Pantheon 2.0 - Contests

[Injerian Praetus II]

"And so the weak minds conceived of such a thing as polar opposites. Though, when one observes the world you could forgiven for thinking that the metaphysical follows nature: when you have night and day, north and south, birth and death, you have those who believe in good and evil, truth and lies, ugliness and beauty."

The Yekith finished talking to pull one of the levers that flushed a crimson fluid over the Children of Bhakti. The children screamed as the fluid scoured their skin. As the acidic fluid vanished down one of the drains in the stomach-shaped dungeon, a Houka Fleshlover leaped from its alcove to land behind the victims. It dipped both talons into a jar of boiling tar and then started to scratch the skin of the bound children as it etched the worm-tattoo that wound its way around their bodies.

"Stop screaming," the Yekith snapped. "I cannot instruct you to the follies of your benefactor's thinking. Must I once again douse you all in the cleaning blood?" The children had understood the worm's meaning, and closed their mouths, whimpering and shedding tears as the feline Houka etched the symbol of Nor Yekith into their skin.

"Good," it continued. "So where does that leave us? I mean, forgive me dear children, referring to the folly of conceiving metaphysical poles, is there an end and is there a beginning? Does the Master of Paradise preach that there is such a thing as an end?"

The fleshlover finished clawing the chest of one of the captives, as blood, tears and tar mixed and ran down the body. Tenderly, the Houka cleaned the tattoo and attempted to soothe the victim by singing the song of the yekiths.

"There is no end, like there is no evil, no good, no despair and no hope, no love, no hate and no ugliness. There is only beauty. The beauty of Nor Yekith. Look at your skin - see how it bleeds and writhes. Bhakti cannot look beyond the Star of Yekith, but no doubt he would be enraged at the mark of the worm. He would say 'that is ugly.' But I assure you it is not; no less beautiful than a butterfly, no more beautiful than a spider as it devours its catch.

"Ugliness is the animal's reaction to what it does not understand or fails to regard. There is beauty in everything, for everything can be made to function well or appropriately in Nor Yekith's paradise. A case in point: does not your god love all creatures in the forest? Of course he does," the Yekith said with distaste in its voice. "He loves the trees that flower all year long as much as he loves the worm that burrows through the earth. They are both beautiful! But some would argue that the worm is ugly, and some would not. But I repeat that one's declaration of ugliness is simply the result of not appreciating the worth of a thing. Witness this!"

The Yekith spat a gelatinous, yellow fluid over the victims' faces. It clumped around the eyes as the large worm made a guttural chant. They screamed, and writhed against the chains. Their minds were wrenched from their fragile bodies and hurled into the purple skies of Nor Pupae. Below them the saw the armies of Nor Yekith gathering. Hundreds of quivering, cancerous things were being discorged from writhing flesh-pits. Vast, black crustaceans carried the food delivered to the land from Jove's merchant ships, emptying it into the gaping maws of the pits. In the distance, blasts of black lightning struck the ground, causing the earth to shudder violently. Ores were vomited to the surface, and headless humans mindlessly dragged the material to the ash-cloaked refineries where weapons were forged. But covering the landscape were thousands of distorted creatures: an army born from malice's womb, nightmarish, crude and hateful.

The army was marching to the north.

"Ahhh! Beauty! Not ugly!" The Yekith shouted as the children's minds were returned to their weak bodies. "What right has that to end? Beauty should be eternal, and Nor Yekith will ensure the universe - all of creation - will receive his gift. So do not imagine our enlightened cult preaches a beginning and an end. There is no end."

The Yekith slithered closer to the children and motioned for the fleshlover to continue its work. "Nor Yekith will never stop. He has the means to fashion functional beauty - as you saw outside - and the materials to do so." The worm's claws touched the chests of the each of the victims. "The universe will become his clay, and the cult his tools. Nothing that wonderful, nothing that glorious, deserves to end. If there is evil in the world, then perhaps that is it - that beautiful things come to an end."

Screaming filled the stomach-shaped dungeon as the Houka returned to its work.

"This will not end and no one will stop our Master."

[Vadhaka]

The Eschatology of Erian

Publishers Note: The final pages of the Black Book of Vadhaka Chora contain what may or may not be an apocryphal tale regarding the final days of Erian. It is reproduced here with no guarantees as to its accuracy, veracity or origin. The author claims the God vouchsafed it to him in a dream. However, other sources claim that his meal that night had included a number of suspicious-looking mushrooms. The truth may or may not lie somewhere in between. One point of interest though, is that the end of his testimony is well nigh illegible. And that the noted Scholar Pandita was found dead not far from where this book lay.

“And though I lay sleeping, it was as though the God passed his hand in front of my eyes, and they were opened. I knew I dreamt but I knew that I dreamt a dream of the world to come. And there was no way of telling when it would come.

And in my dream, the earth shuddered and poison ran through the veins of the people. Mighty armies clashed, laying waste to the lands and daggers flashed in the dark night as deity vied with deity in battles so thunderous that they shook the very foundations of heaven itself.

The seas raged, the land writhed, the strongholds of the gods were besieged and champions rose and fell as the hearts, minds and bodies of the faithful were contested for by those who sought to possess or defend them.

The gods themselves were tossed on the tides of fate, and the universe itself held breath as it beheld the struggle for Erian, and awaited the potential fate of worlds.

And in the contest, in the ……….momements of the…………… ………. a mighty……. app…… an… ………… Then was the ……… … ……….ion great and the ……….. host of the ….. …………… turned ….. ………. …… while the …… ….t….. up ….. …… and ……… …….ed. ……….. ……. The God of Stealth. ….y ……… ….. in ..ory …il victory, death …. rebirth in the ……. of Erian.

…aise Vad…a. Grant me ……. of … …mies.

Here endeth The Black Book. Some scholars interpret it as victory for the God, others as defeat. The God has never bothered to clarify matters. However, this book, while not written, dictated, or ever corroborated by the God, was sanctioned by Him. Take from it what lessons you will.

[Xar]

Eschatology

Allright, here are the results of the Eschatology contest! We had nine entries in this contest, and a total of 14 (count 'em) players voted to determine which of these eschatologies would win.

The authors of the three most-voted eschatologies were:

1. Simjen with 7 3/4 votes;
2. Undine with 4 1/2 votes;
3. Nor Yekith with 3 votes.

Special Mention: Nor Yekith (several players really enjoyed his entry, although they didn't feel it was an eschatology).

Congratulations to everyone who partecipated! I trust the increase in worshipers will be appreciated I'll soon post details for the next contest!

[Injerian Praetus II]

As for not thinking it was about eschatology, I think thematically it was.

[Xar]

Eirani Bestiary

Deadline: July 11, 2007
Voting Deadline: July 16, 2007

Here is an unusual contest; it was proposed to me by one of the players, and it is rather interesting, so I'm proposing it in turn to everyone.

Eiran's unique races and creatures have been relatively vaguely detailed thus far, save for the major races; who knows what kind of monsters and fantastic creatures still lurk in Eiran's hidden places, but have never had the chance to be of consequence in the eyes of the gods?

So here's the contest: write an entry about a unique fictional creature which would fit on Eiran, and which has not been described before in the game. You can create the creature's appearance, habitat, intelligence, and so on, but it cannot be a major race. You can, of course, borrow from real-world legends, but original work is likely to be more interesting and more Eiran-specific. You can give this creature whatever origins you want, as long as it was not created by any of the current gods. You can choose to make the creature unique or just the member of a larger race. You can also choose to make it a subspecies of an existing race.

Feel free to write the entry as you wish - this contest is particularly free-form about it. From an entry into a fictional encyclopedia to a long story featuring the creature, to a dialogue between hunters, you have absolute freedom in deciding how to go about with it: the theme is fixed, but how you develop it is up to you.

Each contestant will then receive a boost to his or her number of worshipers, depending on the votes his or her creation myth will receive. Furthermore, the three winners (first, second and third place) will see their creatures in Eiran

EDIT:

So, the gods whose bestiary entries are eligible for voting are:

Argothoth - The Elder Illusion Wraith
Astavyastataa Kadna - The Dogs of Destruction
Jove - The Gas Beetle
Maeror - The Wyvern
Moxinomal - The Mind Maggot
O-gon-cho - The Firelizard
Undine - The Iksphikix
Vadhaka Chorah - The Assassin Spider

The voting procedure is quite simple. Every player in the Pantheon game (even if he or she hasn't taken part in the contest) can choose three of the entries, in order of preference from highest to lowest, and send me an email or a PM containing these preferences. Voting is to be secret, so please do not announce who you voted for, be it through the comments thread or PMs. The first entry in order of preference receives 1 vote, the second receives half a vote, and the third receives a quarter of a vote.

Voting will last until July 16, to give players enough time to re-read the entries multiple times, if needed, as well as to give all players the chance to partecipate, even if they do not log on daily. The deadline for voting will therefore be June 16th, 10 pm GMT time. After that, I will be posting the names of the authors of the three most-voted entries, and each contestant will receive a boost in their number of worshipers depending on the amount of votes received (although all contestants will receive a prize, even if they do not receive any votes). Furthermore, the three most-voted entries will be officially introduced into the world of Eiran!

