Kevin's Watch

Argothoth wrote:I thought a lot about my ritual.
I see that a lot of you didn't understand my purpose and my perfection.
So i decided, blessed by Odal, to gather all the mindless undeads that are wandering around Eiran to the island of Limithra.

your lands and your followers will be freed by the unpleasant presence of my dear children.

In the same time, all my followers that arose in the lands of other gods, will be gathered to that island too.

I hope that this deed will be appreciated.

My ally, as you know - I have a Sietch on Lomithra by your agreement.

Please keep the mindless undead at least 5 miles from my Sietches borders. They sometimes attack automatically and can be squishy underfoot.

I will be moving the bulk of my followers to my new domain of destruction after it is raised.

*bows* I thank you for your cooperation!

your followers will not be harmed.
Odal and I will lead the undeads. I don't think that could be chance to do mistakes...
or at least i hope... only the Allfather can answer this question

Argothoth wrote:I thought a lot about my ritual.
I see that a lot of you didn't understand my purpose and my perfection.
So i decided, blessed by Odal, to gather all the mindless undeads that are wandering around Eiran to the island of Limithra.

your lands and your followers will be freed by the unpleasant presence of my dear children.

In the same time, all my followers that arose in the lands of other gods, will be gathered to that island too.

I hope that this deed will be appreciated.

Whilst such an act is appreciated Argothoth, what of those undead who were raised and now choose not to follow you? Or those lifeless shells that were torn from their rest without choice? Will you release them back to the earth?

I speak of course of the bodies of my prophets Trolin and Rilu, but I do not doubt that the corpses of Wiri, Caroline and other late prophets of my fellow deities now shamble in step with the undead hoarde. Such a sad end to so noble a calling.

Norn. Weaver of quilts and such forth.

...

Uhh...

Can I have a cookie?

Norn wrote:I do not doubt that the corpses of Wiri, Caroline and other late prophets of my fellow deities now shamble in step with the undead hoarde. Such a sad end to so noble a calling.

*shrug* Argothoth is welcome to the body of my Pathikah. His soul rests in eternal paradise as reward for his service. His body is its own affair. It retains in undeath all its skills of life. If it dislikes its new position, it is capable of chaging it.

Thanks brother Vadhaka.
I appreciated your words.

Indeed undeath is a great thing and i'm sure that my new children enjoy their new existance!

Those with souls may, but those who are little more than moving corpses are likely beyond enjoyment.

I never expected you to give up even the smallest part of your newfound power, indeed, you clutch it to your breast like a child with a chesished toy. I find it sad however that you did not have enough respect for your fellow deities to release the bodies of their late prophets if they so desired it. Instead your hunger for more power consumed you, to the cost of all else.

When your ideal of a "perfect" undead Eiran has grown so great as to cast fear even into the hearts of those whose souls you have already purchased, I wonder then if they will compare you to Nor Yekith.

cmon, mindless undead are only corpse. They can't feel anything. They exist to serve. Think about them as they was in their tombs. What is the difference? I use them to more useful purpose than rest forever in the earth.

I'm glad to see that at least Vadhaka understand my point of view...

If they are beyond enjoyment sister, they are also beyond pain and discomfort.

If agression, or even non-agressive but hostile acts occur, I will denounce them. But until ill intent becomes noticeable, I will hold my peace with all as I have almost always done.

*bows*

(Ah, I see we had the same thought brother.)

I too ... agree with cousins Vadhaka and Argothoth. I find no fault in what Argothoth has done ... and indeed much to admire in his accomplishments.

The fact that he willingly moves his undead to Lomithra to be sensitive to other deities sensibilities sits well with me. he could have just as easily CRUSHED any opposing force.

If he becomes belligerent and attacks, then I will change my stance. Until then, I count him as an ally and a friend! *bows*

I too stand with Vadhaka and Astavyastataa Kadna on this issue...

...for now.

I see suspect in your words.
And i understand, i not blame you all.
With the help of the time, and time is my friend, you will trust me again.

Argothoth wrote:I see suspect in your words.
And i understand, i not blame you all.
With the help of the time, and time is my friend, you will trust me again.

Ah brother...it is not suspicion on my end. But, even with all well meaning intent on your and my parts, our opposite natures of Darkness and Light most likely causes some hesitancy towards each other, yes? We must one day attempt to formulate a plan to work in harmony with each other, and not constant dissent. I will look forward to such a time.

The Death of Murah - Part One



The Chimera

High above the endless rustle of the dunes and scrub, the upper room cooled in the evening twilight. The Guardian sat on the small portico surveying the growing gloaming, awaiting the evening lark song when a shimmer, some distance away on the valley floor, caught his eye. He trained his head in a direction southwest of the plateau, rose from his perch, broad wings unfolding with a snap of the wrists, strode down the angled steps of the pyramid and out onto the desert floor. When he caught the shimmer again he began to run in long lopping strides and in moments, took flight.

