You rise up above your homeland, its once white buildings spattered with blood and shadow, cast by the looming edifice from which you have risen mere moments before. As your consciousness expands you turn your gaze westwards, the mass that is Crazen now perceptible. The inklings of fading madness hang at the edge of your mind, now consumed with wrath. To the east you see Il'vania and Dionamus, simply standing there. Waiting. Watching. How dare they?! They have left your people to die! She calls out to you, her horns glistening in the light. NO! You will not listen to her! Now you see it - the angels sweeping into the city to save children, the touch of Il'vania running through everything, driving the homes themselves to defend... Too late! Too little! You snarl in rage in answer to the Vernal Goddess, her powerful form recoiling in shock.
I saw the mighty mountains begging for a hand to chisel them into shape, and the trees with their bland, faded leaves awaiting colour. I saw the land yearning for sculptors, the wind crying out for singers, the sky itself weeping for a painter. I saw all of these things, but none of them spoke to me. We landed after a long time in a field of mute gray flowers, and I walked through the plants, lost in my world of grief. 'Maylea,' Eventru said, worry weighing down his voice. I did not reply, my heart far too heavy for the niceties, even if he was my First.
You grab at your head. What happened? A hand instinctively goes to your side. Your amphora is still there. Good. You are not defenseless. You make your way to your feet and look about. Shadows were churning inwards now, burning red eyes lurking in them. A scythe hacks through the darkness and Stepasha, Dame of Destruction steps forth. A great roar echoes through the chamber as suddenly everyone springs into action.
You don't have much time, and as the fighting begins you're already halfway through your work. You hadn't expected Stepasha, but you weren't surprised. It was only a matter of time. That's why you kept a full battery whenever you went anywhere. Wasn't to defend yourself. My, you stop for a moment and look up. You've gotten cunning, Force Commander Shevat. Twisting her hands the Lady Ladantine is spraying light into the darkness, illuminating the shrouded Time Dame while the half-viscanti and the stoned dracnari open fire. Destructive, powerful, but inefficient. The Time Dame flies back through the wall from the concussive force of the blasts, but the dracnari grunts. 'I'm out,' he says, pulling off the muzzle of his weapon. 'Down to the basics, I guess,' he says with a grin. Yes, he'd grin, stoned as he is. You return to your work. 'Lady Ladantine,' you call, and a splash of light bursts overhead. Good, you had her attention. 'You should follow the ethereal constructs in their escape. I do not believe it likely we'll be be surviving this altercation.' The angry shout from the half-viscanti indicated he was down to basics as well. Not so good, given Stepasha was getting up once more. Well, this was it. Do or die. Ha ha. Was that a joke, you wonder for a moment, as the last bits click in place.
You hum a bit to yourself, attempting to keep the mood cheerful. The forest all about you bears your companion's sad and terrible mark - like him it has become twisted with sorrow and rage, but underneath it the thrum of Nature pulses strong. You wonder for a moment if he has discovered your secret, and you stop and gaze up at him. His black horns glisten darkly, the fetishes and talismans that hang from them swaying as he turns his bright red gaze on you. 'Why do you stop, Kiakoda? Do you sense something?' You do, you think for a moment. Half-seen. Edge of perception. Was it...? You shake your head. No. They have too much form. They could not hide from your eyes. You smile brightly then, and resume your gait. Your companion looms alongside you, his hooves pounding against the bare dirt, the sound muffled by the encroaching forest.
You grab Shallah by the arm, her warm fur twisting beneath your grip. She is great in size, but so are you. Your eyes flare. 'No, Shallah. Stop this foolishness.' Shimmering tears trickle down her fur as she looks to you. What heart-wrenching sorrow you see within. Your heart aches, but you must be firm. Mortals die - Gods die. This is the nature of things. 'Shallah, Il'vania is right. This is a tragedy, but some things are simply beyond us to stop,' Dionamus offers, his tone soothing and gentle. 'NO!' she sobs, pulling away from you. She clutches at her chest as her form shudders with a violent cry. You pull away and look to Dionamus, who returns your gaze. Neither of you know what to do.
'I think there is a greater picture,' Kaenalye murmured into my ear one blissful day as we watched the newest Elders emerge from their creche. This was a place of crystalline perfection, of mathematical precision and fractal beauty. Jadice's icy form melting and reforming as she emerged seemed borne of the essence of the creche, but then again, so did Xyl's angular, hard contours. I turned towards her, and she answered an unspoken thought. 'You see it without having words...' In silence we watched the rest of the Elders born so recently greet those of us waiting, and finally Kae tilted her head towards Xyl and said, 'That one shall be as precise and blunt as the angles of his features. He will think in logical, straightforward patterns.' I almost knew the answer, but I asked, 'How do you know?'
