*soft smile*
I understand brother. I will attempt to find reference to them in my own records, before I bestow my final gift.
Thank you for your friendship in the short space of time since my Hatching.
Pantheon 2.0 - Game Thread
Moderator: Xar
The Gift of the Omega
He has been reduced ... his domains stolen ... his attacks foiled .. it is insufferable!! "I will NOT accept this any longer!" Astavyastataa Kadna sends his thoughts out to his allies and his followers!
"My followers; you have been struck barren by the cruel deities of this world! Fortune has not smiled on us recently. But we will have the last say! Join yourselves to me! Give unto me your souls and you will be reborn anew in the OMEGA. Our lasting Gift to Eiran shall be the start of the END of Creation itself! Your passion and joy will power it!! Give unto me my followers!! And those of my allies who desire the ultimate ending!!"
Powered by the souls of all his followers, those of allies who join in the Gift, all his DRP and that of his allies that join him, AK sends all of his mind, fury, energy, being out ... across dimensions and realities. Reality pauses and Atavyastataa Kadna, the Omega screams! "ENOUGH!!"
Barries fall, restrictions released!! Power and domains restored with a RUSH ... Astavyastataa Kadna dwarfs all gods combined! The OMEGA is unleashed!!
FOOLS! I TOLD YOU THAT ALL WOULD BE MINE. HOW DARE YOU ALL OPPOSE ME! HOW DARE!!! I WILL SPREAD YOUR ESSENCES ACROSS THE COSMOS AND THEN CRUSH THEM BACK INTO OBLIVION ALONG WITH THIS WORLD!!!
Power cosmic released! A singularity formed of the OMEGA appears in the crack of the World Breaker. All of Eiran is seized by the cosmic tidal forces of gravity. The world trembles and starts falling to oblivion!!
RESULTS:
But then: HOLD!! Brother! And then another voice: This world is MINE, Omega - you hold sway on Eiran at MY sufferance. : I am still ascedent!! In eons, when you Rule, you might do as you like. Now, MY will holds sway! : And even then, this reality is MY domain! Together, the two voices speak: Since we cannot trust you to abide by the constraints of Eiran's reality YOU ARE REMOVED!!! And you are barred from Eiran!
The AllFather and Alpha extend their hands ... and the singularity evaporates!! And then ... EXPANSION!! The infinite reclaimed, as Astavyastataa Kadna fades from Eiran and his senses return to the cosmos ... more encompassing, but less specific. He sighs, and wraps the winds of chaos about him. And then sleeps ... with only the dreams of his beloved Wife to sooth his slumber until the OMEGA must truly be ascendant!!
He has been reduced ... his domains stolen ... his attacks foiled .. it is insufferable!! "I will NOT accept this any longer!" Astavyastataa Kadna sends his thoughts out to his allies and his followers!
"My followers; you have been struck barren by the cruel deities of this world! Fortune has not smiled on us recently. But we will have the last say! Join yourselves to me! Give unto me your souls and you will be reborn anew in the OMEGA. Our lasting Gift to Eiran shall be the start of the END of Creation itself! Your passion and joy will power it!! Give unto me my followers!! And those of my allies who desire the ultimate ending!!"
Powered by the souls of all his followers, those of allies who join in the Gift, all his DRP and that of his allies that join him, AK sends all of his mind, fury, energy, being out ... across dimensions and realities. Reality pauses and Atavyastataa Kadna, the Omega screams! "ENOUGH!!"
Barries fall, restrictions released!! Power and domains restored with a RUSH ... Astavyastataa Kadna dwarfs all gods combined! The OMEGA is unleashed!!
FOOLS! I TOLD YOU THAT ALL WOULD BE MINE. HOW DARE YOU ALL OPPOSE ME! HOW DARE!!! I WILL SPREAD YOUR ESSENCES ACROSS THE COSMOS AND THEN CRUSH THEM BACK INTO OBLIVION ALONG WITH THIS WORLD!!!
Power cosmic released! A singularity formed of the OMEGA appears in the crack of the World Breaker. All of Eiran is seized by the cosmic tidal forces of gravity. The world trembles and starts falling to oblivion!!
RESULTS:
But then: HOLD!! Brother! And then another voice: This world is MINE, Omega - you hold sway on Eiran at MY sufferance. : I am still ascedent!! In eons, when you Rule, you might do as you like. Now, MY will holds sway! : And even then, this reality is MY domain! Together, the two voices speak: Since we cannot trust you to abide by the constraints of Eiran's reality YOU ARE REMOVED!!! And you are barred from Eiran!
The AllFather and Alpha extend their hands ... and the singularity evaporates!! And then ... EXPANSION!! The infinite reclaimed, as Astavyastataa Kadna fades from Eiran and his senses return to the cosmos ... more encompassing, but less specific. He sighs, and wraps the winds of chaos about him. And then sleeps ... with only the dreams of his beloved Wife to sooth his slumber until the OMEGA must truly be ascendant!!
-
The World Breaker
- Servant of the Land
- Posts: 15
- Joined: Tue Jan 16, 2007 11:46 am
In his blinding dark tower, the World Breaker heard the words of the AllFather, and a blinding rage took hold of him. That he exerted so much of himself, that he suffered the suffering of the Void for eternities, that he returned to the world, that he found his conduit sealed... and even as he started the last moves, fully intent on conquering the world of Eiran and swallow it into the void, the AllFather, roused by a meddlesome godling, had decided to meddle with things and cast him out.
Interdiction! How did he DARE?! But for all his power and his vast lore, the World Breaker was not the equal of the AllFather, and at any rate, he was sealed away from the void that fueled his might. The finite power he had in Eiran would not suffice to destroy the AllFather. He was powerless to prevent his own interdiction! He would be cast into the void once more, there to burn and freeze for all eternity, seared by the nothingness, until he could once more break out of confinement!
The World Breaker's wrath caused the tower to tremble, the earth to shake; his fury mounted like a tidal wave as all his thoughts, bent on how to escape the interdiction, came to nothing. He could do nothing. He, the World Breaker... could... do... nothing!
"NO!" He suddenly shouted defiantly, spewing vitriol with each word. "I AM THE WORLD BREAKER, AND I SHALL NOT GO TO THE ALTAR LIKE A SACRIFICE! I SHALL NOT LEAVE THIS WORLD I HAVE CLAIMED FOR MYSELF!" But only the mocking silence of the heavens answered his rage, and fueled the burning core of his unholy hunger. The Mists were slowly closing over the world of Eiran, and when they would cover it all, the Interdiction would take effect, and gods and overgods would be cast out...
Then, suddenly, the World Breaker, Nephirthos, knew what he would do. His laughter echoed throughout Thellarr, and those few mortals and animals who remained fell dead at the merest echo of the unholy sound; the tendrils of the World Breaker's power snaked throughout Eiran, reaching his minions everywhere, and draining from them the power he had bestowed upon them. Deprived of his might, each of them was like the flame of a candle suddenly left without fuel, and winked out, disappearing in anguished and pitiful screams; but in his dark refuge, the World Breaker felt each sliver of power returning to him, and his form grew, flared brighter, darker, filled with the searing power of the void.
The tower trembled, and he did not see the mortals who found and stole the fire godling's prison; they were like gnats before a giant, and he paid them no heed. He did not see miles or lands or seas or mortals or immortals: he encompassed the whole world with his fiery, burning eyes, a light so blasphemous and otherworldly that trees and grass withered and died before his gaze, and all that lived fled in terror before the power of the World Breaker.
And there he saw the cracks in the earth, the scars of what he had done an Age ago. He had cracked the world then, with paltry power and little knowledge, and that world had healed in time, after his banishment. Now, he would not make the same mistake.
Words unheard of by any mortal or immortal ears echoed throughout Thellarr as the World Breaker felt the last of his power returning to him, making him like unto an overdeity, a god of the gods. Power enough to level a mountain range, to raise a continent, to turn the skies purple or wither all life on Eiran... Power enough to crack the world, fulfilling the prophecy of his name.
And with a last word and a shout of defiance, the World Breaker's flame collected itself into a single pinpoint of blinding darkness -
- and it exploded.
Interdiction! How did he DARE?! But for all his power and his vast lore, the World Breaker was not the equal of the AllFather, and at any rate, he was sealed away from the void that fueled his might. The finite power he had in Eiran would not suffice to destroy the AllFather. He was powerless to prevent his own interdiction! He would be cast into the void once more, there to burn and freeze for all eternity, seared by the nothingness, until he could once more break out of confinement!
The World Breaker's wrath caused the tower to tremble, the earth to shake; his fury mounted like a tidal wave as all his thoughts, bent on how to escape the interdiction, came to nothing. He could do nothing. He, the World Breaker... could... do... nothing!
"NO!" He suddenly shouted defiantly, spewing vitriol with each word. "I AM THE WORLD BREAKER, AND I SHALL NOT GO TO THE ALTAR LIKE A SACRIFICE! I SHALL NOT LEAVE THIS WORLD I HAVE CLAIMED FOR MYSELF!" But only the mocking silence of the heavens answered his rage, and fueled the burning core of his unholy hunger. The Mists were slowly closing over the world of Eiran, and when they would cover it all, the Interdiction would take effect, and gods and overgods would be cast out...
Then, suddenly, the World Breaker, Nephirthos, knew what he would do. His laughter echoed throughout Thellarr, and those few mortals and animals who remained fell dead at the merest echo of the unholy sound; the tendrils of the World Breaker's power snaked throughout Eiran, reaching his minions everywhere, and draining from them the power he had bestowed upon them. Deprived of his might, each of them was like the flame of a candle suddenly left without fuel, and winked out, disappearing in anguished and pitiful screams; but in his dark refuge, the World Breaker felt each sliver of power returning to him, and his form grew, flared brighter, darker, filled with the searing power of the void.
The tower trembled, and he did not see the mortals who found and stole the fire godling's prison; they were like gnats before a giant, and he paid them no heed. He did not see miles or lands or seas or mortals or immortals: he encompassed the whole world with his fiery, burning eyes, a light so blasphemous and otherworldly that trees and grass withered and died before his gaze, and all that lived fled in terror before the power of the World Breaker.
And there he saw the cracks in the earth, the scars of what he had done an Age ago. He had cracked the world then, with paltry power and little knowledge, and that world had healed in time, after his banishment. Now, he would not make the same mistake.
