt helpless before the Ruby DhaVennox, the Emerald Dha'Vennox had reached its destination. It found the remaining Variations huddled against the remains of the inner wall, thousands of them bunched tightly together and buzzing with half-mad plans at vengeance. As the outermost Variation laid eyes on the strange things coming towards them, a cry of panic rippled through the herd, and by the time the Emerald Dha'Vennox had come within earshot every Variation eye was fixed on it. Angry murmurs rose from the crowd, but the Emerald Dha'Vennox remained silent until one Variation pushed its way to the front. It was larger than the others, its head bearing a magnificent crown of antlers, and its hide bore the scars of many battles. It was a veteran, a general, and the closest thing the crazed Variations had to a leader at that moment. Snorting into the air, it approached the Emerald Dha'Vennox.

"Who are you, and why are you here!?"

At the question, the Emerald Dha'Vennox inclined its sinuous head.

"My fellows and I are strangers in this land. We have been sent by the lady Alue to give a precious gift."

The Variation snorted again, this time in expectation.

"And what does your lady have to give? Weapons to win this war? A means of escape?"

"No. Peace."

The Variation leader recoiled in horror at the word.

"Peace? There can be no peace with these monsters!"

"There can be."

The Emerald Dha'Vennox raised its hand.

"Feel."

Taken aback by the strange gesture, the Variation turned to run, only to stumble over its hooves when the hunger washed over it. For the Emerald Dha'Vennox had reached out and grasped the ravenous subconscious of the Velocadapters, and in its grip the Variations were purged of their fear and their xenophobia. Barely able to move its lips for the saliva drooling from them, the Variation leader raised its head.

"What...what have you..."

"I have set you free."

And as the two side lay, each laid low by the others' pain, a new song began to echo through the valleys. It was a bright, shining thing, the notes of Alue's flute glittering like diamonds in firelight as they sped through the air. In their wake, blood and ash and pain rose from the ground in a great oily wave, a tide of blackest smoke rising up from the desecrated ground and leaving it pure once more. The song washed over Anger like a tidal wave, scouring the stains of war and pain from the ruined city, excising the madness from its very foundations and sending it spiraling up into the air. The funnel of darkness and hate rose for miles, beyond the highest mountaintop, before its peak was consumed in searing white light. It was as though a star had exploded into being , its light outshining even the terrors of that first war, and as it shined it devoured the cloud of wretched suffering as a candle devours its wick. Soon, there was naught left of the darkness but mist on the wind, and the star faded back to nothingness. In its place floated Alue, her raven hair surrounded by an aurora of infinite colors, her ever-changing robe a river of purest hue. She descended onto the battlements of Anger like an angel out of legend, and when she spoke her voice reached every ear.

"Hear me, children of the Muses. For too long you have vied against one another, harmed one another, hated one another. You were created to bring infinite beauty and change to this world, and instead you have almost extinguished each other."

Alue spread her arms wide, and even as she spoke the slurry of mud that Anger had become began to twist and reform, straightening into roads, fields, foundations. The shattered remnants of the outer walls began to set like healing bone, and all about the valley color began to seep back into the world.

"But your two candles, bright as they are, need not contest with each other. For your light united with shine far brighter and far longer than your lights divided. Desire and uncertainty, change and hunger, all of these things war inside both Velocadapter and Variation, for you are races united by a common source. Rejoice, for now the darkness has lifted. Rejoice, for your muses have come to care for you."

[kestrel404]

"Perhaps they will turn on me. Perhaps they won't. That's half the fun really, and it'll be twice the fun if it happens. And I hope you're watching when they do."

Sin nods in acknowledgement to her fellow God's words, but says nothing. Within Anger itself, the beginning glimmers of a strange light has caught her attention. She stares raptly, transfixed by its beauty, as the glow issues forth from the nearby city. Accompanying that light is music, gentle and soothing and reminding her immediately of the Sister she met only briefly.

Behind her, the Variations have fallen silent - indeed, many have fallen over where they stand, writhing upon the ground for no readily apparent reason. When one finally speaks, it is with a desperate need - "Hungry...so hungry. Food, I will do anything for food!"

As though it is a dam breaking, that proclamation brings with it a tidal wave of requests, demands and pleas for all manner of things. Many of them beg of Sin to make a bargain with them, willing to trade anything for their immediate desire. Sin acts as though she cannot hear them, and instead pays attention to the song.

At last, the words of Alue ring out across the hills, and Sin smiles warmly at Kalamar. "Good Kalamar. My sister Alue has arrived, and it seems she's found a way to stop the strife between the Variations and Velocidapters. Is that not wonderful news? She calls, and I will go to her. Would you like to come as well? I would introduce you to my sisters."

[HalfTangible]

"Stay, we shall. Patternshard left only warning, nowt else. One we shall heed, but trust in our gifts to shield from." The Dancer smiled faintly, then gestured at the hill they had descended into the city. "We shall weave there, above, to place a home for Weavespeakers and those that with them will. A small Weave, but ours it shall be."

Elio nodded as the silver and cracked light began to slowly shift back into gold. Just... keep an eye out for the ants.

[Tychris1]

Kalamar stares at the light, wide eyed and enthralled. Such beauty, such power, and yet.... So boring. So tame and controlled. It lacked any sense of conflict or excitement. His smile quickly dissipated as he thought on about the light, and he almost didn't notice Sins question "Ah yes, I would very much appreciate that. If they are half as lovely as you are then it would be a true delight to meet them both, and personally thank Alue for handling some of the work for me." He said, turning back to smile at Sin yet noticing the Variations instead.

They writhed in pain, calling out for aid and yet receiving none. Ehza, with all the willpower he could muster, had managed to crawl his way to Kalamar and beg to him "Help us oh father! The hunger!...." He began to cough and writhe, unable to even speak further. "But first allow me to answer my peoples blight," He muttered before striding off to the side. Gripping one of the fallen corpses of the Variations he walked to the center of the encampment and raised the body high. "You hunger, so I offer you the fruit of life itself! Drink deep that which flows through you all, and prepare for what is to come! Eat my children, EAT!" And with that he tore the Variation in half, its innards flying about as its corpse was thrown to the surviving Variations. The process continued, and they came upon the corpses like rabid animals, tearing and rending flesh with reckless abandon. Conflict began to boil as Variations butted horns to see who got to eat what, the conflict sometimes even leading to further bloodshed which itself led to more corpses for fighting over. The Imps and Demons lying about even participated, and eventually it devolved into a pit of cannibalism as brother ate what was once brother. When all was said and done, they looked upon themselves with the tiniest sliver of shame. For whatever sense of decency was left in them was stripped, and only madness remained. Taking the skulls of their fallen brothers they adorned their faces with them as masks to cover what little shame they felt and further emulate Ehza and Kalamar. When the bones ran out they resorted to carving wood with horns, with the more deranged of them demanding Imps to sear hardened rock in the form of masks onto their faces (Few survived).

Turning back to Sin, Kalamar looks back to where he saw the light and says "Whenever you are ready, we'll go."

[Meeky]

Rise and Rule

Man is a spirited creature, more spirited than he knows. When he has grasped something that he knows is his, he is reluctant to part with it; so reluctant, indeed, that he will take up arms against insurmountable odds if only to say, "I fought that this thing may be mine." This thing may be tangible at times, such as land, but more often than not, it is something so fine it cannot be felt by one's hand: Freedom, justice, honor, pride. It is what makes humanity strong, and what makes us wary of being ruled.

Qalai knew this, and he knew uniting man would be the greatest challenge he had ever faced. He knew also that ruling man would be a more fearsome challenge yet. But he was driven by destiny, and his firm hand was guided by his awesome will. He could be a wanderer no more; his heart would not allow it. No, he would become Aran Qalai: Leader Qalai, Father Qalai.

The first tribe Qalai came before was the Benjin tribe, the sand dwellers. They were nomads then as they are today, and raiders too, men who hunted men to survive. Their horsemen were without compare, and wise Qalai sensed they would be his key to victory.

"Noble Benjin," he cried, "great riders and warriors, I call upon you to join me in conquest! I have dreamt of a great kingdom that will span the noble river Alaqir, but this kingdom cannot be reality without an army. Will you be that army, Benjin, and join me in the unification of the tribes?"

"We have spent all these years free of the thumb of other tribes," said the Benjin. "If we join you, how do we know we will still have our freedom?"

"You will keep your freedom," promised Qalai. "You will be free to roam and travel so long as you fight for the kingdom. This I swear."

The Benjin were appeased. They affixed their banners to their spears and mounted their horses. With great whoops and jubilant cheers, they joined Qalai.

The army rode south, then, south to the edge of land and the endless sea. There they found the little Kapachi tribe, those gentile fisherfolk who had long suffered at the hands of the other tribes. Qalai dismounted from his horse and spent the evening with their chieftain.

"My army will need many supplies," said Qalai. "Join my destined kingdom and fight with us, and your people will not want for protection."

"But how can you promise us protection?" asked the chieftain. "All the tribes desire our vast supplies of food, fat and bone. They would take all we have and make us beggars."

"They will do no such thing; for they will have what they desire, but only so long as they give you something in return. There will be no more taking from your people, only fair bargaining. Join me, and prosper through trade."

There was rightness in the offer, and Qalai spoke with fervorous sincerity. After long consideration, the Kapachi accepted. They set vast stores of salted fish in trains of carts, and the rest of them grabbed their spiked clubs and their fishing spears.

The third tribe Qalai approached was the Nasai tribe, the mountain tribe. They were not so dark skinned as the rest of the tribes, and they lived in the cold mountains and rolling hills west of the great desert. Their land was fertile enough that they grew grapes and herded sheep and goats, and they were perhaps the most resourceful of the tribes.

"You travel with the Benjin," they cried, "and we are their sworn enemies! Come no further lest you wish to be left rotting on the rocks!"

"Your tribe would strengthen my kingdom if you joined," Qalai said. "Join us, and you will find the Benjin make better allies than enemies."

"We will never be allies with the bullheaded Benjin," said the Nasai; with that, they started hurling stones down at Qalai’s entourage and mustering their warriors. Qalai returned to the ranks of his army, and they laid siege to their mountain towns.

Qalai did not invent the siege, but he mastered it; he immediately had his men find and capture the herds of the Nasai, which was the lifeblood of their people. While they grew hungry behind the walls, his people would feast on the salted fish of the Kapachi and on milk from the herds. Each day, Qalai would come to the clan and offer them the chance to surrender, but they continually denied him; but with each denial, it was clear that the hungry people were upset. On twenty-first day, they gave in and submitted themselves to his mercy.

"What will you do with us, O mighty warrior?" wondered the Nasai people, fearing retribution. "Will you hurt us for having fought? Will you punish us for this war?"

"There is nothing to gain from cursing a fallen foe," said good Qalai. "You fought proudly and well, and many of my people suffered. That you were my enemy means nothing; you deserve respect, and until you show me you have wicked intent, I would gladly have you join my kingdom."

The Nasai were awed by this mercy, and they lavished praise on their once-foes. Their warriors gathered their slings, axes and hammers, and they joined the ranks of Qalai’s army.

There was but one tribe left to contend with, but they were undoubtedly the most powerful: The Alaqir tribe, those famous river clansmen. Qalai’s army marched to the great river that ran through the middle of the land, an expanse of savannah, brush, and fertile soil. Many, many villages dotted this part of the world; and these villages were overlooked by tall wooden towers and guarded by the finest archers. When they say great Qalai’s army, they did not let him speak; they were too afraid of his forces, and they chose to attack.

Qalai knew better than to fight on the enemy’s terms, and so he pulled back his forces and made camp opposite of the Alaqiri army. Qalai applied his rules of strategy, testing the defenses of his enemy first in small skirmishes and with scouts. He already knew the terrain, which was why he had first chosen to recruit the Benjin; here in the vast, open field, the horsemen were invaluable. He was patient, and he carefully pinched at his enemy’s ranks, subtly harassing them and making them suffer little losses until they were incited to attack. When they did, he feigned retreat, then crushed their flanks with a mighty charge and let loose a thousand sling stones at their front. Though a week of fighting had preceded this battle, it was over in mere minutes.

Qalai had won in war, but now it was time to rule. First, he gathered all the leaders of the four tribes, and he discussed with them at length the details of his promises; and he proved himself a good king, for he set a precedent to his descendants that promises are meant to be kept.

"You said that our people deserve respect," said the Nasai leaders. "Show us, now, what respect that is. Tell us what we have earned by fighting for you."

"You have earned freedom," said Qalai. "No man in this empire shall ever wear the shackles of slavery. All must bow before the throne, but never must they kneel."

"Do not forget, either, that you promised us fair trade," said the Kapachi. "We know you intend to make this so, but when one man refuses to trade for that which he wants, what shall be done?"

"Trade will be protected by law," answered Qalai. "Those who steal or try to take things by force will be punished. Those who try to cheat others through trade will have goods taken from them. Trade will bring the world to us, and so we will preserve it."

"But we are not traders," said the Benjin warriors. "We live to fight, and we take our goods by force. Are we to be punished after doing these things for you, we who served you loyally? Are we to lose the freedom you promised was ours so that the others may have theirs?"