Incidentally, this increase in worshipers will not necessarily be tied to the turn's end, so it might actually happen mid-turn.

My own story isn't eligible for voting, as I couldn't use the prizes of the competition and I wouldn't want to take them away from someone else, in case; feel free to comment on it in your voting mail, but please do not place it among your official votes, so as not to "bump down" an eligible entry.

[I'm Murrin]

Wyvern
being a small winged reptile native to the mountains of northern Landir.

The Wyvern was once considered a creature of legend to many, and for hundreds of years was known only through rumour and folktales. It has never been determined exactly why, in the last hundred years,this situation has changed, but the it is the case that nowadays the Wyvern is numerous and widespread, members of the species found living in mountain ranges across the whole of Landir and even, in recent years, in the easternmost parts of Olaern. Though often mistakenly labelled a distant relative of the larger, more intelligent Drake-kin of the western continents, the Wyvern has in truth an origin entirely seperate from that of the dragon. The first evidence of this is found when one considers the physiology of the common Wyvern.
Where the dragons are almost unique among vertebrates in their possession of six major limbs--forelegs, hindlegs, and wings--the Wyvern body lacks the frontal appendages, giving it the far more common count of four; indeed, the structure of the Wyvern body is not dissimilar to that of many avian species, with wing, talon, and sharp beak serving equivalent purposes.
The Wyvern male is small, slender, and incredibly agile, at its ease when nimbly scaling the sheer cliff faces of its mountain home, using both feet and claw-tipped wings for purchase. In the spring the male Wyvern can be seen performing impressive aerial acrobatics as it competes against its fellows for the right to mate with the dominant female.
Female Wyvern are the larger of the species, and less numerous than the males. The female can weigh up to three times that of the average male Wyvern, and though it is able to take flight, is unable to perform such feats as are seen among the males. The neck and jaw muscles are more developed in the female, coming from the need of the female to defend its brood from predators. Where the male sports two pairs of short horns on the rear of the skull, the female head is unadorned. These differences have occasionally led the uneducated to think that the male and female are of different species; this misunderstanding, and the relative bulk of the female and its reputation for aggression, have led to the peculiarity of the female, and not the male, being commonly referred to as the Bull Wyvern.

The Wyvern females nest in crevices around the base of the cliffs where the males sport. Around a dozen eggs are lain by the breeding female, which will remains with her clutch until they hatch; during this time, and for a time after hatching, the female will rely on males of the group to bring food to her and her offspring. It is important to note that for her first few years as a breeding bull, the Wyvern will kill any female offspring when they hatch, allowing only the males to live. It is only in her final clutch that she will allow both male and female offspring to survive. The females of this brood will later compete with their siblings for the position of dominance and hence the right to breed; only the strongest survive to produce their own young.

Though there have been cases reported of groups of Wyvern attacking and killing humans or livestock, such behaviour only arises in the Wyvern during times of extreme hunger. Ordinarily, the Wyvern is a scavenger, feeding from the flesh of animals they find dead or dying in the mountains. Their long neck and vicious-looking beak serve the purpose of helping them to strip meat from the carcass. While the Wyvern usually live in groups of around a dozen males and four or five females, when a large animal dies within the Wyvern habitat the lizards can descend in their hundreds to feast, and it is not uncommon for fights to break out between neighbouring broods over some fresh meat.

The intelligence of the Wyvern species is a subject of much debate among scholars. While a large number continue to label the lizards as 'dumb beasts' and make no further enquiry, those who have studied the behaviour of Wyvern in the wild are increasingly coming to see them as possessing at least some modicum of intelligence. Though we can dismiss the more outlandish claims[1], a number of academics have suggested that their intelliegence might be likened to that of a hound, and it has even been proposed that a Wyvern may successfully be tamed and trained for hunting--though none have as yet dared risk themeselves in an attempt to capture a live specimen.



[1] I refer here to the fabrications of K. Fondam, whose published works list among their many incredible claims the observation of Wyvern using their talons to manipulate tools, draw on cliff faces, and throw rocks at wildlife researchers. Not only are these claims entirely absurd, but their continued presence in our publications makes a mockery of our entire profession.

[Mistress Cathy]

Ok, I was trying to do this with a little bit of humor. I don't know if I succeeded or not.

Gas Beetle
Common Name: Gas Beetle
Scientific Name: scarabaeidae methyl
Origin: Rainforests in equatorial Western Olaern.

The scarabaeidae methyl, commonly known as the gas beetle, has a clear, greenish, segmented and soft body with two rear legs and four front legs. Life span is short, lasting approximately two weeks. The average size 1- 3 mm and there is no difference in size of males and females. They live in groups of thousands. Because of their small size and large groups, they are called “the plankton of the skies” and are a food source for many of the native birds and reptiles.

Every spring, the gas beetles thrive and they can be heard by the expelling of the gas and sounds similar to the sound of crickets. The expelled gas has a slight aroma from the ground but from the trees it is quite strong.

The gas beetle feeds off of the leaves on the treetops in the rainforest of Olaern. In doing so, they keep the forest from overgrowth. The foliage turns to gas inside the beetles stomach and intestines and lifts the beetle into the air until the gas is expelled and the beetle can land again on another tree and feed there. In this sense, the gas beetle ‘mows’ the trees of the rainforest.

The gas beetle mates by spawning. A chemical reaction to the foliage turns the females a bright orange to signal the males that the spawning has begun. The females expel their gas and land on the tree tops and deposit their eggs which are also bright orange. The males, attracted to the color expel their gas, land on the eggs, and fertilize them. After this process, both males and females live only until the larvae begin to rise from their first feeding.

[Astavyastataa Kadna]

DOGS of DESTRUCTION

General Appearance:

A Dog of Destruction (Dog) is a MASSIVE, robust and powerful dog, black with clearly defined rust markings. His dense and substantial build denotes great strength, agility and endurance.

Size, Proportion, Substance
Dogs — height at the withers - 4 feet to 5 feet

The length of body, from prosternum to the rearmost projection of the rump, is slightly longer than the height of the dog at the withers, the most desirable proportion of the height to length being 9 to 10. The Dog is neither coarse nor shelly. Depth of chest is approximately fifty percent (50%) of the height of the dog. His bone and muscle mass is sufficient to balance his frame, giving a compact and very powerful appearance.

Proportionate to his body, of medium length, broad between the ears; forehead line seen in profile is moderately arched; zygomatic arch and stop well developed with strong broad upper and lower jaws. The ratio of backskull to muzzle is 3 to 2. Forehead is dry, however some wrinkling may occur when Dog is alert.

Expression is noble, alert, and self-assured; a hunger for DESTRUCTION is believed evident in any who look into his eyes. Although this is not know for sure … none who have looked into the eyes of a Dog has survived.

Eyes
proportionate to his body, of medium size, almond shaped with well fitting lids, moderately deep-set, neither protruding nor receding. The color is a uniform dark brown; with sparks of the Maelstrom of Destruction evident; were you to get close enough to see into his eyes … and live! He sees as well in pitch black as he does in the light!

Ears
proportionate to his body, of medium size, pendant, triangular in shape; when carried alertly the ears are level with the top of the skull and appear to broaden it. Ears set well apart, hanging forward with the inner edge lying tightly against the head and terminating at approximately mid-cheek. The Dog can hear any movement, sound, ever your heart beat or breathing with 100 yards – regardless of obstructions!

Muzzle - Bridge
is straight, broad at base with slight tapering towards tip. The end of the muzzle is broad with well developed chin. Nose is broad rather than round and always black. Lips-Always black; corners closed; inner mouth pigment is preferred dark.

Bite and Dentition --Teeth 42 in number (20 upper, 22 lower), strong, placed, meeting in a scissors bite--lower incisors touching inside of upper incisors. The Dog of Destruction has unmatched biting and rending power. His teeth can as easily shred metal as it can wood … or flesh!! A Dog has been know to totally devour His killed prey including its bones! It has also been rumored that an enraged Dog can rend adamantium and mythril as if they were paper! They seem especially knowledgeable about the most sensitive parts of a mortal body whose rending causes death!

Neck, Topline, Body
Neck--Powerful, well muscled, moderately long, slightly arched and without loose skin.

Topline--The back is firm and level, extending in a straight line from behind the withers to the croup. The back remains horizontal to the ground while the dog is moving or
standing.

Body --The chest is roomy, broad and deep, reaching to elbow, with well pronounced forechest and well sprung, oval ribs. Back is straight and strong. Loin is short, deep and well muscled. Croup is broad, of medium length, proportionate to his body, and only slightly sloping. Underline of a mature Dog has a slight tuck-up.

Tail--Tail is naturally short, close to body, with only one or two tail vertebrae. The tail gives an impression of elongation of topline; carried slightly above horizontal when the Dog is excited or moving.

Forequarters
Shoulder blade is long and well laid back. Upper arm equal in length to shoulder blade, set so elbows are well under body. Distance from withers to elbow and elbow to ground is equal. Legs are strongly developed with straight, heavy bone, not set close together. Pasterns are strong, springy and almost perpendicular to the ground. Feet are round, compact with well arched toes, turning neither in nor out. Pads are thick and hard. Nails short, strong and black.

