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Myth Begins - Phase 2 (IC thread)

245

Posts

  • JacquesCousteauJacquesCousteau Registered User regular
    edited March 2007
    Tara'lar was pleased that Gomac had returned balance to the Sphere, though still the god could feel Ak'tar trying to pull at the threads of their creation, a great hunger hidden in its darkness. Glad that the others' creations had done better, Tara'lar watched as life and creation sprung up everywhere, blessed creatures of the gods' hands fulfilling the whispered promise of the universe. Life.

    Tara'lar's calm was to be short-lived however, for as the god watched the Sphere tumble around with its new found motion, something emerged from Ak'tar, and another, and another, all over the circumference of the Sphere they appeared. When no more emerged, the god could count dozens of them, dark parodies of the creatures of the Sphere, shadows of shadows, born in a twisted contrast to life, like Tara'lar had been born to Solar.

    Tara'lar watched one of the creatures; the grotesque being unaffected by the light of the stars as it stalked along the earth, its form shifting like ripples in water, all the while scanning its surroundings with invisible eyes. As the creature walked it came upon a tree and, circling it cautiously for a while, approached it. Extending some kind of digit, it touched the tree, and immediately the tree began to whither and die, its life force being sucked into the nothingness of the abomination.

    Horrified, Tara'lar plucked up all the creatures, their hideous forms shreeking in defiance as he began to reclaim the part of him which they had twisted. However, as hard the god tried, Tara'lar could not destroy the creatures which it had indirectly given life. Knowing that they could not continue to do what they had done, Tara'lar took a part of his eternal darkness from them, making it so they could no longer walk the Sphere in the presence of the light. With a great sadness, Tara'lar hurled the creatures back into Ak'tar, sealing the thing behind them.

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  • TalonrazorTalonrazor Registered User regular
    edited March 2007
    Daevak rested on Aesho, watching the results of the work around him. He saw what his siblings had made and it delighted him, for such things could work in combat and glory. Aesho needed guardians, servants and Daevak would give it that. They would be his Skraelings, his hunters. Twisting shapes from the ground of Aesho, he created tall figures with a single, piercing eye that would find the dead souls. They were tall and lanky, with three arms and two long legs. Armored with dark bone plates and armed with a spear of pure green glass, Daevak wrought more of them. Soon forty figures stood before Daevak. Delighted with his creations, he took a single spark of life from within himself and breathed it into all his figure.

    "My Skraelings, awake. Exist here on this dark world. You will be messengers, gatherers and hunters. You are tied to this place and thus this place will not let you perish. You are my Forty! Seek glory, my Skraelings."

    Turning his attention to the thing that was made that now teemed with creatures, he plucked the strongest and most powerful four-legged creature he could find. Forty of it's brothers were selected and he brought them to Aesho. "Now, my Skraeling will have mounts." And with a snap of his fingers, Daevak sprouted wings from the beast, great, long dark wings that spread wide.

    Things were turning out nicely....

    GM of Aftermath: Life After the End of the Future - Post-apocalyptic space opera of Novo Aether.
    GM of Pearl City - A group of superheroes form The Beacons.
    Player of Arifyn Tok in Kingmakers [D&D 4E]
    Player of Kane Fainklyn the Hallow Preest in Crumbling Citadels [D&D 4E]
    Player of Torin Magnus in Blackwood [Monsterhearts]
    Player of Torin Magnusson in And Justice for All (M&M 3E)
  • SUPERSUGASUPERSUGA Registered User regular
    edited March 2007
    Svedre felt an unpleasant sensation. A rumbling inside his great ocean. This new life that had been created held no real interest to her, but the life itself seemed to call out. Svedre felt something of a responsibility. For the first time in her being Svedre considered the thoughts and emotions of another being.

    "Yes, I know what you want. I will give to you that small part of me which you desire, that you need, but that shall be your lot. I expect not to see my greater works disturbed!"

    Inhaling deeply, water began to sink into the ground and drift as if it had life of its own, eventually settling beneath bubbling springs. As Svedre let out a deep exhalation part of the great ocean drifted up into the air to form gigantic white clouds, bursting with water. Svedre spoke out as if to all life on the planet.

    "Remember that I have tolerated your being and show me the respect that it deserves. You will only take what I give and that will be returned to me in the end."

    With that taken care of Svedre relaxed and focused on adjusting the tides to take this loss of water into account. This would take some time.

  • Abysmal LynxAbysmal Lynx Registered User
    edited March 2007
    To Primal, something still seemed wrong with the universe; he then realized that his problem was with the universe itself.

    "It's just too empty."

    Primal plucked the strongest tree from the ground and willed it to grow many many times in size. Primal then broke the tree into many, smaller trees, though still many times larger then any tree found on the rock. Finally, Primal placed each tree into orbit around many different stars.

    "You are the Yggdrasil trees, you shall draw sustenance from these stars, and you shall then produce many seeds and have them seek out more stars so they to may grow."

    Primal then plucked many animals from the springs of the rock, placed them in space, and gave them the ability to survive within their new home.

    "You shall swim now within Tara'lar's darkness, you shall eat from the Yggdrasil and from each other as you once did in Svedre's springs."

    [SIGPIC][/SIGPIC]
  • GrimmyTOAGrimmyTOA Registered User regular
    edited March 2007
    Solar looked at his brethren and saw their works, and was well pleased. He felt a strange affection for them -- a kinship. He resolved, then, to work a tribute to them all, that the mortal races never forget to whom they owed their lives.

    He sent his consciousness down into the hot core of the pebble-in-space and he began to create his gifts to the mortal races, his tokens of the Gods around them. With Heat and Will did he make them and shape them and place them in the world to be found throughout the ages.

    Capturing the red-hot of his own essence, he made Rubies.
    The eldritch and joyful nature of Cable he expressed with Amethysts.
    To the changing, ineffable Taimbreamh he gave the iridescent Fire Opal.
    For liquid Svedre he created the deep-blue Sapphire.
    For the cloud-carrier, Rashiid, he made Lapis Lazuli.
    For Tara'lar, the darkling, he made Jet.
    For Daevak, the soulwarden, he fashioned something he called Moonstone.
    The nature of Vizana he thought best expressed by razor-edged Obsidian.
    Entropos posed a problem for the Solar -- Fire Agate seemed suitably changeable and suitably fragile.
    For Gomac the restful God, the Solar snatched a small crawling thing from the surface of the earth and bound it in Amber.
    For Primal, the God of nature and the growing Plants, the Solar wrought the deep-green Emerald.
    For Molior, the craftsman, the Solar channeled the blistering undercurrents of the world to form practical Iron.
    For greedy Zatrac, shining gold. It seemed right, somehow.
    Finally, for the Eternal, Solar made the Diamond, a stone that would capture and reflect every colour that existed in Eternity.

    "These trifles are my gifts to you. They will well up from the scorching center of the world for all time, and remind the mortal races of their Immortal Gods. I hope that they please you all."

  • ShamusShamus Registered User regular
    edited March 2007
    The dawn of all things,
    Began with a whisper of wings.
    The end of all things,
    With the cry of a newborn.

    -Faistine
    Spoiler:

  • McGlitchMcGlitch Registered User
    edited March 2007
    Gomac watched as the other gods brought forth their servants from the creatures of the planet. Such an interesting idea... life, he mused. So many personalities, constructing and, whether they liked to admit it or not, cooperating. Stroking the neck of one of his Holisian Rotacs, he waved a hand absently to the centre of his Jade mesa. A seam of amber, enchanted by his will to be as strong as any other substance in the universe, rose and spread like roots, creating golden hued veins throughout his beloved Holis. He would use them, he thought, later. He was grateful for the gift of his senior brother Solar.
    He turned to the centre of his mesa now, and focused more on the epicentre of the amber veins. He raised a large, flat section of it above the rest, and adorned it with many basic tools. He would update them, he added, as new tools were discovered on the planet below, as well as a few of his own invention.

  • visiblehowlvisiblehowl Registered User regular
    edited March 2007
    For too long, Vizana had been concentrating deeply within herself, gradually rebuilding her power as time passed. Now, she stirred, mumbling random thoughts to herself (inefficient tariffs on imports) and she returned to a state of full awareness.