"Freedom you also shall have, for the great vastness of the desert and the plains is yours," answered Qalai. "But you will need to raid no more, for you, noble Benjin, will be our army. Your horses will have grazing grounds, and you will be given money with which to purchase your meal and mead so long as you swear to fight for the kingdom."

The three tribes that fought for Qalai were now appeased. But the fourth and the last, the Alaqir, was still uncertain. "What will we get for serving you, great king?" they asked. "Before, we were the mightiest in this land, the largest and most powerful tribe. What will become of us now?"

"I made no promises to you before," said Qalai, "but there is one thing I swear to you now: So long as you stay with the kingdom, all people in this realm, not merely one, will prosper. You will see our lands grow, and you will see cities rise along the river, greater than any village you have built. As a show of good faith, I will have my first wife be an Alaqiri wife, so that the blood of your people will always flow in the veins of kings. The world will look upon you, and all of us, with awe."

And so the tribes were all pleased, and Qolam was lifted high into the air, and the bright, red light of pride pulsed from within. All the people were emboldened, and they set their minds to works of greatness. They began building a great city along the Alaqir River, a city which spanned either side of its waters. Using the power of his heavenly spear, Qalai created an island that sat in the very center of the river, and on this island a magnificent palace was constructed. This grand city became known as Istan, the City of Stars, for in the night it twinkled like the heavens; and soon, all the world knew of Istan’s splendor, and travelers came from around the world to see it.

Such travelers entered the royal palace one day, a pale man and pale woman wearing robes of white. They came before Qalai and bowed their heads politely.

"Noble king, we have heard of the wonders of your land and seen many great things, but we notice you have no gods," they said. "We are faithful of Onore, and we wish to let others be touched by her light. Tell us, may we extol her divinity and her virtues and let your people be graced by her goodness?"

"I will not turn away the gods," said King Qalai, "but neither will I have them rule us. You are welcome to spread your teachings to the people, as are the emissaries of other gods, but know you this: The first loyalty of my people is to the kingdom and its laws. I am Aran Qalai, First King of Qalistan; and in my kingdom even gods and their worshipers shall be held accountable for their deeds. Let my people worship whom they will, but in times of war the people shall be bidden to serve their king. Such is my law."

The priests were not happy with what they were told, but they still given the right to spread their faith, and so they began to do so. The people praised King Qalai for his wisdom and his courage, for his leadership and his stoutness in the face of the divine. He who had begun as a simple wanderer was now a king among kings and the progenitor of an empire.

Praise be Al’Qalai, King Qalai, our Blessed Father and Divinity In Flesh. Forever shall the Father watch his children, and forever shall we be grateful.

Spoiler

Show

So, I think I have one act to spend. It's being spent to form the kingdom of Qalistan.

Qalistan is a large nation that extends from the eastern edge of the savannah all the way to mountains on the other side of the river to the east. To the north and south there are rocky shores, and in between the river and the mountains there is an expansive desert.

Qalistan's throne city is Istan, and the ruling family is the Qalai Dynasty. The lands around this city (and, indeed, along the whole river) are fertile flood plains, excellent places to farm. This is the 'bed' of the kingdom, the most densely populated region, and the river provides its people access to the northern and southern bodies of water.

It should be noted that not ALL Qalistan is desert. While the desert is very large, there are also plains which are frequented by herds of wild animals and vicious predators, and there are a few thin forests in the region as well. The western foothills and the closest mountains are also considered part of the kingdom, and are home to a hearty, stouter breed of human not originally from this region.

Details on the four tribes are as follows:

• Alaqir - Also known as the 'City Folk', the Alaqir are the most populous of the four tribes. They inhabit the great cities in the center of the kingdom, especially those along the river. They provide the most soldiers, but their troops are not as skilled as the Nasai or the Benjin. They are the farmers of Qalistan.
• Benjin - These people are horse nomads, and they truly love their horses. Their horses are so revered, in fact, that they often sleep in the same tents as their owners and eat with them. The Benjin are magnificent warriors, and while they are free-spirited and sometimes hard to marshal, once mustered they are a battlefield terror.
• Kapachi - Many Kapachi have gone to live in the river cities, but small Kapachi villages still remain along the shores. They are a peaceful people that avoid combat as often as possible, and they depend on small forts of the kingdom's soldiers for protection. Many of them become traveling merchants or caravan guards.
• Nasai - The Nasai, sometimes called the Hillmen, tend to keep to themselves in the mountains. They export stone, marble, wool and milk to the rest of the kingdom, as well as wine, and in times of war supply skilled irregulars and guerrilla combatants.

Also, this should mark the end of my character's Ascension Quest. I hope it's been sufficient.

[Raz_Fox]

Turn 1 - Fire

And I dream of the sky: broken clouds drifting by
And I dream of the sky: my utopian lie

The contraption is squat and rust-golden, quietly humming to itself. Three struts press against the dirty scrub of the mountainside, too elegant for the apparatus it supports, scavenged from the broken basement of the house. The wind whips at the god's unkempt hair as he runs spidery fingers along the tank housing, tightens the screws with a whispered benediction, hesitates for a moment before imbuing the frame with a blue heartbeat.

The Hasardai looks up at the roiling sky, black and grey and torn. The rain has stopped, but left to its own devices, it will return soon enough. Wind slides off his coat as if he were nothing, even as it catches the loose and trailing ends of Ilos's raiment.

"Brace yourself... reset, hard reset of the atmospheric, the..." Ilos is half-muttering to himself, but the Hasardai nods his head once, sets his black shoes hard against the pebbles. A switch is flicked, a breath is given freely into the tank, and the gauges rise as the pumps thrum. "Will be loud. More than loud, will be sound, s-sound, purification and... fire. Perhaps we should not be-"

The sound is so loud that it is almost silent, and it is invisible, and it throws Ilos from his feet, tossing him into the harsh embrace of stone with all the carelessness of a child throwing a ragdoll. It strikes the sky, and the spark catches, and it burns water and it burns air and the sun shining through burning clouds is every color that you can imagine. Every one! Even the colors that are supposed to be imaginary.

Then there is heat, and the blood slowly dripping down from the Hasardai's ears boils in the space of a breath. The air in Ilos's lungs becomes empty and dead, and there is a horrifying stillness as the fire spreads in a perfect circle- no, not perfect, beginning to fray already as it jumps from cloud to cloud, howling to wake the dead beneath the earth, beautiful even as its tendrils lash down like lightning to light the earth aflame.

It is fast. It is so fast that creatures can look up and see the sky melting above their heads, and then there is only the howl of a god's breath and the bite of the oppressive heat and the unearthly colors are already fading, fading, heading onwards- and leaving pieces of themselves behind to consume the unworthy earth. Wind becomes fire, rain becomes shining death on the skin, and, and...

And the sky above Gaia is beautiful. Cloudless, and so it shall remain for days. Perhaps a week. Clouds will spin themselves back together, rain will begin to fall once more, wind will become cold instead of the hot fang that stirs up the fires on the earth. But those who watch the sky see: the sun, glorious overhead, or the stars, far-off wounds in the sky. Everything is so sharp, so clear, and the colors of the world seem to be more somehow. This, too, will fade in time.

On a mountaintop in some deserted place, the Hasardai - red crusted against his pale skin - takes up Ilos in his arms and carries his master through the crooked door to rest. But Ilos, before he slips into dreamless sleep, looks up at the cleansed sky and whispers:

"Y-you're... you're beautiful again."

The brilliant fires rage on when he is gone.

[BladeofObliviom]

Chapter 3: The Fire Rises

Rose. That was her name.

Four hours ago, her husband and son had returned to their cottage on the outskirts of Lampide to find the place burned to the ground, smoke rising into the cloud-choked skies. It would have been easy to assume she had fled or fallen, but no body was found and no necessities were missing. However, there were drag marks leading off into the nearby Yellow Wood. And so it was that the rescue mission was delegated to a ranger, an experienced figure by the name of Harrison.

Ranger Harrison was of average height, but broad and rugged, possessing short black hair, brown eyes, and the finely toned muscles of an expert archer. He wore the practical light armor common among the Rangers of Lampide, and armed himself with shortbow and hatchet, for the cleaving of foes and simple practicality alike. In all, Harrison was the very image of what a Ranger of Lampide should be, and he wasn't planning on letting down the woman to be rescued, or her panicking family.

Following the drag marks was easy enough; whatever had taken this woman may not have left any visible footprints, but it didn't seem to care about leaving a trail nonetheless. It had even traveled on a fairly direct path through the woods, leading up to a wide cave.

As the ranger approached the entrance, he gagged as the stink of foulness and feces assaulted his nose, but he repressed the urge to vomit and moved inward. He was beginning to regret bringing a hatchet for close quarters, though: Even in tunnels as wide as these, a swinging weapon was not ideal. At least a sword could thrust. Still, he pushed forward, lighting a torch to illuminate the tunnel, driving back the shadows that had infested it.

After what seemed like hours of slowly trudging through ankle-deep septic muck, Harrison finally heard something: The moaning of an old woman, clearly in a state of pain. As he moved on and continued to listen, it only became worse as the cries began emanating from countless sources, young and old alike! And that was when he passed the first skeleton, floating in the thick goo.

The ranger knelt down to inspect it: Human, twelve ribs. Female Subject. Pierced skull and shattered pelvis, suggesting some kind of catastrophic bodily damage. Hmm. Instilled with new caution and resolve, the ranger stood up once more and did his best to run through the sludge.

The cries only intensified as the Ranger spelunked more and more deeply into the den, until suddenly silencing as he reached a larger chamber. A few moans still reached his ears, along with something else: A slithering, wet noise that he couldn't quite put his finger on. He looked toward the cave wall, searching for the source of one of the nearby moans, and immediately regretted looking.

There, lying upon the ground, was a D'Nali Tribeswoman. Her body was clad in little more than rags now, but she still breathed and writhed as the light of the torch fell upon her. Her abdomen was distended, bloated unnaturally, to the point where the ranger wondered how the flesh had not yet burst. The D'Nali Tribe might have been belligerent and generally hostile to the people of Lampide, but seeing a person in such a pitiful state still disgusted the ranger.

Removing his hatchet from its sheath, Harrison lifted his torch higher, only to see that there were at least a dozen more women in similar states, and yet more bones strewn about.

However, there was one ray of hope remaining, for the light of the torch fell upon a familiar face: Rose, unmolested by whatever had assaulted these tribespeople aside from likely irreparable staining and damage to her clothing. She screamed for help just as fervently as one in mortal danger, however, as she too spotted the light, and took a hurried step toward the Ranger.

Just as a ray of hope had appeared, though, the darkness struck back with greater force. Rose might not have seen it, but Harrison had: A long, sinuous brown limb, several inches in diameter, appeared at the edge of his vision, moments before grabbing Rose's leg and flinging her in his direction!

The Ranger dodged the flying woman, who landed in the muck with a splunk and quickly began to scramble to her feet, before pulling out his bow, nocking an arrow, and firing at the beast. An unnatural cry echoed through the chamber, and all of the D'Nali began to writhe and scream in unison as their bloated bellies began to throb and swell to even greater proportions!

Harrison was glad he didn't see just what happened next, but he did experience the dubious pleasure of a nightmarish squelch and similar, but higher-pitched cries all over the room. Both the rescuer and rescuee were spattered with a coating of tribal blood and unknown foul fluids as they made a hasty retreat, hotly pursued by the screeching horrors!

Coming to the mouth of the cave, the ranger flung his torch into the gargantuan eye of the largest beast, eliciting a deafening cry of pain as the thing burst into flames. Still, it kept coming, along with the dozens of its young that were previously incubating inside a certain group of especially unfortunate women. Now that they were in something resembling light, though, the ranger managed to get a good look at them.

Each beast lacked legs entirely, moving around on a mass of sinuous tentacles. They each had one enormous eye and a razor-lined proboscis, likely adapted for the consumption of brain matter if the skeleton from earlier was any indication.

Knowing that he had no hope of slaying a dozen angry beasts with little more than a hatchet and bow, he grabbed Rose's hand and fled back towards town! The beasts began to gain on him, but then a miracle happened, surely sent by Onore herself.

The sky burst into beautiful, multicolored flames, and the clouds were no more. The bright shine of the Sun over Lampide was a beautiful site for Harrison and Rose, but for the beasts, it was a harbinger of death. Screaming as their eyes burned in the bright light, they scattered, fleeing as far as they could for darkness and shelter.

And thus it was that the life of a Ranger and an Innocent Woman were saved by a miracle of the Gods themselves, and the world first learned of a new menace that would come to threaten every last mortal on Gaia, in time.

Turn 2 Begins...

[Meeky]

A Turn of the Page

They say that history is the greatest of all teachers,
and that past deeds define who we are in the present
and what we shall be in the future.

The sun cast a red glare on the morning sky. It was as if some great, bleeding hand had been dragged across it, leaving trails of diluted crimson. The river Aliqir glimmered under this hot light, and from the balcony of his glorious palace Qalai stared at Istan, his city. It was beautiful.

My kingdom, he mused, is a marvel. It truly was. The walls around Istan were nearly finished; the laborers had been carefully layering pearly sandstone brick one after the other throughout each morning. Even now he could see them working, could see the sweat on their backs, could smell spiced bread coming from the kitchen...