Words unheard of by any mortal or immortal ears echoed throughout Thellarr as the World Breaker felt the last of his power returning to him, making him like unto an overdeity, a god of the gods. Power enough to level a mountain range, to raise a continent, to turn the skies purple or wither all life on Eiran... Power enough to crack the world, fulfilling the prophecy of his name.
And with a last word and a shout of defiance, the World Breaker's flame collected itself into a single pinpoint of blinding darkness -
- and it exploded.
Last edited by The World Breaker on Sun Nov 11, 2007 2:22 pm, edited 1 time in total.
The first sign came when the sky darkened. Lances of sickening fire shot through the clouds, and a mighty, blasphemous voice spoke words that struck fear and madness into the hearts of the mortals.
Then, a fiery, infernal red light bathed the world; grass withered and died, trees burned, and other living creatures fled the light, or were incinerated on the spot.
And then a last word echoed across the world, and those who heard it died when their hearts bursted into their chests, unable to contain its power.
Silence fell into the world for a moment - and then, it began. The earth shook and cracked, a horrifying sound that drove the moltitudes into insanity, and countless mortals died when the world's convulsions swallowed them. Tidal waves of gargantuan proportions slammed into the continents, drowning the mortals and destroying whole lands, and new, tortured swaths of land erupted from the oceans with a groan; mountains crashed into existence where the tortured earth suffered impacts, and cities were reduced to rubble by the earthquakes. And even as all this happened, the gods watched in horror, seeing what they had thought was a victory turn into ashes.
And even as this happened, a terrible, dark hunger - the handiwork of Astavyastataa Kadna - appeared in the cracks, devouring all that came into reach, and reality itself folded and unraveled in revulsion. Where the hunger came, reality fled, and madness reigned.
When the dust settled, Eiran was forever changed. There was no sign of the World Breaker and his tower, but where Thellarr had been, a dark Abyss yawned, and the waters of the world poured into it endlessly, from reality into nothingness. From the Abyss cracks into reality extended throughout all Eiran, transforming a world into a fragmented existence; in devastated Necrontir, a scar of earth and purulent magma had erupted where the land had shifted. The sky itself looked different, cracked to mirror the earth; and the stars no longer shone into known constellations.
The survivors looked at the heavens, tears flowing down their cheeks, and wept, "Why!?"
Then, a fiery, infernal red light bathed the world; grass withered and died, trees burned, and other living creatures fled the light, or were incinerated on the spot.
And then a last word echoed across the world, and those who heard it died when their hearts bursted into their chests, unable to contain its power.
Silence fell into the world for a moment - and then, it began. The earth shook and cracked, a horrifying sound that drove the moltitudes into insanity, and countless mortals died when the world's convulsions swallowed them. Tidal waves of gargantuan proportions slammed into the continents, drowning the mortals and destroying whole lands, and new, tortured swaths of land erupted from the oceans with a groan; mountains crashed into existence where the tortured earth suffered impacts, and cities were reduced to rubble by the earthquakes. And even as all this happened, the gods watched in horror, seeing what they had thought was a victory turn into ashes.
And even as this happened, a terrible, dark hunger - the handiwork of Astavyastataa Kadna - appeared in the cracks, devouring all that came into reach, and reality itself folded and unraveled in revulsion. Where the hunger came, reality fled, and madness reigned.
When the dust settled, Eiran was forever changed. There was no sign of the World Breaker and his tower, but where Thellarr had been, a dark Abyss yawned, and the waters of the world poured into it endlessly, from reality into nothingness. From the Abyss cracks into reality extended throughout all Eiran, transforming a world into a fragmented existence; in devastated Necrontir, a scar of earth and purulent magma had erupted where the land had shifted. The sky itself looked different, cracked to mirror the earth; and the stars no longer shone into known constellations.
The survivors looked at the heavens, tears flowing down their cheeks, and wept, "Why!?"
-
Mistress Cathy
- <i>Haruchai</i>
- Posts: 745
- Joined: Mon Nov 27, 2006 7:32 pm
- Location: Around the world....
Goodnight, Asta.The AllFather and Alpha extend their hands ... and the singularity evaporates!! And then ... EXPANSION!! The infinite reclaimed, as Astavyastataa Kadna fades from Eiran and his senses return to the cosmos ... more encompassing, but less specific. He sighs, and wraps the winds of chaos about him. And then sleeps ... with only the dreams of his beloved Wife to sooth his slumber until the OMEGA must truly be ascendant!!
Perhaps we can banter in the afterlife.
-
Mithyaat Vam
- <i>Elohim</i>
- Posts: 153
- Joined: Fri Nov 24, 2006 3:39 am
- Location: Sharp. Distance.
The Dreams of Astavyastataa Kadna
Down to who knows who, just to socialize.
I'm waiting for my girls, when you caught my eyes.
You got the way to make a man honey,
You got to understand.
I'm your man, child. Lord of the Thighs.
Well, well, Lordy my God,
What do we got here?
She's flashin' 'cross the floor,
Make it perfectly clear.
You're the bait, and you're the hook,
Someone 'bound to take a look.
I'm your man, child. Lord of the Thighs.
You must've come here to find it,
You've got the look in your eyes.
Although you really don't mind it -
I am the Lord of your Thighs!
You must of come here to find it baby,
You've got that look in your eyes.
Although you really don't mind it -
I am the Lord of your Thighs.....
Loose hearted lady sleepy was she
Love for the devil brought her to me
Seeds of a thousand drawn to her sin
Seasons of Wither holdin' me in
Ooh woe is me I feel so badly for you
Ooh woe is me I feel so sadly for you
In time bound to lose your mind
Live on borrowed time
Take the wind right out of your sail
Fireflies dance in the heat of
Hound dogs that bay at the moon
My ship leaves in the midnight
Can't say I'll be back too soon
We awaken far far away
Heat of my candle show me the way
Seeds of a thousand drawn to her sin
Seasons of Wither holdin' me in
Ooh woe is me I feel so badly for you
Ooh woe is me I feel so sadly for you
In time bound to lose your mind
Live on borrowed time
Take the wind right out of your sail.....
Every time I look in the mirror
All these lines on my face getting clearer
The past is gone
It goes by, like dusk to dawn
Isn't that the way
Everybody's got their dues in life to pay
Yeah, I know nobody knows
where it comes and where it goes
I know it's everybody's sin
You got to lose to know how to win
Half my life
is in books' written pages
Lived and learned from fools and
from sages
You know it's true
All the things come back to you
Sing with me, sing for the year
Sing for the laughter, sing for the tears
Sing with me, if it's just for today
Maybe tomorrow will come along and take you away
Yeah, sing with me, sing for the year
sing for the laughter, sing for the tear
sing with me, if it's just for today
Maybe tomorrow will come along and take you away
Dream On Dream On Dream On
Dream until your dreams come true
Dream On Dream On Dream On
Dream until your dream comes through
Dream On Dream On Dream On
Dream On Dream On
Dream On Dream On
Sing with me, sing for the year
sing for the laughter, sing for the tear
sing with me, if it's just for today
Maybe tomorrow will come along and take you away
Sing with me, sing for the year
sing for the laughter, sing for the tear
Sing with me, if it's just for today
Maybe tomorrow will come along and take you away......
good night sweet prince, and angels sing thee to thy rest.
Down to who knows who, just to socialize.
I'm waiting for my girls, when you caught my eyes.
You got the way to make a man honey,
You got to understand.
I'm your man, child. Lord of the Thighs.
Well, well, Lordy my God,
What do we got here?
She's flashin' 'cross the floor,
Make it perfectly clear.
You're the bait, and you're the hook,
Someone 'bound to take a look.
I'm your man, child. Lord of the Thighs.
You must've come here to find it,
You've got the look in your eyes.
Although you really don't mind it -
I am the Lord of your Thighs!
You must of come here to find it baby,
You've got that look in your eyes.
Although you really don't mind it -
I am the Lord of your Thighs.....
Loose hearted lady sleepy was she
Love for the devil brought her to me
Seeds of a thousand drawn to her sin
Seasons of Wither holdin' me in
Ooh woe is me I feel so badly for you
Ooh woe is me I feel so sadly for you
In time bound to lose your mind
Live on borrowed time
Take the wind right out of your sail
Fireflies dance in the heat of
Hound dogs that bay at the moon
My ship leaves in the midnight
Can't say I'll be back too soon
We awaken far far away
Heat of my candle show me the way
Seeds of a thousand drawn to her sin
Seasons of Wither holdin' me in
Ooh woe is me I feel so badly for you
Ooh woe is me I feel so sadly for you
In time bound to lose your mind
Live on borrowed time
Take the wind right out of your sail.....
Every time I look in the mirror
All these lines on my face getting clearer
The past is gone
It goes by, like dusk to dawn
Isn't that the way
Everybody's got their dues in life to pay
Yeah, I know nobody knows
where it comes and where it goes
I know it's everybody's sin
You got to lose to know how to win
Half my life
is in books' written pages
Lived and learned from fools and
from sages
You know it's true
All the things come back to you
Sing with me, sing for the year
Sing for the laughter, sing for the tears
Sing with me, if it's just for today
Maybe tomorrow will come along and take you away
Yeah, sing with me, sing for the year
sing for the laughter, sing for the tear
sing with me, if it's just for today
Maybe tomorrow will come along and take you away
Dream On Dream On Dream On
Dream until your dreams come true
Dream On Dream On Dream On
Dream until your dream comes through
Dream On Dream On Dream On
Dream On Dream On
Dream On Dream On
Sing with me, sing for the year
sing for the laughter, sing for the tear
sing with me, if it's just for today
Maybe tomorrow will come along and take you away
Sing with me, sing for the year
sing for the laughter, sing for the tear
Sing with me, if it's just for today
Maybe tomorrow will come along and take you away......
good night sweet prince, and angels sing thee to thy rest.
...and on the last day we feasted, like carrion, on her dreams.
~Irvea - from The Death of Mithyaat Vam
~Irvea - from The Death of Mithyaat Vam
-
Benito Alvarez
- Giantfriend
- Posts: 459
- Joined: Sun Sep 17, 2006 11:53 pm
Adomorn closes his eyes, and focuses. Slowly the Pantheon disappears. The motifs of fallen Prophets. Steel busts. His personal throne, and looking glass. All disappear into misty darkness. He can feel himself returning to the ether; the place where all begins and all ends. As Asta would put it, the Alpha and the Omega, although he is only a cheap imitation. His thoughts are not of the past. Not of battles lost or battles won. Not of the fight against Maeror or Nor Yekith, or even of his current battle against Asta and Argothoth. No, Adomorn's thoughts are to his first, and only, steadfast believer. The one who allowed him access to this world. Jameak.