The guttural cries of a dying dominator on your halberd sends a chill down your spine, but you shake it off. With a stomp of its foot your mount drags it off and you raise your halberd, ready to charge your next victim. 'Tinno!' You turn your head to the source of the shout. Mirila was gesturing - ah, there. You could barely see it. Strange, you think. The air is... Different. Lowering your halberd you loose an angry bellow, kicking your rhino in its sides and urging it onwards. You must chase the forces of the Goloth now, or risk forever losing track of them.
Throwing his weapon at Stepasha, the half-viscanti abomination lunges at her. His body and joints hiss and whine with a mechanical fury, one clawed hand pinning a wrist down while he pins her body with his own. What little momentum she can gain in her punches and claws seem to be mildly effective, though it will take her time to get through him. You inhale and then exhale, the air passing through you and out in a deep and characteristic 'hoom'. You ponder whether to act or to watch or to leave. Padding over to the crystal-man, the sea-woman says he should leave with them. He shakes his head and waves her away, saying he has things to do. 'Hooooom,' you exhale again. This was getting mildly annoying. Maybe you should help? The crack of machinery denotes the joints failing on the half-creature. Pushing the sea-woman towards you, the crystal-man tells you to go. What else can you do? You wrap her in your branches and carry her away. 'Hoom,' you exhale for a third time. She was fiesty and angry - she wanted to fight. Maybe you should let her fight. No, no reason for more life to be lost. 'Hoom'.
With a shout you tackle Phoebus, sending her sprawling to the ground. You roll over and hold up your tahto, the incoming crack of a whip
catching about it. You struggle to keep your grip on it, snarling in a most inappropriate manner. Managing to stand, Tulemrah fires a bolt of electric energy straight past you, catching the dominator in the chest and sending it to the floor. Managing to her feet, Phoebus Windwhisper gives you a dirty look as she erects a force wall, Tulemrah erecting one in the opposite direction. You were safe, if only for a moment. A very brief moment, it turns out, as one of the walls crumble and a hulking dominator, bloated and bulging, lunges through, grabbing at Phoebus. Without even thinking you twist in front of Phoebus, your tahto in front of you. The creature's momentum pushes itself through the tahto, and continues going. Carrying you with it, the dominator breaks through the opposing wall, and together you fall a long, long way to the Basin of Life far below. Your last moments are spent clawing at its face.
Crumkane, Lord of Epicurean Delights says, "WAS IT INDEED ON FIRE, ERITHEYL."
-
With a deep reverb, Contemptible Sutekh says, "CEASE YOUR INFERNAL ENERGY, ERITHEYL."
'My grandmother would have agreed! She would have marched into the fie-' A Prismatic Lucidian turns her immutable gaze on the viscanti speaking - if you could call him that, you think with disgust. 'My mother,' you reply coolly, 'would have washed your grandmother into the sea of despair, where she belonged.' Snarling, the viscanti snaps his jaw, iron teeth screeching against one another. Turning his crystal eyes to you the lucidian says, 'You are not helping, Lady Ladantine.' Your eyes flash, you hate the honourific. 'This...CREATURE...makes me question the decisions of Gracia, decades ago, to enter us into this alliance. This... Rebellion! It is foolish,' you snap. 'This creature and his kind will do nothing but ruin the first world further!' Your grip tightens on the edge of the stone table before you. 'And stop calling me that! My name is...'
'Magistrate Phoebus! Magistrate Phoebus!' You blink and turn your head side-ways, eyeing a trill child running at you. How inappropriate. 'They're coming out of the Spire of the Lawgivers!' You purse your lips and frown. Pigeon poo. This wasn't good. You heft your weapon to your shoulder, its silvery construction glistening in the light cast by the city. You spread your wings and quickly find your way to the base of the Spire of the Lawgivers, a group already forming. 'Captain,' you state as you approach the group, 'Status report.' Saluting, Tulemrah answers quickly. 'Dominators have made their way into the Lawgiver's Spire. We've been hearing fighting for almost twenty minutes. Unfortunately they've barricaded the doors - we are prepping a battery to bring it down.'
Crumkane, Lord of Epicurean Delights says, "WAS IT INDEED ON FIRE, ERITHEYL."