Oh, yes. The spiced bread. Qalai pushed himself away from the balcony and returned to his bedroom, eying the spear mounted on the wall: Qolam.

It was a wonder, still, how he had defeated the Blood of Heaven. He could still see a red glint in the sharp tip of Qolam, that quiet rage beneath the submissive obsidian shell. Qalai carefully lifted it from its place, grasping it in one hand and giving it a firm squeeze. The weapon was searing hot for a moment, but the king squeezed it a little harder, and it grew cool and accepted him. Qalai gave Qolam a long look, then returned it to its place beside his bed.

Minutes later the king sat with his wife in the dining hall attended by a dozen guards and servants. It was a hearty breakfast they shared: Goat's cheese, milk of the citrus fruit, spiced bread, and freshly cooked lamb. A bit of the cheese fell onto Qalai's beard, but he wiped it away gently with a small white cloth. It was a silent meal, as morning meals usually were in the palace, but something stirred in the king's mind.

"We have a good kingdom," he said to his wife.

"The people are happy, protected and well-fed," she added, nodding. The corner of her mouth curled up. "And their king is more handsome by the day."

Qalai chuckled quietly, and he reached out and patted his wife's hand. "Not so handsome as his peerless wife," he answered warmly, "but the royal family's majesty is not on my mind, not solely. There is something else."

"What is on your mind then, husband?"

"The world," Qalai mused, gulping down a mouthful of his fruity draught. "The whole world is on my mind. The borders of Qalistan, the world beyond it, trade... this sunrise..." Qalai brushed his hand across his mouth. "What if they are forgotten?"

"Who could forget Qalistan?" purred his wife, placing her other hand over his. "Who could forget the things you have done for us all? No one, my king."

"Perhaps not today," argued Qalai, pulling his hand away and folding it over his other, "and perhaps not tomorrow, but what of a year from now? What of ten years from now? A hundred?"

"Your name is renowned."

"Yes, but my name is but a word. It takes but a breath to say, one breath out of a day. What will happen when the son of my son's son rules? Will they still remember all the stories? Will he teach his son to wage war as well as I teach mine?"

Silence fell at the table. King Qalai pondered this a bit more to himself, then rose. "I will visit the aviary," he announced. "Those who would appeal to me must wait until my return." With that, he left the dining hall and started walking through the palace. He walked through the long, curved passage leading to the stairs, and then made his way up those slowly spiraling steps. There, midway to the top of his palace, he stopped before a wooden door and entered.

The aviary was his favorite place to reflect on the happenings in the world and bygone days. Tall, thin bars kept pretty birds in elaborate cages, and at the end of the room sat a sheet of thin sheepskin with paints sitting beside it. The wooden stool in front of it brought back a whirlwind of memories, memories which returned once more as he sat in the chair. Qalai relaxed into his seat, and he picked up his brush. He closed his eyes, let the chirping of so many happy birds ease him into a state of introspection. He could practically feel his mind and heart opening at their seams, could feel a pinch on his finger...

...a very real pinch, and sharp. Qalai opened his eyes. There, staring right back up at him, was a little blue bird. It chirped, and he smiled.

"How did you get out here?" he asked the little avian. It didn't answer, of course, but hopped about the stand he kept the sheepskin on. Chuckling, Qalai turned back to his work, and dipped his brush into some black paint. With great care, the king began to outline an insectoid shape - a Replicant, one he knew long ago - and give it little dark details here and there. "One hundred and fifty years," he began telling, not finishing the sentence. "That's how many memories I have. One hundred and fifty years' worth of memories I've collected through the course of my life. I wonder..." He brought the brush down, wiping it clean and dipping it in just a bit of hot orange, which he brought back up to the eyes. I wonder, how many hundreds more years came before mine? How many eras have I missed? Who remains to tell us of them?

The sound of tapping caught his attention. He glanced back down at the bird, and saw it had managed to get its feet covered in black paint. It jumped up and down, ruffling its feathers indignantly, and Qalai felt obliged to take it gently in his hand and clean it. He was about to leave it at that when he looked back down where it was jumping. Its little claws had left black marks.

Qalai stared at these marks for a moment. They were meaningless at first, but inspiration struck him like thunder. His eyes widened, and he looked back toward the picture of Metz, still so far from completion, and brightened. Slowly, he brought the brush along the far right side of the page and made a symbol - he did not know how he chose its shape, but he did - on the sheepskin. And at that moment, Qalai knew what he had done.

"Friend," he said once. "This means friend."

King Qalai spent several hours in the aviary that morning, spent them well into the afternoon making shape after shape, symbol after symbol, line after line. When he finally came out, he commanded that all the learned men of the kingdom, all the scholars and storytellers and merchants, come and meet him in his palace. It was night when they all arrived, and it was not until the evening of the next day that they left.

King Qalai had invented the written word.

Spoiler

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Spending one (1) act. King Qalai invents the written word and spreads literacy among his people. This also spreads to the rest of the world (or should), but Qalistan is, at this time, the most literate place in the world.

The written word is being used to make basic arithmetic possible, and is finding its use in trade. It's also being used to keep historical records, and will surely find even more uses in the future.

(Also, thanks to the creators of Icewind Dale for the quote underneath the picture.)

[Draken]

[Event Dating - Turn Three]

Border of Qalistan

It begs reminiscing why the Aktai'Parapon first left their holdings in the islands of their birth. To find the gods, to shape a great world from many small ones.

The earth shook and the skies were lit aflame, and horrors from beneath have risen to feast on mortal flesh and defile mortal honor, and the seas may rise in the future and the wind may cull itself from the breath of man. But the Aktai'Parapon are unfazed, their effort is unrelenting.

And thus does the Aktai'Parapon feel in the currents of wind a divinity most unlike those shards it has met, those that take the shapes of man and woman and demon and garishly colorful skeleton. And so do their wings turn to the second human nation they would personally see. The land of Qalai, around the river Alaqir.

The Aktai'Parapon first crossed the borders of the kingdom no more than a tenday following the burning of the sky. Benjin nomads were the first to witness the silver flight, and after battling monsters that preyed on men, they were most certainly cautious of it, but this swarm was too vast for a few horsemen. So scouts were sent ahead to warn the king of the imminent threat.

But perhaps Qalai would have a better insight on this matter than his people.

Spoiler

Show

Incoming!

[Meeky]

"Your majesty! Your majesty! Blessed King, great father of man, there is something strange in the sky!"

The voice came from a desperate, wild looking Benjin man who rode right into the palace, only now taking the time to dismount. The horseman fell to his hands and knees immediately and stared up at the throne, pleading.

"Slow down," said Qalai, the butt of his spear clicking against the smooth steps leading to the ruler's seat. "Calm yourself and gather your thoughts. Servant, fetch this man some water."

The king's order was met with immediate obedience. Qalai personally helped the confused rider to his feet, one hand under his arm and the other behind his back, and led him toward the dining hall. He sat the man down before the great feasting table, and water was fetched and so was a fair serving of bread and butter. Qalai let the man take a few bites and sips, both of which he badly needed, and then motioned for him to speak.

"There were strange, flying creatures in the air. They gleamed in the sun like they were made of mirrors." The Benjin man took a moment more to catch his breath. "They were carried on locust's wings, long and thin, and were coming... here."

Qalai pondered his words. "They were shaped like great insects?"

"Shaped and sounded as them, a great buzz or thrum-- very many, very much."

King Qalai stood up, patting the young warrior on the shoulder. "You have done well," he said reassuringly. "See that this man is fed and bathed and treated as a guest. Prepare my swiftest horse, and have two-dozen lancers ready for me at the city square, and also a scribe."

The orders were given. The orders were heeded.


* * * * *


The party met in the town square, as commanded, and the whole group gathered just outside the city gates. Some guards stood warily on the walls, their bows taut, for they did not know what to expect from the swarm coming toward them in the distance. King Qalai did, though, or at least believed he knew. He sat mounted on his steed perhaps a hundred feet ahead of his men, his spear held proudly, his bearded chin raised.

The swarm was getting closer, and Qalai squinted. It was as he believed - these were creatures very similar to his old friend. Perhaps...

King Qalai raised his spear, and a brilliant red light swirled about in its head. It illuminated him and his horse, cast crimson shadows behind him. He lifted his voice:

"Replicants! Strangers from beyond! I am Aran Qalai, First King of Qalistad, leader of man! I am friends with one Seeker Ecitoni'Metz, and I greet you in the name of my people!"

[Snowfire]

"We are always careful, Elio of Lampide." Kalae replied, and the Web snapped back into motion. Spinning and dancing down the street, around builder and sufferer and all castes alike, yet never once stumbling. This was a far wilder Dance then Elio had seen before, one of powerful emotion and beneath that something far more complex that not even the Dancers truly understood. It was a Weaving Pattern, a Dance of Creation. Something that none outside of the Wood of Aodamo had seen until this day.

So the Dancers spun and whirled out of the city of Lampide, feet stepping to a Beat that only they could hear. And on the hill above, from where they had first seen the city, they took the grass from all around them and spun it together. Not for them to care of the limitations of strength and length, for a simple tweak to the Pattern of the grass they wove saw to what most would call an impossible obstacle. Such little things, and yet so large for those who could not see as they could. So the grass wove in the Dancer's hands, growing longer and stronger as it passed through their fingers. The frame of a tower, elegant in a way that the Castes of Onore could not comprehend.

Then more grass was taken, this split across its edges and woven wider into something that looked like straw colour cloth. Here and there it was see-through, forming windows in what would be walls. And up the grasscloth went in the hands of the Web, the Dancers climbing and jumping delicately across its frame. The cloth shimmered in the light of Onore's beacon, reflecting the gold back as it rose to form the flesh of the Grassweave. Strengthened to bear the weight of itself and those who would walk upon it, it would in days to come be a great surprise to those of Lampide. Grass it was, and grass it would always be. But not grass as most would call it. One day even it might garner a name for itself, but that was far away from the now in its Pattern.

So the Web wove and spun, unhurried in their frantic pace. And when the sky erupted in fire, they were safe. The grass that was not grass held firm against the explosive heat, only in a few places the Dancers requiring to damp down where streamers of skyfire had dropped onto their home's shell. Worry they did, yes, for their homes in Aodamo, but with little true conviction. For all that she might be mad, their Patternmaker had been both generous and kind in her Gifts. The crown of the wood might burn, but it would not reach the Weaves below. The Dancers knew their Pattern well, and they would survive.

So it was, a week after their first arrival - and bare days following the clearing of the skies - that the Grassweave stood finished for the Weavespeakers that would soon arrive. The elegant structure towered above the city of Lampide, rising to match the height of Onore's Lighthouse, but far more slender. Looking down on the human city, the Web Curious smiled at each other and nodded. A new Gift. It was good to see.

And but a day later, they were free. Web Weavespeaker came, following that Pattern that had been left. And Web Curious were freed to be what they were.

Keep an eye out for the ants, Elio Sufferer had said. So they searched for a hive, their beat blending to that of the grassland to find the pulse of something else that was new there. Around the city they stepped, all but invisible to the eyes of humans, looking and peering through Pattern and sight until they touched the edge of a very different Pattern.

Ants, Elio had said. But this was something all more intriguing. Ants of metal, bound together as something more. For hours the Web waited on the edge of the Pattern, testing and tasting the feel and texture of the Aktai Pattern before venturing into it openly.

Nine Dancers approached, feet whispering on grass in deliberate sign to their presence. No sneaking here, for nor did the Aktai sneak. Openness mirrored, that was the way of things.

Spoiler

Show

Spending 1 Act to enhance the Dancer's awareness of the Patterns around them, this time granting them the ability to apply slight alterations to Pattern variables. This will not, at present, work on any sapient or sentient being - that's going to be at least another act - and requires the Dancer to be touching what they're manipulating.

Limits right now are things like what's been shown above. They altered the length, tensile strength and flammability of the grass they made the Grassweave out of.

[Bryn]

Oh, hello there! You must be the child I've heard so much about.

Well, it's very good to meet you. I'm Jin. I hear Nara's already said a lot about Gren and me.

Oh yes, Green's his proper name. I had trouble pronouncing it when we met! Then it was a joke. Now it's just a nickname I have.

Ow!

That's my nose.

And that's my hair.

Well, most people wear it like this in our village.

I know, it does take some time to brush. I'm sure cleaning your scales takes just as long.

Yes, you have very shiny scales. Good job.

Are you always this... inquisitive?

Gosh, you've never seen a human? Well, I'm not an entirely typical human...

That's right, most humans don't have feathers on our hands. I added these on the way up here. Found the special mushrooms you need, just couldn't wait to try it out! They're a bit itchy, honestly.

Right, I'm an Artist. Not the greatest. But I know a few tricks.

Well, I actually first picked it up just after the peace in Anger. As it was then. I know it's not called that now.

Oh, Nara said how curious you were about that story. I guess I can tell you what I saw, if you're good and quiet. It's not an easy story for me to tell. But we have to remember.



I'd lived in Anger for a long time, at that point. I watched them seed the fields and start making it a bit like home. Green and I lived in a little house on stilts, high up the side of the valley. Not far from the inner walls, and the Quarried Hill. We had the loveliest view.