    Instantly, she sensed the changes her siblings had wrought upon this world. She recalled the words of Cable, and snarled. This would simply not do.

    It would be nothing to destroy the blooming life upon this pebble, but her siblings would surely create a new one, in a never ending cycle. And, as they had collectively more strength, she would certainly fall behind, forced to withdraw and regain her power once more.

    No, it would be foolish to pursue such a strategy. She must be more subtle; she must feed her powerful desire for destruction on a smaller scale, so as not to cause the combined retribution of her siblings. She must be manipulative and calculating, creating spider webs of intrigue and deceit. She smiled at the thought of the added satisfaction of fooling her siblings, gently prodding them into actions she desired.

    But first, preparations must be made. Unable to restrain her exuberance at her regained power, she cackled maniacally as she thrust her essence through the surface of the world. Expanding her influence, she carved out an enormous cavern deep within the bowels of the world. Upon the surface, a lake of black ink suddenly appeared.

    Vizana stood at the shore of the lake and gazed into its black depths. This was the portal to her new place of dwelling. Soon, she sensed, she would have ample reason to fill the Cavern's vast space, but as yet, she could not fathom what that reason might be.

    Still, there was plenty of opportunity to enjoy herself in the present. She stooped and picked up a large rock, and tossed it into the lake. It sank with barely a splash, but a few drops of the black essence reached the shore. There, they coalesced into 13 tiny blobs of ink, and slowly began traveling away from the lake. Wherever they passed, grass withered and died, insects rotted within seconds, and the ground became hard and grey. Vizana grinned balefully and said, "Go forth, and destroy all you can find. For as you consume life, you grow in power. Soon I will call upon you once again for my own designs, but until then, consume and grow!"

    Then she turned to the heavens, and shouted her challenge at her siblings.

    "When you crush your passionfruit for the thirst of your creations, I shall burst the grape of the world and let its powerful blood escape untasted!* Behold, my Yror, my agents in this world. They shall endeavor in the name of destruction, and no-one shall reap the life they consume." She turned to Cable, and smiled maliciously. "Your promise to me may hold, dear sister. But be wary, for I return it to you inversely: for every dream you bring to bloom, every hope you fulfill, and every joy you grant, I will snuff a dream, I will crush a hope, and I will deliver a bit of misery."

    And with that, she retreated back to the Cavern, and the sound of her evil laughter lingered in the minds of her siblings.
    Spoiler:

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  • GrimmyTOAGrimmyTOA Registered User regular
    edited March 2007
    The Solar stood in his observatory and looked out on the universe that He and His siblings had created. Everywhere, bright-burning stars nestled in protective and soothing darkness. Yggradsil trees careened around them in vast ellipses. Around one spun the Pebble which had, for some reason, transfixed all of the Gods.

    Still, the Solar was troubled. He could not see all. There were places that his light did not penetrate, and they were blocked to him. He also feared -- not for himself, but for the universe that had been created -- that his rage might come upon him too soon and he would lash out. The Return would come, no doubt, but it must come in the proper fashion. To destroy prematurely would mar the warm perfection that he sought.

    He looked at the Salamanders that hung in the space before him. Massive lizards extruded from the molten tumult at the center of the pebble. Liquid fire. The merest twitch of divine will and they were gone under the surface of the world, to erupt forth and sear the world only rarely, and at the Solar's command. The wrathful right hand of the Sun.

    All gone except for one. The last and largest he kept with him. The barest instant later, the Salamander was joined by the First of the Sar. Both creatures faced their God, and he spoke to them in turn.

    "Sar. You are to be my joy and my blessing. You will warm the cold, and encourage the life of the world to grow. You are Sol. Fast as sunlight you will travel, and gentle as dawn shall be your touch. You shall sit at my left hand and sing the song of life."

    Sol bobbed for a moment and was gone, far faster than mortal eye could ever apprehend.

    "Salamander. You are to be my fist and my rage. You will strike in my place that I do not unmake all the world in my fury. You are Ar. Hot as a star shall be your tongue, and you shall sit at my right hand and tell me of your victories."

    Ar bowed its head in response and curled itself around the outside of the observatory -- visible for hundreds of miles as a ring of fire.

  • INeedNoSaltINeedNoSalt Registered User regular
    edited March 2007
    Was Cable worried? Offended?

    No, not really. This wasn't her gig - that is to say, she wasn't all about hands-on. Vizana could make her threats, and to Cable they meant nothing. She would never bring her hands into the affairs of living things, not if she could help it, but this sister was demented and would bring so much damage to the world that she could not go ignored.

    So now, annoyed and frustrated (which is not Cable's Resting State, so to speak, or any position she enjoys being in, to be honest), she touched upon a forest, a lush thing near a massive freshwater lake, and pressed her godly hand down, and the forest grew, and grew, and grew, until it was the greatest forest in the world, and the prey and the predators, the insects and the birds, the the fish and the toads and every being within flourished, and it grew and flourished more with every life that was squelched by Vizana's reaching.

    And she goes to her brothers and sisters, and her anger is clear, she is flustered and shouting like a child. Can't you see, she yells at them, that is no good, we can't just let her do this, she is getting in the way and she's not helping, she's just giving us a hard time, she doesn't want to play along and she is making our world ugly!

    Cable whines to them, but now she's fuming, stomping around, and she screams and hurls about of galactic things. For a long time this is all she does, a fearsome display to the other deities perhaps, and then she leaves. She takes her own essence for the first time and makes something out of it, a tiny something with soft skin and bright eyes and colorful wings, and she goes down to the lush forest on the great lake and she leaves the Godly affairs until she has calmed down.

    sometimes you just gotta do a thing
  • HorseshoeHorseshoe Registered User regular
    edited March 2007
    Order...

    Entropos realized that he could now feel... for it burned him. As the chaos of the universe was reformed into things with names and shapes, they were like tiny cuts that bled him slowly. He could feel... and he could think as well.
    All thoughts that arise shall fade in time
    All that exists will one day cease.
    All that is... is made of what was.
    All that was... shall become another.
    Nameless, Mindless, Formless.

    As Entropos twisted in pain as the world and its creatures were created, shadowy things, some even so small as not to be seen, fell to the earth below and began their work... to eat without hunger... to consume without remorse... to consume the living and erase the dead.

    Some were awful grey amorphous things that scoured the underground.

    Some were furtive shadows that pulled at the strings of a living mind.

    Some grew over rocks and trees, slowly rotting and breaking them down.

    Some were so tiny as to be invisible, yet their dark work could gradually be seen as they unmade creation.
    No mind or form shall come to thee
    who answer when Chaos Calls.
    No breath, no death, no mouth of teeth
    consuming without pause.

    Entropos rested as he began to feel the balance, for now creation could rot, and feed his expanding mind and chaotic and still incorporeal shape.

    ((Okay, so basically Entropos just made a host of wierd stuff like detritus-consuming bacteria, fungi, oozes, and some sort of shadowy psionic thing that eats thoughts and memories... I'll leave it at that for now, seems like the game probably isn't at the time of being so specific.))

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  • GnastyGnasty Registered User
    edited March 2007
    Rashiid watched as many of his siblings spawned beings of destruction, and he feared for his Veesh. So he swept around the world until he found a desert, rolling hills of sand and little else, and he made it his own. He gathered his strongest winds and most powerful lightning clouds and placed them over it. It was a desert of perpetual winds and perpetual lightning, and it was his land. Then he gathered his Veesh and told them, “my beloved children, as you are kings of the sky, you shall always be able to fly wherever you wish, but now you have a home you can always return to. The winds and the lightning are hostile to all but those who I favor, and here you shall be protected from the destructive beings my siblings have wrought.” Rashiid then saw the largest and most beautiful of the Veesh, and he took it in his hands and changed it once more. It glowed brighter and brighter until bolts of electricity ran over its flesh, and soon its very flesh was replaced with electricity. Its feathers were the wind, and its body was lightning. And he told it, “You are Kreesha, and you are me. You shall protect my lands and protect your kindred. You are Kreesha, and you are lord of the lightning hills.

    i just wanna 'be myself'
  • ShamusShamus Registered User regular
    edited March 2007
    Life was beginning to crawl across the world. The Taibreamh could hear the cries of newborn creatures, both divine and mundane in nature. They walked, swam, flew, and hunted. All under the watchful eyes of his brothers and sisters, though not always with their blessings. The land was taking shape, as mountains had been formed by Gomac's patient hand to house his precious creatures.

