When on Olympus 2.0

[Illiterate Scribe]

In the canyon shorn from the rock of the Tempora itself, a small temple clung to an irregularity in the steamroller-track scar's progress through the plateau.

It was by no means what one might consider a particularly interesting place of worship, at least from the outside; a simple cylindrical pillar of rock, surmounted by a carefully laid, but minimalistic roof, and guarded by a pair of statues, that had they not been hovering a half metre or so from the ground, might have been mistaken for stylised depictions of the divine ones.

Within, the image of clean grace was preserved; smooth white marble from Cerulea clad the walls; but there were no adornments - no ritualistic altars, candles, censers, icons, or other such religious paraphenalia.

The only aspect of the room that marred this effect was the gaping hole in reality that occupied the centre of the floor.

To be truthful, one didn't really notice it upon walking in - just possibly as a result of its eye-bleeding nature, and the mind's natural recoiling from it - but now, something stirred within. The very matter of the pool began to curl, congealing upwards, becoming laced with flickers of white flame amongst it's own negative, until eventually - if you looked at it with your neck half-crooked, in a certain way - you could see the form of a reclining woman there. And thus, as if the act of observation itself shaped existence somehow - she was there, as if in snapshots, rubbing her eyes, kneeling, standing.

Having shaken off the clutching, sly ferns and creepers that wreathed their forms, the two guards moved, in a slightly worring synchrony, into the main chamber. They exchanged an impassive, featureless glance with the woman-shaped pllar of black fire in the centre of the room; there was a flash, as if a very sudden, very powerful charge of magic had been discharged, and then, in a perfect reversal of their earlier movements, the custodians of Aariel returned to their positions.

Around the Tempora, kings, councillors, trademasters - and, of course, gods - became aware of a previously unnoticed thought, sitting perfectly formed in the back of their minds, as though it had arrived a good while ago, but was too polite to cough, or otherwise draw attention to itself.

Aariel has woken.

Audience at the Temple is sought.

- The Bastion Guard -

Spoiler

Show

Start wherever you feel like - godly realm, mortal world, whatever - but via the Augur of Dusk's Super-Sending-Spell™, you receive this information. The Temple of the Augur is in the sea-canyon in the Bastion plateau.

[Yuki Akuma]

Outside the temple, a single, ephemeral cog, apparently made of gold, fades into existance, floating in the air. It's soon joined by a second, then a third, the twisting, interlocking gears soon forming an archway. The cogs turn, making a soft noise like clockwork as, with a low humm, a bluish energy fills the archway.

Walking through the archway comes the resident Godling, currently dressed in bunny pajamas. He looks like he was just woken up... which is odd; deities don't sleep. Regardless, he complains "You woke me up..." As he shuffles into the temple.

Trailing in his left hand, the one that isn't rubbing at his unnatural eyes, he's holding what looks suspiciously like a Millia plushie.

[GryffonDurime]

Belariso

Brother Kingmaker looked as uncomfortable in the shape of an old mortal as most men would be in an irregularly tight coat: human lungs were a strange sensation, even if they were only worn with the same kind of casualty as bangles or bracelets. He had seated himself in the court of Frederick Marset of Persi, hoping to hear newfound resolution in the monarch's voice. What he found, instead, left him feeling vaguely ill about ever having even the slightest to do with this particular appointment.

When Belariso stood and motioned for the king's silence, it took eleven seconds from the first rude gesture for six different pikes to be leveled at his throat. Just as Frederick stood to speak, making proclamations about outrage and rudeness and how he'd never stand for such a thing in his court--despite the fact that he had, indeed, stood--a thought slid into Belariso's mind, greasy and unbidden.

If you will excuse me, he said, throwing off the mortal shape like a bad cloak to reveal himself swathed in light, it seems I have a more pressing engagement.

Light engulfed the court, and a moment later six pikemen were standing with their weapons against thin air and Belariso stood at the edge of the temple, a glorious human-shape cut from white jade and sunlight. The illumination dims in respects as he enters, ruffling Nauki's hair as he pulls out a circlet of gold from the folds of his coat and sets it spinning in the space just above and behind his head.

What's this all about, then?