His wings hung on an updraft and he spun, high in the air over the party of mortals and screamed into the wind. The scent of mortal sweat and tears filled his senses. He could smell them even this high up. And he could smell ascendant on some...no, all of them. He screamed again for joy and his song carried up into the vast stratospheres of the dream warren, where all things, excepting him, were a product of the consciousness of The Mithyaat Vam.

Below him the party stopped to gaze upward. A gust of power shifted him on the updraft and he flapped to keep steady and spiraled down closer. He sensed chaotic wards around three of them, and the touch of his mistress on the other three. Four males, two females, and they were readying swords and crossbows. One of the males was a wizard, sending up cantrips of warding. One of the women was fey. She must have been the one to open the shimmering gate for these travelers. Night Rain was not among them, but she would come, he knew she would come. He angled upward again and headed back to his perch outside the upper room to prepare for their arrival.


Irvea

The slight fey woman stopped walking moments before they heard the first reverberating scream and looked upward. In the dimming light above them a huge creature spiraled on enormous wings, long sinuous legs stretched out behind it. She felt webs of power radiating into her like a down draft and knew him. Khufu, she whispered.

The five of them had followed her through a stone archway off a side street of Sanctuary and into the warren onto hard-packed desert. The three favored of the Omega suffered no disorientation but the quiet warrior, Seura, stood shivering for a few moments, blinking his eyes until The Prophet Woman of Chaos touched his arm. Shivada, the mercenary from Landir, spotted a large triangular structure in the distance. After a few moments discussion, they shouldered their gear and headed toward it, Irvea sensing their exit gate several leagues beyond in that same direction.

The sky was deeply hued blue, a warm breeze laden with the heady perfume of desert sage and flowers assaulted them, and the scrub stretched out as far as the human eye could see. And further, she thought to herself, much, much further. This is the realm of the Vam. Only the Goddess knows its boundaries. Then another thought occurred to her and she smiled with sudden and unexpected knowledge. This is where she comes from, this is her home, and that, Irvea mused, watching the Guardian above them, is her father.

“The Guardian comes” she told them, and pointed upward. Shivada, on her right, stopped and looked up. A sonorous call erupted from the creature circling overhead seconds later and the others stopped short. All but Astroth.

“Let it come then” he growled on her left and kept walking. Kalpa and Seura walked back to where she was standing and gazed upward.

“What is this Guardian, witch, and how do we kill it,” Kalpa asked, pulling her sword from it’s sheath. Shivada followed suit and drew his knives. Seura loosed his crossbow from its sling. Arellos fell to his knees and chanted quietly under his breath. The Guardian’s second scream sent shivers down her spine and stopped Astroth in his tracks several paces beyond the rest of the party. The creature wheeled away from them and flew toward the pyramid. Irvea felt a great sadness engulf her and laid her hand on Seura’s shoulder for support as she watched The Guardian recede against the stars blooming in the growing night sky.

“There is no need to kill it,” she said quietly, “it’s dying.”


Dusk

Rain pattered against the roof of the tent where Murah sat awaiting the arrival of Seura and his companions. The night sounds of the camp filtered in, guards relieving themselves, murmuring their goodnights, goats bleating in their pens, range dogs and horses snuffling, and the rain, ever present on this forested island. Each day the entire camp spent the mornings drying themselves out and each night, at twilight, the soft rains would begin again. By morning they’d all be sodden. She sighed and poured herself a cup of wine.

Earlier in the evening the Goddess had sent her a dream of Seura, traveling through the warren, on his way to the island encampment and now she found herself wistful. The dream was of a desert. She could still see it in her minds eye, the six of them, trudging across a vast savannah of scrub, Seura walking beside the small woman who was the prophet of Astavyastataa Kadna. The perspective confused her. It seemed as though Murah herself sat high above the travelers watching them approach her below. Mithyaat Vam kept things from her, this she accepted, but that did not stop her asking the Goddess for more. What is my name, Goddess? Won’t you at least tell me my name? But the only reply was the sound of the rain against the tent. When she woke, the dream hung over her like a sad caul and she desired, once again to see her home.

She had come here, to this island to train her warriors, thinking to cross over the channel to the mainland of Immeril and find her home there, in that desert, but the threat of war and her preparations with her soldiers and mages had taken all her focus. With the news that Nor Yekith had departed Eiren, that there had been fires in Maayaa Nagoori and a volcano erupting at Na-Kahn, the demands on her time had consumed her and she had given no more thought to her own desire. And now there was no more time. Mithyaat Vam had instructed Murah to stay put until Seura and his companions arrived and ready her soldiers to accept command from the Seura, the Mortal Sword. She assumed that meant that she would be leaving the island of Dusk and her plans to seek out her home would have to wait for the will of the Goddess. Haunted as she was by her persistent lack of memory, she trusted Mithyaat in all things, although she couldn’t exactly say why.
She got up abruptly, knocking over the cup of wine, and strode out of the tent and into the camp.