    Creation was an aspect of Codail. It was not he who observed the world and saught change, it was Tromlu. Tromlu, who slithered through dreams and devoured all, leaving behind only change and fear. He looked down upon the world and found her distasteful. Life was flourishing, yet was too uniform, to controlled. There was scattering pockets of life, while the rest of the world was endless and barren. He saught to change this.

    The mountains were his inspiration, and taking cue from Gomac, he created his own. He slithered across the open plains, far from the forest of Cable, and south of the holy sands of Rashiid and his favored pets. As he slithered, his skin began to peel away and fall behind. Where it landed, it bonded with the earth. Mountains exploded in violent fury, drawn forth by Tromlu's desire.

    Still, he slithered onwards. He found a mulitude of lakes and ponds, fed by the rains of Svedre. He rolled within the beds of every lake and every pond, destroying the land between them until he had formed a sea. It would take a long time for it to fill up by the rains of Svedre. Before leaving, the Nightmare Prince breathed some of his own essense into the water, letting it seap into the ground below. As the sea grew, so would his influence upon this area.

    Tromlu looked down upon his work and was still not satisfied. He continued to move south, far from his previous endeavours. Opening his great maw, he began to chew through great lenghts of land, down to the very crust itself. Any life in his path was consumed and extinguished. This deep chasm became huge and seemed near infinite in depth when looking from above. Here in the shadows, The Taibreamh were satisified.

    All three invested their powers within the chasm, letting it spread ever southward. The raw sorcery of the Three-In-One wripped the life from the earth. Left behind was an endless sea of black sand. Scattered throughout were their favors, fire opals that burned with the intensity of Solar's stars. Here, at the very edge of things, they allowed the fabric of reality to tear, just slightly. Just enough to manifest their domains upon the earth. The nature of this place was uncertain, ever changing except for the dunes of black sand that stretched from horizon to horizon. Here was the edge of the world, where reality itself was at the whim of The Taibreamh.

  • robocop is bleedingrobocop is bleeding Registered User
    edited March 2007
    They came slowly, born of the movement of the world and the thoughts of those who dwelt in it. Petty little things, but as Halsha the Didact shall write in a few aeons, it is the petty little things that can sway the flow of history. A moment of weakness, of fear, of doubt was their womb. Thoughts of pride, of jealousy, of hate were their mother's milk. Though fathered by the solitude of self examination, that moment when one looks upon themselves and finds it lacking, the little thoughts, the petty thoughts, the worms that lurk at the back of the mind of creation, drew themselves together each feeding on the other in an endless writhing mass of corruption and sorrow.

    whycanheflyfatherthanme?-ishouldrulehere-shehastakeneverythingfromme-
    thatshouldbemine-theywillhurtme-strangers!-iwillmakehimloveme-iamthebest-


    Each thought, each moment of weakness and strife a prayer.

    A prayer to the Natterlings.

    ((OOC: The Natterlings are strife and self-doubt given godling form. Please feel free to blow'em up, crunch'em, squash'em, or whatever as they plague creation. They will always come back, reborn in moments of fear and weakness. Theologically, creatures could pray to them on purpose, but that's sort of a curse more than a 'please help me out' type way. I don't see Gomac and the Natterlings getting along very well, at least on the clarity of thought front. If you need some godly stooges to get some work done, please consider the Natterlings! They work cheap!))

  • HorseshoeHorseshoe Registered User regular
    edited March 2007
    Entropos sensed another presence in the void, squabbling, squeaking little things they were.

    Natterlings they say they are... curious...

    The Formless One drifted toward the presence... and sensed something new. Something solid, the place of all activity and decay.
    So this... is this the place of the Creation?


    Entropos swept up a few errant Natterlings that had drifted into the void and pulled them into himself. He consumed their knowledge. They also became his physical senses... he could see, he could hear, he could taste, smell and touch. The essence of the Natterlings made him more physical... he began to coalesce.

    Curious...


    The voice boomed... his thoughts were now audible... he spoke. He saw the world that floated in the void.

    This... "world"... I think... yes, I should very much like to... touch it... to feel.


    The Formless One began to make a shape for himself, though ever shifting and changing with his thoughts and the tides of order and disorder about him. A mass of black tentacles, ever changing in shape and number, began to drift to earth.

    Natterlings...


    The voice resonated, deep, low, undulating and quivering in pitch like a scream heard through water.
    ...come to me little ones. I have work for you.

    dmsigsmallek3.jpg
  • robocop is bleedingrobocop is bleeding Registered User
    edited March 2007
    The curse of the Natterlings is to come when called. Always, they gather and writhe when thought of. A god, a true God thinking of them? Their mass squirms in ecstasy. To be called, to be named, to be considered is what the Natterlings desire.

    As a virus, they respond, eager...

  • mazikeenmazikeen Registered User
    edited March 2007
    The fragments of the egg shell positioned around the Cradle seemed to hum and vibrate loosely as they spun. From the quiet harmony rose a young spirit—wakened at last not by the rumblings of the rising and sinking geography (which was noisy in its own way), but by the distant tremors that coursed through the universe as life took hold.

    Soft as a whisper she drew her consciousness together, and took her first breath as an entity. She could taste the cosmos, and what’s more, the life that thrived there—or at least, the potential within that life to do. Her place was not wholly in the realm of half-thoughts or possibilities, and nor was it completely secure in reality: instead she lived upon, and was, the bridge between.

    “I am Oriza,” the young goddess stated—bringing herself fully into being. “I shall bring what is a shadow in the mind to fruition in reality. What is unsung, I will sing through the beings of mortals, and though their voices may be foreign, the words will be mine.”

    [SIGPIC][/SIGPIC]
  • -SPI--SPI- Registered User regular
    edited March 2007
    Molior had been silent for so long. Whilst his form and that of Prothus itself continued to whirr away. Prothus itself had grown even larger over this time and now was large enough to house the great Iron throne of Molior.

    Molior stirred from his mechnical slumber.

    "It. Is. Time."

    Molior stood from his throne. The machinery that made up his arm sprung to life. Thousands upon thousands of gears and cogs, pistons and crankshafts. All working away. From his hand their purpose became clear as a Large iron rod was being produced. Crafted from within his own body, the rod was now finished.

    "The watcher. Shall be placed."

    And with mechanical precision Molior Hurled the rod down towards the planet.


    In a secluded area of land the rod landed with a thundering explosion. As the dust cleared the rod came into view. In the centre of a massive crater (created by it's impact) The rod stood. It was a truly massive structure, made of iron and as tall as a mountain it stood silent in the crater.

    The iron rod at it's top had a machine, a massive glass eye. Whirring as it spun and surveyed the surrounding area. Occsionally stopping to examine a plant or animal or even a particulary interesting rock.

    Molior spoke.

    "This is the watcher. It is Sporun. It shall stand upon this world, and from it I shall see."

    Molior again fell silent.

    8t2qhu8l050f.jpg
  • HorseshoeHorseshoe Registered User regular
    edited March 2007
    As Entropos drifted ever closer to the world, the Natterlings who had answered his call swirled around him.
    Ah, little ones...


    Entropos beheld what he could of them with his new sight, but moreso felt their presence, their changeling forms... it pleased him.
    This place you see down there... it is all we are not. It shall never be unmade, never be destroyed... but this "Order" plagues us, burns us. This place is far too singular... far too complete.

    Break. Chew. Rust. Sunder. Gnash your teeth and tear the land into pieces. Separate these places from each other, so that Those-Who-Are-To-Come will be distant from one another... and Order shall remain checked. Those-Who-Are-To-Come must not inherit such a... harmonious environment.


    Entropos was close to the world below now, he could feel the atmosphere begin to lick at his amorphous tentacled form.

    Go now before me, Natterlings, that I may see your work happen. Accomplish this... however you see fit.