[DeadlyGrim]

It had been just a few months since his father, the king, had died. The official story was that he had died peacefully in his sleep, which was technically correct.

Truth, unfortunately, has had to take a backseat to morale and politics, Daoloth mused to himself.

Daoloth was sitting, as he often did these past few months, in the King's Tower, a private sanctuary used by many of the kings of the Zindrel line. It was just a simple stone tower, looking for all the world like any of the other stone towers at the castle, but it was here that the real work of the kingdom lay. The throne room, many stories down below, was mostly for show.

Daoloth surveyed the stacks of paper on his desk as he leaned back in thought. The papers were reports detailing the state of the kingdom and her people. Quite boring, but quite necessary to maintain the smooth function of the demesne.

Soon, Daoloth thought, soon I'll be able to put this all behind me. We won't have to worry about food and raw materials. War and suffering will be a thing of the past.

Daoloth absentmindedly fiddled with the small, leather-bound book in his pocket. It won't be by raw physical force, but by magic that mankind grasps control of it's own fate. If-

Aariel has woken.

Audience at the Temple is sought.

- The Bastion Guard -

The message received, Daoloth sat in silence for a moment.

He touches a small stone in his pocket. "Brand, will you come up here? I've got to make preparations for a trip."

[WhiteKnight777]

Montarius

In Babelohim, a man died. This is not a terribly remarkable thing - men are wont to die, even wizards of fair to middling power, such as was the case here. Calintor the Sage had, in life, been a man with a great deal of cunning, but unfortunately it had, at times, outmatched his wisdom, as was the case here. What he had thought was a perfect recipe for an elixir to cure otherwise terminal illnesses was... well, it was quite effective. At least, the imbiber was no longer concerned with whatever their ailments might have been.

He opened his eyes slowly, rubbing them, trying to remember what had happened... and then he looked down. He blinked several times, and then as he was, as it has been said, quite a clever man, he sighed, and spoke in a rather regretful voice. Ah.

He heard a soft cough, and turned slowly. His eyes opened wide as he saw the tall, slim figure garbed garments of deepest black - but black didn't really begin to describe them. There were shades and tones there, gorgeous spectra of midnight, like black shone through an ebon prism. At last his eyes rose from the figure to the face, which was obscured by a mask - a simple construction of white porcelain, its smooth face somehow sad and yet mirthful at once. At last, Calintor found his voice.

Back, fiend! I may be dead, but my soul is my own! Back to Hell with thee!

The figure chuckled softly and shook its head. One hand reached up, and the mask came off. A curious gesture sent it - well, somewhere. It was difficult to tell, really. It seemed to fold up into itself, before disappearing with a tiny *pop* into thin air.

Hmmm? Oh, I should think not. You did not pay homage to me, nor to any other of my... compatriots. - and your soul is still your own, Calintor the Sage

Once again the sage thought quickly - more quickly than when he was alive, in fact. The removal of the fleshy bits seemed to make thinking so much easier. His face assumed a more neutral posture. Ah...a god? But why are you here, then? You have no business with my soul. So why should you come? To gloat over the passing of one who did not bend his knee to you?

Montarius laughed again, a deep and merry sound, and Calintor found himself grinding his spectral teeth. He was dead, dammit, and here was some foolish god-think here making mockery of him. But at last, the creature subsided and spoke again.

You must think little of Me indeed to suspect Me of such behavior, Calintor - no... I am only doing My Duty.. My Calling... My Purpose, if you will. Will you come with me, please? It is time for... judgement. Since you never followed the paths of Myself or any of the others, your destiny lies... elsewhere.

He gave a mysterious little smile, and made another curious gesture. A door appeared in the wall - a doorway of light and shadow, mingled radiance and umbral darkness in equal proportions. Calintor might have resisted, but something in it - or behind it pulled at his soulstuff. As he opened the door, he saw within revealed a crystal stairway hanging in a void of deep blue that faded slowly to black in any direction. As he looked up at the glittering steps of gorgeous crystal, he threw one last, suspicious look at the god as he stepped inward. I do not need your judgment, nor that of any godling. And what do you mean 'elsewhere?'

The door began to shrink, and as he peered through the slowly closing hole into the world he had known, he heard once more the deep laughter, as if from a well of infinite mirth I never said who was doing the judging... And as for the latter... well, you'll have to see that for yourself.