So when the Velosadapters came, I don't know why, but Green wasn't affected by Alue's sleeping spell. Nor me, but that's not as odd. Anyway, we hurried out to find Grassfoot immediately. She wasn't on such great terms with the Council, by that point. Most of her people lived out on the hills, or up in the mountains. I mean, they still came back, to help with the planting, and teach new methods, and the like.

Hm. If you don't mind, I would rather not talk about the siege. Even now. It's not really something I like to dwell on.

Instead, I'll tell you about what happened afterwards.

Green had lost an arm in the battle. He'd fallen unconscious. I tried to help him. I was...

I was... upset. Well, I was screaming for someone to help me, help him, show me some way. And, well. I know people have many bad things to say about her. But when Hask walked out of the mist, told me how to put his arm back on, make sure he lived...

I didn't need another goddess, then.

Well, I'm sure you know how it ended. After all, it was your ancestors, and Alue. The three Muses had met up with each other again, at long last. And your ancestors had worked their magic, to make Variations more like Velosadapters, and Velosadapters more like Variations.

I mean, I understand, in a way. But that decision never sat well with me. The Variations had built a community together. We'd learned not to cause such harm. And the Velosadapters, well, Sin behind them... they just came in to knock it all down! We were facing slavery at the least. Perhaps complete annihilation. At the time, I could hardly imagine a choice more cruel and unjust than forcing us to accept these invaders.

Even since then, seeing all that happened... I still can't say I'm entirely at peace with it. But perhaps, given the situation, it was the least cruel thing to do.

Listen to me, moralising away! Let me carry on telling you what happened.

So, with the new arrivals being the only ones in any state to do anything, with them insisting we all work together... well, peace talks were certainly going to happen! The Variations refused to be represented by Hask, or Sin. They hardly trusted Alue either - if they'd known she'd cast the sleeping spell, right back at the beginning...

I'll admit, I wasn't there for the most of it. We had a rather more pressing matter on our hands.

I hope you never have to see a fire war, and the effect it has on the land. But you can imagine. With all the stores burned or consumed during the siege, there was nothing to eat. And the Dha'Vennox granting hunger to the Variations could only make things much worse. There was only really one person in the world who could help us.

So as they're all arguing away in a thousand different places - who should leave, who should hold the fortress, who would be in charge of the survivors, what should become of meddling goddesses - Grassfoot walks up to me.

Maybe one day you'll meet her! I know the grassfoot Variations have something of a reputation, now. To me, they have always been kind. I suppose Gren has something to do with that!

We can all see the state of the land. Even with the grassfoot Variations marching back and forth, barely any plants can survive. And with diving Variations and Velosadapters, the river was quickly picked clean of the few fish to have survived the war. Animals with any sense were staying far, far away...

I hear, later on, that they found a few surviving stores, and rationed out what was left, with unification-minded Variations and Velosadapters sharing the guard duty to stop one side or another from hoarding the food. But really, only the goddess Api-Niyap had a hope of saving this mess. So Grassfoot asked me, since I was - still am - a person of Aodama, to go back and plead for the goddess Api-Niyap to come and save this land.

We didn't know if she could, but there was little other hope.

Gren's a lot faster at walking than me, and anyway, I wasn't going anywhere without him. So I hop up on his back, and we set off walking.

Nowadays, with the roads in place, and leggies to ride on, it's not so hard to get from !newAnger to the Valley of Aodama. But back then, it was a tough trip. We'd made it once before, but with the other grassfoot Variations at our side, and things changed rather a lot since then.

That huge earthquake that hit Anger had caused rather a mess, and the sky was thick with dust. It coated every surface, turning the trees brown and grey, and the streams into clutching pools of mud. Huge boulders had fallen throughout the mountains, and the remaining slopes were unstable, ready to bury us in dirt in an instant.

But there were worse things about than loose rocks.

It turned out, rather to everyone's surprise, that the Variations and Velosadapters and Dha'Vennox weren't the only people in this valley. There was another deity, something rather like Hask and her sisters. But this one, well, was a rather different beast. I'm sure you know the name Kalamar.

Now, back then, I didn't know the first thing about this new god, or the creatures he made! Green and I were hurrying along the back of a ridge, following a goat path, when we saw smoke rising up ahead.

It hardly registered at first, smoke not looking all that different from dust. But soon we saw the fires below. Well, at first we thought the forest was alight. But these fires were moving much more like a group of people, and we soon recognised a large band of Variations, many carrying flaming torches, moving at a swift pace towards the ruins of Anger.

Naturally, Gren wanted to go down there, and greet his siblings. Well, as we got closer, this lot seemed to be in a rather belligerent mood, shouting and waving sharp objects about. And, well, we'd all heard the horror stories about roaming cannibals out in the wastes. And when we got a good look at them, saw they were all wearing skulls...

Perhaps, we thought, it would be best to steer clear.

More than a bit spooked by this lot, we were still not in the least prepared for what came next. Gren and I moved on to the next valley, and we found a relatively secluded spot - high up a steep cliff, not easy to approach - and started setting up a tent for the night. Got a fire of our own going...

It started with this horrible grunting noise, coming from down the hill. We got up to see what was about, and I could make out just these seven or eight little dots of light, arranged in a circle. So we pretty hurriedly started stowing our tent, and whatever this thing was started wriggling up the hill, far faster than anything had any right to. Gren grabbed a flaming branch out the fire, and threw it down the hill, and it lights up...

Hask's teeth, I don't even know how to describe this thing. Like a big segmented tube, with fangs jutting out the front in a mess, and the lights, I guess they were its eyes, inside looking out through the teeth. And these huge red arms and legs, just rippling with muscle, each with far too many fingers on the end. I've seen some pretty strange Variations, but they don't tend to go for something so... chunky.

We didn't stay to discuss it. Just pushed the tent off the hill to slow it down, then ran away along the cliff path, hoping for some way away. And the big red legworm thing keeps following us, and what's worse is that it starts talking.

It was bizarre. Half the time, it would shout these disturbingly detailed explanations of how it was going to cook and eat us. The other half of the time, it was shouting about boats.

Yes, boats! Apparently, this thing wanted a boat, more than anything in the world.

Anyway, there's no way we can outrun it. So I start shouting back, telling it that there's a great big boat in the next valley. And believe it or not - I swear, I'm not lying - this thing tells us to stay put so we can be eaten, then turns around and runs off to find this boat.

Well, we didn't want to be there when it found a marked absence of boat. We hurried off the cliff path, I got on Gren's back, we start galloping for Aodama.

We are so, so lucky that Gren never stuck his hoof in a hole.

We hurried on, not daring to light our way. With the clouds of dust in the sky, there was no hope of navigating by stars, either. We just had to hope this ravine would draw us ever closer to the Valley of Aodama, and that these horrible creatures hadn't overrun it since we left.

For all I could see, the world was falling to ruin. Gren held my hand the whole journey, hugged me when I needed it, promised me that the Valley would survive, that Api-Niyap could defeat these creatures, that the Valley could not fall. And in turn, I told him how Anger would rebuild, how the Variations could recover, how Hask and Alue could stop this army from destroying what was left.

I'm not sure if either of us really believed what we were saying.

And before too long, the worm creature came marching back on its four beefy arms. It didn't see us at first, and we hid in a ditch, hoping it would pass, staring up through the undergrowth at its huge circle of pointy teeth, its long swishy tail with a barb at the end. That creature is horrible up close. You can see every fibre of the muscles in its arms, red goo seeping out of the gaps.

I learned later that it was called Harl, some kind of big name in Kalamar's army.

But that's when another player entered the scene. Harl was stamping about, grumbling incomprehensibly. And then, out of the sky, this shiny, glittery insect arrives. Starts talking in this buzzing voice, sounding disturbingly like a child's.

And of course, what does it do but point us right out to Harl?

It wasn't the best introduction I could have had to the Aktai'Parapon.

Ah, I forgot how long I go on with this. Look at you, you can barely keep your eyes open! I just get carried away, and with you listening so well...

Don't worry. I'll tell you the rest tomorrow.

[Draken]

Qalistan

The shimmering swarm above flew rings over the city while the king spoke, until at last a comitive descended, headed by a great silver thing reminiscent of Metz in shape, but with a triangular head, a long tail, four dragonfly wings and scythes for hands, held together as those of a mantis.

"Greetings, Aran Qalai, First King of Qalistai, leader of these men."

They kind of know more men so it more adequate to say that, they think.

"We are the chosen Voice of Aktai'Parapon, First and Most Hallowed of Replicant Swarms. Divine of Metal and Community. We are exalted by what you have crafted in this place."

"As for Ecitoni'Metz, he has shared the tales of his travels with us all. It is many times better to see that you have put the crafts of our kind to grand use. We identify you as divine."

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

The Way to Aodamo

Point out perhaps the replicant did, but that's not to say it would simply let Harl eat them.

... Well, not yet anyway.

Now, a replicant is, well, an ant. A metal ant half the size of a man. It is monumentally strong. The weight of a man and a deerman? Probably barely the weight of the replicant itself when added together.

So the replicant swoops own and picks Jin and Green right out of their hiding hole and into the sky above Harl, but well out of his reach.

"Wev' got them. Yes. But you may not eat them, no. Humans are good folk. Yes. Not food. And you musn't eat the property of others, as this deer most certainly belongs to this human. Yes."

It apparently doesn't think of variations as people. Huh. Or does, but thinks of them as lesser, for some reason. And may or may not be looking down on the demon as well.

It is also not speaking for the Aktai' Parapon, no, no, it is no Voice after all. And why would a Divine address a mere demon and two other mortals anyway.

"You must forgive Harl, human. He is hungry, always. Yes. And we have come to understand that demons are not the most reliable sorts. No. But they can be useful. Yes. And their lord Kalamar is an agreeable Divine. Yes. If with strange taste in aesthetics. Yes."

"Might I inquire where you head, and why? That way lies a human community. Yes. We have seen it from above. Yes. Are you a man of that community? We have yet to meet them, or their Divine. Yes."

Vocal little thing.

[HalfTangible]

Carrot and Stick

Onore turned Liral's words over in her head as she worked. She spoke as if the world didn't want her nation's rule: unity, justice, and peace reigning supreme? A world where all are not only safe and stable, but happy, and under the rule of a goddess who wanted the best?

She ran her hands along the light she had crafted for Lampide's tower, slowly turning the cracked silver back into flawless gold (making a mental note of the exact hue as she did so - she could use a night light). Sure, the castes were... a little restrictive, but it was possible to change them. If a mortal were truly better suited to another role, they could find it.

What kind of mortal would want her rule to end?

Onore didn't take too long to repair her light. She watched the Dancers leave her city and begin weaving their grass into a home. She let her armored legs dangle over the edge of the tower, pondering. Did such mortals exist, that would prioritize personal choice so highly that they would suffer for it? Yes. She'd met a few, and she had let them go without ill will. But could a mortal prioritize it highly enough to make others suffer for it?

She felt her light dim a bit as she considered the disturbing possibility.

... It would be dawn soon.

She looked over her shoulder, as the sun rose over the ocean. Truly, the sun's splendor was a sight to see, even now. And it would always serve a high purpose. But she had a higher one in mind, now.

If mortals would make others suffer purely for their own pleasure... then...

She jumped from the tower, landing squarely on her feet on the ground, some three stories below. She had work to do.

---

Onore looked over the tablet in her hands one last time. It could be altered by no hand but her own, she had made sure of that. And she would use it for the benefit of all, not her own. She nodded, satisfied with her wording, and then looked up.

Bring him in here.

A man had been brought up from her dungeon (THAT had taken forever to build, but it was worth it) after being told he would stay there for life. She glared at the miserable shell of a man before her. This man had murdered his own family, and had skinned alive dozens of people before he was caught. The Inquisition had to be called, and his arresting officer lost an eye.

She had walked in to the man's room to find him laughing as he carved up a little girl.

Onore was certain this man fit her criteria. Your name.

He spat at her feet, laughing for just a moment before her boot slammed into his stomach.

Your name. She repeated.

Gag... Calsis Skinner.

How fitting. Today you go free.

Quit witcha moralizin' and- wait, what?

Release him. Calsis was unbound and he rubbed his wrists for a moment. He looked up at Onore, surprise on his face.

...Why?

Because if you can get out of the city, I will pardon your crimes and let you go free with no execution.

The man's eyes widened and he ran for the door. The moment he threw it open however, he screamed as his skin sizzled.

Onore waited while the man tried to run out anyway and fell over, in too great agony to run. She nodded, satisfied, and brought him back inside quickly. Now, return him to his cell.

She looked at her tablet as the guards took the prisoner away.

All that is unholy shall be burned by Onore's light and Her blessings.

The following is deemed Unholy:
-Enjoying the direct suffering of others.
-The creation of darkness through magical means.