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  • Aroused BullAroused Bull Registered User
    edited March 2007
    From his throne at the centre of the Cradle, the Eternal saw through the void to the pebble of the gods' craftsmanship. He saw the designs of Entropos and the service of the Natterlings, and he spoke, his words winging their way to them across the gulf of space.
    "Natterlings - godlings, those who gnaw in darkness; as you split up the land at your present master's command, do not neglect that which the deities have built upon the earth. I give you leave to break up the art of your betters. Tear apart the forests, and the rivers, and the pools. Rend the hills in two. Carry the animals away to the four corners of the globe. In this way, through your spite and willingness to destroy, will the travails of the gods be made even greater, for though they are but fragments, separated by vast ocean and land, each shiver of each god's great works will flourish in its independence, becoming individually as great as the whole. So shall the earth be filled with the designs of the immortals."
    Spoiler:

  • robocop is bleedingrobocop is bleeding Registered User
    edited March 2007
    Born of the worst of creation, the Natterlings were weak, amorphous things. Worms of thought and doubt that harried those first species almost instinctively, creating rifts and strife between that which was once unified, the writhing godlings were happy to fill their formless selves with the negativity they could create around them. Whispers of doubt here, pangs of jealousy there, the Natterlings drove their way into the subconscious of the world. Instinctive things, content but to feed and reproduce, their writhings began to tug at the minds of the world's nascent creatures. Each spark of pride, of fear, of hate encouraged the beasts of land, of ocean, of sky to break apart, to split their unity and divide into groups that spread out around the globe.

    And so the Natterlings grew in stature, some becoming specialized, focused and skilled at a certain weakness, selective in their tastes and urges. Still, the world was young and there was room for the godlings to feed and grow, room and bounty enough for their mortal cattle to spread and thrive.

    And then, thunderbolts of creation. Two vast Wills, Entropos and the Eternal, pressed something that the Natterlings lacked: intent. Beings with no more purpose but to feed and grow felt a new calling, to drive and split and divide. No more was the strife they caused a side-effect of their hunger, no, now it was their purpose.

    And the Natterlings became aware, aware of themselves, aware of the Wills that drove and shaped the world, aware of the charge given by them to divide and split everything, even the land itself.

    Aware, given purpose and dread intelligence to match their hunger, the Natterlings continued to specialize, to grow, to multiply. No longer ethereal worms of only vague shape, the godlings developed, patterning themselves on the myriad forms about them. Bythgos, a vast winding albino serpent, wrapped itself around mountains, constricting them in its many footed grasp. Zizatza took the form of a cloud of jabbering mutant locusts, their twin heads biting and pulling whatever vegetation they found. Dread Volko, a many armed titan with the body of an ape, the head of a blind crayfish, and spider's heads for paws, belched smoke and flame to blot out the sky.

    But for all their development, even the Natterlings were not immune to themselves. Aware and driven by purpose, they preyed on each other, fanning their own flames of jealousy, fear, hatred, and strife. Dread Volko proclaimed itself King of the Natterlings, for it had blotted out the sky. Zizatza felt that they should rule and gathered an army unto itself and lead an attack on Dread Volko's iron fortress, toppling it into the sea where Bythgos crushed it. Nuthugga, a toad the size of a hill awoke and leapt on Bythgos, hungry for the iron that was its favorite food.

    And so the Age of Strife began. Armies of godlings warring against themselves, their wars moving and reshaping the face of the world. Horde fell on horde, scattering mortal life. Those few Natterlings that remembered their charge were driven underground, free only to scuttle to the surface to tend the living flock whose spite, jealousy, hatred, and fear their foodstuff. For if the Wars were to destroy creation, how else would the Natterlings survive?

    How long their wars lasted is hard to know, for time was fluid back in that age. Every corner of the world was touched, barring those under the watchful eyes of the great Wills, the gods, that tended them. Strife begot strife until the Natterlings began to consume themselves, reducing their number. Some died, some retreated from the world in dreamless slumber, and some bowed to others as their lords. The chaos of their purpose, their charge given by Entropos and the Eternal, was achieved.

    And for a time, the world was free of the Natterlings.

    ((OOC: So, basically the Natterlings do what they're told and reshape the face of the world, disperse life all over the place, and not mess with the created homes/dwellings/sacred places of the other gods. After that, given a bit more form and purpose, they retreat, spent from their big inter-godling fight so that they could regroup, revitalize, and let the world heal any lasting wounds so that they will still have strife to feed on down the road. As leftovers, there are slumbering demonic godlings here and there, ready for future adventurers to battle, evil sorcerers to try to command, and so on. Feel free to create your own down the road to menace kingdoms, test your chosen heroes, and so forth!))

  • INeedNoSaltINeedNoSalt Registered User regular
    edited March 2007
    In the tales mortals would tell, eternities from now, Cable was a trickster, perhaps, devious and cunning but never truly malicious, always laughing and sometimes crying but never roaring, never angry. In the stories, she is the quintessential rogue, quick-witted and fleet of foot, and she has a heart of gold unmarred by the violence of the world.

    The mortals, of course, understand the ideal, but not the reality, and it is wrong to say that Cable had an unmarred spirit, or to say that she would run before she fought, that she fell to words before she fell to blades.

    It is true to say, then, that Cable spent time unmeasured resting and reigning her anger in the primordial woods, that slowly with eternities she let her anger fade away, but what is more important is that it is also true to say that when Ngugu and Kiteph, brothers in spite and envy, took heed of the call of Entropos to shatter the world, she took up arms and she fought, all the frustration and anger replaced only by the desire to protect what was dearest to her.

    And it is true to say that Cable fought with a detached and righteous sort of fury, that she fought with her magic and her wits and her cunning, that the spirits of the forest and the spirits of the animals fought beside her, and while it would be ideal to say that the Faerie Queen and the forces of nature, together, fought back the darkness, it would be a lie of the purest sort.

    Rather, the truth would be that the forces of nature fractured and collapsed under infighting, tiny thoughts flaring, exploding into epic betrayals across Oriza's bridge, betrayals so fine as to be art in their own right, and the truth would be that even Cable was scarred in the effort, her conviction twisting into a thing of horror, and in the end, the forest was shattered, and Entropos had his way.

    And Cable fled, fled, fled to where she could consider herself and her actions and fled to where she might find calm.

    This was not how she had intended things to be.

    sometimes you just gotta do a thing
  • Abysmal LynxAbysmal Lynx Registered User
    edited March 2007
    Primal looked down upon the chaos and destruction the Natterlings stirred and saw the chance for growth.

    "With the death of those to weak to survive or to strong to change will come even greater glory!"

    Primal gathered the strength of those animals and plants who had fallen and gave it to the survivors.

    "My creations! take the potential the your brethren have wasted, grow strong and take their place!"

    The speed of evolution grew many fold and life did spread.

    "Remember, this is but a reward for surviving the first extinction, but once your numbers have swelled again your potential will return to what it once was and the strength of your brethren will return to me."

    [SIGPIC][/SIGPIC]
  • JacquesCousteauJacquesCousteau Registered User regular
    edited March 2007
    Tara'lar stirred. Again the god had watched as the others created. More creatures of shadow -seemingly modelled after Tara'lar's own unfortunate children- now roamed free upon the Sphere. The god watched the Natterlings battle, and the world rend apart at their touch.

    In the time of darkness, as the sun was blotted out, Tara'lar brooded. The darkness, meant to bring the beauty of contrast to their creation had been twisted into something else, representing a dread and omen which was contrary to its purpose. For a while, the god considered tearing his creation away from those who had abused it, but as the fighting ended, and Solar's light once again fell upon the Sphere, Tara'lar realized the truth of his intent. If the god were to take away the darkness, then what would be the worth of light?

    Inspired by his discovery, Tara'lar took both a piece of jet and a ruby from the depths of the sphere, and carved them gently into perfect forms. As Tara'lar had been born from the nothingness, so did the god reach behind the curtain of dark and pull from that nothingness a spark, placing one in each of his children.

    The finely carved stones turned into two fine four-limbed babes, one black and the other white, both adorned with small star-like shapes of the opposite colour. The white babe was a girl and Tara'lar named her Lumine after the light. while Tara'lar's black son was to be named Atra after the dark. The two would be the first of the god's people, and when it was time, the Pryotar would be placed upon the Sphere, the first common creatures to truly understand the beauty of their creation.