His final thought is used to form himself in the smoke of his Prophets brazier. Deep within the command station of the Combined Forces. He peers through the mist, and looks upon his son. Tousled blond hair, and a strong jaw. A deep scar; old, and a few more recent. Even now, when rest and food would be of most use, he is at his small collapsible desk looking over the latest reports and summaries. Adomorn smiled to himself. He is so much like me. Never a rest when there is a worry pressing. "My son." he called.
He looked up from his work, hope in his eyes. It had been a long time since they had sparkled like that. For too long had his forces been vastly outnumbered by the enemy. Only recently with Melirelle's support, and Maeror's Wampyr's had there been even an small speck of hope. And now, the undead were in retreat, and he had killed the Skreet. It was a day of joy and happiness. All looked well and there was victory on the horizon. Nothing could spoil his mood.
Adomorn stepped out from the brazier, his smoky form holding for a while yet. He looked gently into Jameak's eyes, and smiled. His prophets face told that he knew something was wrong. In the many years of faithful service Adomorn had never come before him in such weakness. And something else came out, something that frightened Adomorn. Jameak knew his Lord was dying. That his time here was done. He spoke before Jameak could question him. He wanted to put it in his own words.
"My son, I come to you for the last time." Jameak's legs collapsed, and he folded into his chair. "I return to my beginnings, and leave you and all our people to their own Strength. I can no longer aid you, at least, nothing past my final gift. Which is the reason I come." He stood up straighter, chin held high, befitting his military leadership. "My son, of all the Gods new to this world, few of their Prophets have survived. Only the strongest, only the most devoted to their cause have made it to our end. Of them all perhaps you, Jameak, are strongest. Able to wield enough power to kill the Commanders of the Beast, Nephirthos. By yourself you have commanded hordes and armies. You have lost and won, and always come out alive. There is none on this planet that is your equal; but your Strength comes through your loving devotion to me. And I will be here no longer. My gift to the world, Jameak, is also my gift to you and your descendants. Bring me your sword."
Jameak, stood and brought his blade from the corner of his small tent. Adomorn drew and lifted it into the air. He held it reverently, and looked lovingly on the marred and scratched scabbard. It had come through many fights, and had survived many channeling's of Power. It was a simple sword, not fanciful as a lord or play-warrior might have. It was made to serve its purpose, and serve well it had. "When I leave you, Jameak, my being will be gone. But my Power will remain. I am weaving the very essence of my force on this planet into your sword, into the very steel itself. Through this sword, you will be able to channel our righteous fury into our enemies."
"My first blessing is perhaps the simplest, and yet, also the most influential of the gift. I bequeath my mighty Strength to your blade. It will cut through the strongest of steel and the hardiest of stone as you might draw a hand through water. Your own strength will increase ten-fold when you wield it, enough to bring down the fabled giants and ogres themselves. This first blessing is also involved in the last in another manner. However this gift has a limit. When you sheathe the sword the Strength will disappear. You will only have use of this gift, when you have use of the sword."
The sword glowed a soft blue, the color of the Battle Standard of Adomorn.
"The second blessing is Protection. When wielding this sword, you will be impervious to lesser attacks, both of physical and metaphysical nature. Anything less than the strength of a God or equivalent will not touch you. It is also tied into my final blessing in another manner. This Protection has a limit. Should you lose your grip on the sword, or place it outside of your hand or the scabbard, the Protection will dissipate. As long as it is on your person or in your hand, you will be Protected. In this way, even an assassin will not be able to touch you, should you keep the sword belted on."
The sword glowed brighter, enough so that Jameak had to turn his eyes.
"The last blessing is of Honor. This is a mighty sword now, my son. And no man is immune to arrogance or corruption, as we well know. This sword has ingrained in it, the sense of Honor that took so long for me to find. Engraved on the side of the blade is our dogma,
"Do not hurt where holding is enough,
do not wound where hurting is enough,
do not maim where wounding is enough,
do not kill where maiming is enough.
The greatest warrior is he that does not need to kill."
It is THIS that has taken us so long to learn, and I will not stand for our mistakes being made again. While this sword exists, no harm may be dealt out that does not follow this code. It will only kill in the most extreme of circumstances, where no other injury will suffice. All life is precious, and should be taken only when no other choice is possible. Should the wielder knowingly try to kill when the sword has already denied death, it will recognize such intentions and the second part of the both previous blessings will activate. The sword will Protect the victim of such a hateful crime, and return the attack upon the current wielder, multiplying the force ten-fold in Strength. Such a security measure is to insure that if the sword falls into evil hands, it will remove the wielder from killing ever again. Only this blessing will not dissipate."
The sword now burned with brightness, and even turning his head fully away, Jameak could not stop the light. It felt like it was burning his eyes, through the back of his head. And then, suddenly, it stopped. He turned slowly around, and looked upon his sword. It was no longer ratted or used. It now glowed with a blue light, and shone brightly; all blemishes burned away. It was truly a weapon of Gods.
The misty figure strode back to the brazier.
"It's name is Raev, my son. Use it well. Pass it to your kin, and they to theirs so that no matter what may arise, there will always be a weapon to defeat evil." He looked one last time on his first true believer and his only son, smiled, and faded away. Drifted in thoughts and feelings of love and loss. Hate and defeat. Victory and travel, until there was nothing left. There was only the ether.
His final thought is used to form himself in the smoke of his Prophets brazier. Deep within the command station of the Combined Forces. He peers through the mist, and looks upon his son. Tousled blond hair, and a strong jaw. A deep scar; old, and a few more recent. Even now, when rest and food would be of most use, he is at his small collapsible desk looking over the latest reports and summaries. Adomorn smiled to himself. He is so much like me. Never a rest when there is a worry pressing. "My son." he called.
He looked up from his work, hope in his eyes. It had been a long time since they had sparkled like that. For too long had his forces been vastly outnumbered by the enemy. Only recently with Melirelle's support, and Maeror's Wampyr's had there been even an small speck of hope. And now, the undead were in retreat, and he had killed the Skreet. It was a day of joy and happiness. All looked well and there was victory on the horizon. Nothing could spoil his mood.
Adomorn stepped out from the brazier, his smoky form holding for a while yet. He looked gently into Jameak's eyes, and smiled. His prophets face told that he knew something was wrong. In the many years of faithful service Adomorn had never come before him in such weakness. And something else came out, something that frightened Adomorn. Jameak knew his Lord was dying. That his time here was done. He spoke before Jameak could question him. He wanted to put it in his own words.
"My son, I come to you for the last time." Jameak's legs collapsed, and he folded into his chair. "I return to my beginnings, and leave you and all our people to their own Strength. I can no longer aid you, at least, nothing past my final gift. Which is the reason I come." He stood up straighter, chin held high, befitting his military leadership. "My son, of all the Gods new to this world, few of their Prophets have survived. Only the strongest, only the most devoted to their cause have made it to our end. Of them all perhaps you, Jameak, are strongest. Able to wield enough power to kill the Commanders of the Beast, Nephirthos. By yourself you have commanded hordes and armies. You have lost and won, and always come out alive. There is none on this planet that is your equal; but your Strength comes through your loving devotion to me. And I will be here no longer. My gift to the world, Jameak, is also my gift to you and your descendants. Bring me your sword."
Jameak, stood and brought his blade from the corner of his small tent. Adomorn drew and lifted it into the air. He held it reverently, and looked lovingly on the marred and scratched scabbard. It had come through many fights, and had survived many channeling's of Power. It was a simple sword, not fanciful as a lord or play-warrior might have. It was made to serve its purpose, and serve well it had. "When I leave you, Jameak, my being will be gone. But my Power will remain. I am weaving the very essence of my force on this planet into your sword, into the very steel itself. Through this sword, you will be able to channel our righteous fury into our enemies."
"My first blessing is perhaps the simplest, and yet, also the most influential of the gift. I bequeath my mighty Strength to your blade. It will cut through the strongest of steel and the hardiest of stone as you might draw a hand through water. Your own strength will increase ten-fold when you wield it, enough to bring down the fabled giants and ogres themselves. This first blessing is also involved in the last in another manner. However this gift has a limit. When you sheathe the sword the Strength will disappear. You will only have use of this gift, when you have use of the sword."
The sword glowed a soft blue, the color of the Battle Standard of Adomorn.
"The second blessing is Protection. When wielding this sword, you will be impervious to lesser attacks, both of physical and metaphysical nature. Anything less than the strength of a God or equivalent will not touch you. It is also tied into my final blessing in another manner. This Protection has a limit. Should you lose your grip on the sword, or place it outside of your hand or the scabbard, the Protection will dissipate. As long as it is on your person or in your hand, you will be Protected. In this way, even an assassin will not be able to touch you, should you keep the sword belted on."
The sword glowed brighter, enough so that Jameak had to turn his eyes.
"The last blessing is of Honor. This is a mighty sword now, my son. And no man is immune to arrogance or corruption, as we well know. This sword has ingrained in it, the sense of Honor that took so long for me to find. Engraved on the side of the blade is our dogma,
"Do not hurt where holding is enough,
do not wound where hurting is enough,
do not maim where wounding is enough,
do not kill where maiming is enough.
The greatest warrior is he that does not need to kill."
It is THIS that has taken us so long to learn, and I will not stand for our mistakes being made again. While this sword exists, no harm may be dealt out that does not follow this code. It will only kill in the most extreme of circumstances, where no other injury will suffice. All life is precious, and should be taken only when no other choice is possible. Should the wielder knowingly try to kill when the sword has already denied death, it will recognize such intentions and the second part of the both previous blessings will activate. The sword will Protect the victim of such a hateful crime, and return the attack upon the current wielder, multiplying the force ten-fold in Strength. Such a security measure is to insure that if the sword falls into evil hands, it will remove the wielder from killing ever again. Only this blessing will not dissipate."
The sword now burned with brightness, and even turning his head fully away, Jameak could not stop the light. It felt like it was burning his eyes, through the back of his head. And then, suddenly, it stopped. He turned slowly around, and looked upon his sword. It was no longer ratted or used. It now glowed with a blue light, and shone brightly; all blemishes burned away. It was truly a weapon of Gods.
The misty figure strode back to the brazier.