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1 Act: Onore creates the concept of 'Unholy', things so vile and wrong that there she will give no quarter. Any thing she declares to be such burns hot and pained under the her light. If it's an unholy action that isn't a part of the person's everyday personality/life (the serial killer burned because his enjoyment of others' suffering was deeply ingrained in his psyche), then the sun burns like crazy while the act is performed. If alive, the unholy thing will not die, but it will be in agony and severely weakened. (This doesn't apply to animals)

Currently, that list consists of:
-Taking direct enjoyment from the suffering of others
-Magic that relies on creating/spreading darkness

Oh, and uh...

The sun is one of her lights.

[Meeky]

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The shimmering swarm above flew rings over the city while the king spoke, until at last a comitive descended, headed by a great silver thing reminiscent of Metz in shape, but with a triangular head, a long tail, four dragonfly wings and scythes for hands, held together as those of a mantis.

"Greetings, Aran Qalai, First King of Qalistai, leader of these men."

They kind of know more men so it more adequate to say that, they think.

"We are the chosen Voice of Aktai'Parapon, First and Most Hallowed of Replicant Swarms. Divine of Metal and Community. We are exalted by what you have crafted in this place."

"As for Ecitoni'Metz, he has shared the tales of his travels with us all. It is many times better to see that you have put the crafts of our kind to grand use. We identify you as divine."

"Aktai, Aktai..." The king bowed his head respectfully, then beckoned the silver being closer. "Metz told me some things of your swarm, Aktai'Parapon. He called it 'Divine,' as well, and from what I see, he cannot be wrong." Qalai patted his horse on the back of his neck.

"I thank you for your compliment. I rule as I am able, and my people have prospered for it; I would not deny that. Perhaps it is divine." The human king slipped off his horse, then, his sandals making only a soft mark on the sand, tossing only the most minute bits of it away. "But there must be something you want, something we can do to help each other... Or perhaps there is something my people can teach yours for the deed Metz did when he taught us to work metal.

"Come. Voice your thoughts, O noble Voice." Qalai clenched his left hand and pressed it over his heart. "Let us make a friendship here, let good trade come of it."

[Tychris1]

The Way to Aodoma

Hurl was greatly displeased! He was Hurl! Demon Prince! Spawn of Tar and Devourer of Life! He had trusted these two in there promise of boats and remaining to be eaten, yet they betrayed him! Alright, so maybe Demons themselves aren't all too reliable, but hey! They weren't Demons! So they don't have any moral high ground to cover up their lying.

"Release them this instant! Traitors! Vermin! Liars! Boat-Liars! I am Hurl! Favored son of Kalamar! I will strip the skin from your bones and use your bones to craft the magnificent boat you lied about! And then I’ll eat you! Well. Not your bones. Because I need those for the boat, and I guess by the time the boat is finished your skin will have rotted away. But I’ll eat your hearts! Yeah, that's what I’ll do."

The Demon began waving his overly muscled arms through the air, flailing them about uselessly as he attempted to reach the Replicant. Eventually he began to hop up and down, even standing on the very tips of his appendages in order to reach them, with no avail. Desperation and anger were quickly building up in him, and he began to spit out even more vitriolic and nonsensical words.

"Uhhh.... Let them down please? I won't eat them. I promise! Really I do!.... Ok, so, revise that. I will just break their legs. Ok, one leg. A bone? How about their femur, no one needs a femur. Come on, just get them down. Look, I’m going to open my mouth, and on the count of three you drop them, ok? 1...2....3-You didn't drop them! I thought we had an understanding here. GRARGH! I'll light your whole pathetic settlement on fire! I'll lift it up and dash it against the rocks for my Lord Kalamar, and then he will laugh at your pathetic cries of pain! I will fillet you and roast you over a large bonfire of your kin, slowly marinating you with the blood of your ancestors and exotic spices. I will rend your homes asunder, destroy their remnants, and craft a mighty boat from it! I will sail the high seas, the wind at my back, and the smell of salt in the air. The cool, refreshing breeze of ocean water..... The sight of fish dancing through the air before splashing back in.... The soft sun overhead......"

He quickly grew distracted, enthralled by his delusions of what owning a boat will feel like, and the occasional burst of pirate fantasies. Looking off to the distance, he almost enters a dream like state, drooling from what could be described as his mouth. As his drool hits his arm he snaps back to attention and suddenly hits a stroke of brilliance.

"Oh, I know! You give me a boat, and I tell all the other Demons that the place you are going to is really boring and dumb, and that they should go to other places for more fun. How about it?"

The One Who Got Away

Far off, in both time and distance, was a little tavern off to the side of the road. It was situated on the outskirts of Lampide, far enough to be out of sight, but close enough to still be in mind. The sun had set a while back, and the inhabitants of the tavern didn't let it faze them one bit. For within were housed some of the less then moral individuals. Not those who commit "Unholy" acts (Though occasionally they do stumble in for refuge, though are refused on sight due to the heat they will bring) but those who cheat and steal and con.

As the night wore on, patrons came and patrons left, and a drinking game was beginning where folks talked about "The one who got away". May it be a loved one, a treasured item, or a great con gone awry. All but one of the consistent patrons had told a story. He was a thin man, garbed in leather tanned to blend in with the dark, and a hood to match. A single blade hanged by his side, gently caressed by his knuckle glove covered hand, and his other hand holding his head in place. He had entered long before the others and stayed long after.

Raising a mug, one of the fatter and more obnoxious story tellers bumped his belly into the quiet stranger and barked "Aye mate, yah dun' not told a story yet! Ya dun' nutin but sit dar, aint drinkin' or laughing. Come on mate, tell me yah story!" With that he busted out in slobber covered laughter. Wiping the grime from his suit, the thin stranger sighed and looked over at the fat man. From the glassy texture of his eyes and the heavy rank of belligerent stupidity in his breath it was clear that he would not be leaving soon. Ordering a drink for himself he succumbed and said "Fine, I’ll tell you my story." Taking a sip from his mug he continued.

"I almost stole Kalamar's Sword."

The patrons went dead silent as they heard what he said, but the thin man ignored them and continued.

"It wasn't simple. I was off over at Qalistad, ready to steal from some caravan or another. When out from the dark I got dragged back and gagged. Next thing I know I’m in some building or another. Three guards stood over me, blades to my throat, and I thought I’d been caught. But out from the dark comes this heavily robed man, can't tell a damn detail about him, and he starts talking. Apparently he's an envoy for the Royal Family of Qalai or a member of it. He was never too specific over it. From what he had heard, Kalamar had forged a sword. Not just any sword, a powerful artifact that could rend sanity itself, and must be removed from his hands as quickly as possible. However, a direct attack would be highly improbable and lead to the death of countless people. So, a lither plan was needed, so a thief was needed. Me. I was to be paid an exuberant amount, half up front, and the other half after the deed was done.

If I attempted to take the money and run, they would cut my feet off, then my hands, then my tongue, and finally my head. Rather liking my appendages, I decided that the job would be a nice story to die by, and took the forced offer.

As a wise man once said, know thy enemy, and so I decided to do some research. The artifact was called Ca’thur, Insanity Edge, and Soul Bleeder. Demons referred to it as the Blade of Strife and Discord. Considering how the Demonic race is, there was plenty of bull**** surrounding how exactly it was forged. Some say a great whale beached itself and spat out the blade. Others say that the blade was just a regular sword Kalamar repeatedly used, stained by his very presence. Some say it was a gift from Onore after he did the Divine dance. Others spoke of fantastical adventures, massive hallucinations, rainbows, fighting an entire storm, riding meteors, underground mole people, and yet stranger things. From what I can piece together this is what really happened.

Apparently one day Kalamar decided that he needed a signature. Something that would invoke his image, his terrifying presence, and usher his name without him being there. A symbol of power and a tool to further his pleasure. So he set about creating one.

Now, making a weapon is a simple enough matter, and Kalamar could forge a powerful blade by slapping his hands together and rubbing quickly. But he needed more then a strong blade, he needed it to be legendary, he needed it to be shrouded in myth and legend and wield fantastic power. He needed it to be as much a physical embodiment of himself as his hand is. So he needed to create a chassis for it, to carefully select each component of it and set about acquiring it.

The first component was the hilt and scabbard. Considering that it would be as treacherous and chaotic as Kalamar was, he needed a proper safety measure for the blade, a cooling order for Kalamars rampaging chaos. As hilarious as a wanton blade roaring and flying about would be, it would be a highly ineffective weapon and an even worse symbol. So Kalamar sought after a hive of Replicants, seeking their metallic and orderly shells to act as his controlling factor. His imps reported of a small hive not too far away from them, with rumors spreading of a colossal sized Replicant amongst them, and so Kalamar whisked himself away to go find them.

What exactly happened inside of the hive is not entirely known, but this is what I do know. Kalamar came in, stomping and roaring, demanding to fight their biggest and baddest Replicant. They refused, at first, thinking this was a waste of their time. But after he piledrivered some of the Replicants they soon complied. The thing was rumored to be gargantuan, far larger then even Kalamar. Or maybe it was just a bunch of them who got sick of his crap and ganged up on him. Either way, the fighting was tense. Blood and metal were sent flying about as they fought, the entire cave shook from the sheer amount of power being thrown about, and the Replicants fought like a surgical knife. Precise and deadly, they coordinated themselves effortlessly, taking different formations and attempting to attack at all sides. Yet Kalamar swatted them aside like the insects they were, and began to thrash them and their gargantuan Replicant. As a last ditch effort they attempted to collapse a part of the cave on him, but to no avail as he used the debris to further smash them. The Replicants were worried, thinking Kalamar would kill them all for their failure to end him, but instead he collected one antennae and one pincer from the Replicant he defeated (Or a bunch of little ones).

Having trounced the Replicants, acquiring his hilt and scabbard in the process, Kalamar decided he needed to get the guard. He needed an intermediary force, something chaotic yet trustworthy. Something he knew he could rely on partially, yet was able to tap into the chaoticly destructive elements he called his own. Knowing just where to find such a thing, Kalamar departed the area and left for the birthplace of Demons.

The volcano on which he had birthed Demons was mostly converted. Demons were sprawled all along and inside of it, carving the mountainside to make their own primitive city. As Kalamar descended he was met with a chrous of praise, yet he cared not for his current children. He had someone else in mind, someone far older. One of the first 3 Demons, the only one he knew to still be alive. Burying himself deep within the Volcano, the Demon would not make himself an easy target. So Kalamar decided to do the simple answer to his problem. So he blew out the side of the Volcano. This I know to be true, as the Volcano still bears a gaping wound in it from Kalamars actions. Severely hollowed out by the Demons, while being aided by said Demons, and possessing the powers of wanton destruction made detonating the Volcano a simple action. Amongst the rubble and debris was one of his firstborn children, still in a state of slumber despite all that it has been through. Like any good father, Kalamar patted his child on the back, and took his spinal chord to be used as the guard.

Whatever extra pieces remained of the spine was used as the fuller for the last component, the Blade. Now, this was the most important part of the weapon, and so Kalamar spent the most time deciding what to make it out of. Finally he nestled his brain on what to do. Find another shard, infuse his own being into it before it could develop, and twist it beyond recognition. Now, the Shards don't just come by like clockwork, no they are a rare thing indeed. So instead of waiting for one to just fall by Kalamar went hunting. He scoured the land and even the void up above, until one day he found it. Kalamar seized the shard visciouslly, not giving it a time to react, and began to flood it with the emotions of freedom and chaos. Some say the shard nearly imploded on itself, others that it almost took Kalamar with it. All I know for sure is that Kalamar returned unscathed, with a horribly twisted piece of black metal that hurts your eyes if you stare at it for too long.

With all of his components in one place, all Kalamar needed was a forge. Returning to the Volcano he so unceremoniously detonated, he plunged the materials into the hot lava below him, and began to work. For 5 days and 5 nights he hammered away at the pieces he had assembled. They struggled, refusing to fit together properly, and large swathes of lava erupting were a common sight as Kalamar attempted to force them together. With each day he infused more and more of his being into the weapon, forcing them closer and closer together, and finally upon the sixth day Kalamar had managed to force them into one shape. Draping his own skin over the weapon to complete the process, Kalamar looked it over and was pleased. It was as mutable as he was, coated in a miasma of pure change and destruction that protected those adapted tp them but wracked the lawful with horrid pain.

Wreathed in power ascendant Kalamar departed, weapon in tow, and decided to test the weapon out. As to how I almost stole it? Well, that's a whole other story, and it'll require a whole other mug of ale to tell......"

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2 Acts: Kalamar will create his first Artifact, Ca'Thur, Insanity Edge, the Soul Bleeder. It is a mutating weapon that changes appearance as often as he does.

The blade is a horrid and terrible artifact, with each swing it leaves a light trail of pure anarchy, a swathe of logic and reason that is merely erased. Were a mortal to ever wield it or be struck by it, they would find themselves a gibbering mess of pure insanity. A stark raving lunatic. This miasma of wrongness permeates farther then just the blade itself, as those of rigid self discipline or high mental faculties will find themselves nasueated and light headed just by being near the blade, its very presence enough to slowly unravel the minds of the unwilling. To a lesser extent, prolonged sight of the blade has been known to cause irritation aswell, and if one were to stare at it for an extended period of time they might aswell stare at the sun for what good it will do them. Some are driven blind, much like the sun would, while others are plagued with constant visions of the blade impaling them eternally and destroying them in ever new ways.