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  • HorseshoeHorseshoe Registered User regular
    edited March 2007
    The Formless One, now twisting in his myriad and ever changing shape, touched down upon the earth as the Natterlings began their work.

    And as they took shape, he too changed. Like Bythgos, he was a serpent... like Zizatza he was a thrashing swarm... like Volko a horrid amalgam of legs and claws... like Nuthugga a horrible bulbous monstrosity... growing in shape and form from the disorder around him.

    Entropos landed in a place... the thing that was called "rock", and dug his tenrdils deep into it, creating great caverns so that he could feel the earth buckle and rend under His Will, his command. It fed him, for he began to learn the pain of defeat, the loss of sorrow, the thrill of victory, the joy of birth... his mind grew and expanded. For as always, when disorder and chaos tear things apart is Entropos built.

    As the Natterlings began to tear each other apart, Entropos knew his work was done. The seed of chaos was forever set upon the earth... and he would leave the mark behind so that it would forever persist, at least in the place he had touched.

    Great his mind had grown, and Entropos spake in his own language, the Words of Chaos:

    Ul'aght Ul'aght Duggha Pthun...
    Droggna I'ath I'ath Pthun...
    Eh'roth Drood Parnugnuth Pthun.


    The words of Chaos rippled through the world as the continents drifted, and Entropos released his tendrils from the earth, leaving vast caverns in their wake, filled with dread creatures that resembled him in chaotic form and intent. So too were left the Words of Chaos... carved into the very rock in spirals and twists, a language that few would even recognize as a script of any sort.

    By accident his own creations were made, those who had intelligence as their master did, the Chaots, darkling creatures with no form of their own... powerful and quiet... always listening for their master's call. They stayed on earth as their master withdrew and rose upward again, back to the inky darkness of the beyond.

    And in the skies above as Entropos drifted again to the Void, in his wake was the Maelstrom, a disruptive and ever-changing storm of energy and phenomena that would hang over those caverns so long as his Word was carved below.

    Entropos again floated formless in the eternal darkness, thinking and assembling the loss, chaos, and decay that his Will and the Natterlings had brought to the world... whispering himself in the darkness, in a language only the Chaots could understand, and that only the most quiet of Those-Who-Were-To-Come could ever hear.

    Paruz Redhnoth Ch'Wragga Heigg...
    Berecht Niddhor Dugh'Dugh Faehl..
    Ul'aght Ul'aght Duggha Pthun.

    dmsigsmallek3.jpg
  • ShamusShamus Registered User regular
    edited March 2007
    R'kkat found itself alone in the wastes of the deep south.

    Here the touch of it's fellow Natterlings had been faint. Lands had been carved, but this contintent was left mostly unchanged. A vast desert. The last desert he had seen had brought misfortune to it's army. Lightning bolts had carved an angry path through the screaming horde, while great birds that reveled in the destruction flew down to consume those who still alive.

    R'kkat was not afraid. It was more of a loathing to go up against such power again. It reconized the power of a god. Was it such power that drew him forever south? What god would find solace in such a barren and empty place? R'kkat found these thoughts uncomfortable, found itself having ideas and thoughts uncomforable.

    It had risen to a power of command by wisely avoiding those greater, such as Dread Volko whom it had spied crushing an even larger Natterling as his smoke blotted out the sun. But where was the so-called King now? There was rumors from the dying screams of other Natterlings that the King was dead. R'kkat, after snuffing out the life of the godling who offered this information, let the realization pass it by.

    R'kkat had other concerns. The desert had finally given way. A few sparse trees dotted the landscape. R'kkat reconized these trees. They burned at the slightest tough of flame. What drew it's attention was the vast canyon that stretched out before him, cutting the very land seemingly in half. No Natterling cut through this land..

    A god..Beyond the canyon, R'kkat could not see anything. Fog shrouded the other side, making the godling wonder if there was even another side. It stepped closer to the edge, peering down into the darkness.

    The sound of falling sand caught it's ears and R'kkat looked up. Black sand appeared from the fog, twisting as it formed what a path. A bridge. R'kkat was loath to take this path, but something compelled it to. A whisper in it's many ears, a tug at it's four hearts. The temptation was great. Something was promising it power.

    The bridge was solid and R'kkat moved without trepidation. It would not show weakness to whatever power lay beyond the fog. It was at the end of the world, it would not show weakness now. The Natterling moved through the fog.

    It found itself at the edge of the other side of the trench, looking at an endless sea of black sand. It flowed like water pass him and over the edge of the cliffs, down to whatever darkness awaited it. The sky itself was different. The Dread Volko had blotted out the sun, but R'kkat knew the sky had once been blue. Perhaps it would be blue once more with the death of Volko. Here the sky was a deep purple. And then it was green. Orange. Red. Blue. The spectrum continued as R'kkat looked on without comprehension.

    "We have been waiting for you.." The voice came out of nowhere, but it was joined by another. "Yess..you sshall do.."

    Two voices. But there was a third, a quiet whisper that R'kkat could just make out. "He will..

    He? What was he? R'kkat had no concept of gender in it's mind. It was simply it. It looked around wildly, clenching all four of it's fists. But there was nobody there, no speakers for the voice to belong to. Just an everending sea of sand, and an everchanging alien sky.

    "WHO ARE YOU GODS!?" R'kkat's voice boomed forth from it's three mouths. It readied itself for it's death. It could not kill a God, but it would not go down without a fight. It was not one of the many weak among the Natterlings.

    "We are one.." The voice came back, but there was a form with it. Out of the twisting landscape, it saw a figure seated upon a throne made of precious stone. Even as it looked upon the god, R'kkat watched as the god's body shifted and changed. It was a mouse, a bird, a Natterling. It's form was never constant as it continued to speak. " One and three.

    "What do you want!?" R'kkat spoke now only from one head, it's central head that looked like that of a hyena.

    "You.." The answer was simple, and was once voice from this mysterious god.

    R'kkat was suddenly overwhelmed. Visions were cast in it's three heads and understanding dawned upon it. It did not see the black sand moving rapidly around it's mammoth body. A word came to it, a title for it's new Lord. "The Taibreamh.."

    The sands swallowed the creature whole before returning to a flat landscape. The Taibreamh watched from his throne and felt the life force of the Natterling within it's grasp. It would be remade, this creature. Of all the Natterlings, it was found worthy to the Three-In-One. The Trifold God found it's three heads endearing, but it's potential even greater.

    The Dreaming Lord only spoke one word before beginning his work, the new name of his new servant. Outside of his realm, the rest of the world began to settle as the Age of Strife ended. Evolution was taking hold outside as Primal moved amongst his beasts. Life would begin to walk the earth, life like none other. The former Natterling once known as R'kkat would become the Dreaming Lord's vassal and voice to the rest of the world.

    "Draiodoir.."

  • KrataLightbladeKrataLightblade Registered User
    edited March 2007
    There Was, and there Was Not. There were those that Were, and those that Were Yet Not. Much occured and had yet to occur, and in the morass of What Was Not, there were yet things that Were. And at seeing what Had Become, a small piece of What Was Not suddenly Became.

    And with Becoming came the Awareness. With Awareness, came the Sight. And with Sight, came the Knowledge.

    Violence and cacophony was strong. Every existed only to be destroyed. This Could Not Be.

    And so it was that the Awareness spoke, and in speaking, truly Was.

    "Verweren."

    The single Word that It Spoke at that instant defined Its being. And in so doing, Its Purpose was known.

    Its presence grew and expanded as It percieved more and more of What Was. It Knew, and in Knowing, It grew stronger.

    It beheld What Was, and It saw what must be done. It reached, and touched the insignificant pebble of this world, where the gods first playthings had Come To Be. It touched and spread, enveloping this world and bringing Its Will to bear. And It Spoke.

    First, to Vizana, though She may refuse to listen. "And Unto this world, I bequeath My Purpose. You would Undo what our bretheren have Wrought, and that Can Not Be. And so thus shall My countenance stand between You and this world. Parts of it You may claim, but the whole shall never be Yours so long as My Purpose continues."