"It's name is Raev, my son. Use it well. Pass it to your kin, and they to theirs so that no matter what may arise, there will always be a weapon to defeat evil." He looked one last time on his first true believer and his only son, smiled, and faded away. Drifted in thoughts and feelings of love and loss. Hate and defeat. Victory and travel, until there was nothing left. There was only the ether.
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Hedra Iren
- Stonedownor
- Posts: 48
- Joined: Wed Aug 22, 2007 1:03 pm
As ye reap, so shall ye sow.
Last edited by Hedra Iren on Fri Nov 16, 2007 12:47 am, edited 2 times in total.
O, brothers! let us leave the shame and sin Of taking vainly in a plaintive mood, The holy name of Grief--holy herein, That, by the grief of One, came all our good.
-Elizabeth Barrett Browning
-Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Tick
Tock
Tick
Tock
The last season had finally passed. Soon the AllFather shall set Eiran free from the Gods of the Pantheon. One last thing separated each god from the mists, and that was a blessing. Each god was allowed a blessing of divinity before their final time within the scope of Eiran. Some had already stepped foot in to the mists, leaving behind their own marks across the weary planet. Still, others seemed to be drawing out the inevitable, waiting until the last moment to make their impressions known. It was all fruitless though to Moxinomal, like the winding down of an old clock that had seen the rise and set of many days.
Tick
Gently he rocked himself back and forth, knees cradled tightly against his chest. The jester’s makeup that he wore on his face was faded and running. Sweat gripped tightly to his features, around his dark-ringed eyes, at the edges of his pursed lips. He was not ready for this; he did not want to accept that the end was nigh. Mox felt as though his time had been too short upon Eiran and that he could have had more fun, but there was nothing he could do. It was time for the insane little jester to come to grips with the reality he faced. The mists were all that were ahead of him and he had one last thing to bring forth before the final step forward.
Tock
Turning to regard Eiran, he had seen the events of some of the gifts already. The planet had split, the Omega began, and a sword had been imbued. So many interesting “gifts” had been given to the world and yet, it was all nothing to Mox. All that mattered to the jester was the gift that he would give himself. Something came to mind in that instance, he thought not too far back to when the Screech had brought his first gift to the mortals. Yes, that had been his gift then, and then he granted those who were imbued with the power of Madness a lesser version of the same gift. It seemed like he was a god of limited skills in retrospect, but it seemed as though it was his only gift and it was time to give anew.
Tick
It was decided. Moxinomal turned his attention back to the disarrayed world of Eiran. His divine eyes scoured the fallen town of Moxville focusing on the ruined ruble and final resting place of his fallen prophet. A twinge of guilt came to him as he saw that no one had actually buried Sanuta, but it was a fleeting emotion. His eyes canted to the side, seeing the once farmer’s only mean of self-defense lying on the ground next to him. It seemed a shame to Mox that the weapon never seemed to be put to good use, but that moment was about to change.
Tock
He willed the form of the weapon to contort and change, shortening it and rounding off the blade. The pommel fell free from as a hole in the metal began to shape. It began to hollow out, numerous holes formed along one side. No longer a sword used in combat; the hunk of steel became an instrument of melody, a flute. Now that the shaping had been done, he bestowed his first blessing upon it. It glistened as Luck began to flow in to it. The luck would allow anyone who picked it up the ability to play the flute as well as an expert musician. This blessing would also give the flute the ability to stand up to the effects of aging and damage. The blessing of luck upon the flute will allow whoever bore the flute a substantial amount of good luck themselves in whatever they were to participate in. And finally, it gleamed again as Madness wove itself with the instrument. Any being within hearing of the flute would hear the echoes of a hauntingly familiar melody. Chance would smile upon the flute; it would lie in wait until a devout finds it and keeps it protected throughout the ages.
Tick
Mox smiled upon his work as he poured the last of his divinity in to the Flute of Confusion. He felt drained and weak, falling to one knee, he could not help but smile as he had through the majority of his time in the Pantheon. That grin of mirth with a touch of insanity could never leave his face for too long, even as the mist surrounded him. His final moments in the world of Eiran had come to an end, his gift given and the air resonated with an all too Mox like maniacal cackle.
Tock
…
Tick
…
…
Clack
Tock
Tick
Tock
The last season had finally passed. Soon the AllFather shall set Eiran free from the Gods of the Pantheon. One last thing separated each god from the mists, and that was a blessing. Each god was allowed a blessing of divinity before their final time within the scope of Eiran. Some had already stepped foot in to the mists, leaving behind their own marks across the weary planet. Still, others seemed to be drawing out the inevitable, waiting until the last moment to make their impressions known. It was all fruitless though to Moxinomal, like the winding down of an old clock that had seen the rise and set of many days.
Tick
Gently he rocked himself back and forth, knees cradled tightly against his chest. The jester’s makeup that he wore on his face was faded and running. Sweat gripped tightly to his features, around his dark-ringed eyes, at the edges of his pursed lips. He was not ready for this; he did not want to accept that the end was nigh. Mox felt as though his time had been too short upon Eiran and that he could have had more fun, but there was nothing he could do. It was time for the insane little jester to come to grips with the reality he faced. The mists were all that were ahead of him and he had one last thing to bring forth before the final step forward.
Tock
Turning to regard Eiran, he had seen the events of some of the gifts already. The planet had split, the Omega began, and a sword had been imbued. So many interesting “gifts” had been given to the world and yet, it was all nothing to Mox. All that mattered to the jester was the gift that he would give himself. Something came to mind in that instance, he thought not too far back to when the Screech had brought his first gift to the mortals. Yes, that had been his gift then, and then he granted those who were imbued with the power of Madness a lesser version of the same gift. It seemed like he was a god of limited skills in retrospect, but it seemed as though it was his only gift and it was time to give anew.
Tick
It was decided. Moxinomal turned his attention back to the disarrayed world of Eiran. His divine eyes scoured the fallen town of Moxville focusing on the ruined ruble and final resting place of his fallen prophet. A twinge of guilt came to him as he saw that no one had actually buried Sanuta, but it was a fleeting emotion. His eyes canted to the side, seeing the once farmer’s only mean of self-defense lying on the ground next to him. It seemed a shame to Mox that the weapon never seemed to be put to good use, but that moment was about to change.
Tock
He willed the form of the weapon to contort and change, shortening it and rounding off the blade. The pommel fell free from as a hole in the metal began to shape. It began to hollow out, numerous holes formed along one side. No longer a sword used in combat; the hunk of steel became an instrument of melody, a flute. Now that the shaping had been done, he bestowed his first blessing upon it. It glistened as Luck began to flow in to it. The luck would allow anyone who picked it up the ability to play the flute as well as an expert musician. This blessing would also give the flute the ability to stand up to the effects of aging and damage. The blessing of luck upon the flute will allow whoever bore the flute a substantial amount of good luck themselves in whatever they were to participate in. And finally, it gleamed again as Madness wove itself with the instrument. Any being within hearing of the flute would hear the echoes of a hauntingly familiar melody. Chance would smile upon the flute; it would lie in wait until a devout finds it and keeps it protected throughout the ages.
Tick
Mox smiled upon his work as he poured the last of his divinity in to the Flute of Confusion. He felt drained and weak, falling to one knee, he could not help but smile as he had through the majority of his time in the Pantheon. That grin of mirth with a touch of insanity could never leave his face for too long, even as the mist surrounded him. His final moments in the world of Eiran had come to an end, his gift given and the air resonated with an all too Mox like maniacal cackle.
Tock
…
Tick
…
…
Clack
Embracing me is to embrace the true way your mind works. Let yourself not be hindered by the false.
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O-gon-cho
- The Gap Into Spam
- Posts: 1441
- Joined: Sun Mar 11, 2007 6:36 pm
- Location: And closing of the eyes - true vision, The Light within became...Within the Light
The Mistress of Music casts a wary eye upon the Gift of her sometime compatriot. It is not her place to interfere in the Gift of another. And she has decided to forego Music as her domain upon her return. Let this Gift be the responsibiity of another.Moxinomal wrote: He willed the form of the weapon to contort and change, shortening it and rounding off the blade. The pommel fell free from as a hole in the metal began to shape. It began to hollow out, numerous holes formed along one side. No longer a sword used in combat; the hunk of steel became an instrument of melody, a flute. Now that the shaping had been done, he bestowed his first blessing upon it. It glistened as Luck began to flow in to it. The luck would allow anyone who picked it up the ability to play the flute as well as an expert musician. This blessing would also give the flute the ability to stand up to the effects of aging and damage. The blessing of luck upon the flute will allow whoever bore the flute a substantial amount of good luck themselves in whatever they were to participate in. And finally, it gleamed again as Madness wove itself with the instrument. Any being within hearing of the flute would hear the echoes of a hauntingly familiar melody. Chance would smile upon the flute; it would lie in wait until a devout finds it and keeps it protected throughout the ages.
...but it will interest her to see what will become of this Flute of Confusion in years to come...
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I'm Murrin
- Are you?
- Posts: 15840
- Joined: Tue Apr 08, 2003 1:09 pm
- Location: North East, UK
- Contact:
Inside a small canvas tent, one man sits alone. His heavy armour, removed, lies on the camp bed, flickers of light playing across it as the flame of the lone lamp wavers in a breeze. The soldier's bearded face is bent downwards, his gaze focused in the action of his hands as they slide an oiled cloth along the blade of the greatsword he bears in his lap.
Outside the tent, soldiers sit at campfires in silence, the weight of tragedy upon their hearts. They are few in number, set apart from the many thousand others that have laid their separate camps in the land around them. Only a few hundred. A second, larger, camp lying just beyond it bears the same flag, but the strange, haunted, sometimes familiar forms of its denizens do not venture outside of its boundaries to share in their comrades' grief.
From the darkness, a figure appears. Robed in purest black, so dark that she is plainly visible against the mundane darkness of the shadows. As she moves among them, each man within the camp raises their head to watch her pass; along the edges of the second camp, those strange faces appear as if drawn their by her presence. She moves towards the tent at their centre, but her path wanders from fire to fire, pausing at each to place her hand upon the heads of the soldiers that sit there.
When finally she steps toward the entrance of his tent, she finds the Lord-General waiting there, his eyes bright upon her. Under her gaze, he lowers himself to his knees. "Rise," she whispers, and leads him back within the canvas.
Alone in the flickering light of the lamp, she moved back the dark cowl to reveal her face, showing the general her sad smile. "I think you know why I have come."
"Yes."