Aside from its psychological capabilities, the Blade also wields physical power. Anything it touches is bound to change. Silver armor is changed to soft gold, or grass, and even bedrock. Water is changed to honey or acid or fire. Flesh is corrupted, turned Demonic in appearance, and made into yet stranger things still. Most of the transformations are for the worse, but the blade will occasionally get bored or take a fancy in something and make it "better". Of course, what constitutes "Better" is up to the whim of the blade, and it may include being turned into a chicken and being rejuvenated to a younger age as "Better" on the same day. It is not only limited to simple blade to blade combat, as it is capable of extreme pyrotechnics, and can be used as a focal point for a storm of chaos. Bolts of chaotic energy soaring off of its blade is a common sight in battle, and is often accompanied by the terrified screams of those who are hit.

The hilt and scabbard of the blade are made of Replicant pincer and anttenae respectively, and are a stark contrast to the rest of it. While the blade permeates a warm, ever changing, and vitrolic miasma the hilt and scabbard are cold and clean. An unchanging and unflinching aspect of the blade, incredibly durable, and permeating its own lesser aura of cold contempt. In a way they both represent Kalamar. The hot blooded, passionate, whimsical madman, and the cold, heartless, self centered bastard. It is in this way that Kalamar keeps a semblance of balance in a turmoiling sea of emotions and destruction.

"Ca'Thur is Kalamar, and Ca'Thur means me."

Stats: +2 Attack.

[Kasanip]

SPRING
Aodama


Api-Niyap returned to the valley of Aodama in time to witness the red sky of sunrise, and the light of Onore's sun, and for this time, the valley flourished with more color and life, the year returning to beginning. Even monsters were not a trouble in this peaceful and isolated time. The people of Aodama grew with Api-Niyap's presence, and it is said that there was no more beautiful place of grass and peace at this time. A land of green and beautiful flowers in the returned spring, and no want. Even the monsters in the darkness were placated with food, abundantly given freely.

And for this time, it was peaceful, working in the dirt and planting the seeds, Api-Niyap returned to this simple life, bickering in friendship with the Phoenix. But she had not forgotten her meeting with Ilos and Mystos, and remembered fondly the Grassfeet she had traveled with before year.
So it was when sitting on a rock in the field to eat lunch, that Api-Niyap spoke to Phoenix.

"I think that cloud looks happy, traveling freely."
"You sound jealous. Aren't you the goddess of these people?" The pheonix asked the green haired girl.
"No, even if these words are given and appreciated, I don't like the heavy blue beads, and sitting makeup and perfume, being honored. It makes me embarrassed." The spring child responded as she watched the clouds and swung dirty feet aimlessly.
"You haven't changed." The fire bird's remark. "You are still petulant about cleaning and pruning properly!" Tilting her head further back, Api-Niyap frowned at the phoenix.
"Of course I change. I am not petulant!"
"Yes, especially in spring you are." The phoenix chided. Api-Niyap sighed.
"You're always critical in spring."
"Because you are childish." The spring child's pout responded wordlessly.
"That isn't fair!"
"Fire burns everything, right? Even my sharp comments are like this to a goddess."
The tossed dusty robe fell over the sitting bird.
"A bossy bird isn't appreciated on a beautiful day. I already finished today's work, so what is wrong with enjoying my lunch?" The stripped girl's roughhoused reply. Flapping wings and naked arms wrestled.
"If you want to pretend to be a goddess, then wear these heavy beads!" The triumphant spring child's challenge, as she succeeded in placing them around the Phoenix's neck.
"My my, you are really irresponsible today." The resigned Phoenix's reply as it handed back the robe to Api-Niyap who wore a naked self-satisfied expression.
"That's because I'm restless. There's a lot to do, but I am thinking of far-away things." The spring child replied, returning to restless foot-swaying and cloud watching.
"Are you nervous? Normally you only look pay attention to the present."
"Maybe. I can't stop thinking about other things, except when I'm working. Doesn't that make me responsible?"
"Maybe, unless you are thinking about that clock or cook." The doubtful bird's reply. The red-faced child scowled.
"No! But I mean, what if I am a goddess? What sort of goddess should I be?" She asked, turning serious again as she looked at the clouds.

There was silence for this pensive moment.
"Shouldn't I have a goal or desire? That's what Ilos and Mystos have." She asked curiously.

More silence and the soft breeze of spring.

"I think you should make it a goal to wear your clothes properly. Then maybe by Autumn (of next next year!) you can grow up to be a goddess worthy of that cook." The sarcastic reply of the Phoenix.
Of course there was the sound of dropped robe, and the mixed cries of girl and phoenix [friends] wrestling and arguing friendly in the fields of spring of the Valley of Aodama as the clouds pass.

[Draken]

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"Aktai, Aktai..." The king bowed his head respectfully, then beckoned the silver being closer. "Metz told me some things of your swarm, Aktai'Parapon. He called it 'Divine,' as well, and from what I see, he cannot be wrong." Qalai patted his horse on the back of his neck.

"I thank you for your compliment. I rule as I am able, and my people have prospered for it; I would not deny that. Perhaps it is divine." The human king slipped off his horse, then, his sandals making only a soft mark on the sand, tossing only the most minute bits of it away. "But there must be something you want, something we can do to help each other... Or perhaps there is something my people can teach yours for the deed Metz did when he taught us to work metal.

"Come. Voice your thoughts, O noble Voice." Qalai clenched his left hand and pressed it over his heart. "Let us make a friendship here, let good trade come of it."

Qalistan

The Voice thrummed in waiting for the deliberation of the Aktai'Parapon.

"Divine are those whose power is but an ounce of the titan Mortan, whose shards empower the gods, whose shards fed the replicants, whose shards are cast into weapons of legend. Divine are those who wield the power of the gods. You are Divine, so will be your heirs."

A brief pause while the Voice of Aktai'Parapon turns its head full circle to takes a look at the city, for himself, not for the swarm. To god-infused eyes, it is quite a sight, as an otherwise unseen aura of power distances itself from the Voice.

"It is most unusual to address this representative speaker, as opposed to the Equivalence of the Aktai'Parapon, noble Divine. But I shall provide as best I can, to better serve us all."

"The Aktai'Parapon presides over all things of metal and all things of community, these resonate with its essence, these are what it has taken the mantle of god of. Towns, Cities, Nations, tools and weapons. These are the purview of the Aktai'Parapon, these are their interests. Trade is not due to them, I am afraid."

"Trade is due to our Hives in the Mines Islands, and in the continent, by Lampide, land of Onore and within the nation of Gilead. Humans like yourselves. All of these countries, those of our kin and those of yours, share the terrestrial needs of mortalkind."

"The Aktai'Parapon come before you not as a nation seeking an ally, but as the Divine sensing their kin. Doubly so you, who were cast by replicants hands and shared your blood with steel, as did the Solitary One, as do we all."

"Nonetheless, we have seen patterns across your city, and wonder what purpose they serve. The Hives would very much benefit from an exchange of culture and wisdom."

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"We are always careful, Elio of Lampide." Kalae replied, and the Web snapped back into motion. Spinning and dancing down the street, around builder and sufferer and all castes alike, yet never once stumbling. This was a far wilder Dance then Elio had seen before, one of powerful emotion and beneath that something far more complex that not even the Dancers truly understood. It was a Weaving Pattern, a Dance of Creation. Something that none outside of the Wood of Aodamo had seen until this day.

So the Dancers spun and whirled out of the city of Lampide, feet stepping to a Beat that only they could hear. And on the hill above, from where they had first seen the city, they took the grass from all around them and spun it together. Not for them to care of the limitations of strength and length, for a simple tweak to the Pattern of the grass they wove saw to what most would call an impossible obstacle. Such little things, and yet so large for those who could not see as they could. So the grass wove in the Dancer's hands, growing longer and stronger as it passed through their fingers. The frame of a tower, elegant in a way that the Castes of Onore could not comprehend.

Then more grass was taken, this split across its edges and woven wider into something that looked like straw colour cloth. Here and there it was see-through, forming windows in what would be walls. And up the grasscloth went in the hands of the Web, the Dancers climbing and jumping delicately across its frame. The cloth shimmered in the light of Onore's beacon, reflecting the gold back as it rose to form the flesh of the Grassweave. Strengthened to bear the weight of itself and those who would walk upon it, it would in days to come be a great surprise to those of Lampide. Grass it was, and grass it would always be. But not grass as most would call it. One day even it might garner a name for itself, but that was far away from the now in its Pattern.

So the Web wove and spun, unhurried in their frantic pace. And when the sky erupted in fire, they were safe. The grass that was not grass held firm against the explosive heat, only in a few places the Dancers requiring to damp down where streamers of skyfire had dropped onto their home's shell. Worry they did, yes, for their homes in Aodamo, but with little true conviction. For all that she might be mad, their Patternmaker had been both generous and kind in her Gifts. The crown of the wood might burn, but it would not reach the Weaves below. The Dancers knew their Pattern well, and they would survive.

So it was, a week after their first arrival - and bare days following the clearing of the skies - that the Grassweave stood finished for the Weavespeakers that would soon arrive. The elegant structure towered above the city of Lampide, rising to match the height of Onore's Lighthouse, but far more slender. Looking down on the human city, the Web Curious smiled at each other and nodded. A new Gift. It was good to see.

And but a day later, they were free. Web Weavespeaker came, following that Pattern that had been left. And Web Curious were freed to be what they were.

Keep an eye out for the ants, Elio Sufferer had said. So they searched for a hive, their beat blending to that of the grassland to find the pulse of something else that was new there. Around the city they stepped, all but invisible to the eyes of humans, looking and peering through Pattern and sight until they touched the edge of a very different Pattern.

Ants, Elio had said. But this was something all more intriguing. Ants of metal, bound together as something more. For hours the Web waited on the edge of the Pattern, testing and tasting the feel and texture of the Aktai Pattern before venturing into it openly.

Nine Dancers approached, feet whispering on grass in deliberate sign to their presence. No sneaking here, for nor did the Aktai sneak. Openness mirrored, that was the way of things.

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Spending 1 Act to enhance the Dancer's awareness of the Patterns around them, this time granting them the ability to apply slight alterations to Pattern variables. This will not, at present, work on any sapient or sentient being - that's going to be at least another act - and requires the Dancer to be touching what they're manipulating.

Limits right now are things like what's been shown above. They altered the length, tensile strength and flammability of the grass they made the Grassweave out of.

Hive by Lampide

Jéga'Myrmeci held sway over this nascent Hive, its vast guards wielding spear, shield and crossbow in defense of the tunnels against the newfangled monster hordes, greedy for the treasuries of the replicants.

The weavers were most likely not monsters, but wary the hive guards remained.

"Hold, travelers. You come from the way of Lampide but you are not human. Identify yourselves and the reason you come."

[Meeky]

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Qalistan

The Voice thrummed in waiting for the deliberation of the Aktai'Parapon.

"Divine are those whose power is but an ounce of the titan Mortan, whose shards empower the gods, whose shards fed the replicants, whose shards are cast into weapons of legend. Divine are those who wield the power of the gods. You are Divine, so will be your heirs."

A brief pause while the Voice of Aktai'Parapon turns its head full circle to takes a look at the city, for himself, not for the swarm. To god-infused eyes, it is quite a sight, as an otherwise unseen aura of power distances itself from the Voice.

"It is most unusual to address this representative speaker, as opposed to the Equivalence of the Aktai'Parapon, noble Divine. But I shall provide as best I can, to better serve us all."

"The Aktai'Parapon presides over all things of metal and all things of community, these resonate with its essence, these are what it has taken the mantle of god of. Towns, Cities, Nations, tools and weapons. These are the purview of the Aktai'Parapon, these are their interests. Trade is not due to them, I am afraid."

"Trade is due to our Hives in the Mines Islands, and in the continent, by Lampide, land of Onore and within the nation of Gilead. Humans like yourselves. All of these countries, those of our kin and those of yours, share the terrestrial needs of mortalkind."

"The Aktai'Parapon come before you not as a nation seeking an ally, but as the Divine sensing their kin. Doubly so you, who were cast by replicants hands and shared your blood with steel, as did the Solitary One, as do we all."

"Nonetheless, we have seen patterns across your city, and wonder what purpose they serve. The Hives would very much benefit from an exchange of culture and wisdom."

King Qalai could see the change in the Voice, and he was intrigued. When he had spoken to the Voice, he did not realize it was not the one already bargaining with him. Understanding came quickly as he remembered what his old friend had told him of the Swarm and what he had heard just now: Aktai'Parapon, the entirety of it and all that combined to make it, spoke at once. Qalai had asked, albeit without knowing he had, to speak with a singular piece of Aktai'Parapon.

There would be no need to share this revelation with the Replicants; either they already could see he was learning or they assumed he had known beforehand. Neither of these was bad for him, but for a ruler to try and curry the favor of his peers could only have ill consequences. After having considered these things (all within the span of a mere moment), Qalai withdrew his own godly energies that he had been radiating, much as Aktai'Parapon withdrew itself from the Voice.

"There are some patterns to the city, yes," the tall king began. "They are made for order and practicality. The walls are made the same length between each tower so that a man who crosses from one to the other may measure distance in them. Most streets are arranged in rows and columns so they are easier to maneuver, and soon we will give them numbers and names. There are patterns in our architecture, and patterns in our writing...

