Pantheon 2.0 - Game Thread
Moderator: Xar
Hail my brothers and sisters. I wish to advise you all that I no longer need any aid in the matter discussed. Please feel free to use that power for other purposes.
Last edited by Norn on Thu Dec 14, 2006 12:18 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Injerian Praetus II
- <i>Haruchai</i>
- Posts: 640
- Joined: Thu May 06, 2004 12:12 pm
- Location: The Koronus Expanse
I am afraid that is not the case.Queeaqueg wrote:Everything which I have said is true. If you don't wish to believe me... oh well.
"Oh of course," the Navigator said with faint mocking in his voice, "you have probably heard of House Praetus. We have a palace on Holy Terra. Like all powerful groups, we also have our enemies. Do you honestly think someone like you matters?" - A dissolute noble.
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Benito Alvarez
- Giantfriend
- Posts: 459
- Joined: Sun Sep 17, 2006 11:53 pm
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Mithyaat Vam
- <i>Elohim</i>
- Posts: 153
- Joined: Fri Nov 24, 2006 3:39 am
- Location: Sharp. Distance.
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Mithyaat Vam
- <i>Elohim</i>
- Posts: 153
- Joined: Fri Nov 24, 2006 3:39 am
- Location: Sharp. Distance.
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Benito Alvarez
- Giantfriend
- Posts: 459
- Joined: Sun Sep 17, 2006 11:53 pm
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Mistress Cathy
- <i>Haruchai</i>
- Posts: 745
- Joined: Mon Nov 27, 2006 7:32 pm
- Location: Around the world....
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Injerian Praetus II
- <i>Haruchai</i>
- Posts: 640
- Joined: Thu May 06, 2004 12:12 pm
- Location: The Koronus Expanse
Indeed it has been quiet. Perhaps because of the collapse of the Khenstorn treaty. Regardless, I am sure there will be much discussion soon.Norn wrote:It has been rather quiet in here of late. Perhaps, with so much plotting going on behind the scenes, our brothers and sisters now await the outcomes of their various schemes.
"Oh of course," the Navigator said with faint mocking in his voice, "you have probably heard of House Praetus. We have a palace on Holy Terra. Like all powerful groups, we also have our enemies. Do you honestly think someone like you matters?" - A dissolute noble.
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Chisi La'Roo
- Woodhelvennin
- Posts: 65
- Joined: Fri Sep 22, 2006 9:57 pm
- Location: In a tavern somwhere... gambling, probably drinking a good brew.
It's quiet because everybody who is anybody is in my casino, getting their gaming on.
Duh.
Duh.
Who says everything has to happen for a reason? Sometimes things just fall into place. Nothing in your future is set in stone, and your story is what you make of it. Make it good, make it interesting, and Lady Luck will smile upon you.
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Injerian Praetus II
- <i>Haruchai</i>
- Posts: 640
- Joined: Thu May 06, 2004 12:12 pm
- Location: The Koronus Expanse
Strange how my Worm general has lost all his money. I say your casino is rigged, Lady of Luck.Chisi La'Roo wrote:It's quiet because everybody who is anybody is in my casino, getting their gaming on.
Duh.
"Oh of course," the Navigator said with faint mocking in his voice, "you have probably heard of House Praetus. We have a palace on Holy Terra. Like all powerful groups, we also have our enemies. Do you honestly think someone like you matters?" - A dissolute noble.
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stonemaybe
- The Gap Into Spam
- Posts: 4836
- Joined: Mon Feb 20, 2006 9:37 am
- Location: Wallowing in the Zider Zee
Vàlkoren Mòladur approached the sarcophagus. It was superbly decorated with wondrous basreliefs of skeletal bodies depicted in scenes where corpses were being reanimated. Entire legions etched into the sarcophagus were ready to rise at the will of their lord.
Vàlkoren knew what to do. He had read it on an ancient tome discovered in an even more ancient city. In ruins, now, but not enough to destroy the entire library that had filled more than half of its buildings. The tome spoke of an ancient god, lord of undeath, darkness and time. During the time of chaos, the god was toppled and his powers were stolen. Entombed in a secret and dark mausoleum, the god lay waiting for his awakening at the hands of another creature, waiting to be returned to both undeath and life.
Vàlkoren believed himself to be that creature. Not even he knew how he had become what he was: rather, during his studies, he had simply found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time. A feud between vampires and lycanthropes had exploded beneath his hometown. Vàlkoren had been a cleric of the forces of neutrality, interested in learning more about life and death. He had learned of the existence of these creatures, and had chosen to go further. He had contacted both, and ended up in the middle of the feud. The two sides decided to mark Vàlkoren for his insolence, so the leaders of both factions bit the cleric, believing they would slay him. And so it was, until the next full moon. Vàlkoren was dead. But a moonray brought him back to life. Or unlife. This was Vàlkoren’s question, which had found no answer.
He shook his head to clear it of those memories. Finally he could perform the ritual to bring the ancient god of undeath, who alone might have the answers to his questions, back into the world. The book described a single way to do that: to awaken the ancient god, blood was required to flow, the blood of an undead whose veins still held living blood.
Vàlkoren looked at the sharp blades of the sculptures on Argothoth’s sarcophagus, well-suited to bleed his body dry. He decided not to think further, and threw himself against the sculptures. His body rammed into the sharp stone blades, and cold pain filled him; he cried, writhed, called to the gods, Argothoth and all fiends for the suffering to end.