His features echoed her expression, resignation and sadness mingled together. The Lady nodded at his response, then turned and walked to where the greatsword stood propped against his stool. She reached out a hand, lightly touching the hilt, and without turning spoke softly, "You have served us well. And we in turn have tried to serve you as well as we can." She turned back to him abruptly, her face showing a more serious expression. “But we could not do enough. We have failed you.”
A brief shock ran through Admar at this statement, and he began to protest, “You have done more than--”
“No,” his god interrupted. “There are no excuses in this. We set out to free this world of suffering; instead, the pain has only multiplied in our presence. Can you truly say that the world is better now than before we first came to you?”
Shamed, and saddened by her tone, he responded weakly. “No.” But then some steel seemed to return to him, and he added, “But you gave us hope.”
“Hope.” Maeror dropped her eyes from his. “We have given you as much of it as we could. But it has been only the hope for survival, of victory despite our losses.” A glance upward. “There is true hope for you all—after we have gone. The gods have wrought more harm than we can bear”--For a single instant, her eyes closed and fists clenched as though she fought back some great despair; the moment passed as suddenly as it came--”and so long as we remain, we cannot promise you the peace that you deserve.”
The Lord-General remained silent for some time, considering her words. Finally, he let out a sigh. “I think that I understand.” Slowly, he lowered himself to one knee and bowed his head. “Thank you. For all that you have done, however it has ended. I am, and always will be, your humble servant.”
He felt the Lady's hand brush lightly across his head. “Thank you, Admar Tellem Meckros.” She turned and walked back toward the entrance of his tent; Admar lifted his head to watch her leave. At the flap, she paused.
“We are permitted one final act, before we depart from this world.” Her voice was soft, barely a whisper. “You know what that gift must be.”
He answered without pause. “You have given me life when I should have died. You have given me the power to face any danger and survive. You have given me hope.
“You have given me everything that I could ever wish for. I would ask nothing more of you.”
As he had spoken, the Lady's eyes closed softly, and the sad smile had returned to her lips. When he hasd finished, she spoke one last time.
"Thank you."
And departed, fading swiftly into the blackness of the night.
[Oh, you didn't think this was going to be my gift, did you? You did? Well, you'll have to wait a little longer for that.
]
Outside the tent, soldiers sit at campfires in silence, the weight of tragedy upon their hearts. They are few in number, set apart from the many thousand others that have laid their separate camps in the land around them. Only a few hundred. A second, larger, camp lying just beyond it bears the same flag, but the strange, haunted, sometimes familiar forms of its denizens do not venture outside of its boundaries to share in their comrades' grief.
From the darkness, a figure appears. Robed in purest black, so dark that she is plainly visible against the mundane darkness of the shadows. As she moves among them, each man within the camp raises their head to watch her pass; along the edges of the second camp, those strange faces appear as if drawn their by her presence. She moves towards the tent at their centre, but her path wanders from fire to fire, pausing at each to place her hand upon the heads of the soldiers that sit there.
When finally she steps toward the entrance of his tent, she finds the Lord-General waiting there, his eyes bright upon her. Under her gaze, he lowers himself to his knees. "Rise," she whispers, and leads him back within the canvas.
Alone in the flickering light of the lamp, she moved back the dark cowl to reveal her face, showing the general her sad smile. "I think you know why I have come."
"Yes."
His features echoed her expression, resignation and sadness mingled together. The Lady nodded at his response, then turned and walked to where the greatsword stood propped against his stool. She reached out a hand, lightly touching the hilt, and without turning spoke softly, "You have served us well. And we in turn have tried to serve you as well as we can." She turned back to him abruptly, her face showing a more serious expression. “But we could not do enough. We have failed you.”
A brief shock ran through Admar at this statement, and he began to protest, “You have done more than--”
“No,” his god interrupted. “There are no excuses in this. We set out to free this world of suffering; instead, the pain has only multiplied in our presence. Can you truly say that the world is better now than before we first came to you?”
Shamed, and saddened by her tone, he responded weakly. “No.” But then some steel seemed to return to him, and he added, “But you gave us hope.”
“Hope.” Maeror dropped her eyes from his. “We have given you as much of it as we could. But it has been only the hope for survival, of victory despite our losses.” A glance upward. “There is true hope for you all—after we have gone. The gods have wrought more harm than we can bear”--For a single instant, her eyes closed and fists clenched as though she fought back some great despair; the moment passed as suddenly as it came--”and so long as we remain, we cannot promise you the peace that you deserve.”
The Lord-General remained silent for some time, considering her words. Finally, he let out a sigh. “I think that I understand.” Slowly, he lowered himself to one knee and bowed his head. “Thank you. For all that you have done, however it has ended. I am, and always will be, your humble servant.”
He felt the Lady's hand brush lightly across his head. “Thank you, Admar Tellem Meckros.” She turned and walked back toward the entrance of his tent; Admar lifted his head to watch her leave. At the flap, she paused.
“We are permitted one final act, before we depart from this world.” Her voice was soft, barely a whisper. “You know what that gift must be.”
He answered without pause. “You have given me life when I should have died. You have given me the power to face any danger and survive. You have given me hope.
“You have given me everything that I could ever wish for. I would ask nothing more of you.”
As he had spoken, the Lady's eyes closed softly, and the sad smile had returned to her lips. When he hasd finished, she spoke one last time.
"Thank you."
And departed, fading swiftly into the blackness of the night.
[Oh, you didn't think this was going to be my gift, did you? You did? Well, you'll have to wait a little longer for that.
]-
stonemaybe
- The Gap Into Spam
- Posts: 4836
- Joined: Mon Feb 20, 2006 9:37 am
- Location: Wallowing in the Zider Zee
Undine's Gift
Thanks to Suf-j’s research, Undine can see the need clearly. Those gods leaving a gift for the future, will have no future, without an immediate sanctuary for the survivors.
So Undine takes possession of the oceans.
In the first instant – the poison from the Onyx of Destruction is concentrated and spat into the void of the Worldbreaker, the ice around Nor Pupae is melted, and walls of ice raised around the World Breaker’s Abyss.
In the second instant – the chaos, tidal waves and maelstroms caused by the Breaking of Eiran are soothed, the surface of the ocean made smooth, welcoming. Melirelle’s mutagens are carefully cradled, not allowed to disperse just yet.
Undine’s senses (not sight, no good for this!) reach throughout the oceans searching, broadcasting his need. As suspected, they are there, and now they answer. The Iksphikix, and their resurrected undead, have been waiting.
Undine speaks in their minds. “You who have held yourselves apart from the Pantheon, no doubt foreseeing the catastrophic ending that has come about, I ask that you again shepherd the survivors. Take care of them, nurture them, and teach them the ways of the sea. In some ways this should be easier than last time. The dolphs carry within themselves a mutation, than can be transferred to others through the sexual act, which allows them to breathe and survive in the water. Here I have more mutagens for your use. They are perilous! But used wisely, you may be able to adapt those in your care so that they do more than survive, but prosper! It will mean nothing to you, but you have my gratitude.”
Undine turns away, and all his remaining power is poured into the walls of ice protecting the seas from the Abyss.
Thanks to Suf-j’s research, Undine can see the need clearly. Those gods leaving a gift for the future, will have no future, without an immediate sanctuary for the survivors.
So Undine takes possession of the oceans.
In the first instant – the poison from the Onyx of Destruction is concentrated and spat into the void of the Worldbreaker, the ice around Nor Pupae is melted, and walls of ice raised around the World Breaker’s Abyss.
In the second instant – the chaos, tidal waves and maelstroms caused by the Breaking of Eiran are soothed, the surface of the ocean made smooth, welcoming. Melirelle’s mutagens are carefully cradled, not allowed to disperse just yet.
Undine’s senses (not sight, no good for this!) reach throughout the oceans searching, broadcasting his need. As suspected, they are there, and now they answer. The Iksphikix, and their resurrected undead, have been waiting.
Undine speaks in their minds. “You who have held yourselves apart from the Pantheon, no doubt foreseeing the catastrophic ending that has come about, I ask that you again shepherd the survivors. Take care of them, nurture them, and teach them the ways of the sea. In some ways this should be easier than last time. The dolphs carry within themselves a mutation, than can be transferred to others through the sexual act, which allows them to breathe and survive in the water. Here I have more mutagens for your use. They are perilous! But used wisely, you may be able to adapt those in your care so that they do more than survive, but prosper! It will mean nothing to you, but you have my gratitude.”
Undine turns away, and all his remaining power is poured into the walls of ice protecting the seas from the Abyss.
Aglithophile and conniptionist and spectacular moonbow beholder 16Jul11
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Mistress Cathy
- <i>Haruchai</i>
- Posts: 745
- Joined: Mon Nov 27, 2006 7:32 pm
- Location: Around the world....
Jove's Gift:
Desperation! The long years of fighting for wealth and prosperity all dashed by the evil of The World Breaker!
Standing in the middle of Shakari with her husband Bhakti by her side, her children near, and their followers surrounding them, the World Breaker had begun his cycle of destruction. Even great Asta could not defeat the Evil One, perishing instead in his attempt.
Anger rose up in Jove and she almost raised her fist to the heavens in frustration.
She was completely helpless to save her followers and could do nothing more to save them from the madness they experienced.
Shakari was a powerful place and Bhakti had labored hard to make it so. He had invited Jove's followers into Shakari to enjoy life. Now, it was all lost. But Jove was not beaten. She placed her children - Zephyr, Tamarisk, Constance, and Calais - in her palace in the heavens and then turned to the task at hand.
Determined to leave something behind - something rich and powerful - Jove did the only thing she could do. She sacrificed everything she had. Her wealth, her travel, her weather and wove it into a gift for the future of Eiran.
She took all the treasure from her heavenly mint - coins of gold, silver, platinum - rare and rich metals from the earth and then she took the jewels, diamonds and every color of every gem - rings, necklaces, tiara's, pearls. She took incense and myrrh, rich oils and spices and silks. She fashioned a large, heavy golden chest with silver buckles and placed the treasure within it.
Then she looked to the weather - a domain also under her control. She took a twig from the nearest tree of Shakari. Bhakti frowned at her action but Jove looked at him and smiled. It would be this that Bhakti and Jove would share for their followers. From the living twig of a tree from the powerful forest of Shakari, Jove fashioned the Weather Wand - a wand capable of influencing the weather by whomever weilded it. It also she placed within the golden chest.
This was truly a treasure worthy of legend. The Treasure of Jove.