"But enough talking of patterns. Perhaps, Voice, you would walk with me through my city, Istan, and see these things - our wisdom and our culture - for yourself? Come with me, and let us see what there is my people have your people need and discuss this as equals."

There was one thing Qalai left unsaid, for now. The Replicant had called him kin and had explained why he was kin, and that was something he could accept. But to say he was cast by Replicant hands, as if he was a Replicant creation... Some words would have to be said about that when the time was right. He CLAIMED his destiny for himself; and while he was eternally grateful for the help and company Ecitoni'Metz had provided, Qalai had hammered his dynasty's place in history with his own hands.

Yes. Later, this would have to be discussed. There was no doubting that. But for now...

"Tell me, Voice..." Qalai began walking toward the gates. He motioned for his men to make way, and they obliged. "Tell me, what have you learned of these other peoples, and how would favorably do you view them?"

[kestrel404]

Among the devastation and despair wrought by the near-slaughter of the Variations in Kalamar's camp, Sin smiles radiantly up at the giant warrior. Her slight, demure form enticing and lovely.

She reaches almost shyly to take his hand and lead him into the ruined city. Then with the awful suddenness of a nightmare, Sin melts and flows, losing her lovely curves and becoming a hideous, bloated mass of pustules and tumors. Flowing like liquid up Kalamar's arm and side in an instant, the disgusting mass that was Sin consumes him utterly, before bursting like a popped pimple and leaving behind only more gore and blood on the already bloody ground.

================================================

Within the walls of Anger, Sin's priest straightens from where he is ministering to a group of nearly-comatose Velocidapters. From the tip of his tail, a pustule forms and expands, growing at an absurd rate until it is several times his own size and completely consuming his tail.

Within seconds, the roiling mass of protuberant flesh bursts, releasing a pleased looking Sin - radiantly beautiful and not a hair out of place - and a disgruntled Kalamar, who is coated in a rapidly evaporating viscous slime. The priest is lying face down on the ground near them, not quite unconscious but bleeding from the stump of its tail and looking...ravenous.

"Oh good. I thought I could take someone with me. Come, good Kalamar. My sisters are not far now." Turning away and looking quite satisfied, Sin skips - literally skips - off into the devastated wasteland of the ruined city.

[Draken]

Well. They were talking more about the craftsmanship of the spear than about anything metaphysical.

"Architecture. Yes, favor the hexagon in ours. It bestows improved use of space, when properly applied."

"That is not what I spoke of. I saw lines and markings in arrangement, over many surfaces, on the facades of buildings. Are these, the writing you spoke of? We have nothing named such."

Never saw a need to.

"As for the peoples of this world, I can speak of them. That I can."

"Humans such as yourselves range far and wide. Yours is the fourth major settlement of your kind I discover, each with their own Divine, none with the Divine who created you, from what we gathered."

"In the valley of Aodamo are the oldest of human settlements. Villages led by local elders, raising crops with the aid of the divine Api'Niyap. Goddess of fertility and fire, who presides over agricultural endeavours. Peaceful folk with a great many traditions and rituals. The Aktai'Parapon favours them."

"Second oldest from our records are the assembled nations of Gilead under direct rule of manifold Fortunis. Divine of chance and of ambition. Within their lands is one of our colonies, who trade with them for knowledge and craft."

"Third oldest and second youngest is the city of Lampide under the rule of the Divine Onore. Goddess of Light, goddess of Law. The Aktai'Parapon greatly admires her social craft, her people are regimented and focused in a fashion we did not think likely of humankind."

"You are fourth and youngest of human nations."

"Demonkind in all of their forms live in a blasted land distant from here. The demons of Kalamar are unreliable, distasteful, voracious, vicious, foul-mouthed and unhygienic. Their societies are barbaric assemblages held together by little more than the might of their leaders, and even their reproductive processes are invariably violent. They are distasteful to the Aktai'Parapon, but useful in the proper dosage, for the proper purpose. Many of them are iron kind as well. Thus we can find common ground, despite mismatched aesthetics. Kalamar is divine of chaos and destruction, a force of change, we believe that conflict between him and Onore is inevitable."

"Deer and Dinosaur are the last races of note. Forged into sapience by the divines Hask, Alue and Sin. Art, dream and desire, chiefly. Their society was in flux when we last saw them. But heading towards peace and prosperity, following brutal conflict. Our earliest observations of them yielded negative views. Self-destructive, unsustainable, we shall not lie, we tried to use Demonkind as a chisel to excise them. But they came around, and Kalamar befriended one of the goddesses on the way."

... Well, isn't that something.

Do you require specific knowledge on any?"

[Snowfire]

Kalae bowed low to the guards of the hive, the Web following her Beat likewise. Ants indeed, but not like any the Dancers had seen before. Such exciting times!

"Web Curious we are, HivePattern." She replied to the wary request. "Kalae is mine name, and we come from our Grassweave by Lampide to seek that which they spoke of." Guards these, surely. Interesting, interesting, but where was those behind them, the voice of this place. "We would seek to speak with thine, as our Webname would ask."

[Tychris1]

Kalamar smiles as he looks at Sins demure and ladylike motions, bolstering his already high confidence, and promptly throwing it out of wack when she transforms. His eyes opened wide as she began to cover him, a slight gasp escaping him before he is completely engulfed. The explosion of gore was easily overlooked in the already gorey camp.

Kalamar grabbed at his head, disorientated by what just unfurled before him, and began to mumble incoherently. He was simultaneously shocked, disgusted, enticed, and curious. Leaning against Sins shoulder for support, his eyes open wide once again as he sees her skip off through the ruins, and once again in her enticing and demure form. Regaining his composure he quickly scampered off to keep pace with her, unsure of what to think of the goddess skipping before him or the other Goddesses she spoke of.

[TheDarkDM]

Alue Dreams of Fire

Alue had not descend the walls of Anger after her pronouncement. Instead, she walked those shattered battlements, mending them with every step, until Anger was not the rude fortress that had stood in reality, but the beacon that had shined in the dreams of the Variations when the world was still young. It was from this vantage point that she saw Sin arrive in a fountain of viscera, saw the armored hulk of a thing that was Kalandor following behind. And as the two approached the inner wall of Anger, Alue descended to meet them.

She came in a flow of color and light, but as she grew closer to the fiery rage of Kalamar the bright rainbow of her robe turned to bright red, oranges, blacks. In the fading light of day, it seemed as though a living flow of lava descended on Kalamar and Sin, Alue's raven hair billowing like smoke above it. Crimson lips curled into a smile, and her eyes flashed a golden hue as they grew level with Kalamar's crimson orbs. There she floated above the ground, held aloft by invisible eddies of molten air, for the dreams of the God of Freedom were dreams of fire.

"Kalamar. I have seen you in dream and nightmare, as liberator and tyrant, as father and destroyer."

A pale hand reached out to stroke Kalamar's iron cheek, and at Alue's touch emotions surged through the demon god, emotions such as he had not felt since that first glorious spark of awareness entered the brutish Karanar. For the touch of the Maiden of the Keening eye summons up all hope, all desire, in those she deems worthy of it. It seemed an eternity of bliss for them, drifting through Kalamar's endlessly chaotic imaginings, but in truth it was but the lightest brush of Alue's fingertips before she drifted to earth and came to lean against her androgynous sister. It was a simple motion, but against Sin it seemed erotic beyond measure, her silken robe twining almost of its own accord around the other Muse, her eyes sparkling with imagined invitations.

"What brings you to the Vale of the Muses? What is it that you want?"

[Kasanip]

Woods of Aodamo

It was with that pensive thought that I pulled on my attush robe, and gently my hand brushed the woven buds of fire of Toani-un, and nostalgically I remembered the hot embrace.

The edge of the cleared and beautiful sky, when the radiant sun fades to the starry river. For this fading time isn't it a miracle to sit here, alive and wonder?
Swaying my feet are small and dirt covered, isn't it like always? And yet Phoenix grows and begins again, and so do I.
Maybe the paths of Tokse and Tom will be different this year? I wonder this question to the golden skies, aimless in my youth.
So isn't it said

"Let the fire dance it's lines, but always sewed to their beginnings?"

I wondered who said it first. But this evening I meandered the paths oppositely, to the woods of Aodamo. It's spring, and even if my feet are small, and the trees even larger, returning these paths make me happy.

So I hum and spin underneath the trees, the plucked fire dance, but what lines do I walk? Far above the sky is crossed in lines, but they are not fire lines, and I so it was that I heedlessly walked from line to line (as the fire dances on the attush robe of the spring child), and became entangled in the lines called "web" of the dancers of the woods of Aodamo.

"Honestly, those villagers call you a goddess, but they do not see this!" Was Phoenix's unhelpful sighs.
"Help?" I asked, as my feet and arms were caught and tied, as if I had become a flame stretched and woven into a robe.
I decided not to weave any more embers into my attush robe, for empathy.
Fortunately, the web-weavers and forest dancers were not far away. I think it's said that webs are patterns that connect all things. If they can be read properly, you can learn many things.
And I think that is wonderful!
I suppose it was fated that I was caught and presented like this to them. In binding, like planting, aren't we bound?

Of course Phoenix doesn't think this is true about fire. But I point at my dress with bound hands, and Phoenix agrees reluctantly that fire dances it's lines, but is sewed to it's beginning.
I told you that was so!

Spoiler

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The time isn't set, so it can be in the past time or present time, which is preferred by Snowfire.

[Draken]

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Kalae bowed low to the guards of the hive, the Web following her Beat likewise. Ants indeed, but not like any the Dancers had seen before. Such exciting times!

"Web Curious we are, HivePattern." She replied to the wary request. "Kalae is mine name, and we come from our Grassweave by Lampide to seek that which they spoke of." Guards these, surely. Interesting, interesting, but where was those behind them, the voice of this place. "We would seek to speak with thine, as our Webname would ask."

One of the guards changes his stance, both lower their spears and crossbows.

"We are Jéga'Myrmeci, Great Hive of the Mines Island. You speak to one of us, you speak to us all, representative of Grassweave by Lampide."

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Kalamar smiles as he looks at Sins demure and ladylike motions, bolstering his already high confidence, and promptly throwing it out of wack when she transforms. His eyes opened wide as she began to cover him, a slight gasp escaping him before he is completely engulfed. The explosion of gore was easily overlooked in the already gorey camp.

Kalamar grabbed at his head, disorientated by what just unfurled before him, and began to mumble incoherently. He was simultaneously shocked, disgusted, enticed, and curious. Leaning against Sins shoulder for support, his eyes open wide once again as he sees her skip off through the ruins, and once again in her enticing and demure form. Regaining his composure he quickly scampered off to keep pace with her, unsure of what to think of the goddess skipping before him or the other Goddesses she spoke of.

Alue Dreams of Fire

Alue had not descend the walls of Anger after her pronouncement. Instead, she walked those shattered battlements, mending them with every step, until Anger was not the rude fortress that had stood in reality, but the beacon that had shined in the dreams of the Variations when the world was still young. It was from this vantage point that she saw Sin arrive in a fountain of viscera, saw the armored hulk of a thing that was Kalandor following behind. And as the two approached the inner wall of Anger, Alue descended to meet them.

She came in a flow of color and light, but as she grew closer to the fiery rage of Kalamar the bright rainbow of her robe turned to bright red, oranges, blacks. In the fading light of day, it seemed as though a living flow of lava descended on Kalamar and Sin, Alue's raven hair billowing like smoke above it. Crimson lips curled into a smile, and her eyes flashed a golden hue as they grew level with Kalamar's crimson orbs. There she floated above the ground, held aloft by invisible eddies of molten air, for the dreams of the God of Freedom were dreams of fire.

"Kalamar. I have seen you in dream and nightmare, as liberator and tyrant, as father and destroyer."

A pale hand reached out to stroke Kalamar's iron cheek, and at Alue's touch emotions surged through the demon god, emotions such as he had not felt since that first glorious spark of awareness entered the brutish Karanar. For the touch of the Maiden of the Keening eye summons up all hope, all desire, in those she deems worthy of it. It seemed an eternity of bliss for them, drifting through Kalamar's endlessly chaotic imaginings, but in truth it was but the lightest brush of Alue's fingertips before she drifted to earth and came to lean against her androgynous sister. It was a simple motion, but against Sin it seemed erotic beyond measure, her silken robe twining almost of its own accord around the other Muse, her eyes sparkling with imagined invitations.

"What brings you to the Vale of the Muses? What is it that you want?"

The Aktai'Parapon brings Kalamar to the Vale of the Muses, of course!

Or... At least they guided him there, same deal.

And on cue do the Aktai'Parapon fill the sky as they are prone to doing. Sending a Voice down as they are prone to doing. Although this is likely the first time Kalamar will be seeing this specific form of representative.

"Things have changed here, since all those years ago when we first flew over these woods. Not for better, that it did not."

This is apparently directed to Kalamar. The voice then turns to Alue.

"Greetings, embracer. We are the Aktai'Parapon. We guided Kalamar here, to answer your first question."