Hindquarters
Angulation of hindquarters balances that of forequarters. Upper thigh is fairly long, very broad and well muscled. Stifle joint is well turned. Lower thigh is long, broad and powerful, with extensive muscling leading into a strong hock joint. Rear pasterns are nearly perpendicular to the ground. Viewed from the rear, hind legs are straight, strong and wide enough apart to fit with a properly built body. Feet are somewhat longer than the front feet, turning neither in nor out, equally compact with well arched toes. Pads are thick and hard. Nails short, strong, and black.

Coat
Outer coat is straight, coarse, dense, of medium length and lying flat. Undercoat is present on neck and thighs, but the amount is influenced by climatic conditions. Undercoat does not show through outer coat. The coat is shortest on head, ears and legs, longest on breeching.

Color
Always black with rust to mahogany markings. The demarcation between black and rust is defined. The markings are typically located as follows: a spot over each eye; on cheeks; as a strip around each side of muzzle, but not on the bridge of the nose; on throat; triangular mark on both sides of prosternum;on forelegs from carpus downward to the toes; on inside of rear legs showing down the front of the stifle and broadening out to front of rear legs from hock to toes, but not completely eliminating black from rear of pasterns; under tail; black penciling on toes. The undercoat is gray, tan, or black.

Gait
The Dog of Destruction is a trotter. His movement is balanced, harmonious, sure, powerful and unhindered, with strong forereach and a powerful rear drive. The motion is effortless, efficient, and ground-covering. Front and rear legs are thrown neither in nor out, as the imprint of hind feet should touch that of forefeet. In a trot the forequarters and hindquarters are mutually coordinated while the back remains level, firm and relatively motionless. As speed increases the legs will converge under body towards a center line. In full attack mode, the Dog can outrun the fastest horse … and the Dog has the stamina to run at full speed for miles!!

Temperament
The Dog of Destruction is basically a calm, confident and courageous dog with a self-assured aloofness. A Dog is self-confident and responds quietly and with a wait-and-see attitude to influences in his environment. He has an inherent desire to protect his charge, and is an intelligent Dog of extreme hardness and adaptability with a strong willingness to work. In fact, it has been reported that these dogs are as intelligent as any mortal … and that they can communicate telepathically with their charges ... and prey. Their thoughts might best be described as … primal … and focused on a hunger for destruction … and complete loyalty to their assigned Favored!

It is reported that these dogs are being created by Astavyastataa Kadna as war companions for his FAVORED … and that these Dogs have the ability to ride the Winds of Chaos as they accompany their charges and as they hunt their prey!!



Hounds of Chaos

As a companion to the Dogs of Destruction … sometimes Hounds of Chaos are seen. No exact measurements or standard can be discerned as their characteristics seem to shift as you look at them. One sentiment is shared from all sightings. The Chaotic ugliness of these Hounds will drive mortals irreparably mad if they gaze at them too long!! Interestingly, followers of Astavyastataa Kadna seem to be immune to the madness. [Although it has been reported that mere followers have been known to throw up upon seeing a Hound.]

[Vadhaka]

The Bestiary

The body lay on the dew-drenched grass beneath a small, non-descript bush in one corner of the estate. In death, its black-clad arms and legs had drawn tightly in toward the torso, giving it the appearance of a small child, sleeping peacefully, but the frozen rictus of its face almost immediately gave lie to that impression once you were closer.

Gathered in a large and ragged circle were the workers of the estate, with their master and his son at the center, standing closest to the body.

“Who is it father?” asked the boy with a mixture of fear and elation.

“An assassin my son. Somewhere today somebody is waking up who would otherwise have died in the night.”

“But what happened to him?”

The boy was excitedly curious…not every day did one find the corpse of a member of the secretive Guild of Death lying around the garden.

The man examined the body for some time without touching it, paying particular attention to the face, frozen in its death grimace. Then reaching out a hand, he laid it on the corpse’s shoulder and turned the body.

“He was unlucky,” he said. “Or rather, somebody else was very lucky indeed.” He examined the exposed skin closely. He already knew what had happened, or suspected at least, and turning from the corpse, he looked at the tracks still visible in the wet dawn grass.

“See?” he asked. “Some time after the dew fell, but before the sun rose, this man hid himself under the bush, whether to rest, or merely to watch, I cannot tell. But while he lay here, he met one of the special lesser creatures of Erian.

Notice how rigid his body is? How his face is still paralysed in its final experession? And now…let us see…” He peeled back the neck of the man’s garment and found the tell-tale mark…

“There. That white circle with the two small red dots inside just on the back of his neck? While he lay in wait beneath the bush, the tiny Assassin Spider dropped from a branch above and sank its fangs into his neck, paralysing him. Eventually the involuntary muscles fail also and the victim dies from suffocation or heart failure.”

“The Assassin Spider?” the boy asked, looking around him.

“Oh, don’t bother looking. Even when you know they’re there they’re hard to see. Tiny black spider not much bigger than a peppercorn. It’ll be long gone. Or crushed by the man’s death contortions. You never find them when or where you look for them. But they find you.”

“Luckily they’re rare. I don’t think I’ve heard of a fatality in the last 20 years in fact. But they’re there, sidling through the world, sudden and undeserved death for any who inadvertently disturb them.

I’ve even heard that the assassins breed them for slipping into the beds and clothes of their targets, but I’ve never heard proof of that.”

The young boy shuddered, looking closely at the ground and surrounding vegetation.

“Oh, don’t worry…they’re like lightning…chances are you’ll never ever be struck by it, but if you are, you’re dead, and nothing you could do or have done will change it. Call it an act of god.”

“Yes father…but which god?”

The Assassin Spider of Erian is a relatively rare species of arachnid that is notable as possibly the most venomous creature in the world. Its tiny size makes it easy to overlook, but a single bite is sufficient to cause death by the paralysis of involuntary muscle actions, even in creatures many times its own size.

In an adult human male, total paralysis occurs within minutes of its bite, and death shortly thereafter.

While there has been no confirmation of the rumour that the Assassins breed them or employ them in assassination attempts, it is confirmed that the Guild of Death pays a substantial reward to anybody who brings them a living specimen.

[Moxinomal]

Upon a small fishing vessel in the Blood Sea, two fishermen were having a slow day. The two, Windle and Selp were jabbering on about folklore of the world. Their discussions covered a wide variety of things, but their most interesting one is about to be uncovered here.

Windle checks his line half-heartedly, not expecting so much as a nibble from the slack line. Pulling it in, he gives a disgruntled sigh as it comes up empty. Both he and Selp had pulled their lines in to see them empty so many times over the course of the day. He cast it back in to the waters, giving a very dramatic sigh as he turned to his lounging friend. Selp lay on the floor of the two man vessel with his hat drawn over his face. He had given up checking the line for he figured today was a lost cause and any fish that did manage to get hooked would only be a waste of time.
Windle sits back down on the small bench on the boat, his eyes casting from the sea back down to his lethargic friend. He gave him a slight nudge with his foot in hopes of stirring his comrade in hopes of more stories.

Windle: Come on, Selp. Lemme here another. One about something in this world that I would dread to come across. That last story, the one of the Jackalope was so boring, I nearly fell asleep and in to the wet embrace of the sea!

Selp reached from the brim of his hat, tilting it up slightly so that he could get a one-eyed glimpse of his friend. Grinning slightly at the sight of Windle continually shifting his sights from Selp to the horizon, he could tell that he was growing to accept that they would not catch anything. Sitting up, he adjusted his hat so that it would continue to block the sun.

Selp: So ye want ta here of another creature o the world? One that ye wouldn't dare ta come across? Okay, Windle, I think I got sumthin more ta yer likin. Ya ever heard o the Mind Maggot?

The word maggot sent a cringe down Windle's spin. Maggots were never a good thing to come across, because they usually meant something was dead or dying and death was never a laughing matter to men of the water. Selp could see his friend visually shutter at the mere mention of maggots and this made his smile all the wider as he leaned forward.

Selp: I’ll be takin yer silence as a no. Well, the Mind Maggot is a native ta swamps an marshes. It ain’t like yer normal kinda maggot either, that is ta say that it don’t change in ta a fly. No, these maggots are more like a slug or some other kinda creepy crawly. Also, they don’t feed on dead thing either. This kind is somethin special. Rumor has it, that they dig in ta yer brain.

Another visual cringe was given by Windle. His automatic reaction was to clean out his ears, how else would something enter one’s brain? Again, this made Selp smile to see that he was getting under his friend’s skin with the tale. Windle managed to stammer something out after swallowing hard.

Windle: S-so they dig in to your brain? … How do they do that?

He was a bit apprehensive about asking the question, but it surely was a story that got his attention right away.

Selp: Well, when yer swimmin in the water o the swamp or what have ya, they say they just swim straight through yer ear. Others say that if ya lay down near their habitat, tha little buggers crawl in. Either way, tha way they get ya is through tha ear.

He continued the story as he saw his friend cleaning out his ears again.
Selp: When they enter tha brain, tha maggots burrow right ta the area that controls yer common sense and make ya act like ya lost yer mind. People who have em act like they lost their minds and start doin all sorts o crazy things.