Irvea

Two moons rose into the starry night sky above the bulk of the ancient pyramid. As the party neared it they could see that the stones had been laid as steps and at the top, backlit by flickering light emanating from a room beyond, stood the giant winged creature they had seen earlier. There was no doubt in her mind now; it was Khufu, Guardian of the Web of Dreams. The Chimera. Sixteen feet tall, wings of a dragon, body of a man, skin like gold, wild mane of fiery red hair from which erupted thin, sinewy horns of white, eyes and tail of a white mountain-cat. In the moonlight he was luminescent, the most beautiful creature Irvea had ever seen. She remembered her old granny telling her when she was a child that if you saw Khufu in your dreams you had traveled far into the web and may not be able to extricate yourself. The fey gathered the lore of Khufu for he had been Guardian for longer than the world had existed. He was, it was said, one of the Old Ones who traveled from world to world in Guardianship to The Queen of Night. She couldn’t control the shivering of her bones as the companions approached the pyramid, nor the fear, in the back of her mind, that she may not be able to open the gate and get them out of the warren.

Irvea watched as the Guardian descended the steps to meet the party and heard the whisper of Shivada’s blades as he unsheathed them.
“Hold, Your Grace,” he said to Kalpa who was leading the group, “We do not yet know this Guardian’s purpose.”
“Shivada, I believe if he wanted to attack us, he’s had ample opportunity to do so. Sheath your knives, my friend. We will speak with him.”




....to be continued

I wanted to share with you the bravery of my prophet:

You bless the Great Library, and your artisans - together with the dwarrows - fashion a magnificent statue of Hedra Iren for the foyer of the Library, a beautiful masterpiece that surpasses most precious jewels in the world. The day the statue is to be placed in the foyer, all of Jovian gathers in celebration, for it is also the day in which the Great Library will be open to the public; ominous dark clouds gather in the sky, but even rain would not deter your people from the well-deserved celebration. However, as a throng of your followers gathers in the streets, some point at the black clouds, as small specks of streaking white darkness fall from the clouds and streak across the sky. Though at least one streaks towards Shakari, one falls towards Jovian, and your people, suddenly terrified, desperately try to escape the searing comet. It slams into Jovian with enough power to cause an earthquake which, in turn, causes many buildings to crumble, and slays many of those who were too close; then, as your horrified followers see, the white-hot darkness of the comet coalesces into a humanoid figure of freezing fire and searing cold, with green slits of light for eyes, emerging from the crater it has caused. Its terrible voice echoes through the city:
"I am the herald of the World Breaker! Let all who gaze upon me despair, for my Master has returned to wreak VENGEANCE upon those who cast him out! Turn to the Lord of Destruction and be reborn in his cleansing fires, or perish like flies before our Master's fiery light!" The entity laughs horribly even as your militia and your soldiers, frightened as they are, attempt to attack it, only to be swatted indeed like flies. The entity laughs boomingly again. "Goddess of Wealth! You shall reap a wealth of DESTRUCTION, and we shall bestow upon you a crown of TORMENT!" As it speaks, the entity seems to feed off the chaos and confusion of Jovian and grows stronger and larger; its white-hot fire flows onto the ground in rivulets that seem to seek out living beings as if they were sentient themselves, and many more of your followers die in the conflagrations that follow. However, in the end Ismund is undaunted, and he steps forward, accompanied by his chosen guard and a retinue of Tempestes.
"Begone, Spirit!" He cries commandingly, "You do not belong here. Begone, before the power of my Mistress tears you apart!"
The entity laughs again. "Such brave words, Prophet... Show me your Mistress's power, then!"
At Ismund's command, the guards and the Tempestes attack the being of white-hot darkness, while Ismund himself gathers a mighty storm with torrential rain in hopes of dimming the fires of the being; its power is reduced, but still it tosses about your followers as if they were cardboard. The Tempestes swarm around it, wracking it with lightning and buffeting it with gale-strength winds, but the entity does not fall. "Is this all you can do, Prophet of a weak Godling? Witness my Master's might!" It suddenly spreads its arms and a maelstrom of dark fire surrounds it, envelops it and the Tempestes; the shrieks of the elementals echoes even over the storm, and Ismund is forced to step back to avoid the heat. The Tempestes survive the maelstrom of fire, but they are severely weakened; Ismund looks around and sees the terrified people of Jovian, those who will be dead if the creature is allowed to roam free. The Great Library is charred and broken already: Hedra Iren's statue is safe, since it wasn't in the library yet, but Simjen's Great Clock is burned and broken. A cold rage fills Ismund to the brim; he draws upon the power of a Prophet of Jove, and upon the sapphire Eye in his forehead. He calls to him the broken Tempestes, who know his mind and understand his wish, and flow INTO the Eye of Jove, magnifying its power. And when the last of the Tempestes is gone, and the Eye of Jove on Ismund's forehead shines like the sun, he looks once more at the white-hot darkness ahead of him, looking at him mockingly. "Even all of your godling's power cannot save you, Prophet!" It laughs, but Ismund is no longer fooled: he hears a hint of fear in the monster's voice. He knows what he must do, though the sacrifice is great; but for Jovian, he would do nothing less. He closes his eyes, and sheds a single burning tear; he thinks of you, and hopes you will forgive him for his actions. Then, without thinking, he steels himself and charges straight into the cold fire. It sears at him, scorches him, flenses him, but his determination is greater than his pain, and when he is enveloped by the creature, when the entity has swallowed him and laughs, Ismund releases the last of his strength and the strength of the Tempestes - from the inside. Only a Prophet could do this; only a Prophet could have the inner strength and the determination to make such a sacrifice. Ismund dies in the blaze, but he does not die alone. His sacrifice, and that of the Tempestes, releases all their power within the entity, who, as mighty as it is, cannot contain it: it fights it, but eventually the Power explodes out of it, and the entity is torn apart, its white-hot darkness dissipating in the rain, its agonizing scream lost in the wind. As silence suddenly falls on the field of battle, a single sound echoes across the shattered square: the sound of a sapphire falling onto the cobblestones... and the mourning of a city saved by a Prophet's sacrifice. Ismund's last words echo in the minds of those who watched his sacrifice: "This was but the beginning... stand strong, and let Jove guide you."