Montarius laughed again, then slowly drifted up and out, looking down on the city from bellow. The defenses of these fortresses they built were indeed impressive - but he had never seen spell or stone lain by mortal hands that could keep him at bay, and certainly not when he was performing the Duty. As he looked down at the glittering gem these mortals had wrought for themselves, he smiled a soft, secret smile to himself - and then he heard the call.

It was only a short time later that he appeared outside the temple. A doorway, an arch of pure shadow opened in the air, and out stepped a pair of figures - The god, still unmasked, and still in finest black, though he now wore a long, dark cape trimmed with silver, and his sword hung in its belt. On his arm was his friend, confidant, and sometimes-consort, the mysterious Fox-Queen, Lady Shadowtail. He held her arm in a gentlemanly fashion, and was discussing matters with her quietly when they arrived. He favored Nauki with a soft smile, and his face split into a wide grin when he saw his brother. He heard his comment, and gave a chuckle. His voice when he spoke was, as always, soft, gentle, but unmistakably powerful - it sank into the mind like cold lead through warm butter.

Hello, brother... it seems the Oracle has something to say to us. No doubt it will be a mystery, wrapped in an enigma, and likely with a few extra layers of obfuscation on the outside just for Her own pleasure. What a way to spend an evening, hmm?

[Cade Shadow]

Bocalon

Upon the moon sat Bocalon, in a rare moment with his armor off, his helmet still by his side however. He stared back at the world and imagined- Where could I send a mortal on a quest next? Perhaps to just travel, and find one by a common name with an uncommon personality trait. Years of searching and knowing. An heartless person could use that.

The message appeared. Aariel had awoken. Must the Moon God bother now with these mortals? He was enjoying himself, thinking of something weird for traits. Must they now.

"Yes, they must, I suppose. Mortals will ask as mortals will do."

The Moon God didn't care much for a special effect in his arrival. He stood in gleaming silver armor, a hand lightly resting on his sword. His hair was pushed back off of his face, the locks spilled over his shoulders messily.

"Aariel has awoken then? Whats this to mean?"

[PhoeKun]

Reclining on a towering throne, a woman of unsurpassed beauty suddenly jerks her head towards the ceiling, as though she had heard a voice. A quick glance around confirms the obvious - everything is still in its place, every guardian still at her (or his) post. She lets out a sigh, an intoxicating sound that leaves all within earshot hungry for more, and stands, taking two steps before vanishing, leaving a scent like lilacs in the air behind her.

A gate, possibly six feet tall and half as wide, appears in front of the temple. The door is a blackened sort of metal, which opens soundlessly to admit the woman, her long white skirt brushing lightly against the ground. She walks forward with calm, measured steps, silver eyes unreadable until the fall upon the godling. And then, for a brief second, a flash of happiness like the birth of stars, and the slightest of smiles, before it fades again into its former expression. Calm. Imperious. She glides up to the child, and places an arm gently on his shoulder, silently gazing at the gathering crowd...

[UglyPanda]

Saatyun sits alone in his study, quietly working. There are five large stacks of parchment on his desk and there are enough odd items that the top of the desk is concealed. After staring intently at a particular scroll, he picks up a rod on his desk and orders one of his assistant to get him whatever information they have on the country of Persi.

Aariel has woken.

Audience at the Temple is sought.

- The Bastion Guard -

"That sounds interesting", thought Saatyun. He picks up the rod and tells his assistant that he has to leave and to leave any further work on his desk. "Like that pile will ever get any smaller", Saatyun says to himself with more than a little disdain. He changes the glamor on his armor to something more presentable and with a noise like static, appears at the temple.

"Hello brother, I don't know how you get anything done when you take all these naps.", says Saatyun upon seeing Nauki.

[GryffonDurime]

Belariso

Oh joy, the lunar one has joined us, Belariso remarks with surprising indifference as Bocalon appears. After a moment's consideration he turns his attentions back towards his brother.

Surely you know something of this creature, this Aariel, then, brother, the reason for our summoning? I was under the impression that knowing was your business.

Belariso dims further, now a platinum-haired man with skin as white as marble. The halo tilts slightly and Brother Kingmaker fiddles with it, busily.