Windle’s expression changed from that of eager fright to one of skepticism.

Windle: You actually expect me to buy something as preposterous as that? I mean, to think that a little bug could make you lose your mind is even possible. That’s even less likely than the stupid Jackalope!

Turning towards his line again, Windle checked it once more to find out the same thing that he had not long ago. Selp, seeing his friend turn, grinned, digging his hands within the folds of his clothes. He found what he was looking for, but kept it tucked within his hand. Finally Windle turned back towards his friend, giving another overdramatic sigh. Before he could say anything though, Selp held out his hand that contained a small vial. Inside this vile was a wriggling one and a half centimeter bug. The bug was mostly an olive green color, but it had a small pink serrated stripe running from end to end. It sure did look like a maggot, except for the coloring, but it did keep Windle silent for many minutes.

Windle: Is that…

Selp: What ya think it is? Yar. That it be, laddie. This is a Mind Maggot.

Windle held his breath as he stared at the small little worm. He didn’t know what to make of it. All his intuitions told him that it was impossible for such a thing to exist, but here it was apparently. He was shaking his head before too long.

Windle: That can’t be real. I don’t know what you are trying to pull, but that can’t be right. If it was real, you would need two in order for them to be alive.

Selp: Ya see, boy. That’s one o the more sickenin things about tha Mind Maggot. They can reproduce without needin a female or male. Another thing I forgot ta tell ya about how they can get ta ya, if agitated, the little things release a special thing in ta the air that gives people hallucinations. They are valuable on any kind o underground market fer this little ability.

Windle: So what are you planning to do with that one?

He gulped. Selp turned an evil glare his way as he gave the bottle a little shake. The maggot began to writhe and squirm, lifting what appeared to be its hind quarters in to the air. Windle began sweating nervously as he looked around, but could see nothing but water. Panic had started to set in when Selp grasped the cork on the vial looming the open part towards Windle. He pulled the cork off and and all Windle could do was close his eyes and back away as far as he could. Opening his eyes mere moments later to the uproarious laughter of his “friend”, he could not feel anything but anger.

Windle: You sir are a snake and a low-life. You scared me nearly half to death!

Selp: Aye lad, you be a fidgety one at that. I picked up this little thing from a peddler back in town who claimed it ta be so. How would a peddler get a hold o somethin as crazy as that?

Shaking his head, the younger of the two pulled in his line for the last time. He grabbed the two oars, shoving one at Selp.

Selp: I suppose it be time ta head back, we ain’t catchin nothin anyway. Now, start rowin ta that big steak over there.

Windle: Yeah, I know the way home. Past the steak, towards the apple core hill, then we arrive at the talking leopard. I know, I know.

The two began rowing out to sea, towards what they believed was the correct way home.

[Xar]

“Come hither, children, and let me tell you a story. Here, by the fire. Yes, gather ‘round… Here, now. I’m sure all of you are old enough to have heard the priests speaking of the AllFather, have you not? Of course, Hanith… you’ve also heard the name from me, when I told you how the world was created. It is the same tale as it is recorded in the Holy Book, after all.
“Little Patar, come here on my lap – no, don’t fidget with my hair. There is a story I want to tell you.
“Do you know who the AllFather is, children? Who knows it? Ah, Yamis… yes? Ah, that’s good. Yes, Yamis is right – the tale goes that the AllFather is the father of all the gods and goddesses of our world. Or perhaps, some others say, he is the father of our world itself. Do you know why he is not worshiped, why there are no temples nor clerics dedicated to him?
“Very good, Yamis! It is because the AllFather is not here… he made the world, or made the gods who live in the world, and then retreated somewhere else. If you’ve been listening carefully to my tales, you will remember the tale of Cullep, who braved the Mists That Encircle The World, years ago, and claimed the AllFather was waiting there. Waiting for what, no one can say… perhaps for his children to gather around him for him to tell stories, like we are doing here.”
Laughter.
“Well, little Patam, in a way, yes… but I wouldn’t call myself your ‘AllFather’. Still, perhaps that is what the AllFather does. But coming back to the tale…
“There once was a great hero named Epar. He was a wanderer, always traveling from town to town, offering his services as a healer and a warrior to those who needed them. He was not a mercenary, no – he would help freely, but only those he knew had a good heart. For you see, Epar was a holy man, and he was the bane of evil. It is said he bore a sword called Hope, but others say it was called Justice; nevertheless, he was well-known throughout the world, and the poor and the needy welcomed his coming with open arms.
“Now, Epar had been traveling for many a year, and he was growing old; his hair had become as white as snow, his skin as wrinkled as parchment, but his eyes were still as sharp as ever, and his step did not falter. Epar had seen much pain and sorrow in his life – the world had suffered much and he had done what he could to set it aright again, although he had not been alone in this great task. The gods were gone, and poor Epar was all alone, but his faith had not faltered, and his courage had not weakened. There was much evil in the world at the time, and Epar would always meet it with unsheathed sword and healing hand, because he knew it was his duty and because he would not let evil hurt good people.
“But even so, Epar was growing weary, as all old men and women are wont to do. No, little Patar, I am not so ancient as Epar was then! Epar could see he was making a difference, but he could also see that he was old, and that soon it would be time for him to step outside the world. And he was afraid, because there were no longer gods, not even the god he had worshiped all his life, and he did not know what would wait for him on the other side.
“Then, one day, Epar was walking through the snow of the north, and he passed by an old, dead tree. And on the tree, there was a raven, as black as midnight, which looked at him quietly as he passed by. And Epar stopped, looking at the raven, because the bird seemed strange, and its eyes seemed to be very intelligent.
“The raven looked back at Epar, but did nothing else. And Epar saw that the raven had a single, incandescent white spot on its forehead, which almost seemed to be shining with light, because the feathers were very dark all around it. Yes, little Patar, as white as this lock of my hair! Anyway, Epar was a good man, and he loved animals, so he smiled at the raven before taking off again.
“That evening, Epar went to sleep in a clearing where little snow had fallen; he made a fire, ate the food he had brought with him, and prepared himself to go to sleep, but when he lay down on his pallet and looked at the night sky, he thought he saw a star falling. He looked up, and saw the little star touching a tree on the edge of the clearing; he looked further, and he realized that it was not a star – it was the raven again, but it had been hidden by the night, and the star had been only the white spot on its forehead. Epar saw that the raven was still looking at him, and he grew uneasy: why had the raven followed him?
“Epar did not sleep very well that night, and the following day, he trudged on through the snow once more. The raven was nowhere to be seen when he woke up, but he saw it twice more during his journey, and he understood that the raven was following him. Now, children, you all know this is not what birds do, don’t you? Epar was very worried, because he did not know why the raven was following him.
“Then, three nights after first meeting the raven, Epar heard a scream from behind some pines, far from the road, and he unsheathed his sword and went to investigate. There, he saw a pretty young woman who had been attacked by vicious wolves, and was only barely keeping them away from her with a burning branch. Epar did not hesitate, and threw himself into the fray, slashing left and right, until the wolves howled in frustration and fled; but he had not been as fast as he used to be, and he had been seriously wounded in the battle. The girl, terrified, fled crying; but Epar knelt on the frozen ground and looked at the dead wolves, and noticed, surprised, that they were all marked with a red spot on their chests. Then he looked up, and he saw the raven perched on a pine, looking at him again. But you see, children, this time the raven cawed, and Epar heard sorrow in its voice. The raven fluttered its wings, then cawed again, and Epar understood that the raven wanted him to follow it. So he stood, and he was surprised to feel no pain; the raven nodded and took flight, and Epar followed it slowly, towards the sunrise.
“Because you see, children, the raven was of the AllFather’s, or so the story says. Its kind are called the sentinel ravens, and it is said that the AllFather sends them into the world to be his eyes and ears, and to gather heroes of great fame when their time comes to leave the world. Some sailors claim they have seen these ravens flying in and out of the Mists; I do not know if it is true, but I know that many tales have been told about these birds. Some say they cannot be killed; others say that to hear a sentinel raven’s cry means someone will die soon. Others still say that sentinel ravens are omens of great things, and there are ohers who even claim that sentinel ravens can shift their shapes, and even walk as humans!
“One would wonder what would they do in human shape, children, don’t you agree? Well, I think they are very wise, so perhaps – but this is just my idea, children! – perhaps they enjoy the company of other people from time to time, and perhaps – just perhaps – they may tell stories of the past so that others may know of what has come before. Maybe so that children may enjoy a story and still learn about the world. And who can say whether that is the AllFather’s will?”

[stonemaybe]

‘The Iksphikix, a History', by Suf-j, Masterharper of Thellarr.

The Iksphikix were extinct as a society by the time of the First Divine Wars between the Gods. Individuals were rumoured to have survived until that time, in the more remote corners of the oceans, shunning contact with other races. Occasional encounters with merfolk, usually in the form of assistance offered to those in extremity, fed these rumours. Only a handful of such encounters, and none reliably reported, occurred in over five hundred years, but these nevertheless kept the Iksphikix alive in the folklore of the marine races, and the reports were even recorded by a select few land-based bestiarists.