She closed the box and locked it. With the speed of the goddess of travel, Jove scanned the earth with her mind and senses for the perfect hiding place. When she found it, Jove buried it deep within the earth to hide it well. She placed a spell upon the treasure - whosoever found the treasure would enjoy only fleeting wealth and power. For even the gods, who had power only for a short time on Eiran, had lost everything in the end. Like the gods of the Pantheon, the wealth would not last. The Treasure would then move to another hiding place to be replenished and wait to be found again. It would be a never-ending cycle.
She called the name of the All-Fatherer to gain his attention and speak the secret words into his ear so that no other god past, present, or future would know them.
Into the All-Fatherers ear Jove spoke words of power over over the golden chest so that runes began to form of their own volition and burn into the gold of the chest. Only the words of power she chanted would open the chest.
and Jove whispered the words of power.......
She then turned to Bhakti
Goodbye, my fabulous husband. I now will join with you and we will be as one - one body, one mind, one heart, one love. You are the stronger of us so I will leave it to you to finish us.
As she kissed his lips, Jove melded into Bhakti and disappeared from the eyes of her followers.....
Desperation! The long years of fighting for wealth and prosperity all dashed by the evil of The World Breaker!
Standing in the middle of Shakari with her husband Bhakti by her side, her children near, and their followers surrounding them, the World Breaker had begun his cycle of destruction. Even great Asta could not defeat the Evil One, perishing instead in his attempt.
Anger rose up in Jove and she almost raised her fist to the heavens in frustration.
She was completely helpless to save her followers and could do nothing more to save them from the madness they experienced.
Shakari was a powerful place and Bhakti had labored hard to make it so. He had invited Jove's followers into Shakari to enjoy life. Now, it was all lost. But Jove was not beaten. She placed her children - Zephyr, Tamarisk, Constance, and Calais - in her palace in the heavens and then turned to the task at hand.
Determined to leave something behind - something rich and powerful - Jove did the only thing she could do. She sacrificed everything she had. Her wealth, her travel, her weather and wove it into a gift for the future of Eiran.
She took all the treasure from her heavenly mint - coins of gold, silver, platinum - rare and rich metals from the earth and then she took the jewels, diamonds and every color of every gem - rings, necklaces, tiara's, pearls. She took incense and myrrh, rich oils and spices and silks. She fashioned a large, heavy golden chest with silver buckles and placed the treasure within it.
Then she looked to the weather - a domain also under her control. She took a twig from the nearest tree of Shakari. Bhakti frowned at her action but Jove looked at him and smiled. It would be this that Bhakti and Jove would share for their followers. From the living twig of a tree from the powerful forest of Shakari, Jove fashioned the Weather Wand - a wand capable of influencing the weather by whomever weilded it. It also she placed within the golden chest.
This was truly a treasure worthy of legend. The Treasure of Jove.
She closed the box and locked it. With the speed of the goddess of travel, Jove scanned the earth with her mind and senses for the perfect hiding place. When she found it, Jove buried it deep within the earth to hide it well. She placed a spell upon the treasure - whosoever found the treasure would enjoy only fleeting wealth and power. For even the gods, who had power only for a short time on Eiran, had lost everything in the end. Like the gods of the Pantheon, the wealth would not last. The Treasure would then move to another hiding place to be replenished and wait to be found again. It would be a never-ending cycle.
She called the name of the All-Fatherer to gain his attention and speak the secret words into his ear so that no other god past, present, or future would know them.
Into the All-Fatherers ear Jove spoke words of power over over the golden chest so that runes began to form of their own volition and burn into the gold of the chest. Only the words of power she chanted would open the chest.
and Jove whispered the words of power.......
She then turned to Bhakti
Goodbye, my fabulous husband. I now will join with you and we will be as one - one body, one mind, one heart, one love. You are the stronger of us so I will leave it to you to finish us.
As she kissed his lips, Jove melded into Bhakti and disappeared from the eyes of her followers.....
"Allyria. People. Dragons. Saytrs. Everyone. Time is extremely short. I must give my final gift, now. As you have heard, the Allfather is sealing Eiran off from the divine realm. No deity - not even the World Breaker, whose origin is, indeed, from the Pantheon of the First Age - will be able to interact with Eiran until the Allfather feels the world has healed to a sufficient degree. As a whole, neither Pantheon that Eiran has seen has figured out how to be here without causing massive harm, so the Allfather is going to let Eiran be without deities for a while.
"The World Breaker's attack could not have come at a worse time. I am unable to help you save your brethren in Love, and repair and regrow Shakari. You have much to do, and I will not be with you, as I so dearly wish I was.
"But it is my hope that my final gift will be of great benefit. I cannot remain. And yet, I have decided not to leave. I have lived long centuries. In that time, I have known other worlds; I have had other followers. None have filled me with more Love or made me as proud as all of you. Shakari and all of you within it have given back to me more than I ever gave to you. You have fulfilled my Life. I have no need to go on, hoping to find anything that I have not already found.
"I am going to speak the Word of Unbinding. When I Unbind, all that I am will be released, and it will go into the Love Maples. Various actions by the other deities, and various natural disasters, have sometimes damaged large parts of Shakari, harmed many of my followers, or destroyed specific things. But an entire species has never been threatened. The Love Maples live yet, scattered throughout Shakari, as you know. The infusion of the essence of a deity of my level willd give them a very nice boost! The Love Maples will be very strong! The Love emanating from them will sooth the scared and the injured, and will even return some from Madness.
"Find places where the Love Maples are numerous, and try building from there. In a very literal sense, when you tend them, you will be tending me. And while you do, you will be surrounded by Love.
"Allyria, Eileen's ability is extremely powerful. It would be wise to take her to such a place immediately. All that is happening is too much for one of her age, and the resulting projections from her could present problems. She needs to be centered in Love again. The emanations from the Maples combined with your own abilities should be more than sufficient.
"Again, Allyria, you have been an extraordinary Prophet, and an extraordinary force for all that is Good! No deity ever had a better Prophet!
"My Loving dragons. You have been a wonder and a joy to me. I cannot think of what Shakari would have become if not for your strength and courage and Love. And now, you have taken on a new, possibly amazing, responsibility. I am sure your new charge is in the best possible hands!
"And my children. Zephyr, Prudence, Tamarisk, and Calais. My Heart knew no greater joy than the sight of your faces. I did not know all aspects of Love until you came into my life. I finally learned first-hand what I had only heard of before. Trying to describe the Love of a parent for a child to one without children is like trying to describe sight to one blind from birth. I now have my sight, and understand the futility of attempting to put into words what is in my Heart. You are the meaning of all existence. And though I am able to forsee only a small fraction of what you will become, it will be glorious!!
"Farewell to all of you!!! Farewell to Eiran!!! Farewell to Life!!! Although I regret the events that have lead to my actions now, I do not regret those actions in the least!! I would give of myself a thousand times over if I could, and consider myself priveleged to have recognized the worth of that for which I sacrifice myself.
"Farewell, my Loved ones! I will always be with you!!"
Finished saying Goodbye to everyone, I turn to Jove, who has completed her own gift for the world. We embrace, and I whisper Love into her ear. The mere words I speak are delivered on the wings of the ultimate Love of our merging. "Jove, I have been blessed beyond all measure by having you for a Wife. I bow to your Beauty and Love and Grace. Your Love and the children you have given me are a Wealth far surpassing any ever seen before. There is no conceivably better way to meet my end than with you." With one last look in her sparkling eyes, we kiss. And merge.
*speaks the Word of Unbinding*
"The World Breaker's attack could not have come at a worse time. I am unable to help you save your brethren in Love, and repair and regrow Shakari. You have much to do, and I will not be with you, as I so dearly wish I was.
"But it is my hope that my final gift will be of great benefit. I cannot remain. And yet, I have decided not to leave. I have lived long centuries. In that time, I have known other worlds; I have had other followers. None have filled me with more Love or made me as proud as all of you. Shakari and all of you within it have given back to me more than I ever gave to you. You have fulfilled my Life. I have no need to go on, hoping to find anything that I have not already found.
"I am going to speak the Word of Unbinding. When I Unbind, all that I am will be released, and it will go into the Love Maples. Various actions by the other deities, and various natural disasters, have sometimes damaged large parts of Shakari, harmed many of my followers, or destroyed specific things. But an entire species has never been threatened. The Love Maples live yet, scattered throughout Shakari, as you know. The infusion of the essence of a deity of my level willd give them a very nice boost! The Love Maples will be very strong! The Love emanating from them will sooth the scared and the injured, and will even return some from Madness.
"Find places where the Love Maples are numerous, and try building from there. In a very literal sense, when you tend them, you will be tending me. And while you do, you will be surrounded by Love.
"Allyria, Eileen's ability is extremely powerful. It would be wise to take her to such a place immediately. All that is happening is too much for one of her age, and the resulting projections from her could present problems. She needs to be centered in Love again. The emanations from the Maples combined with your own abilities should be more than sufficient.
"Again, Allyria, you have been an extraordinary Prophet, and an extraordinary force for all that is Good! No deity ever had a better Prophet!
"My Loving dragons. You have been a wonder and a joy to me. I cannot think of what Shakari would have become if not for your strength and courage and Love. And now, you have taken on a new, possibly amazing, responsibility. I am sure your new charge is in the best possible hands!
"And my children. Zephyr, Prudence, Tamarisk, and Calais. My Heart knew no greater joy than the sight of your faces. I did not know all aspects of Love until you came into my life. I finally learned first-hand what I had only heard of before. Trying to describe the Love of a parent for a child to one without children is like trying to describe sight to one blind from birth. I now have my sight, and understand the futility of attempting to put into words what is in my Heart. You are the meaning of all existence. And though I am able to forsee only a small fraction of what you will become, it will be glorious!!
"Farewell to all of you!!! Farewell to Eiran!!! Farewell to Life!!! Although I regret the events that have lead to my actions now, I do not regret those actions in the least!! I would give of myself a thousand times over if I could, and consider myself priveleged to have recognized the worth of that for which I sacrifice myself.
"Farewell, my Loved ones! I will always be with you!!"
Finished saying Goodbye to everyone, I turn to Jove, who has completed her own gift for the world. We embrace, and I whisper Love into her ear. The mere words I speak are delivered on the wings of the ultimate Love of our merging. "Jove, I have been blessed beyond all measure by having you for a Wife. I bow to your Beauty and Love and Grace. Your Love and the children you have given me are a Wealth far surpassing any ever seen before. There is no conceivably better way to meet my end than with you." With one last look in her sparkling eyes, we kiss. And merge.