[Yuki Akuma]

The pajama clad godling jumps a little bit as his mother suddenly puts her arm around him. He smiles up at her, however, wrapping his arms around her own arm and cuddling up against her. "Moma..." He's always at his cutest upon waking up. Which, on reflection, makes it hard to judge when he'll be at his cutest, as he doesn't have any sort of logical sleeping pattern.

He looks up at Saatyun, giving a quirky little grin. "Work? What's that? Children don't need to work, silly."

[NEO|Phyte]

A crackling of energy announced the arrival of Turalo at the temple. A vortex of fire, ice, lightning, and sound brought him forth, and was absorbed back into his form. His 'normal' form was a simple one, vaguely resembling a human of roughly five feet in stature. Most of his body was covered in a writhing layer of elemental energies, which seemed to fight amongst themselves more than anything, giving him the appearance of being in a constant state of flux. The few times when the figure beneath was visible, it appeared to have a stony texture.

He drifts into the temple on a faint breeze that seems to take him exactly where he wants to go, not shifting from his cross-armed position, except to nod at his fellow deities. Once he arrives at a suitable location, the breeze begins to spin him about, until he faces the hole in reality. It then dies away, as his feet touch the floor.
"Have I missed anything?"

[UglyPanda]

"Honestly mother, you have to stop coddling him."

Saatyun looks around and sees each of the other gods appearing in their own fashion. "It appears the gods of life and death are here. This may be important."

OOC: How much do we already know about Aariel already? Was she some sort of prophet or elder god? Or do we have to make knowledge checks?

[WhiteKnight777]

Montarius

Montarius moved closer, disengaging his arm from his herald, but not before giving her a kiss on the cheek. She moved off a little ways, speaking with other heralds in low tones. The Lady knew her business - She would be a second pair of ears for him. And sharp ones, at that. He spoke to his brother now mind-to-mind, obviously keeping things confidential. But he spoke out loud, as well - no point in making things too obvious, after all.


Quite a gathering we have here, isn't it? It seems someone sent out an invitation to every Power... So no doubt that whatever it is, it's important.

When it comes to the Oracles, brother mine, there is little to know... I do know much, but the Oracles predate even us... they are, I think, messengers of the One. Or perhaps fragments of his through, his memory, or his knowledge. They do not speak often, but they hold within them information beyond even our ken. Aariel, she who called us hence, is the Oracle of the Dusk. What that title means... Not even that do I know. Would that I was of more help here... but, to my amusement, this is a subject on which even I am of little aid. We shall just have to see what we can see.

He grinned at his brother, and turned his face towards the newly-arrived Velia and her kin. His smile became impish, matching her haughty, imperious expression with one of mischevious mirth, He dipped a slight bow to her, his eyes locked to hers. He was gorgeous, this dark-clad guide, handsome rather than beautiful, with roguish good looks and sculptures more finely cut than the greatest of sculptures. And his eyes gleamed softly as he spoke to her, his tone enigmatic.

And good evening to you, my lady... I'm glad to see that you and yours answered the summons to this little gathering. Woe betide us should we be bereft of you presence.

[GrassyGnoll]

The message echoed in Nauphel's mind. In his catacombs the voice seemed from everywhere. He felt anxious at any disturbance the awakening might wreak upon his current musings.

Regardless, the plan shall be put to action

By will he called to his favorite child. Her faithful arrival brought a bit of relief. "Millia, my sweet, I have a chore for you. You are to infiltrate the royal court of Persi. Collect pertinent information and report back to me when you believe you've collected enough leverage to bend their king's ear. If anyone asks you are the daughter of a wealthy sea merchant with a humanitarian streak and an interest in whatever they export. That should get their attention." Millia nodded in accordance and jauntily swam along her way. And keep her entertained for a day or two.

The Drowned Father poked his head above the bay's water. He could feel a good number of his peers had arrived already. His tentacles took over matters of locomotion as he casually strolled up the cliff's face. Once he reached the top, Nauphel made for the gathering of gods.

[PhoeKun]

Velia's eyes gaze unflinchingly into Montarius' as he bows, and speaks to her, her expression unchanging... until the mask breaks to reveal a bemused smile. Even for a god, it was simply too much effort to remain aloof with a pajama-clad child clinging to her arm.