-
With a deep reverb, Contemptible Sutekh says, "CEASE YOUR INFERNAL ENERGY, ERITHEYL."
Nodding, Phoebus gives the order. You and a dozen of your fellows lower your generators and, within only a moment, the door that once sealed the Spire of the Lawgivers has been reduced to a fine pile of charred and blackened debris. You pour into the spire, and quickly work your way up, floor-by-floor. As you get higher the resistance becomes tougher, and soon you have them cornered, fighting for their lives now, and not just the city. A sudden assault sends you flying backwards across the hall, slamming into the wall and then ground. You struggle to get up, but the ur'dead knight that looms over you is already hacking downwards. A sudden crackle of energy marks a generator discharge, and the knight convulses before collapsing, crackles of energy erupting all across him. You blink twice and look up at your saviour, Magistrate Phoebus Windwhisper managing to hold her weapon steady.
---
'I am sorry,' you whisper softly. Your unseeing gaze settles on one of the warmer beings. Mortal and mounted, but they have Her good nature. You see but you do not see. Everything is sharper, everything is brighter. 'This is yours. It is what She would have wanted,' you offer. What a small consolation. 'We'll take it,' the deep, rumbling voice cracks. Such sorrow they must feel. 'We'll take it and we'll ride down every one of the bastards that serve the Soulless that caused this. Shallah's sacrifice will not be wasted. We'll protect you, and we'll hunt them down. It's all we can do. For Shallah.'
---
You don't have much time, and as the fighting begins you're already halfway through your work. You hadn't expected Stepasha, but you weren't surprised. It was only a matter of time. That's why you kept a full battery whenever you went anywhere. Wasn't to defend yourself. My, you stop for a moment and look up. You've gotten cunning, Force Commander Shevat. Twisting her hands the Lady Ladantine is spraying light into the darkness, illuminating the shrouded Time Dame while the half-viscanti and the stoned dracnari open fire. Destructive, powerful, but inefficient. The Time Dame flies back through the wall from the concussive force of the blasts, but the dracnari grunts. 'I'm out,' he says, pulling off the muzzle of his weapon. 'Down to the basics, I guess,' he says with a grin. Yes, he'd grin, stoned as he is. You return to your work. 'Lady Ladantine,' you call, and a splash of light bursts overhead. Good, you had her attention. 'You should follow the ethereal constructs in their escape. I do not believe it likely we'll be surviving this altercation.' The angry shout from the half-viscanti indicated he was down to basics as well. Not so good, given Stepasha was getting up once more. Well, this was it. Do or die. Ha ha. Was that a joke, you wonder for a moment, as the last bits click in place.
---
(Skyplume Secret Society): Phoebus says, "Because I am a badass action hero."
'You saw their containment units,' says Archmage Ircria. You blink and
turn your head to her. 'Magistrate Windwhisper? ...Phoebus? Are you
okay? Look - I think I have a design which will allow us to...' You turn
your gaze away from the conversation, your eyes settling on the lower
wards below, one spire quivering in what almost seems to be revulsion,
plumes of corrosive, tainted smoke billowing from one window.
------------------------------ I think all of these are Shallah ones:
'She's here,' you whisper softly, barely audible. Your daughter turns feverishly in your arms, too sick to even hear you now. You aren't far behind. You turn your head, seeing but not seeing - such a beautiful and radiant soul, so many times greater than your own. 'There is nothing I can do,' a male voice whispers. 'There must be something, Dionamus!' You hear His head shake, His wings ruffle. The clank of jewelry indicates a third. 'I am sorry, Shallah. If there is nothing to be done...'
It isn't fair, you tell yourself. They have done so much! Given so much! Just to be saved! You look down at those sick and dying. No! This can't be allowed! They have bore this burden for generations! They have given up war and violence and fighting for peace! This is what mortals were intended to do! How can you sit by any longer? How can you not act? Your body shivers with a great, heart-wrenching sob. Indeed, your heart is torn in two. Maybe that is enough.