*speaks the Word of Unbinding*
I am the self-fulfilling prophecy. Give love, and you WILL receive love. Let your every answer, your every action and reaction, your every desire, be rooted in love.
-
Mithyaat Vam
- <i>Elohim</i>
- Posts: 153
- Joined: Fri Nov 24, 2006 3:39 am
- Location: Sharp. Distance.
In the long shadows of the autumn of Eiren, Mithyaat Vam, Queen of Night, Goddess of the Dream prepared to send her last dream to all the faithful now entombed in the sealed warren.
Out on the plains, east of The Pyramid of Endless Twilight in the Warren of Dreams, Irvea trudged toward the stone archway the refugees were now calling the Last Lintel. She knew there were other doorways but their presence was hidden to her and they didn’t all open on Eiren. If and when this one opened again, she wanted to be near it. Her moccasins made tiny padding puffs in the dust as she walked. The sky grew no darker as the leagues melted behind her. Time was different in the warren, but she knew night would soon come. Mithyaat had promised.
Hours ago they had entered their prison through that doorway now sealed, the rag-tag band of Ai’dan and humans, The Guardian Chimera, Seura Warrior Prophet, and herself, one lone fey woman, carrying a child. She had turned, as the refugees filed past her and looked back through, to Dusk and Eiren. One last glimpse she’d had, of the hill where NightRain took the sword, Stardream, offered by Kalpa, and gave it over to Seura. One last gaze at a world lost to her, for if this door ever again opened, it would no longer be the Eiren she was born to. Already the vines and foliage were creeping their way over the hills toward the gateway, covering Dusk to hide the entrance to the warren. And then the wizard Arellos had come up behind her and touched her shoulder.
“You are of dreams now, Irvea. I cannot go with you, he said, walking past her toward the gate. “She abandoned too many to The World Breaker and Astavyastataa Kadna and those who survive this interdiction will be in dire straits for her inaction. I cannot trust my soul to her. Come with me back to what is left and together we will help those who need it most.”
“Go on then, mage, and well met if any of your decendants survive the next turn of ages. I have promised The Guardian I would see to this child, and I will.” He shook his head and turned away from her. She did not try to dissuade him from his path and he walked through the gate and turned to seal it. She’d focused past him, to the stones, standing in an arc, and directly behind him, in the gloaming, she’d made out the other archway, the twin of the one she now stood before, erected on Dusk so the weary, battle-scarred refugees could cross over. And then he was gone, and the doorway with him and through the white stone arch of the Last Lintel, only the sad twilight of the warren shone.
After the refugees made camp in the shadow of the pyramid and ate their last meal together making a feast of it, she gathered up her bedroll and her few meager possessions in her rucksack, much lighter now that she no longer carried the Deck, said her goodnights to The Prophet and NightRain and, with the child, Lucian Jon Onyx, child of Mithyaat Vam and Astavyastataa Kadna, riding in a warm pack on her back, made her way through the tents where the last of the faithful prepared for sleep. She could hear, once she’d gotten clear of the camp and the Ai’dan patrol, the droning chant of the Nightmare Maker cult as they prayed to The Queen of Night.
She dropped her bedroll and rucksack on the soft moss of a berm within sight of the Last Lintel and thought of making a fire but realized there was no need. The evening air was warm and by the time she again awakened, the coals would be long past relighting. She looked back toward the pyramid. The moon had finally begun to rise and the sky was now darkening. Gently she un-shouldered the sling and laid the child down amongst her blankets and lay beside him. He stirred and cooed at the stars appearing above them and she began to sing softly to him, the song her goddess had taught her, the Dream of the Archer...
Wayfaring warrior soul,
Still wild, the Archer stands.
Arrow measured to the goal –
Sing of strong and living man.
In his mind there is a vision,
Wand'ring through the forest towns,
Telling of riches only given, if through
The woods the way is found.
Cry! Beautiful dancer ...wake up from your sleep!
Ahhh gentle romancers...drink of life so sweet!"
Treasure glowing in their eyes –
The forest deepens dark their dream.
Keep to the pathway, he advised, for the woods are more than they might seem.
And heed you now the apparition, with a bending, never ending sound.
Calling you deep inside her mystery, are your eyes not sparkling now?
Sigh, take you no warning, make no foolish fight.
Ahh, think not of morning - lie here through the night!
Beauty take us, they cry
"In my arms!" They hear her say
Just then the silken web falls –
And a mist illusion rips away.
Help us, help us now they’re calling
And helpless on the path he stands,
And awakens, from a dream,
singing string beneath his hand.
Gentle Archer ages old - release the aim
Free the goal.
Come on roll your arrow to my Soul - release the aim
Free the goal.
Irvea’s singing travels over the plain on the wind to the upper room of the Pyramid of Endless Twilight, where NightRain, The Guardian, once again opened her consciousness to Mithyaat Vam. The Dreaming took shape in her mind’s eye. A mortal man, with a bow and quiver of arrows slung over his shoulder, walking through a forest.
The Nightmare Maker cult ceased their long prayer and the burgeoning night air heaved and sighed against flapping canvas. As the moon climbed higher in the sky, Ah’shuul and the Ai’dan assumed their lupine forms and spread themselves around the perimeter of the camp in pairs and lay down for the long night.
In one tent, near the center of camp, sat Seura, late of Kortral, the last survivor of that hunting party so long ago, that came upon a woman, tattered and wandering lost on the strand above the shore. Nearly five years had passed since he held Murah by the camp fire, three since he’d sat with Jameak in the tavern drinking dwarrow ale. He wished he could just go back to whatever was left of Kortral and hunt again. He wrapped the shimmering sword in Murah’s old doeskin cloak and made a pillow of it and leaned back in the growing darkness with his memories. From his pack he pulled a wine skin and uncorked it and drank deep. He crooked his arm behind his head and had another drink and waited, as he had once waited long ago, for dreams to take him.
And when she finally came to them, she was thin and wavering. Diminished, Mithyaat Vam expended the last of her power to spin the web of sleep on the last of her followers and hide the knowledge of the warren.
Because you have believed in me, I have existed. Because your faith strengthened me, my sad people, I have tasted your corporeal existence and found it, in all its dimensions – sadness, joy, sorrow, beauty, order and chaos, perfection and imperfection – exquisite. My gift to you is The Sleep of Ages. None shall disturb you, none shall hinder the dream. Neither god nor mortal shall enter the warren. Time will pass in Eiren but it shall stand still here, in my realm, where you abide. Dream now, of the Archer, the one who will deliver you into a new Eiren. This warren shall be opened again with the coming of the Dawn. He who reads The Book now hidden shall hear your calls and free you, to once again take up your lives in service to those who, like you, have been imprisoned. The power of your dreams is strong. It will sustain you. Call to him and he shall hear you. My gift to Eiren is you - my people, my faithful prophet Seura and the sword Stardream, The Chimera NightRain, She Who Guards, and my son, Lucien Jon Onyx - to aid all those who have need of the power of The Dreaming.
With a sigh, Mithyaat Vam expended herself. Outside the warren, strange twitching vines, capable of grappling whoever passes too close to them, infest the island of Dusk. The people keep clear and attempt to remove the plants, but they grow back too quickly, making the island impassable.
Night came and went on Eiren, but Dusk slept on.
Out on the plains, east of The Pyramid of Endless Twilight in the Warren of Dreams, Irvea trudged toward the stone archway the refugees were now calling the Last Lintel. She knew there were other doorways but their presence was hidden to her and they didn’t all open on Eiren. If and when this one opened again, she wanted to be near it. Her moccasins made tiny padding puffs in the dust as she walked. The sky grew no darker as the leagues melted behind her. Time was different in the warren, but she knew night would soon come. Mithyaat had promised.
Hours ago they had entered their prison through that doorway now sealed, the rag-tag band of Ai’dan and humans, The Guardian Chimera, Seura Warrior Prophet, and herself, one lone fey woman, carrying a child. She had turned, as the refugees filed past her and looked back through, to Dusk and Eiren. One last glimpse she’d had, of the hill where NightRain took the sword, Stardream, offered by Kalpa, and gave it over to Seura. One last gaze at a world lost to her, for if this door ever again opened, it would no longer be the Eiren she was born to. Already the vines and foliage were creeping their way over the hills toward the gateway, covering Dusk to hide the entrance to the warren. And then the wizard Arellos had come up behind her and touched her shoulder.
“You are of dreams now, Irvea. I cannot go with you, he said, walking past her toward the gate. “She abandoned too many to The World Breaker and Astavyastataa Kadna and those who survive this interdiction will be in dire straits for her inaction. I cannot trust my soul to her. Come with me back to what is left and together we will help those who need it most.”
“Go on then, mage, and well met if any of your decendants survive the next turn of ages. I have promised The Guardian I would see to this child, and I will.” He shook his head and turned away from her. She did not try to dissuade him from his path and he walked through the gate and turned to seal it. She’d focused past him, to the stones, standing in an arc, and directly behind him, in the gloaming, she’d made out the other archway, the twin of the one she now stood before, erected on Dusk so the weary, battle-scarred refugees could cross over. And then he was gone, and the doorway with him and through the white stone arch of the Last Lintel, only the sad twilight of the warren shone.
After the refugees made camp in the shadow of the pyramid and ate their last meal together making a feast of it, she gathered up her bedroll and her few meager possessions in her rucksack, much lighter now that she no longer carried the Deck, said her goodnights to The Prophet and NightRain and, with the child, Lucian Jon Onyx, child of Mithyaat Vam and Astavyastataa Kadna, riding in a warm pack on her back, made her way through the tents where the last of the faithful prepared for sleep. She could hear, once she’d gotten clear of the camp and the Ai’dan patrol, the droning chant of the Nightmare Maker cult as they prayed to The Queen of Night.
She dropped her bedroll and rucksack on the soft moss of a berm within sight of the Last Lintel and thought of making a fire but realized there was no need. The evening air was warm and by the time she again awakened, the coals would be long past relighting. She looked back toward the pyramid. The moon had finally begun to rise and the sky was now darkening. Gently she un-shouldered the sling and laid the child down amongst her blankets and lay beside him. He stirred and cooed at the stars appearing above them and she began to sing softly to him, the song her goddess had taught her, the Dream of the Archer...