Hence a detailed history of Iksphikix society involves a substantial amount of guesswork. This scholar has studied the oldest records of the merfolk of Mer Solus, where the memory of the Iksphikix is held in highest regard, and excavated certain ruins on remote islands, and feels that the following treatise, though far from complete, is as succinct an account as is possible in this day and age. It can only be hoped that with the recent Great Necromance, confirmation may be obtained from undead Iksphikix in the near future.

The Iksphikix were a crustacean race, in appearance similar to a giant sized crab. About the height of a normal human in their ‘shells’, they were probably about ten times as massive, measuring a metre from front to back, and almost twice that from side to side. However, from early in their history, they seem to have been able to dispense with their shells, although they still utilized them as humans do clothes, armour, weapons, and tools. I say armour and tools, but the Iksphikix were overwhelmingly a peaceful society. Martial pursuits were generally limited to driving off vicious marine monsters.

Like all crustaceans, Iksphikix were a long-lived race. An agricultural, pastoral society, and generally of a benign disposition, they were in a unique position among the intelligent races in that they could cultivate both beneath the waves and on land. In general, their land-based activities were limited to remote, otherwise uninhabited islands, where their presence did not intrude on the more war-like societies of Eiran.

However, their isolation did not protect their society. Their success in agriculture and the riches it provided, proved to be their downfall. As the other races of Eiran evolved, they called forth gods to be worshipped and to protect them. These were the gods of the dawn of civilization. The Iksphikix had never been theologically inclined, and as the only marine society of the time, found themselves disadvantaged. No God of the Sea arose to protect their interests, yet a Pantheon of land-based gods saw the Iksphikix’s advanced society as an opportunity for their own advancement, and sent prophets and priests to convert them.

The Iksphikix innocently rejected these overtures, and soon suffered the consequences. Their settlements on land were wiped out and their marine towns came under attack from the followers of the new gods.

Although individually physically powerful, the Iksphikix had no tradition of collective warfare. Their innate ‘magical’ abilities were based on agriculture and communication rather than aggression. Within a few years, every major Iksphikix settlement was destroyed or abandoned.

Initially in this turbulent time, the more confrontational members of the Iksphikix rose to positions of importance. Powerful war-shells were developed and utilized in skirmishes with the persecuting religious cults. Successful in the short-term, they nevertheless backfired on the Iksphikix, attracting the divine retribution of the new gods. The confrontational leaders were soon deposed.

The Iksphikix culture had all but disappeared by this stage of history. Only a few hundred remained. Fearing more attacks should they found more settlements, individuals remained apart, concentrating their efforts on stealth and establishing hidden refuges. A language was developed so that they could communicate over vast underwater distances, without coming into physical proximity. Their birthrate, never high, fell to zero.

Gradually, as they became less visible to the outside world, their perceived importance to the gods and their followers diminished.

As the Iksphikix communication system grew stronger, and the threat to their existence receded, Iksphikix magical abilities developed, mainly in the spheres of stealth, subterfuge, and guerilla politics. Perhaps their most important innovation derived from mother-of-pearl. A coating was developed for their shells, utilizing a ‘negative’ of mother-of-pearl, which hid the Iksphikix from the sight of the gods. This enabled the Iksphikix to take a much more aggressive posture towards their culture’s destroyers. Having learnt their lesson regarding direct confrontation, the Iksphikix now began to meddle in the relationships between the gods. Able to act invisibly to the gods, and to communicate instantaneously over any distance, they were hugely successful in stirring up trouble between gods with opposing viewpoints. Wars inevitably followed, small at first but growing until all Eiran was involved, and inevitably the gods themselves went to war, with disastrous consequences. Most of Eiran and her peoples were destroyed.

The Iksphikix had gained their revenge. However, as a basically benevolent race, most of the Iksphikix survivors were dismayed at the results of their meddling. They devoted their attention to helping the survivors of Eiran, teaching marine agriculture and how to live off the bounty of the sea. Foreseeing that in time more gods would arise, this welfare had another importance to the Iksphikix. The individuals and communities so helped were ‘encouraged’ to evolve, and became the marine races of today, the merfolk, the niaids, the undines, the kelpies, the sirens, the tritons, the limmiad, the nix and the oceanids. Populating the seas with intelligent races, the Iksphikix theorized that when new gods arose, the marine races would raise their own god to protect them. And thus it proved, with first Solus and now Undine holding court over the underwater world.

Thus the importance in history of the Iksphikix cannot be overstated. Fragments of their shells have been raised to the surface of the seas by Undine, to limit divine vision into the depths in certain parts of Eiran, and so in a way they continue to be involved in the current affairs of Eiran. The Great Necromance may prove to have many unexpected benefits to the living inhabitants of Eiran, and not least among them would be returning the Iksphikix to our world.

[Argothoth]

from the Victor Van Korsin - Undead Guide

Elder Illusion Wraith

These particular undead are rare but very powerful. During my hunting years i never found one of them, but I lost many comrades by their hand.

These incorporeal undead seem to be used as secret agents by the gods or powerful creatures that are able to control them. Even the most powerful necromancer could find it difficult to control them, due to their ability to be nearly undetectable and unpredictable.
I report some words of one of my comrades that spoke about the Illusion Wraiths, also called "the shadows of the gods".

"I stepped into the dark chamber. Again some of the people in town saw the living dead rising from the graveyard. I was so glad to have the chance to earn some gold, and I accepted the investigation and the charge to free the town from the haunting presence of the living dead.
The darkness was deep and my torch was barely able to illuminate the stone walls. The cramped corridor brought me deeper into the darkness and into the earth. I found five opened sarcophagi. No traces of the "dwellers". I swung my torch around, searching for the evil presences. From a deeper segment of wall, a gray hand took my wrist, and my torch fell to the ground. I drew my sword and i started to fight against the unknown creature. I managed to hit the creature several times, but nothing more that the horrible sound of rotting flesh and broken bones was the result of my assaults.
I grabbed the creature and moved it near the torchlight, and i saw the horrible face of the undead i was facing. It was, without any doubt, a ghoul. Its red eyes and the bald head, its long claws and the sharp teeth, were all the things i was able to see when the monster tried to carve my skin. He was gnashing and slashing to me with all his natural weapons. Finally a direct blow with my sword smashed into his head, and brain pieces and rancid worms covered my face. The ghoul and I fell to the ground. After a moment i freed myself from the rotten body.

I was cleaning my face from the hideous remains of the ghoul's corpse when a shadow appeared in the chamber, floating in front of me.
Its eyes were pools of darkness and an ancient and evil whisper hit me as a chilling wind. Its presence was terrifing, and i was barely able to stand on my feet.
After a moment it talked to me "Go away, useless being. Your body and your soul are not needed at the moment by my master. I have an important task that must be accomplished. I let you live your short, miserable life. Today you were lucky."
The shadow started to fade, changing color and shape. I saw it wobbing in the chamber from a place to another, and then it disappeared."

This is the only fragment of description of an illusion wraith that i was able to find.

Elder Illusion Wraith

Appearance:
Ethereal shadows that change colors. They are undetectable unless they want to be seen.

Powers:
Cannot be harmed by material weapons. Only magic weapons are able to hit an elder Illusion Wraith, and in most cases it still fails to hit the target.
Even a touch of this creature can slay a living being. A creature slain by an illusion wraith becomes an illusion wraith itself in 1-4 days.
Even a god must focus on Illusion Wraiths to detect them. Mortal creatures are almost unable to detect them.

As part of their nature, Illusion Wraiths are able to create powerful illusions that are very difficult to distinguish from reality. This power is very useful during their important missions, and is used to distract the enemies that try to pursue them.

Weaknesses:
Sunlight can easily destroy an illusion wraith. Spells that duplicate the effects of direct sunlight can destroy a wraith as well. Positive energy is also a weakness of the illusion wraiths.

[Menolly]

Menolly is Chosen
(read six posts starting with the above)

A clear blue sky hung overhead as Menolly relaxed in the high grasses of the Plains of Ra. Since being summoned to Kevin’s Watch from her home world of Pern two years ago, and being honored to have been chosen by the magnificent Irian of the Ranyhyn, she often came with all ten of her firelizards, gold Beauty, bronze Rocky, Diver and Poll, brown Lazybones, Mimic and Brownie, blue Uncle and green Auntie One and Auntie Two, to the Plains. Her reputation as a story teller and composer was growing within the Land, but as she was trained as a Master Harper, that was not surprising. However, at times she longed for home. Her eyes constantly scanned the skies for the sign of dragons a-wing.

Once again failing to see any sign of a dragon, she turned her attention to her fair of firelizards. She was so glad that this little bit of home was summoned with her. Not just for their companionship and reminder of home, but her telepathic connection to each one of them, though never as intense as a dragon to his Rider’s, would have been ruptured, and she might have been driven mad, if even just one had been left behind.

She smiled as the personality of each of her friends came out in their play: the two Aunties bickering among themselves, Uncle taking care to stay out of the way of the Aunties, lest they turn their attention on to him, Lazybones dozing the day away, Mimic and Brownie coasting on an updraft and then spinning down only to ride it up again, and Rocky, Diver and Poll hovering around a gravid Beauty, flying heavily with her current clutch of eggs.