    And then to the bright, shining brother, Solar. "Your Light and Your Heat You shall Cast unto this world, and give it Life and Warmth. And yet, I have Seen your intentions, and Heard your vows. Unto you I Speak, and let My Words be heard. This world Shall Not Burn. Parts of it, You may claim, but the Whole shall never be Yours so long as My Purpose continues."

    And then unto Svedre, Ruler of the Sea, He Spoke. "You Speak not, and You seek a soliphism that Will Never Be. For this, I feel Sorrow, for I Wish Not that You shall be disturbed. And Yet, I see that it Shall Be that you will find only Disturbance and Disharmony. Let not Your Rage shake this world. For while parts of it, You may claim, the whole shall never be Yours so long as My Purpose continues."

    And finally, to Entropos, His voice rose again. "I See you, and Know that all things Shall Be and all Shall Not Be. In the fullness of Time, shall All fall to That Which Is Not. To You, I Speak as well. Seek not to gather that which You are not yet Due. For while parts of this world you may claim, the whole shall never be Yours so long as My Purpose continues."

    And with His words spoken, Verweren truly Was, fully realized and finally whole. Under His protective Sight, this world Would Be.

    And He waited.

    LEVEL 50 SWORD JUGGLER/WIZARD!
  • HorseshoeHorseshoe Registered User regular
    edited March 2007
    And finally, to Entropos, His voice rose again. "I See you, and Know that all things Shall Be and all Shall Not Be. In the fullness of Time, shall All fall to That Which Is Not. To You, I Speak as well. Seek not to gather that which You are not yet Due. For while parts of this world you may claim, the whole shall never be Yours so long as My Purpose continues."

    Dughrra zuukepth yug bahoor pthun...
    Kh'Khattra dagghda roptha phtun.

    dmsigsmallek3.jpg
  • Aroused BullAroused Bull Registered User
    edited March 2007
    Stirring from his long repose, the Eternal coalesced his conciousness from its observation of the activities of the gods, in preparation for action. He took a sliver of Solar's gift, radiant diamond, and stabbed it into the ground at the centre of the Cradle. The splinter exploded outwards. Roots of diamond burst forth from its base, burrowing their way through the matter of the shell, splitting and splitting again, criss-crossing the surface of the
    At the same time, the point of the sliver speared upwards, shooting forth into the void, forming a tower immensely high and needle-thin, its pinnacle overlooking cradle, shards, earth and space.
    The Eternal now ascended the tower and stood on its narrow peak, gazing outwards and downwards at the distant world. Now was the time. The Design had not been clear in the Eternal's mind from the moment of his birth – he had stepped forth from the egg unsure, ignorant of any higher purpose or reason for being other than that of creation for creation's sake. Yet as the other gods progressed in their work, forming first the pebble of creation which had encapsulated all the gods' attention and later the lands and seas and hills and forests and birds and beasts which filled it; as this happened the Design became more and more clear in the Eternal's mind. He knew, intrinsically, that this plan was one for a higher purpose, and he resolved to ensure its completion. Now, while the living things of the earth were scattered about the world, now that the Natterlings had done their work, now was the time to begin.
    The Eternal reached his mind and being across the gulf of space, slowly extending himself until he touched all things on earth, both living and insentient. When all the strands had been gathered, he set to work weaving. This was to be the tapestry, a connection of the essences of all things. Every rock, every flower, every wave on the sea, every creature would be joined, subtly, through impalpable threads of fate. Where these threads met, a being would form. A slumbering conciousness, the gestalt psyche and destiny of everything on earth. The dreaming mind would guide each part of itself through time in harmony, always towards a distant purpose, an end goal – one day, at the end of all things, the being would awaken, the world would "hatch", and a new Celestial Bird would emerge to continue the cycle of life – or perhaps to lead on to something new.
    The Eternal frowned. The work was difficult. The gods were too fractious, the different entities of the earth were too attuned to their creators and not enough to each other. The friction of the threads threatened to burn them through, and the faster the Eternal worked, the more they frayed they became. The Eternal applied a final, frenetic burst of effort in a bid to complete the task before the tapestry escaped him, and somewhere, far away, down on the planet, something was created.
    For the first time in the history of the universe, the Eternal was surprised. Those which had formed on the planet below were not what he had envisaged. The threads had slipped from his grasp. The Eternal's creation was to be singular, unified, but these things were many and separate. The tapestry was to be a bringer of harmony, but these creations were disjointed from their environment. Whereas the Being was an immaterial conception, those which existed on the world were physical and frail – they walked on two legs, possessed two weaker upper arms and were largely hairless save for the tops of their heads. Unlike other animals, who lived to eat, or to breed, or to serve their god, the newcomers seemed to have no purpose. They wandered, aimlessly.
    It was clear that the tapestry had never reached completion – not anything near it. The Design had failed. It was beyond the Eternal's power. In frustration he withdrew to the Cradle, to brood in solitude.
    As for the newcomers, the Eternal considered them. He hoped that, although the tapestry had never come to fruition and the Design had not succeeded, perhaps some small part of it had survived in the form of these creatures. Perhaps in some future time, the tapestry could be reconstructed. As such, the Eternal decreed the newborn race protected – the property of no god, never to be wiped out or bent wholly to the will of any deity. Time must be allowed for the creatures to flourish, so that some part of the Design might be recovered.
    Spoiler:

  • KrataLightbladeKrataLightblade Registered User
    edited April 2007
    And lo, They Were.

    He looked upon them, and saw Their truths.

    They were weak. And yet, they were strong.

    They were not posessed of superior physical power, nor were they particularly resilient. In comparison with the beasts and the Creations of His Brothers and Sisters, they were weak.

    And yet. When found together, they were startling in their tenacity. And yet... they were weak.

    Something must be Done.

    And Verweren Knew.

    He laid His hand upon this world, and felt its pulse. He called to His Brothers and His Sisters, and He Spoke unto Them.

    "The Eternal hath Spoken. And so it Shall Be. These Creations, who Were Not and Are, these Creations who stand before Us, Will Be. Unto them, I bestow a Blessing. I Gift these wretches with Survival. Lo, even though they face the Final End, they Shall Not allow their destruction. Even unto the End, they Shall stand together and guard one another from their Doom. And thus, I give them Unity, and unto them I bestow a capacity for Self-Defense."

    And lo, His words Were. The People drew together into small bands, and they protected one another from dangers. Verweren proudly turned to His Brothers and His Sisters, and Spoke once more.

    "I ask You, Brothers and Sisters. Bestow upon the People Your Gifts, Your Blessings. Make them whole."

    And He fell silent, His hand still upon the world, His gaze and His voice beseeching...

    LEVEL 50 SWORD JUGGLER/WIZARD!
  • JacquesCousteauJacquesCousteau Registered User regular
    edited April 2007
    Tara'lar watched the newthings -so similar to his own children- as they were born upon the Sphere, and knew somehow that it was fated his children have brothers. As they had come of age, Tara'lar placed his two upon the Sphere. They thrived, and from them, a people was born, known to the god as the Pryotar and to the newthings as the Elves; but as day turns into night, so did the light ebb and flow alongside the eternal dark of the Ak'tar.

    One night, with a soulless shreek, something burst from the Place of Secrets, a great and writhing mass of shadow, blotting out any light that fell before its empty eyes. Hurling itself into the sky, and letting out another great roar, it exploded into nothingness and the night once again fell silent, as its howl echoed into oblivion. Tara'lar was not sure what this being had done and with a cautious eye watched as the newthings and the Pryotar rose from their slumber.

    A child runs through the market in one of the Elven cities, a tuft of dark hair sitting on his head wrestles with the wind as he runs up to an older Elf, who is carrying a basket of apples to his home. Grabbing an apple as he normally does on such mornings the young boy quickly thanks the man and stares at him, pensively awaiting the old man's typical smile; but a new look creases the man's face. "No. That's mine." The old man puts down the basket of apples and draws a paring knife from his belt. An apple with a child-size bite mark rolls through the dust.

    Far away in the land of the newthings where Unity was born, a group of farmers are crowded around a man, who is shouting angrily, "we are many and they are few! Why do they deserve what they have when we can simply take it for ourselves?" A unified roar comes from the crowd and they raise various farm implements to the sky and begin to march. There is a lifeless chuckle from the darkness.