You blink your eyes, the once wild and unfathomable hunger of the Soulless God Crazen that ravaged your mind now only a dull roar. You crawl on bloody hands - your fingers gone, you've bitten them off and chewed upon them in an attempt to sate yourself in the madness - and crawl into the streets. Shimmering and brilliant angels flit across the heavens and descend into the streets, grabbing a hold of children before alighting to safety once more. The distant, shining figure of Dionamus hangs in the firmament, gazing down in sorrow. Beside Him glows the figure of Il'vania, the Hearthmother. You snarl and spit saliva and blood, shaking your bleeding stump of a hand. 'WHY!' you scream out. 'WHY HAVE YOU LEFT US TO PERISH!' The roar of Crazen's shocktroops draws your attention down the street, where brooms wearing buckets battle side-by-side with chairs and tables, using curtain-rods and utensils as weapons, plates and doors and each other as shields. Surely, you must already be mad, you ponder, as all of your belongings pour out of your home and into the streets, attempting to defend you with their inanimate, non-living lives...
The alarms of Hallifax ring clear as crystal nearby, piercing the air with steady shrieks and whines as the droning voice of the Collective notes the city's low survival rate and evacuation plans. You and your group have already abandoned the city, your prize too valuable to risk. Slavering dominators pour into the mountains tracking you, however you're prepared. 'Forward aero teams seven six and thirteen,' you shout hoarsely. You lick your lips as dozens of trill and lucidian rush forward, their weapons leveled. You raise one hand into the air and offer the order, slashing down as the air becomes saturated with electrical energy, scores of dominators falling down the mountainsides. You run a hand through your gray plumage and turn away. 'Hold the line. Teams one, two, three, four, five, eight, and ten - with me. The rest of you press down into the Shallach rivers, follow it to the Sea of Despair.' You turn away, your cloak rippling in the wind. You draw your hood tight while nodding to the Sentinels who flank you. No time to waste.
You blink your eyes, the once wild and unfathomable hunger of the Soulless God Crazen that ravaged your mind now only a dull roar. You crawl on bloody hands - your fingers gone, you've bitten them off and chewed upon them in an attempt to sate yourself in the madness - and crawl into the streets. Shimmering and brilliant angels flit across the heavens and descend into the streets, grabbing a hold of children before alighting to safety once more. The distant, shining figure of Dionamus hangs in the firmament, gazing down in sorrow. Beside Him glows the figure of Il'vania, the Hearthmother. You snarl and spit saliva and blood, shaking your bleeding stump of a hand. 'WHY!' you scream out. 'WHY HAVE YOU LEFT US TO PERISH!' The roar of Crazen's shocktroops draws your attention down the street, where brooms wearing buckets battle side-by-side with chairs and tables, using curtain-rods and utensils as weapons, plates and doors and each other as shields. Surely, you must already be mad, you ponder, as all of your belongings pour out of your home and into the streets, attempting to defend you with their inanimate, non-living lives...
I got this too. It's awesome...only the Czigny would attack the soulless with furniture and cutlery.
'I am sorry,' you whisper softly. Your unseeing gaze settles on one of the warmer beings. Mortal and mounted, but they have Her good nature. You see but you do not see. Everything is sharper, everything is brighter. 'This is yours. It is what She would have wanted,' you offer. What a small consolation. 'We'll take it,' the deep, rumbling voice cracks. Such sorrow they must feel. 'We'll take it and we'll ride down every one of the bastards that serve the Soulless that caused this. Shallah's sacrifice will not be wasted. We'll protect you, and we'll hunt them down. It's all we can do. For Shallah.'
You look across to Malicia and Nydekion, embracing one another in their final moments, the Even- Bladed to one side of you and the Exalted Lord to another. They share a sad smile with you as you collectively direct your attention to the Pool of Stars. Its surface froths and boils with an angry red-and-black light, its edges breaking apart. Your defenses have failed, and your final moment is spent in silent prayer.
How dare this bitch? After everything you've been through, you don't have the time for her to be raiding this meeting. If it wasn't for that damn sea-witch this would have been over already. With a snarl you raise your precious weapon - Brazen Bableg, you call her - and reach back to turn a valve on your tanks. This scythe-swinging hag is as good as fried, you tell yourself.
I'm going to pretend that's supposed to be from Daraius' perspective. Better come back and prevent/cause this future. :-\"
With a shout you tackle Phoebus, sending her sprawling to the ground. You roll over and hold up your tahto, the incoming crack of a whip
catching about it. You struggle to keep your grip on it, snarling in a most inappropriate manner. Managing to stand, Tulemrah fires a bolt of electric energy straight past you, catching the dominator in the chest and sending it to the floor. Managing to her feet, Phoebus Windwhisper gives you a dirty look as she erects a force wall, Tulemrah erecting one in the opposite direction. You were safe, if only for a moment. A very brief moment, it turns out, as one of the walls crumble and a hulking dominator, bloated and bulging, lunges through, grabbing at Phoebus. Without even thinking you twist in front of Phoebus, your tahto in front of you. The creature's momentum pushes itself through the tahto, and continues going. Carrying you with it, the dominator breaks through the opposing wall, and together you fall a long, long way to the Basin of Life far below. Your last moments are spent clawing at its face.