And the eggs. They were gaining as much a reputation in the Land as they did back home! Truly, who wouldn’t want a lifelong companion, connected telepathically to a lesser degree than a dragon/Rider connection, but still emotionally intense, to whomever happened to be holding it’s egg when it hatched? They were absolutely miniature dragons in appearance, intelligence, and connection to their lifelong friend.

They were handy to have around as well. They could be trained to carry messages, and if their human friend concentrated hard enough on the image of the person receiving the item, they could pop between on their own with the item either carried in their forelegs or strapped to their backs directly to the person pictured. Not to mention that Menolly had trained her fair to sing! Their sweet piercing tremelos in counterpoint to her own contralto whenever she was asked to regale a stonedown or woodhelvin with one of her own compositions always caused intense curiosity about her friends among the residents.

As she sat musing on the past couple of years she spent in the Land, the air pressure around her suddenly dropped, and all ten of her friends landed on various parts of her body; basically wherever they could find a hold. Beauty landed on her shoulder, of course, and wrapped her long tail tightly around Menolly’s neck. Their eyes whirled redly with anger and worry.

Menolly’s childhood ingrained sea-craft hold weather sense kicked in, and she rapidly scanned the horizon in a 360 degree sweep. What she saw frightened her to her core; rapidly approaching from the south was a Fall, a caesure. She had only heard of these storms, experience in what to do when one approached was beyond her ken.

Thinking her only option was retreat, and knowing even with ten fire lizards to attempt taking her between that the likelihood of that succeeding was remote, her only thought was how to retreat quickly. Inserting two fingers into her mouth, she gave a piercing whistle. Within seconds she heard an answering whinny, and spotted a cloud of dust as the most wonderous creature in all of the Land to Menolly, the Ranyhyn mare Irian, galloped towards her. With all ten firelizards still attached to her, Menolly leapt on to Irian’s back and they attempted to outrace the oncoming caesure.
******************************************************

As the caesure swirls around Menolly, Irian, and the fair of firelizards, Menolly holds on to her sanity by singing to herself her own composition:

A heart that's true in harper blue
makes song from heart's own fire,
and though betrayed, is not afraid:
in danger, leaps up higher.

No world is free of minstrelsy,
nor noise, nor rage, nor sorrow.
A harper must discharge his trust
before he asks to borrow.

My Harper Hall is free to all
who serve with song and playing.
But you who'd hide your song inside
are very sadly straying.

Will you withdraw beyond the law,
lie safely in your slumber,
while dangers shake your world awake
and Death makes up his number?

Did harper here betray those dear
he'd feel more than my tongue.
If place you'd earn, you'd better learn
more music than you've sung.

For if you die, while safe you lie
halled in your selfish bone,
no chant will come, no harper drum,
and you'll lie long alone.

Get up, take heart--go, make a start,
sing out the truth you come for.
Then when you die, your heart may fly
to halls we have no name for.
~Menolly, All the Weyrs of Pern
************************************

Suddenly, all was still.

Menolly lifted her head out of Irian’s mane, looked around, and her eyes grew wide. No longer were the rolling Plains of Ra in her sight. Instead, desert sands stretched long and wide to the west, while the waters of an immense ocean crashed on to the shoreline immediately to the east. Her fair of firelizards, relaxing now that all was still, released their hold upon her and took wing, the intent to explore their immediate surroundings obviously apparent in both body posture and emotional contact Menolly received.

Walking around to gaze deeply into Irian’s eyes, Menolly threw her arms around the mare’s neck and held on for a long time, shuddering.

“My deepest thanks, Irian, Tail of the Sky, Mane of the World. You are my rock and foundation in this new adventure in front of us. We will discover the joys and challenges of this new realm together.”

Beauty returned, seeking to land back on Menolly’s shoulder. Menolly let go of Irian’s neck, and allowed Beauty to settle.

“Beauty, you clutched? Here? I have nothing with me to gather the eggs in and keep them warmed. And, although there is a whole ocean in front of us to fish for food, there is nothing here for Irian. We can not stay and watch over your clutch. Where are they? Did you leave them high enough above the tidal line?”

Turning towards the coastline, intending to at least verify the clutch was laid in a safe location and covered well by the warm sands, Menolly suddenly became aware that she was under surveillance. Surreptitiously glancing around at ground level in all directions, she saw nothing. Lifelong instinct then prompted her to glance up, although she still expected to see nothing. She gasped, as what she saw sank in…

“ Mnementh???”

There in her sight, a huge bronze dragon hovered. But no, it wasn’t Mnementh. For though there were many similarities to the dragons she knows intimately, there were differences as well. The most obvious being that this dragon was ridden by a young woman, who was exuding the most intense aura of contained power Menolly had ever witnessed. Coming from a culture that had no concept of religion or deities, Menolly had no idea of what it was that was before her. Golden birdsong flooded her mind, and through it Menolly made out words.

“Child, I am O-gon-cho, Mistress of Dragons, Air, Light, and Music. I perceive that you are a stranger not only to Immeril, but to the entirety of Eiran. There was a purpose to you being brought here, and with the clutching of your tiny golden queen, the purpose has already been accomplished. For that I thank you.

“I perceive the melodies that are an integral part of your being, and while as Mistress of Music I would rejoice in hearing you bring them forth, the mighty steed at your side will not be at home here. For there is naught native to Eiran to maintain this wondrous creature’s vitality. And so you must be returned from whence you came soon.

“Raucous, my beloved upon whom you see me astride, and I perceive you comprehend the intimacy of our relationship, offers you the hospitality of Zandarar. I will allow that to journey between realms twice in one day would be taxing to all of you, so I do encourage an overnight stay. But on the morrow all of you will awaken back in the grassy plains from whence you came. I give my word that you will be unaware of the journey as you slumber.

“Zandarar is not far, but you are weary with shock. I will depart now, and Raucous will fly you to hearth and hospitality.”

With that, the woman faded from view, and Raucous’ gaze upon Menolly intensified.

“Will you bear me to this Zandarar, proud dragon?” Menolly asked with deep respect, expecting only a proferred foreleg to climb up in reply.

“It is my honor to bring to my home one such as you,” a deep voice reverberted inside her head. Menolly had always been told dragons could address anyone telepathically when it suited them, but as she had never been so personally addressed before she was still taken aback and deeply honored. The expected foreleg then presented, Menolly clambered up, settled herself between the neck ridges, verified that Irian knew to follow the dragon and that her fair was close at hand, and signaled she was ready to go.

As they flew to Zandarar, Menolly had no idea what to expect. But the evening and early morning hours were filled with joy, music, and laughter, despite the murmured rumors she heard of the possibility of the outbreak of War. Of that, perhaps one day another tale will be told. And it was with lingering joy, and an intense sorrow that she would never experience such again, that her eyes opened upon the sight of the Plains of Ra with her entire fair of firelizards and Irian grazing nearby when she awakened the next day.

[Xar]

Eirani Bestiary

Allright, here are the results of the Bestiary contest! We had eight entries in this contest, and a total of 12 players voted to determine which of these entries would win.

The authors of the three most-voted bestiary entries were:

1. Moxinomal with 6 votes for his Mind Maggot;
2. Undine with 4 1/2 votes for his Iksphikix;
3. Vadhaka Chorah with 3 3/4 votes for his Assassin Spider.

Special Mention: The Sentinel Ravens received special mention six times.

The Mind Maggot, the Iksphikix, the Assassin Spider and the Sentinel Ravens will also be made into official entries of the Eirani Bestiary

Congratulations to everyone who partecipated! I trust the increase in worshipers will be appreciated I'll soon post details for the next contest!

[Xar]

Myths of Eiran

Deadline: August 14, 2007
Voting Deadline: August 19, 2007

We have heard about creation myths and eschatologies, but what of the myths of Eiran? I don't speak of common legends or religious beliefs of the world, but what of the larger-than-life myths that inspire and amaze those who hear about them? Myths that maybe never truly happened, or maybe did, but in a time so long ago that it is nigh-impossible to find out if there is any truth in them.

Here's the contest: write a traditional myth of Eiran. Like the myths in the real world - such as the tale of Gilgamesh or the many Greek or Roman myths - it should be grand, larger than life, and can freely contain divine characters or artifacts. You can create whatever myth you want, subject to three restrictions: 1) there must be no way to prove whether it is true or not; 2) The myth itself says it took place a long time ago (although you can still use today's deities if you wish - it might be just a newly born myth); and 3) It can't directly benefit any player.

Feel free to write the entry as you wish - this contest is particularly free-form. Keep in mind these myths are the kind of things people read in books, or hear around the fire; however, you can freely choose the medium through which to reveal the story. The theme is fixed, but how you develop it is up to you.

Each contestant will then receive a boost to his or her number of worshipers, depending on the votes his or her creation myth will receive. Furthermore, the three winning myths will receive a touch of "reality" to their tales (for example, if a myth features an artifact which, thus far, never really existed in the world, should the myth be chosen as one of the winners, the artifact might come into being).