Ismund was your prophet only a short time, my Love. I barely knew him. But he has shown all - aye, even the Pantheon - something for which I cannot even find words. I am humbled before him.

*deep bow*

As am I, dear husband.

HOW DARE HE!!!

Astavyastataa Kadna is stripped of his domains of Chaos and Destruction!!!

O-gon-cho, you who have let this Lord of Terror & Despair in ... I call upon the Argothoth, Master of Time ... rewind this travesty and allow o-gon-cho to set aright this incurrsion!

...silence from the ether...

While I am stripped from accessing my true domains, my power is NOT diminished. We must forge an alliance or all of Eiran will fall. This Lord of Terror dares afront ME ... but he also show contempt for SISTER ORDER and the AllFather!

While you watch and lend your power to other gods for the creation of the heart-shaped mountain you wish to give Mithyaat Vam, you suddenly find yourself elsewhere - a dark and cold emptiness that is far different than the void between the stars. A being of white-hot darkness stands before you, impossibly large, impossibly powerful, and slits of red energy open where a human's eyes would be in its monstrous, ill-defined form. Before you can react, the being grabs you by the neck - you, the OMEGA! - and laughs. "LITTLE GODLING, WHO CLAIMS TO BE THE END OF ALL THINGS... YOU HAVE SOMETHING THAT IS RIGHTFULLY MINE! YOU CLAIM TO BE DESTRUCTION, BUT YOU CREATE; YOU CLAIM TO BE CHAOS AND SERVE ORDER INSTEAD. I SHALL RIP YOUR CLAIMS FROM YOUR ESSENCE, AND TAKE THAT WHICH IS MINE BY RIGHT!" Suddenly, a pain like never before sears through your essence, as if a very part of it had been torn from your heart of hearts; impossibly, somehow the being RIPPED the domains of Chaos and Destruction from your being, leaving you diminished! Although you are the OMEGA, somehow the being CONTAINED your power even more, so that you may not exercise your rulership of Chaos and Destruction in Eiran any longer! It laughs darkly. "I HAVE LEARNED MUCH IN THE VOID, GODLING... I HAVE SEEN YOU AND YOUR SISTER AT YOUR GAMES. I HAVE SEEN THEALL-FATHER TOILING OVER THIS WORLD. NOW YOU ALL SHALL FEEL THE VENGEANCE OF THE WORLD BREAKER!"
With that, you suddenly find yourself once more in Eiran, your tattered essence pulling back together, weakened by the theft. Though you still are the OMEGA, the being has stripped you of your power over chaos and destruction in Eiran! Such a thing could never happen - no mere godling should be able to do so! Only an entity more powerful even than Argothoth could ever hope to perform such an action! And in your mind, the last words of the entity echo ineluctably: "KNOW I HAVE GIVEN YOU BUT A TASTE OF THE DESPAIR AND TERROR I SHALL BRING UPON YOU. BE CONTENT WITH THE POWER I HAVE CHOSEN TO LEAVE INTO YOUR HANDS, UNTIL SUCH A TIME AS I COME TO CLAIM ALL THAT YOU ARE!"