[Tychris1]

Kalamars eyes widened as he saw Alue approach him, her beauty only paralleled by Sin. Thinking on the two Muses he had met so far, Kalamar began to think of how Hask herself would appear, and was certain in his assumption that she was as graceful and beautiful as the others. A glint of pride grew in his eyes as Alue spoke, it seemed as if his reputation preceded him! But then she touched him, and his body was wracked with emotion. It was pure glory, Kalamar relished in it so, and all it made him want to do is tear her hand off and keep it forever.

Rubbing his cheek with his hand, a soft smile gently settled on his face, and he looked down at the two Goddesses before him. "Well, don't I feel out of place...." He mused, before he decided to take action. Rippled muscles melted away, curves appearing in their place, his metallic guard shifting to cover half his face, long red hair growing out of his head, a single metallic claw on his right hand, and serrated scraps of leather covering his scarred and smooth form. He looks at his feminine form, laughing inwardly as he says "Nah, I can't do this." Quickly shifting back to his brutish form in the process.

As the Aktai descends, Kalamar greets it with open arms "Aktai my good friend! It's good to see you again! I was wondering when you'd get here," He boasts loudly, grabbing the Voice in a bear hug and squeezing tight "Yes, ol' Aktai here guided me, sounded like fun from the way he described it. Oh yeah, nice outfit Aktai," He pauses, looking down at the new form Aktai was taking. Relieving the Voice he motions to the two Goddesses and continues "And thank you for bringing me to these two lovely individuals. As for why i'm here, well that's an entirely different thing. Firstly, i'm here to give my Children a place to stay, for they are slow to learn and have not yet mastered the art of constructing a home, furthering their spread across the world. I find it much easier to simply move into somethig already built. Secondly I come on the behalf of the Variations who have flocked to me on their mission to evict Hask. They seem to wish nothing of her, so I took it upon myself to champion their cause. Lastly I came for entertainment and companionship, as I had yet to meet any Divine who was not Aktai here. That is what I came for, and that is what I want."

[Meeky]

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Well. They were talking more about the craftsmanship of the spear than about anything metaphysical.

"Architecture. Yes, favor the hexagon in ours. It bestows improved use of space, when properly applied."

"That is not what I spoke of. I saw lines and markings in arrangement, over many surfaces, on the facades of buildings. Are these, the writing you spoke of? We have nothing named such."

Never saw a need to.

"As for the peoples of this world, I can speak of them. That I can."

"Humans such as yourselves range far and wide. Yours is the fourth major settlement of your kind I discover, each with their own Divine, none with the Divine who created you, from what we gathered."

"In the valley of Aodamo are the oldest of human settlements. Villages led by local elders, raising crops with the aid of the divine Api'Niyap. Goddess of fertility and fire, who presides over agricultural endeavours. Peaceful folk with a great many traditions and rituals. The Aktai'Parapon favours them."

"Second oldest from our records are the assembled nations of Gilead under direct rule of manifold Fortunis. Divine of chance and of ambition. Within their lands is one of our colonies, who trade with them for knowledge and craft."

"Third oldest and second youngest is the city of Lampide under the rule of the Divine Onore. Goddess of Light, goddess of Law. The Aktai'Parapon greatly admires her social craft, her people are regimented and focused in a fashion we did not think likely of humankind."

"You are fourth and youngest of human nations."

"Demonkind in all of their forms live in a blasted land distant from here. The demons of Kalamar are unreliable, distasteful, voracious, vicious, foul-mouthed and unhygienic. Their societies are barbaric assemblages held together by little more than the might of their leaders, and even their reproductive processes are invariably violent. They are distasteful to the Aktai'Parapon, but useful in the proper dosage, for the proper purpose. Many of them are iron kind as well. Thus we can find common ground, despite mismatched aesthetics. Kalamar is divine of chaos and destruction, a force of change, we believe that conflict between him and Onore is inevitable."

"Deer and Dinosaur are the last races of note. Forged into sapience by the divines Hask, Alue and Sin. Art, dream and desire, chiefly. Their society was in flux when we last saw them. But heading towards peace and prosperity, following brutal conflict. Our earliest observations of them yielded negative views. Self-destructive, unsustainable, we shall not lie, we tried to use Demonkind as a chisel to excise them. But they came around, and Kalamar befriended one of the goddesses on the way."

... Well, isn't that something.

Do you require specific knowledge on any?"

"That is writing, yes," Qalai said as the two of them stopped in the middle of a street, just before the marketplace.
"Each of the stalls here, every one of them, has some writing," he continues, waving his arm out demonstratively.
"From a distance, you can see what they are selling by looking at the scrolls along their stalls: Dye, wool, papyrus, knives, jewelry, fish... Before you even reach their wares, you know what is being sold. And there, you see?" The king gestured to a sign placed on the wall of a building, boldly decorated and covered with large, garish letters. "This gives details on a parade being held tomorrow celebrating the coming harvest. It tells the reader where to go, when to be there, and how long it will last.

"In short," Qalai finished, stepping away from the scroll and down toward the river and the palace, "writing is a means of passing on words without being there to tell them. It is a way of recording a detail - history, art, or simply a name - so that all will see and remember it. In a way, it is immortality." Finally, he stopped before the palace, the mighty, magnificent island bastion in the center of the river rising, a pearly and golden teardrop rising out from the water. "It is a way to tell the world who we are, and later, who we were... Just as this palace, this city, these works of architecture we have accomplished in so short a time will remind the world eons from now that the strength and perseverance of man can rival the power of the gods."

The stone bridge leading to the palace was long; the walk across it was undoubtedly similar. King Qalai did not hasten, though. He started upon it slowly, his hands folded behind his back, and spoke at length with his metallic companion. There was no rush, at least not for him. He wanted to be sure the Voice could understand.

"I once told a friend that I know nothing," he continued, resting one hand on the bridge's edge. "For all the years I traveled, I never met these other human groups you mentioned, nor did I see these demons. It's strange that now that I am no longer searching for these things, knowledge of them comes to me." Those words hung for a moment, leaving a brief silence. "But I speak aimlessly. Tell me more about these other humans, especially those that follow these goddesses of fertility, fire and light. Your people find them agreeable? They would be open to the trade of goods and ideas? They would be loyal allies?" Matters of the state were ever on Qalai's mind, as was... well...

"And then there are these 'demons.' You describe these demons in a... volatile manner, like untamed fire, hungry and violent. Tell me, if there was ever a war against them, how would one wage it? Can it be won by men, if they ever were to march on this desert?"

There was one more thing on Qalai's mind. It took him a moment to voice it. "These divines... Kalamar, Onore, Api-Niyap, Fortunis -- will they try to take what I and my people have fought to make our own away from us? Do you think, one day, they will try to make us their servants? And if they do, if they muster up their powers, what things will they be capable of doing to the people of Qalistan?"

[Draken]

Spoiler

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Spoiler

Show

Well. They were talking more about the craftsmanship of the spear than about anything metaphysical.

"Architecture. Yes, favor the hexagon in ours. It bestows improved use of space, when properly applied."

"That is not what I spoke of. I saw lines and markings in arrangement, over many surfaces, on the facades of buildings. Are these, the writing you spoke of? We have nothing named such."

Never saw a need to.

"As for the peoples of this world, I can speak of them. That I can."

"Humans such as yourselves range far and wide. Yours is the fourth major settlement of your kind I discover, each with their own Divine, none with the Divine who created you, from what we gathered."

"In the valley of Aodamo are the oldest of human settlements. Villages led by local elders, raising crops with the aid of the divine Api'Niyap. Goddess of fertility and fire, who presides over agricultural endeavours. Peaceful folk with a great many traditions and rituals. The Aktai'Parapon favours them."

"Second oldest from our records are the assembled nations of Gilead under direct rule of manifold Fortunis. Divine of chance and of ambition. Within their lands is one of our colonies, who trade with them for knowledge and craft."

"Third oldest and second youngest is the city of Lampide under the rule of the Divine Onore. Goddess of Light, goddess of Law. The Aktai'Parapon greatly admires her social craft, her people are regimented and focused in a fashion we did not think likely of humankind."

"You are fourth and youngest of human nations."

"Demonkind in all of their forms live in a blasted land distant from here. The demons of Kalamar are unreliable, distasteful, voracious, vicious, foul-mouthed and unhygienic. Their societies are barbaric assemblages held together by little more than the might of their leaders, and even their reproductive processes are invariably violent. They are distasteful to the Aktai'Parapon, but useful in the proper dosage, for the proper purpose. Many of them are iron kind as well. Thus we can find common ground, despite mismatched aesthetics. Kalamar is divine of chaos and destruction, a force of change, we believe that conflict between him and Onore is inevitable."

"Deer and Dinosaur are the last races of note. Forged into sapience by the divines Hask, Alue and Sin. Art, dream and desire, chiefly. Their society was in flux when we last saw them. But heading towards peace and prosperity, following brutal conflict. Our earliest observations of them yielded negative views. Self-destructive, unsustainable, we shall not lie, we tried to use Demonkind as a chisel to excise them. But they came around, and Kalamar befriended one of the goddesses on the way."

... Well, isn't that something.

Do you require specific knowledge on any?"

"That is writing, yes," Qalai said as the two of them stopped in the middle of a street, just before the marketplace.
"Each of the stalls here, every one of them, has some writing," he continues, waving his arm out demonstratively.
"From a distance, you can see what they are selling by looking at the scrolls along their stalls: Dye, wool, papyrus, knives, jewelry, fish... Before you even reach their wares, you know what is being sold. And there, you see?" The king gestured to a sign placed on the wall of a building, boldly decorated and covered with large, garish letters. "This gives details on a parade being held tomorrow celebrating the coming harvest. It tells the reader where to go, when to be there, and how long it will last.

"In short," Qalai finished, stepping away from the scroll and down toward the river and the palace, "writing is a means of passing on words without being there to tell them. It is a way of recording a detail - history, art, or simply a name - so that all will see and remember it. In a way, it is immortality." Finally, he stopped before the palace, the mighty, magnificent island bastion in the center of the river rising, a pearly and golden teardrop rising out from the water. "It is a way to tell the world who we are, and later, who we were... Just as this palace, this city, these works of architecture we have accomplished in so short a time will remind the world eons from now that the strength and perseverance of man can rival the power of the gods."

The stone bridge leading to the palace was long; the walk across it was undoubtedly similar. King Qalai did not hasten, though. He started upon it slowly, his hands folded behind his back, and spoke at length with his metallic companion. There was no rush, at least not for him. He wanted to be sure the Voice could understand.

"I once told a friend that I know nothing," he continued, resting one hand on the bridge's edge. "For all the years I traveled, I never met these other human groups you mentioned, nor did I see these demons. It's strange that now that I am no longer searching for these things, knowledge of them comes to me." Those words hung for a moment, leaving a brief silence. "But I speak aimlessly. Tell me more about these other humans, especially those that follow these goddesses of fertility, fire and light. Your people find them agreeable? They would be open to the trade of goods and ideas? They would be loyal allies?" Matters of the state were ever on Qalai's mind, as was... well...

"And then there are these 'demons.' You describe these demons in a... volatile manner, like untamed fire, hungry and violent. Tell me, if there was ever a war against them, how would one wage it? Can it be won by men, if they ever were to march on this desert?"

There was one more thing on Qalai's mind. It took him a moment to voice it. "These divines... Kalamar, Onore, Api-Niyap, Fortunis -- will they try to take what I and my people have fought to make our own away from us? Do you think, one day, they will try to make us their servants? And if they do, if they muster up their powers, what things will they be capable of doing to the people of Qalistan?"

"With our minds united in the hive, such is an idea that would certainly not have occurred to us. Writing. But we can already imagine ways it would be useful. If possible, we will most certainly wish to leave a small swarm within your lands. Perhaps build a hive somewhere in the area."

Then the subject changes.

"The humans of Aodamo are peaceful, friendly, helpful. They would certainly wish to trade. But we doubt they would be interested in military allegiances. We do not know if they have any form of standing army or militia, in fact."

"As for Demonkind. They are fickle and passionate. A demon horde is no army and no legion, merely an assembly of warriors moving in the same direction and fighting whatever they find for no better reason than to fight. If you can offer then treasure and battle, they will turn to where you point them."

"Fighting them, however, is not advised, not within or near your holds. Demons reproduce after death. Where they die, they form pools, and these pools spawn new demons, fully formed adults. Their pools are difficult to properly eliminate, as well."

"Kalamar is unlikely to ever attempt to overtake you. He is no divine of rulership, his interests are battle, vagrancy and lechery, on a grand scale, he is harmless."

The replicant mind's idea of a grand scale is as alien to human thought as the small scale is.

"Onore poses greater risk of your worry. She is a divine of law. But she poses no more threat than the Aktai'Parapon. Who is a divine of community. As far as our considerations have established. Ultimately, we do not know what she will attempt. It is not our place, and the Aktai'Parapon has not met with her to properly define."

"But your weapon makes you divine. As Ecitoni'Metz promised, the craftsmanship that went into your spear draws forth as much power from the shard of the Titan Mortan as possible, with it in hands, you can stand before the gods as an equal, of that we can be sure. And none have greater lore on the titans as we do."