"Then it would be cruelty beyond measure to deprive you of it."

Her attention shifts for a moment to her elder son.

"Is it so? Or do I need to start coddling you?"

She shakes her head gently, anticipating the response.

[wadledo]

Zetetputwrirrrrzrrro

"Errm? Dad?" Tolin perches on her fathers shoulder, the form of a thrush covering the shapeshifters.
"Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh Zet stands in the middle of a stream, holding a massive hammer in the air delicately, slowly moving through the water, stalking fish even as the air around him quivers and implodes in on itself and the water froths to its base components around his feet.
"Wait, Zet looks up to the three creatures not on his shoulder "This ishow peoplefish, right
Taras nods affirmative, while Scraw and Bopsy look leery at the setup, as the 27 anvils and 4,985 crossbows are all creaking quite alarmingly in the slight breeze.
"Good Zet gets back to "fishing", a couple of minutes later informing Tolin that she is going to be joining in a Agipt mid-summer festival.
Several near crushings later, Zet pauses his constant motion, a thing so odd it causes even Taras to look shocked.
Then, in a voice that doesn't sound as though someone is trapped in a runaway deep-fryer, he intones; "Well, isn't that odd.", before disappearing just as a 400 ton anvil falls into the space he was, humorously flattening several fish Bopsy had charmed so they all could get out of this blasted wasteland.
Tolin re-arrives on the anvil a few seconds later, as the trio begins to realize that they've been left behind again.
.........
Well ****."

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

The Whirlwind arrives like his name would suggest, in a column of swirling air that does nothing to make the fact that he looks like a cross between a punk drummer, a Roman pitfighter and a half starved hobo any less normal.
As well as the fact that he's carrying a giant hammer with the words "Happy Fish Kill Time Yes Fun!" emblazoned on the side, but this is par for the course for Zet.
He enters the temple and wanders over to the others, his jerky, almost junkie like walk sending him into the wall several times, where he eventualy drops the hammer with a clang.
"Yo

[UglyPanda]

Saatyun goes over the possible responses in his head. Saatyun wants Nauki to mature, his mother clearly does not. Quickly realizing there is no response which results in his favor, he decides to change the subject. "Oh look, Zet's here. Let's all go talk to Zet before we have to chain him up again."

[DeadlyGrim]

It was a few hours later, after Daoloth had explained the situation to Brand. Brand was a good man. He had served the elder Zindrel for years and now he served the current king. A good man, but far too set in his ways, Daoloth thought idly to himself.

He was in his room, getting ready for the trip to the Temple of the Augur. In point of fact, all he was going to do was go to the Mage Guild and find someone capable of teleporting him there, but it was always good to be prepared. Besides, who knows how long this meeting would last?

"It's probably going to going to cost an arm and a leg," he said to his two armored companions. "But progress on the Razor is going slower than I expected. One can't be too careful when it comes to such things."

His companions were two golems that he had built by his own hand. They were his protectors. Armored in shining, gold-plated field plate from head to toe and wielding two swords, they were as deadly as they were visually impressive. And relatively cheap to make, once I figured out the proper way to make them.

Daoloth lifted up Hopefire, the gleaming blade of the Zindrel line. Commissioned by the first Zindrel to be an elegant weapon and symbol of power. A work of art and made from an exotic metal; it's luminous steel blade glowed with varying shades of pink and indigo.

Daoloth placed it in his bags. He wouldn't need it for this trip, but one can't be too careful when it comes to such things.

[MrScary]

The handsome, tanned, muscular man was lying flat upon his back. Surrounding him were golden shafts of grain reaching forth from the ground up toward the sky.

The man simply laid there, arms outstreched to the sides, looking up at the lazily moving puffs of white cloud that meandered across the azure sky.

Now and again a cloud would slowly transform itself from the indistinct puffiness that was its life and take on a new form, one with a distinct look to it. Sometimes it would be an animal...a bear, or a horse...sometimes something more..unique...would form such as a ki-rin or other odd magical creature.

On occasion, a cloud would take on the characteristics of a shapley female form...the man smiling as the buxom cloud floated past.