EDIT:

So, the gods whose entries are eligible for voting are:


Adomorn - The Player and the Shade
Astavyastataa Kadna - The Tale of Bandyx
Jove - The Tale of the Wolf
Moxinomal - Darkness and Silvar
Norn - The Obsidian Pheasants
O-gon-cho - The Race
Simjen - The Tale of the Pipe
Undine - The Moon Under Water
Vadhaka Chorah - The First Assassin

The voting procedure is quite simple. Every player in the Pantheon game (even if he or she hasn't taken part in the contest) can choose three of the entries, in order of preference from highest to lowest, and send me an email or a PM containing these preferences. Voting is to be secret, so please do not announce who you voted for, be it through the comments thread or PMs. The first entry in order of preference receives 1 vote, the second receives half a vote, and the third receives a quarter of a vote.

Voting will last until August 20, to give players enough time to re-read the entries multiple times, if needed, as well as to give all players the chance to partecipate, even if they do not log on daily. The deadline for voting will therefore be August 20th, 10 pm GMT time. After that, I will be posting the names of the authors of the three most-voted entries, and each contestant will receive a boost in their number of worshipers depending on the amount of votes received (although all contestants will receive a prize, even if they do not receive any votes). Furthermore, the three winning myths will receive a touch of "reality" to their tales (for example, if a myth features an artifact which, thus far, never really existed in the world, should the myth be chosen as one of the winners, the artifact might come into being).

Incidentally, this increase in worshipers will not necessarily be tied to the turn's end, so it might actually happen mid-turn.

[Moxinomal]

Hope you all enjoy this, I don't think it's all too bad. Should have really started working on it before a couple hours ago.

Darkness and Silvar

Long, long ago, when the lands were shaped differently and the world was much younger than it is now… Amongst the small towns and villages that speckled the countryside, many people lived oblivious to the menace that conquered the skies. Long before the flight of dragon wings, soaring gracefully in the azure, there blew ominous winds. This terror would leave towns destroyed and numerous dead in its wake, but still all in the land went on about their lives, ignorant to what conquered all. Including a young man, Silvar, who was just entering adulthood and living with his parents in a small hamlet. His village, consisting of no more than ten families, was just like any other in the lands. They were small settlements where people raised their own food, but still shared it with neighbors. Silvar went about his daily routine of tending the crops and feeding the few livestock his family owned, all seemed to be going like an ordinary day. Night fell before too long and after a nice supper, young Silvar said his prayers and settled in for a well-earned night of rest.

He was awoken in the middle of the night to the sounds of loud booming. Hustling out of his bedding, he rushed out of his darkened home to attempt to get oriented as to what the commotion was about. After a few steps away from the house, he was immediately taken aback something that dwarfed his families’ small home. Looming above was something darker than the darkness of night. The seemingly void sky seemed to stretch forever, making him feel absolutely insignificant and worthless. Something strange was happening after what could have been an eternity to Silvar. The obsidian sky, which seemed writhing, began to extend small appendages earthwards. Watching as the tendrils dripped down like ink from a quill, all the young man could do was watch as they tore into the ground he was tending earlier in the day. His awe was broke and replaced with genuine terror as he saw the wake of ravage slowly careen towards his home.

No matter how quickly he thought he could move, he didn’t make it in time as he saw the wood casing of the house splinter in to nothing but slivers. It seemed to Silvar like a hand of an angry god, picking up his home and scrapping its way across the apparently meaningless land. Within moments, there was only a rain of tiny pieces of wood and cloth where his home once stood, where his parents once slept. He could hardly breathe, like his life-giving breath was taken from him by the same god that had prodded his home and destroyed his home. Then, the aftershock hit, a gust stronger than anything that Silvar had ever felt washed his body followed shortly by a downpour of water. Had the god that had just taken everything from him shown remorse? Was this creature that destroyed felt pity for what it had done? As Silvar managed to push his tear-stained face towards the heavens to plea with this powerful creature, he got the answer to his questions in an angry flash. This flash followed by what seemed to be a roar of displeasure was all that he needed.

Of course this damnable creature didn’t feel any remorse for some small creature which happened to cross its path. Did anyone he knows feel sorry for bugs that happen to be crushed under foot by accident? Not at all, but still, this seemed like something different. It was like a foul child that tore the wings off butterflies just to watch them squirm. Silvar felt very small then. He felt powerless against this behemoth that used men and women as nothing more than play things when it feels angry. What could one little man do against a creature larger than anything he had ever known?

As he watched the creature continue on its path, he was left with his thoughts and grief as night slowly crept in to day. The sun peeked over the horizon and it brought Silvar from his thoughts. Even though he could now be left in the safety of the sun’s rays, it still left him in a shaken state. Anger welled up inside him; this thing had killed his parents. It destroyed his home and land. He wanted to lash out, he wanted to find this thing and kill it for what it had done to him! Silvar bubbled with rage, thinking about what this horrid thing had done to him. Morning soon turned to afternoon and young Silvar had set off in chase of the creature. Day after day went by, but all he managed to find was a path of destruction. Resilience was strong in him though, and he would not give up so easily. The chase continued as days turned in to months, months in to years, but still Silvar could not catch the beast.

Now a much older man, he could not give chase as easily as he could have in his more youthful days. He felt as though he had given his life to chase a dream that could never be reached. After many long years, Silvar finally felt the realization that he would not ever catch the beast. Finally coming to terms with himself, he decided to make the long trip back the home he was raised in all those years ago. As he began his trip back, a familiar darkness loomed over the horizon. It was the beast! The creature had finally shown itself again to Silvar. Those booms that woke him up long ago foretold of what dangerous lay with this beast. Soon, it seemed as though the creature had swallowed the sky as darkness reigned over the heavens.

Angry flashes and loud crashes surrounded the lone man. Silvar held his ground though as he glared defiantly towards the creature. It seemed as though the behemoth knew that this man was searching for it, for a menacing hand began to lower itself towards Silvar. This was what the man had been waiting for, so many long years spent chasing the creature and now it was here, reaching for him. He would not run, no, he would stand and confront it. As the creature’s hand grasped him, he gritted his teeth and bore down, expecting the worst to happen. Silvar felt himself being plucked from the ground, being brought higher and higher, further from the land.

Then there was nothing. No sense of lifting, no booming, nothing. Silvar managed to muster up enough courage to peek open on eye. There, amongst the darkness of the creature, he saw something slowly approach him. Fumbling with his weapon, he readied it as the mysterious thing drew closer and closer. Finally, after so many years, he was going to slay the beast that had ruined his life. Slowly, his weapon lowered as he saw the form of a little girl coming towards him. The child inspected the confused Silvar up and down, right before scolding him. She told the man that instead of trying to move on, he stayed in the darkness. Silvar didn’t know how to react, but the girl pressed the issue more, telling him that he should have come to acceptance with what had happened as something out of his control. Now, instead of raising a family of his own, he had dedicated his life chasing after a monster from the past.

He was confused, angry, fired question after hateful question at her. All she could do was shrug though, she told him that she could not help what she does and is saddened every time a life is taken by her. Silvar thought back to that faithful night, remembering the cold tears on his face from the beast. He was right in the beginning. The beast did feel remorse. Silvar knew the child was right, instead of wallowing in the blackness of anger and hatred, he should have been finding that white beacon of reverence. Tears began to roll down his cheeks as he realized the fool that he had become. The child comforted him, seemingly moved by the man. She suggested that there was something he could do to salvage himself. If he came with her and dedicated himself to teaching people to realize that no matter how dark it will become, there is always a ray of hope. Silvar, who was also moved by the girls kindness agreed, feeling that it was the right thing to do. He stayed with the “beast” for all eternity, showing that all dark clouds have silver linings.

[Astavyastataa Kadna]

As told by Sandor Nesbit priest of the “NoFather”

Ahhh, my students! Gather round!! And I will tell you a story only I may be aware of! I am an explorer … and a scholar … and a priest of all gods … or perhaps none. In a darkened crypt, I found a Tome … sealed away … I believe the intent was for it to be hidden for all eternity. Only I … a scholar of ALL gods (and now none) was able to open it’s charmed covers. In it, a wondrous story about Bandyx Gar!!

Who is this Bandyx Gar, you say! Well only the most powerful God to ever exist in Eiran. It was written in this Tome that Bandyx was a 150 DRP God!! He existed in the First Age and ruled over most of Eiran. All other gods bowed down before him and paid him homage. Even the AllFather showed Bandyx respect. So powerful was this titan, it is said that his followers were numbered in the millions, and that his priesthood ruled most lands, and lastly his prophet … Senxa Dur … was herself so powerful that she was known to order around other Deities!

There was nothing Bandyx could not do! If he chose … he could have replaced the AllFather.

Then something interesting happened. Bandyx thought to himself, “I am so powerful, what do I need a prophet for? For all know my name and do me homage!” And so with a flicker of his mind … Senxa was no more!! Needless to say, the priesthood was distressed. But they soon got used to communing directly with their God. And after a number of years they saw the wisdom of Lord Bandyx. After all, was he not more powerful than all gods combined? What had he the need for a prophet!!