    The god watches as the armies of men slaughter eachother by the hundreds. The simplicity of their weapons and combat skills compensated for by a violence and rage never before seen in mortal creatures. Tara'lar looks on in disgust.

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  • INeedNoSaltINeedNoSalt Registered User regular
    edited April 2007
    Cable stares hard at the new things, strange little things with tiny heads that see only what they see, feel only what they feel, taste and smell and hear only what they taste and smell and hear, and it makes Cable sad to see them like this, so trapped inside their own heads.

    Their minds are so much bigger than the shells that hold them! That's not right, that's broken and it has to be fixed.

    So Cable went to one of these people, a creature that her and her kin knew to be human, even if the word was never spoken, and led him away in the night into a deep forest, deeper and deeper until there was no hope left of return by daylight, and there she left him, and he saw little in the darkness but he saw darkness, and he felt nothing but the cold dirt beneath his feet but he felt cold dirt beneath his feet, and he heard naught but the whistling of wind through the trees but he heard the whistling of the wind through the trees, and he did not smell much more than the thick forest scent of pine but he smelled the forest scent of pine, and he thought, and considered, but like a child, he could not imagine where the woman with the butterfly's wings had gone.

    And Cable thought long and hard from the treetop, looking down at the man, the aimless wanderer, and she thought how to get all his thoughts free from the shell of his head, and she thought that she did not want to hurt him, but it was that silly skull of his that was keeping all the greatest ideas out of his mind.

    So... and then she had it! And she had a rock, and when you're the Queen of Fae, having a rock on hand despite being situated comfortably in a tree is not unreasonable, and it would be fair to say it was a magical rock, and she threw it at the human, and lo did it strike and crack his skull, and all the imagination in the world poured in.

    And blood poured forth from his head, and he felt it, and he could see the blood on his hands but he could see the wound in his mind, and he was not sure whether he heard in his ears or heard in his head the howling of wolves, and he wondered (and he saw) himself dying here in the woods, freezing to death or eaten alive or starving (for even with the gift of Survival, not all humans were survivalists!), and he wondered where to run, and every thought begat another thought, and he was overwhelmed, and he huddled down at the base of the tree, bleeding, and shouted, hoping someone would hear him.

    And Cable giggled with glee, and she could feel all the things he imagined pouring out of him, and she said to herself, Oh, this is glamorous.

    sometimes you just gotta do a thing
  • ShamusShamus Registered User regular
    edited April 2007
    They crawled through the dirt like the creatures that came before them. But there was something different, The Taibreamh observed. He noticed that there was potential in the children of the Eternal. Infinite in scope, the three minds agreed. Infinite, but flawed. They were incomplete, yet the Dreaming Lord could not comprehend what made them so. He could not see the design behind their creation, nor the mystery of the tapestry the Eternal had tried to weave.

    "My sole gift, you will not know for a long time.."It was Faistine who spoke, whispering into the sleeping ears of several humans that fit his own designs."For now, flourish and thrive. When sleep takes you, there you will learn from my throne."

    Still, The Taibreamh were curious. The first words of a new song rumbled in the distance of the mutable realm of Dreams.

  • Abysmal LynxAbysmal Lynx Registered User
    edited April 2007
    Primal took the form of an animal as he often did, sometimes the hunter, sometimes the hunted, but this time he was surprised to discover he was the hunted.

    The hunters where doing their best to blend into their surroundings, but they where up wind and their scent was easily caught by the keen nose of the tyrannosaur-like creature that Primal had taken the form of.

    I had no idea humans had penetrated this far into the wilds. Strange though, they do not smell like humans.

    Primal enjoyed watching humans hunt, they worked together like wolves or raptors to bring down prey larger then themselves.

    The hunt is on.

    Primal ran full speed at the hunters before using his momentum to jump off the side of a tree in order to turn sharply in another direction. Spears and rocks flew where Primal had been moments earlier; he then turned several more times until he was behind one of the now headless hunters.

    This is not a human.

    The hunt went on for several hours, Primal had slowly picked off each of the hunters until only one remained. The last hunter was around seven feet tall and heavily built; it's skin was a greenish-brown and most of it's hair was on it's head, and although compared to a human or an elf the hunter was very hairy, compared to another beast it was nearly hairless. The eyes of the hunter where yellow and focused, and it's ears where slightly pointed and attuned to the smallest of noises. The hunters teeth where sharp like a predators, and all in all Primal decided he was probably descended from the mighty sasquatch.

    Primal and the hunter stared at each other for several seconds, blood flowing freely from Primal's side where he had been stabbed with a spear. Then, suddenly, he the hunter charged at each other, Primal slashed the hunter across his face and the hunter jammed his spear through Primal's heart.

    Time stood still for a moment, the silence was shattered by the sound of Primal coughing up blood. Primal then took the form of one of the hunters and spoke, "I am Primal, god of beasts and plants, master of evolution. Tell me now, who and what bested me?"

    The hunter stared wearily at Primal for several moment before responding, "I am Kraton, I am orc."

    "You did well to best me in the hunt Kraton, I shall reward you with the knowledge of the social structures of other animals so that you may tame them for your own uses."

    Primal then smeared his blood onto Kraton's forehead and granted him the skills of animal husbandry.

    "Spread the knowledge of animal husbandry and of Primal to your fellow orcs, then journey out of your homeland and teach these things to any other races you encounter on your travels."

    Primal then took the form of a bird and spiraled upward towards the sky; Primal was pleased with what evolution had wrought.

    [SIGPIC][/SIGPIC]
  • SUPERSUGASUPERSUGA Registered User regular
    edited April 2007
    In the hills a family of humans, having pressed further into the hills, finally stumbled across a clear lake. Rushing forward they cupped their hands and drank quickly, quenching their thirst. Svedre barely even felt a thing, this water was a gift of a sort but mainly because he knew it was so necessary.

    Off at one of the shorelines of the great ocean, a herd of huge herbivorous cattle rumbled across the nearby plains. Their drinking hole had become a goldmine for predators and this herd had been driven away completely. In desperate need of water half a dozen of these giants surged into the water, splashing with their hooves in a celebratory manner. As they began to drink loud snorts and sputtering came from the beasts. This wasn't the water they were used to, its taste was disgusting to the creatures and after a few short moments of standing in it the skin around their legs was becoming irritated. They cried out in confusion, desperate for an end to their thirst. There was a brief rumbling.

    All of a sudden a great wave swept over the huge beasts. Surf sprayed the shore, the rumbling sound reached a crescendo and it devoured them. Not the wave, something else.

  • HorseshoeHorseshoe Registered User regular
    edited April 2007
    Talonrazor wrote: »
    Daevak rested on Aesho, watching the results of the work around him. He saw what his siblings had made and it delighted him, for such things could work in combat and glory. Aesho needed guardians, servants and Daevak would give it that. They would be his Skraelings, his hunters. Twisting shapes from the ground of Aesho, he created tall figures with a single, piercing eye that would find the dead souls. They were tall and lanky, with three arms and two long legs. Armored with dark bone plates and armed with a spear of pure green glass, Daevak wrought more of them. Soon forty figures stood before Daevak. Delighted with his creations, he took a single spark of life from within himself and breathed it into all his figure.

    "My Skraelings, awake. Exist here on this dark world. You will be messengers, gatherers and hunters. You are tied to this place and thus this place will not let you perish. You are my Forty! Seek glory, my Skraelings."

    Not all denizens of Aesho were so graced as the Skraelings were by their creator.

    For just as the creation of God began the creations of other Gods, so too did their creations give birth to others, some like afterthoughts, or the left-over energy of creation. The touch of Daevak brought forth many creations from Aesho... but there were others that would later emerge from that ground, who had been awakened by the same touch.

    And thus was born on the barren wastes of Aesho, realm of war, one known as Asher.

    Born of the same creation as the Skraelings, but never did they accept them as their brother. To them he was an abomination... a great mistake. He fought them constantly, as did they all in Daevak's realm. He survived, and in time, he grew cunning with sword and shield. He would rally the weakest of beings behind him in the face of the awesome power of the Skraelings. But still, Lord Daevak would never see fiit to call him "Son".