Then suddenly the clouds dissipated, completely. The man sat straight up, the wheat that he had been lying upon instantly springing back up, reaching toward the sky.

The man stretched out his hand and touched the tops of the golden grain. At first, his fingers seemed to take on the same golden hue of the wheat. The color then spreads over the rest of the man's body, and then he seems to fade from view entirely....

From the creeping vines that made their home among the rocky crevice steps forth the same man.

He looks around momentarily, taking in the scene.

"Looking good, my dear Velia." he says, winking playfully at the goddess. "I think you're even more beautiful than the last time I saw you..." he chuckles, knowing full well that it wasn't that long ago.

"Is this your work, Bel?" he asks the god of birth. "A new project of yours, perhaps?" A wry smile is upon his face.

[PsyBlade]

A Saintly man rests in a cot. Suddenly, he jerks his head. He gets into a sitting position.

Hmm, better look into that.

He gets out of his cot, and leaves his realm.

He arrives as simply as he lives, unfortunately, he also arrives flashily. One of the downsides of glowing.

If you'll forgive my rudeness, now what?

[The Glyphstone]

Nestled in a vast pile of cushions atop an even more massive pile of gold and other treasures, what resembles nothing so much as a small mountain of cloth-coated doughy flesh snores softly.

Then the Augur's message arrives, echoing through the Halls of the Miser. With an effect somewhat like that of a Richter Nine earthquake in a titanic bowl of peach-flavored Jello, the corpulent form of the Glutton squirms into wakefulness.

"Whuzzat? Oh, blast it all..."

One arm stretches, narrowly avoiding a strange shimmering glass jar with a black rose suspended inside, while the other rubs sleep from Kyrdos's eyes, producing another small tremor across the double chins of his double chins' double chins, then reaches out to a nearby plate of food, stuffing its contents into his mouth without any real concern for what was on the plate.

"Mmphhy'd thse Orrracle havemmph to pick nmmphow to shend a sumphmons...shuppose I shhould attendmph, mmphuch ash I hate to make themmph effortsh right now...mmm..."

Swallowing with some effort, the obese god blinks, and is suddenly gone, replaced by the wasted figure of a man who could not have eaten a decent meal in months, barely skin on bones inside a wrapping of tattered and well-patched robes. Thus redecorated for travel, Kyrdos the Miser reaches out to find one of his ephemeral links.

"His" only in the strictest sense, of course - he wasn't quite sure where they had come from, or how he made them, and they certainly didn't obey anything he wanted them to do - but the barely existent tendrils remained useful for collecting information about somewhere in the multiverse - assuming there was a tendril nearby, and that whatever drove it was in the mood to share its findings with Kyrdos at the moment. Luckily for him, there were not just one, but three such tendrils in the vicinity of the temple, gently twisting around, inside, and through the planar fabric to their own strange designs. Seizing the end of the closest one, Kyrdos Travels along it, materializing in front of the temple's doors. He grumbles, leaning on the gnarled walking stick that conceals the shape of his lance Sheeshkebab in the Miser's form, and hobbles inside.

"So, what'd I miss?"

[GrassyGnoll]

"Not much", Nauphel answered. He slithered aside the emaciated man to address him more formally.

"Although I was looking forward to your arrival. Might I impose a visit on you in the coming month? There are pressing matters of commerce we must discuss"

[Yuki Akuma]

Nauki sticks his tongue out at his elder brother, still cuddling against his mother for the moment. Of course, as other gods start to arrive, he starts to become a little self-conscious, dressed as he is in his pink bunny pajamas...

So, the godling snaps his fingers once. There's a sudden explosion of golden, ephemeral gears - his favourite spell effect - as his pajamas are suddenly replaced by his usual attire of an immaculate waistcoat, silken trousers, boots and so on. In his hand appears his blue hat, ties with a plum ribbon; he spins it deftly around, and places it atop his head, letting it sit slightly askew. He's still cradling that Millia plushie in one arm; it seems perfectly mundane, so he probably just likes it.

He's opted not to go for the toolbelt right now. No point if he's not going to be needing any tools, is there?

[Hairb]

Kael Nog was stalking some lost herdsmen through limestone karsts, alternatively shrieking like a furious beast and lowing like a lost calf when he felt the trembling earth speak to him.