But after a short time … short in the reckoning of Gods … but decades for mortals; Bandyx thought again, “What have I the need for priests? All worship me already. None have the ability to attack me or even give me discomfort! I am ALL powerful. The AllFather himself might be my squire!! I have better things to do than think of ceremonies and rituals. They bore me! And with a wave of his hand, the priesthood was destroyed.

Bandyx then contemplated creation and existence itself. For he thought that there must be larger things than Eiran for him to be concerned with. Was he not all powerful? Did not all mortals fear and worship him? In fact, did not all GODS worship him!!?

Then a funny thing occurred. As Bandyx contemplated the Universe. He had no prophet, he had no priests, and the people sensing his preoccupation began forgetting him. Rituals were slowly abandoned, there were no priests to reinforce them … they fell into disuse. Decades went by … the blink of an eye for a deity … but generations for mortal man. While children were told of Bandyx, no one saw him. No one knew how to worship him. Within several generations, no one knew why he should be worshiped. And in several more, no one even remembered his name!

Bandyx returned his attention to Eiran. He had a plan for greater conquests … of multiple worlds … but as his consciousness brought Eiran into focus he was shocked … and dismayed. Only 160 years had gone by. He had existed for thousands of years … this was a blink of an eye. But no one knew his name … in fact, he had NO worshipers! As he went to speak with his brother and sister deities, he found he could not move or call out to them! He was fading!! This 150DRP god was fading from existence!! He called to his brother and sister deities! “HELP ME. Who has done this to me!!? Who had the power?!! I was supreme!!!” And then suddenly it occurred to him! The TRUTH!! His last thought was one of HORROR as he faded from existence and the minds of mortal and deity alike. So none have spoke of him … or even remember him til now!! For as his last act … he caused this tome to be created … to tell his story … and to warn his brothers and sisters. For he had learned the great TRUTH! And it cost him his existence!!

“Master Nesbit!!”, the students cried, “Tell us!! Tell us this truth!!” Master Nesbit smiled. The truth, he almost whispered, is that Gods do not exist without mortals that worship them. And that if, in fact, we all turn our backs on them … forget them … even the AllFather himself might fade from existence. And so I ask you, my students! Who is truly ALL POWERFUL? The deities whose powers we admire or fear? Or we … who collectively give their power meaning. We who collectively support their existence itself! Perhaps it is mortals that truly have the power! If we are but brave enough to take control … and forget these petty deities!!

EPILOGE: Shortly after these teachings Sandor Nesbit was unexpectedly killed by a freak accident. Observers swear that all the elements; air, fire, earth, water, and darkness seemed to attack him at once. The only known report is the one above penned by one of his students. The Tome referred to has disappeared. Most attribute this report as a work of fiction by an over achieving student looking to curry favor with Master Nesbit ….

[Mistress Cathy]

In times long past when priests roamed the western forests of Landir and practiced their Sabbaths beneath the dark of the moon, a young adventurer became enamored violence and battle and studied the art of war until none could best him. The young adventurer called himself “The Wolf” and demanded that the people of all the villages give to him whatever he asked. As time passed, word of his antics reached the ears of the gods in the heavens. Jove, goddess of adventurers, sent a messenger to destroy the young upstart who took bounty from the people and challenged all. The two met and drew blades and their battle raged for a fortnight of new moons from the plains of the south to the mountains of the north. The adventurer was truly gifted because even the messenger of Jove could not defeat him. The messenger finally returned to the heavens to admit his defeat. Jove pondered long and hard about the adventurer for it was written that whoever could best a messenger of the gods would attain immortality on earth. Then suddenly, Jove laughed - a high, shrill laugh that made even the gods of the Pantheon pause.

“So, you have gained immortality,” Jove shrilled in mirth. “and you stand before me with your sword ready and drawn for battle. But, foolishness is also part of your nature and I cannot leave you unchecked. You will have your immortality but it will wait upon the whim of Jove.”

With a flourish of wind and a gust of laughter that made all the people on Eiran fear the gods had damned them, lightning struck the insolent adventurer. A cloud of smoke rose slowly upward and where the adventurer had stood, now glowing red and slowly cooling crouched a great golden wolf, a snarl frozen on his lips.

It is rumored that in a deep, hidden valley near Jovian lies a dark glade where a statue of a lone wolf stands, twined with creeping vines and moss greening its legs. It is only when war is waged in Landir that the wolf stirs and becomes the adventurer – bold, strong, invincible, and savage.

And now, Nephritos has awaken and war drew near…..

[Benito Alvarez]

The bonfire rages in the middle of the clearing, casting shadows on the looming trees, almost as if they were trying to escape the horrors that are played out every year. Shadows of children hiding behind their screaming mothers. Warriors being slain without pause or effort, despite their armor and weapons. Buildings made of straw and clay falling inward as they burn out from under themselves. And, in the center of all the shadows, the largest of them all. The Shade, itself. A creature of malice and hate. Something conjured, not born. Not alive, but not dead. Moving amongst the shadow hamlet, slaying and torturing all that it comes across, burning and destroying. But, beside The Shade, or perhaps underneath it, is the shadow of The Player. The one who made The Shade itself. In ignorance or in hate, it's not known, he brought it forth from his violin as he played songs of sadness, of loss, of death and of hate.

Hate for the crimson plague that ravaged his people. The loss of land and home. The death of his Love. And above all, the sadness that pierced him to his soul. It was this sadness that made The Shade.

It is him, that this tale is for. Listen.

The Player was no longer a boy, but not yet a man, though his face wore years far beyond his own. Lines of strain and repressed tears were etched in his cheeks, next to the scars and pocks of the Crimson Death. It had been long since he could remember daylight, and laughter. For the last year he had heard nothing but cries of pain, both from the infected themselves, and from the ones tending them. It was a brutal way to die. The Death started in your bones, and worked its way outwards, turning your flesh with a red mold and eating it's way to your head. Too many were the times that diagnosis was a day or two too late. Too many children weighed on the Player's soul. Too many.

And he could do nothing for them. He had not picked up his violin in months. There was no point, anymore. He was taught that music could only exist where there was happiness, and the Crimson Death kept all Music from his hamlet. Even if there was a smile or a laugh to inspire him, his hands were to slick with blood and rot to press the strings. He didn't have the strength left.

It was raining softly the day he sat on the church wall. Nearly everyone in the hamlet was either dead or dying, and the ones still alive had left long ago. Only he remained standing, and he knew it wouldn't be for long. Despair wracked his body, for it was only a short time ago that his Love went still in his arms, never to welcome him home again. His eyes were blinded to the world, there was nothing left for him. And in the midnight place that he walked, only one thing was lighted, his violin. Despite years of warnings against playing in despair, he took up his instrument and walked to the small church. He took up his usual place on the waist high wall and began to pull his bow over the strings.

At first nothing came out, only garbled notes, painful to the ear. But as his finger connected to his blackened soul, new notes began to sing out. A song of sorrow, and pain. His Love was gone from the world they said and now life was empty. They spoke of darkness and hate. Of the deepest malice that one can only hold inside for a moment before either succumbing to it, or unleashing it on the world. And unleash it, he did. Slowly, as his song progressed, the warnings of his hamlet elders came to light.

Like a black mist, his body began to fade out, little by little, his features become cloudier and dirtier, like an oil sick moving across his skin. Only one thing remained the same, as The Shade began to take form: the music. As the hatred poured forth from his bow, The Shade moved with it. Crescendo and decrescendo moved him higher and lower, but always darker.

Soon you could not see where The Player left off and The Shade began. But as the last note was reached, The Shade made it's move. In one swift move, it tore itself from The Player's soul and stretched to his world, and as it gained it's new freedom it screamed like a thousand violins all at once, and the scream echoed across the forest and the world itself. And the Shade began it's destruction. Moving from house to house it slaughtered the sick and deranged people of the village. Without pause, women and children were cut down, and as the last few warriors took up arms and armor, they could do nothing against the Shade. Steel could not block it's hate.

The Player hung his head, for he was dead to the world around him. He heard nothing of the screams. Felt not the burn as coals landed on his skin from the burning buildings, he could only feel that his hate was gone. Slowly, bit by bit, he began to return the world that no longer held his Love. And when his eye's mist cleared, and he saw what he unleashed on the world, he screamed. A scream to match the Shade, for it was born of the same soul.

In fear and fury, he drew his knife and launched himself at the Shade, stabbed it in the arm. As the blade slid into the darkness, where the warriors blades would not, he felt the burning pain as his arm, too, was torn open. Blood ran down his arm like a river, mixing with the rot from his Love. He was beaten. He had ignored the warnings, and had brought evil to his village. He would atone for his actions.

Running back to the wall, he grabbed his violin and began to play the song which first inspired him to play. The song of his Love. Every memory he had of her, every smell, feel, taste. Everything that made him love her, he brought to his fingers, and through his violin. As the notes tore out across the village, and his tears dropped on the bow, the Shade was drawn back to the Player. Little by little he covered him untill, as before, you could not discern which was which. And when they were one, the Player struck his last note, and both were gone. The village was destroyed, all the inhabitants killed. Empty, save for the violin of the Player, leaning against the wall.

It is said that the Violin can bring out the best, or the worst, in whoever plays it. For within each of us lies the Shadow, but also the Love.