I'm going to pretend that's supposed to be from Daraius' perspective. Better come back and prevent/cause this future. :-\"
With a shout you tackle Phoebus, sending her sprawling to the ground. You roll over and hold up your tahto, the incoming crack of a whip
catching about it. You struggle to keep your grip on it, snarling in a most inappropriate manner. Managing to stand, Tulemrah fires a bolt of electric energy straight past you, catching the dominator in the chest and sending it to the floor. Managing to her feet, Phoebus Windwhisper gives you a dirty look as she erects a force wall, Tulemrah erecting one in the opposite direction. You were safe, if only for a moment. A very brief moment, it turns out, as one of the walls crumble and a hulking dominator, bloated and bulging, lunges through, grabbing at Phoebus. Without even thinking you twist in front of Phoebus, your tahto in front of you. The creature's momentum pushes itself through the tahto, and continues going. Carrying you with it, the dominator breaks through the opposing wall, and together you fall a long, long way to the Basin of Life far below. Your last moments are spent clawing at its face.
Comments
Estarra the Eternal says, "Give Shevat the floor please."
-
I like it anyway.
there. Good. You are not defenseless. You make your way to your feet and look about. Shadows were
churning inwards now, burning red eyes lurking in them. A scythe hacks through the darkness and
Stepasha, Dame of Destruction steps forth. A great roar echoes through the chamber as suddenly
everyone springs into action.
the newest Elders emerge from their creche. This was a place of crystalline perfection, of
mathematical precision and fractal beauty. Jadice's icy form melting and reforming as she emerged
seemed borne of the essence of the creche, but then again, so did Xyl's angular, hard contours. I
turned towards her, and she answered an unspoken thought. 'You see it without having words...' In
silence we watched the rest of the Elders born so recently greet those of us waiting, and finally
Kae tilted her head towards Xyl and said, 'That one shall be as precise and blunt as the angles of
his features. He will think in logical, straightforward patterns.' I almost knew the answer, but I
asked, 'How do you know?'
HOOOOOOM.
-
'My grandmother would have agreed! She would have marched into the fie-' A Prismatic Lucidian turns her immutable gaze on the viscanti speaking - if you could call him that, you think with disgust. 'My mother,' you reply coolly, 'would have washed your grandmother into the sea of despair, where she belonged.' Snarling, the viscanti snaps his jaw, iron teeth screeching against one another. Turning his crystal eyes to you the lucidian says, 'You are not helping, Lady Ladantine.' Your eyes flash, you hate the honourific. 'This...CREATURE...makes me question the decisions of Gracia, decades ago, to enter us into this alliance. This... Rebellion! It is foolish,' you snap. 'This creature and his kind will do nothing but ruin the first world further!' Your grip tightens on the edge of the stone table before you. 'And stop calling me that! My name is...'
-
-
------------------------------
I think all of these are Shallah ones:
'She's here,' you whisper softly, barely audible. Your daughter turns feverishly in your arms, too sick to even hear you now. You aren't far behind. You turn your head, seeing but not seeing - such a beautiful and radiant soul, so many times greater than your own. 'There is nothing I can do,' a male voice whispers. 'There must be something, Dionamus!' You hear His head shake, His wings ruffle. The clank of jewelry indicates a third. 'I am sorry, Shallah. If there is nothing to be done...'
It isn't fair, you tell yourself. They have done so much! Given so much! Just to be saved! You look down at those sick and dying. No! This can't be allowed! They have bore this burden for generations! They have given up war and violence and fighting for peace! This is what mortals were intended to do! How can you sit by any longer? How can you not act? Your body shivers with a great, heart-wrenching sob. Indeed, your heart is torn in two. Maybe that is enough.
I got this too. It's awesome...only the Czigny would attack the soulless with furniture and cutlery.
Edit: Was already there, oops.
Bladed to one side of you and the Exalted Lord to another. They share a sad smile with you as you
collectively direct your attention to the Pool of Stars. Its surface froths and boils with an angry
red-and-black light, its edges breaking apart. Your defenses have failed, and your final moment is
spent in silent prayer.
Estarra the Eternal says, "Give Shevat the floor please."