The prized animal the men sought was long dead, its eyes now picked clean by the buzzards as it lay broken-necked at the bottom of a natural well. He had other things in mind for the frightened men; three fine yaks, descended from the herd of a nobleman far, far away. Kael Nog cared little for the beasts; they were better off in the hands of these confused peasants than in his own overcrowded treasury. As his stumbling, burbling mushroom servants tethered the yaks to a rocky outcrop in plain sight of the herders' camp, Kael Nog let loose a final bloodcurdling cry into the night air. The humans had been days worth of good sport, by turns terrified, confused and full of false bravado and bluster. They deserved their prize, but Kael Nog felt the call and abandoned his game, returning to his sanctum in the underearth.

The Haunts were a frenzied mess, as usual, as gangs of his servitors ran to and fro at crossed purposes to please him. Once again a tribe of feral xorns had fallen upon the great pile of ordure that fed his mushroom men, causing the thousand-legged Oldworm who dwelt within it to writhe in fury and cause cave-ins throughout the caverns. The whirling scrapheap raggamoffyns zipped around in search of detritus to add to their mass, while the fungus-folk tried to impose their own highly conflicting styles of order upon the place. Everywhere, the noise was deafening, and Kael Nog heard that it was good. With a sibilant hiss that seemed to drown out the cacophony around it, he whispered to nobody in particular, "Find Green Talc, and bring him to me."

Green Talc emerged from the crowd, trailing a clamouring horde of underlings behind him. "Hidden One?"

"The call...a gathering...you have heard it? It matters not. Go unto Nauphel with great haste and seek to uncover what this gathering means. Give unto his...helpers... whatever shall please them most. We must find out the purpose of this conclave. Its meaning is a mystery to us."

As Talc departed on his mission, Kael Nog scoured the underearth for the elder of the rebellious band of xorn, bidding them to head for the surface and remain there, searching through the scrap heaps of Zjui until they had found a pearl of great price carelessly discarded. As wild as they were, Kael Nog knew that they feared him too much to return empty handed. He found the xorns' antics entertaining, but recently they had grown... tiresome. The pearl would be hard to find, and he did not expect them to return any time soon. While waiting for his herald to return, Kael Nog sat trance-like in his sanctum and listened to the foundations of the world creak and groan as the universe changed.

[wadledo]

Zet, being how he is, takes a large flattened salmon out of his back pocket and wanders into the center of the room, holding it out above the pillar of black fire and whistling a little tune about life, dreams and growing up.
OOC:

Spoiler

Show

This.

[GryffonDurime]

Belariso

The Kingmaker groans loudly at Zet's antics and looks to Velia pleadingly. He flares his light unkindly for a moment and a confusion of colors play across the simple white marble of the room. An arc of boreal light ribbons around Belariso's head.

Come now, is that really appropriate behavior for this place? Or...any place?

[PsyBlade]

Pegason's head went down, and then he shook it in the 'no' fashion.

[wadledo]

"Oh, Iam sorry,I didnot catchenough fishfor everyone
Zet then proceeds to break the salmon into "1, 2,3, 4,5, 6,7, 8...... a lot of pieces, before passing out each salmon cake and taking a nibble of his.
"Needs salt And rosemary which leads him to try and wring Nauphel's robe of some moisture, which he then vibrates into salt.
Sprinkling a couple of grains onto the still steaming meat, he looks up and asks innocently "What doesrosemary looklike

[WhiteKnight777]

Montarius

A trickster Grandfather Raven might be, but there was a difference between an amusing and subtle joke and senseless, inane insanity. Then again... He supposed variety was the spice of life. And at list it irritated some of the more dour gods. He shook his head slowly, still smiling his enigmatic smile.

You know, Zet, you always remind me that the Creator of the Universe must have had a sense of humor. A very, very odd one.

[PhoeKun]

"Zet!"

The voice isn't actually all that loud, but it seems to echo in the room all the same, the name dripping with a quiet sort of malice accompanied by the lash of a long white chain across The Whirlwind's back.

"Enough!"

The chain vanishes as quickly as it appears, but the area immediately around her remains charged with an aura of palpable menace...