Wayfaring warrior soul,
Still wild, the Archer stands.
Arrow measured to the goal –
Sing of strong and living man.
In his mind there is a vision,
Wand'ring through the forest towns,
Telling of riches only given, if through
The woods the way is found.
Cry! Beautiful dancer ...wake up from your sleep!
Ahhh gentle romancers...drink of life so sweet!"
Treasure glowing in their eyes –
The forest deepens dark their dream.
Keep to the pathway, he advised, for the woods are more than they might seem.
And heed you now the apparition, with a bending, never ending sound.
Calling you deep inside her mystery, are your eyes not sparkling now?
Sigh, take you no warning, make no foolish fight.
Ahh, think not of morning - lie here through the night!
Beauty take us, they cry
"In my arms!" They hear her say
Just then the silken web falls –
And a mist illusion rips away.
Help us, help us now they’re calling
And helpless on the path he stands,
And awakens, from a dream,
singing string beneath his hand.
Gentle Archer ages old - release the aim
Free the goal.
Come on roll your arrow to my Soul - release the aim
Free the goal.
Irvea’s singing travels over the plain on the wind to the upper room of the Pyramid of Endless Twilight, where NightRain, The Guardian, once again opened her consciousness to Mithyaat Vam. The Dreaming took shape in her mind’s eye. A mortal man, with a bow and quiver of arrows slung over his shoulder, walking through a forest.
The Nightmare Maker cult ceased their long prayer and the burgeoning night air heaved and sighed against flapping canvas. As the moon climbed higher in the sky, Ah’shuul and the Ai’dan assumed their lupine forms and spread themselves around the perimeter of the camp in pairs and lay down for the long night.
In one tent, near the center of camp, sat Seura, late of Kortral, the last survivor of that hunting party so long ago, that came upon a woman, tattered and wandering lost on the strand above the shore. Nearly five years had passed since he held Murah by the camp fire, three since he’d sat with Jameak in the tavern drinking dwarrow ale. He wished he could just go back to whatever was left of Kortral and hunt again. He wrapped the shimmering sword in Murah’s old doeskin cloak and made a pillow of it and leaned back in the growing darkness with his memories. From his pack he pulled a wine skin and uncorked it and drank deep. He crooked his arm behind his head and had another drink and waited, as he had once waited long ago, for dreams to take him.
And when she finally came to them, she was thin and wavering. Diminished, Mithyaat Vam expended the last of her power to spin the web of sleep on the last of her followers and hide the knowledge of the warren.
Because you have believed in me, I have existed. Because your faith strengthened me, my sad people, I have tasted your corporeal existence and found it, in all its dimensions – sadness, joy, sorrow, beauty, order and chaos, perfection and imperfection – exquisite. My gift to you is The Sleep of Ages. None shall disturb you, none shall hinder the dream. Neither god nor mortal shall enter the warren. Time will pass in Eiren but it shall stand still here, in my realm, where you abide. Dream now, of the Archer, the one who will deliver you into a new Eiren. This warren shall be opened again with the coming of the Dawn. He who reads The Book now hidden shall hear your calls and free you, to once again take up your lives in service to those who, like you, have been imprisoned. The power of your dreams is strong. It will sustain you. Call to him and he shall hear you. My gift to Eiren is you - my people, my faithful prophet Seura and the sword Stardream, The Chimera NightRain, She Who Guards, and my son, Lucien Jon Onyx - to aid all those who have need of the power of The Dreaming.
With a sigh, Mithyaat Vam expended herself. Outside the warren, strange twitching vines, capable of grappling whoever passes too close to them, infest the island of Dusk. The people keep clear and attempt to remove the plants, but they grow back too quickly, making the island impassable.
Night came and went on Eiren, but Dusk slept on.
...and on the last day we feasted, like carrion, on her dreams.
~Irvea - from The Death of Mithyaat Vam
~Irvea - from The Death of Mithyaat Vam
The great hall of the dwarrow was full. At their gods' word, they had been assembled to witness their farewell. In front of the great statue stood Ferax, weary but triumphant in his return. He had no need of Sorrow's Child or Gleaming Guard in the safety of Magiddo, but the great hammer Mjaellar was slung over his shoulder. To one side of the great prophet stood his brother and first of the giants, Attem. His fight to regain his sanity had left its mark on the giant, and his sense of calm mastery was nearly palpable. To the other side of Ferax stood Nalam, Hedra Iren's prophet and greatest of the dwarrow historians, his wisdom and knowledge so great that he must use the Scepter of Iren to support it.The Allfather, in turn 14 wrote:A meteor falls from the sky, and a dwarrow, discovering it, offers it to Ferax. Your Prophet, looking at the meteor, is inspired; picking up Mjaellar, he carries the meteor to the forge, and there he begins to toil. With precious metals and the meteor's heart he creates an alloy of sparkling beauty and greatest strength; for seven days and seven nights Ferax works at the forge, carefully crafting a masterpiece. By the seventh night, the last stroke of Mjaellar rings through the forge, and Ferax observes the fruit of his labors. Then, placing his hands upon his creation, he closes his eyes and seeks inside himself that spark of divinity that makes him your Prophet. It is from that spark that he draws through prayers and ritual blessings, empowering his creation with more than just his craft. His words speak of protection, of serenity, of the warmth of the fire and the joy of the family, of the love of a father and the love of a mother. For the whole seventh night, Ferax prays and infuses the creation with this divine power. And at the dawn of the eighth day, he finally emerges from the forge, showing the people of Maggido the fruit of his work. It is a statue, two figures standing side to side, their right arms lifted in a gesture of blessing, their faces noble and kind. One a man, holding a smith's hammer in his left hand, his visage resembling a dwarrow, so much so that those who look upon him know him to be the Father of Dwarrows; one a woman, holding a golden book with her left hand, her visage ethereal yet hauntingly beautiful, and those who look upon her know her to be the Great Historian. Standing by each other's side, the two statues are nonetheless one single piece, and their very presence slowly fills Magiddo with serenity, warmth, and protection.
'It is time, my sons,' the voice of the Maker intoned.
"Again, Father?" said Ferax. "But your return was so brief."
'Which one, my son? Which one?' the god answered, with equal measures of grief and humor.
'We are proud of each one of you, and it is with a heavy heart that we must say our goodbyes, ' said Hedra Iren. Where the Smith's voice was a hammer striking metal, Hedra Iren's was as soft and sibilant as a quill brushing parchment, yet it too clearly reached all the dwarrow and giants attending. 'Our time together has indeed been too brief. Yet my beloved husband and I are proud of you all. It is our hope that you will remember us as fondly as we will you.'
'But though we must leave,' said Simjen, 'we will not abandon you. No, not if we can help it.'
And with these words, the statue of the Blessed Parents began to glow. The light at first was ruddy, and the figures began to emit heat like from a furnace. But within the span of a few breaths, the statue gave off such light that even Ferax began to fear his work could not withstand such forces. Just when the well-defined features of the Smith and Historian began to soften, the light stopped, though a subtle wave of heat remained.
From that day on, the Blessed Parents seemed to be moments from springing into motion. And though centuries passed, the feeling of serentiy, warmth, and protection never faded. It is said that forged items brought to the statue are repaired or strengthened by the Father and that supplicants will have their questions answered by the Mother. It is even whispered that mortals of great importance come to speak with the Blessed Parents in times of crisis.
Said she, "What I get I get out of the fire,
So prithee, strike home and redouble the blow."
So prithee, strike home and redouble the blow."
-
O-gon-cho
- The Gap Into Spam
- Posts: 1441
- Joined: Sun Mar 11, 2007 6:36 pm
- Location: And closing of the eyes - true vision, The Light within became...Within the Light
O-gon-cho feels the small, constant flicker of reassuring and ever patient Love for her, which was always with her in spite of decisions made and actions taken that were disapproved of, slowly fading away and being replaced with a knowledge that such Love has given all of itself to Shakari. She understands and accepts the inevitable, but grief and despair overtakes her anyway.
“...my liege?...My Liege???”
*balling hands into fists, throwing head back, and howling thoughts to the heavens*
NEPHIRTHOS!!!
“...my liege?...My Liege???”
*balling hands into fists, throwing head back, and howling thoughts to the heavens*
NEPHIRTHOS!!!-
I'm Murrin
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- Posts: 15840
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Ah, such pain. Such madness, such death. How could we ever abandon the world thus? With each death, comes strength; but he can no longer take pride in his role. They have failed this world, a failure beyond measure. The world deserves better than them. In sorrow, they make their final exit.
A casting off, as they depart--a shedding of cloaks, of the shadows that haunt them. All that they have gained, they leave behind them. Justice belongs to the living--he releases it as easily as he had taken it upon him. Death, he returns to the earth; it was never his place. Life, she gives to those who struggle in the world below them; and Health to them also, to reside together in the breast of all the myriad beings of the world.
Strength washes from them--strength gained through death, through the final pain and suffering of millions--and flows back across the world they leave behind. It pours into the forms of all that live and breathe--and those that do not. This power heals, mind, body and soul, erasing suffering, healing their hurts, mending what is broken--and more, it grants vitality, strength, fecundity. Their gift, to those who should never forgive them the harm they have done.
They depart from the world shorn, pure, cleansed of all but their guilt.
As the path closes behind them, there is heard the whisper of voices, an echo of the beyond: "We shall find a new world, I think. A world for you, my children--my Spero, my dear Fidelis--where Hope and Faith might thrive."
In darkness, a single tear falls from the eye of a god.
A casting off, as they depart--a shedding of cloaks, of the shadows that haunt them. All that they have gained, they leave behind them. Justice belongs to the living--he releases it as easily as he had taken it upon him. Death, he returns to the earth; it was never his place. Life, she gives to those who struggle in the world below them; and Health to them also, to reside together in the breast of all the myriad beings of the world.
Strength washes from them--strength gained through death, through the final pain and suffering of millions--and flows back across the world they leave behind. It pours into the forms of all that live and breathe--and those that do not. This power heals, mind, body and soul, erasing suffering, healing their hurts, mending what is broken--and more, it grants vitality, strength, fecundity. Their gift, to those who should never forgive them the harm they have done.
They depart from the world shorn, pure, cleansed of all but their guilt.
As the path closes behind them, there is heard the whisper of voices, an echo of the beyond: "We shall find a new world, I think. A world for you, my children--my Spero, my dear Fidelis--where Hope and Faith might thrive."
In darkness, a single tear falls from the eye of a god.