    He heard the echoes of strife fading from the Earth below... the call of battle reached his ears... and he knew it would be there that he would show worth. He would descend and show them his father's gift, the Glory of Battle... and in time he would have gifts of his own to the place of mortals.

    Asher, when he reached the earth, took upon the form of a Human... it was in this race he saw such great potential. It was in them he saw creatures much like himself: as helpless in the face of great and terrible things, but for their spirit and will to survive. They needed not to merely be sheltered or manipulated by the Old Gods... but to be cultivated as seeds to bring the harvest of Glorious Victory.

    Legends would one day speak of the God that fell from the sky... and though most of them would not be true, for when he reached the earth, Asher was no God... not yet... but in time he would send many a dark soul to Daevak, and his name would one day be heard as a call amid the din of horns and clash of steel, called when brave men fought against impossible hatred and evil.

    "I am Asher, and I shall lead Men to be Victorious against Strife and Evil!"

    dmsigsmallek3.jpg
  • HorseshoeHorseshoe Registered User regular
    edited April 2007
    Asher found that Men were quite suited to warfare. They were easily trained, eager to defend themselves, and ingenious in developing new methods and tactics. Many a valorous tribe would come to know his name, and learn the path Glory and Valor through battle. For Asher did not stay in any place for too long... he roamed the world with his great strides, hunting down the foul Natterlings.


    Men one day would speak in awe of the defeat of Ngugu and Kiteph, who lurked in a realm of burnt waste that was once a part of Cable's forest. There no birds were heard to sing, nor beasts to run and hunt... only smoke and the infernal bellowings of the brothers of malice.

    Asher, who stood tall among Men, strode into the forest unarmored, carrying a greatsword. He walked into the blackened land and called the foul brothers out with a mighty shout. A rumble was heard as the two Natterlings, great black beasts whose mouths and eyes spat smoke and flame, emerged from the ground to face him. And they laughed at Asher, who was dwarfed by their titanic and twisted forms.

    "Foolish Godling!" cackled Ngugu, his tangled mouths dripping with blood and molten rock, "Though you may be mighty among mortals..."

    "...you face the Brothers of Hate, the keepers of Anger's Flame.... And we are strong enough to kill you!"


    Asher waited as Ngugu and Kiteph continued to laugh and belch smoke into the sky.

    "I will send your souls to Aesho, along with the rest of your kind," shouted Asher, "to be hunted as prize beasts by my Lord Daevak and his Skraelings!"


    For days the woods would echo with the battle that ensued. The roar of fire and ring of steel lasted through a number of days and nights that would be lost to history. Some would say that Asher fought them for a week, others a month... but such is the way with tales of this kind.

    And the young Godling emerged victorious again... though his bronze skin that was nearly impervious to earthly weapons was marred, and his divine blood mingled with that of his foes, smeared over his body at matting his hair. But at his feet rolled the heads of Ngugu and Kiteph, and with a broken sword slung over his back he carried one in each hand as he left the jungle, seething with righteous fury.

    "Mighty indeed you think you were," said Asher, spitting blood from his mouth, "but now your souls shall go to Aesho, to a great host of beings made to be stronger than me... and you will know the fear and pain you have sown in this forest!"



    In time, his name and his followers grew... and though Asher at first protested, and preached to them in Daevak's name... he became prideful of Victory and accepted their praise. As his followers grew, so too did his divine power.

    And as his power grew... so too did the Old Gods begin to notice him... the one who had become praised by men as a God... the one who they called Saint Asher.

    dmsigsmallek3.jpg
  • Abysmal LynxAbysmal Lynx Registered User
    edited April 2007
    Primal looked down upon a tribe of starving humans, the area they lived in had been long ago hunted out.

    Primal took the form of a raven and perched safely out of reach of the head of the tribe.

    "Tell me human, this place stopped being able to support your tribe long ago, why did you not move on?"

    The tribe leader stared hungerly at the talking raven before deciding to respond, "We cannot Raven, many years ago the pass through the mountains was destroyed by an earthquake, and to the south there is the great water that holds no life and to the northeast their is a large stretch of desert that we do not have the supplies to cross."

    Primal preferred for the creatures of the rock to rely on themselves, but these humans where not truly one of his own, so he supposed it wouldn't be too bad for him to help them out.

    "Your plight has moved me human, I shall grant you a gift so that your people do not have to leave this place. But there is one thing I require from you."

    "What is it Raven?" Desperation shined in the humans eyes.

    "In exchange for the gift of agriculture, you must spread this knowledge to those who require it and you must spread the word about the glory of Primal; the one who grants you this gift."

    Primal suddenly shifts into the form of an orc, he then takes many seeds out of his pocket and plants one into the head of each of the members of the tribe. The tribes people suddenly gain knowledge on such things as crops, field plowing, and crop rotation.

    "Lastly, here is a gift so that you all don't starve to death while you wait for your crops to grow."

    Suddenly the fields near the tribes dwelling was filled with many grains, fruits, and vegetables. Primal then took the form of a giant bird and flew his second prophet across the mountains so that he could do the work of Primal.

    [SIGPIC][/SIGPIC]
  • ShamusShamus Registered User regular
    edited April 2007
    "Little one, do you know the true story of how the Fáidh were created?"

    In the beginning, there was nothing but light and dark. The stars were young, drawn from the flesh of Grianda, who the humans call Solar, and cast through the heavens by Cábla,also named Cable. Great was the rage of Grianda, who promised all would come to him in the end. We call this Ag Deirdeah.

    The universe was a vast and lonely place, still yet young and empty. While the gods bickered and fought, it was The Taibreamh, our sacred lord, who began the song. It was a song of happiness and joy, of exulation and creation. It was a song of life and would be The Taibreamh's greatest achievement.

    The world hung like a diamond in the heavens, pure and untouched. It rested upon the cloak of Dorchadas, or Tara'lar, and from it was born the Aesho, home of Bás, or Daevak. And soon life began, first with plants and then the animals, brought by Athair Dúlra. The humans know him as Primal.

    A song began to grow in the heart of The Taibreamh. Even rage filled Tromlu, who will claim us all at death, felt it. And thus they began to sing, for the second and last time. From this song, we were born.

    From the earth they made our bodies, using the very sands we walk on. This is why we honor Talamah, or Gomac. The winds and water were used to harden our bodies, stolen from Thintrí and Tuile, or Rashiid and Svedre. We were made in the image of the Vassal, who is only a reflection of The Taibreamh. We were all touched three times by The Taibreamh, as is their way. You will one day grow taller then even the tallest human and be able to see beyond the farthest horizon. This is the gift of Codail. You will one day learn the words of the dream, and be able to shape the world around you with song. This is the gift of Faistine. You will live for centuries, but you will not bear witness to many young. This is the curse of Tromlu.


    "Now tend to the tarbh. Later, I will tell you of Claíomh, who fights in the endless battles of Aesho above."

  • GrimmyTOAGrimmyTOA Registered User regular
    edited April 2007
    The Solar looked down at the humans scrabbling away at the earth. He watched as they scraped food from the earth. He watched as they hunted in packs and crammed the raw flesh into their mouths, gouts of blood running down their chins. Hardly dignified. There was really only one gift that he could give them. If he had possessed a mouth, it would have twitched up at one corner.

    He worked his Will and the Sar moved across the world with new purpose. To various tribes the vast firespheres appeared, rolling through the skies on a hot wind.

    The voice of the Solar spoke to humanity for the first time. "Listen to me, children of Eternity, and accept my gift. It is not proper that you cower in the dark. It is not proper that you eat only raw flesh like the beasts you are meant to rule. Take my double-edged gift, and carry a small part of the Solar with you through the cold and the darkness of the world."

    That night, for the first time, fires crackled in the camps of humanity. For the first time, meat was roasted and eaten, and the shadows were forced back for a while.

    That night, for the first time, fire crackled in the roof of a yurt. For the first time, a village burned, and the screams of the injured echoed in the darkness.

    The Solar was pleased. No gift was without price. No price was too high for the gift of Fire. The benevolent and malevolent faces of the Shattered God.

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