In the end, his prayers were answered, his body was lifted away from the broken stone blades, albeit excruciatingly slowly. A black light exploded on the edges of the sarcophagus, and the lid shattered in a thousand shards, destroying the beautiful basreliefs. Shards of marble and ivory flew through the room, slicing through Vàlkoren’s still-flying body. Instinctively, he lifted his martyred hands to protect his eyes from the shards; when he lowered them and looked again, he saw the god in all his dark glory.
A robe of black and violet, trimmed in silver and gold, was delicately caressed by an unnatural breeze. Long skeletal hands emerged from wide sleeves. Argothoth wore a crown on his head, though it resembled a helmet, made out of gold and silver. Only his lipless smile was visible through the helm, and twin pools of red power where eyes should have been.
Vàlkoren was delicately placed on the ground, and he instinctively knelt. His wounds were healing quickly, a gift of the lycanthropic blood within him; the pain had already waned, a gift of the undeath in his body.
The long silence was broken by what the priest thought to be a long exhalation. Then, the god spoke.
Who are you, mortal, to awaken the god of undeath, time and darkness? I am Argothoth… speak!
Vàlkoren discovered he was trembling in the god’s presence. He couldn’t move his mouth, the words couldn’t escape his lips. Suddenly, however, he realized his fear was unfounded. The god wasn’t threatening him, simply ordering him to speak. He found his courage and began:
“Vàlkoren Mòladur, my lord, your humble servant! Mighty Argothoth, lord of time and darkness, I awakened you because someone has usurped your place in the pantheon. A god called Queeaqueg has claimed the rulership of necromancy and undeath, and now he proclaims himself the undisputed lord of such powers.”
The red pools within the crown’s eyeholes seemed to turn dark for a moment. Argothoth spread his arms, and the mausoleum shook. Cracks formed on the floor of the gargantuan crypt, and Vàlkoren instinctively protected his head with the tome, to avoid being struck by the rubble falling from the ancient ceiling.
I do not believe your words, mortal!
Argothoth tried to summon his ancient necromantic power, but nothing happened. He couldn’t feel power flowing into his limbs, he couldn’t reach the might capable of snuffing out life and lighting it again as a gray, eternal flame.
The god howled.
The mausoleum shook again violently, and Vàlkoren had to overcome his own instincts, which cried for him to flee that place before he would be buried forever beneath tons of marble and stone.
After eternal moments, the god’s wrath evaporated. The tremors stopped, and all that was left were sinister creaking sounds echoing through the crypts. Vàlkoren lifted his head to look at the god once more; Argothoth materialized a long black metal staff in his skeletal hand, and an orb of darkness beat on its tip. The god extended his other skeletal hand towards him.
Rise, Vàlkoren. Tell me all you know about this false god, all you know about the other gods and this new world.
Argothoth began walking towards the exit of the mausoleum. Vàlkoren followed him closely.
You awakened me with blood, and I shall claim its power. Within me time will flow, I shall bring darkness, and the lord of the fluid that bestows life, that warms living beings. Until the time…
The god looked at Vàlkoren.
Until the time my throne will be mine again!
The god’s laughter caused the mausoleum to tremble again, and caused Vàlkoren’s bones to shake even more.
When they left the burial complex, Argothoth turned again to his first worshiper.
Why have you awakened me? Why would you bring an ancient god back to life?
The priest thought about it for a moment, then he spoke.
“I have a question to ask you, my Lord. A question which only you can answer.”
Argothoth stopped and turned towards him.
So be it. You brought me back to the world, and I am in your debt. Ask your question.
Vàlkoren felt his heart throbbing in his chest. His half-undead blood still allowed him to feel what vampires cannot.
“Look at me with your divine eyes, look inside me. Am I undead or am I alive?”
The god stood silent.
“I know this sounds like a meaningless question, but how can a person exist without knowing what he is? How can I go on, day after day, without knowing the true essence of my existence?”
Anguish filled the priest’s words. The question had torn him for far too long. Was he alive or not? What was the meaning of his existence.
“You who are the true Lord of Undeath, you alone can answer me! I implore you, tell me, am I alive?” The tone with which he asked the question led Argothoth to believe that Vàlkoren wished to be alive, and wished to be told that he was. After a long moment, the god answered.
I cannot say.
After a moment, he continued.
Your essence is too intertwined to be judged, now that I am deprived of my rightful powers. Be patient, wait until my throne is reclaimed. When I will have my powers again, you shall have the answer you seek.
The god started walking again; Vàlkoren hesitated before following him. It wasn’t the answer he expected, it wasn’t what he wanted. But he swore he would give his soul, if he still had it, to help Argothoth reclaim his throne.
Vàlkoren knew what to do. He had read it on an ancient tome discovered in an even more ancient city. In ruins, now, but not enough to destroy the entire library that had filled more than half of its buildings. The tome spoke of an ancient god, lord of undeath, darkness and time. During the time of chaos, the god was toppled and his powers were stolen. Entombed in a secret and dark mausoleum, the god lay waiting for his awakening at the hands of another creature, waiting to be returned to both undeath and life.
Vàlkoren believed himself to be that creature. Not even he knew how he had become what he was: rather, during his studies, he had simply found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time. A feud between vampires and lycanthropes had exploded beneath his hometown. Vàlkoren had been a cleric of the forces of neutrality, interested in learning more about life and death. He had learned of the existence of these creatures, and had chosen to go further. He had contacted both, and ended up in the middle of the feud. The two sides decided to mark Vàlkoren for his insolence, so the leaders of both factions bit the cleric, believing they would slay him. And so it was, until the next full moon. Vàlkoren was dead. But a moonray brought him back to life. Or unlife. This was Vàlkoren’s question, which had found no answer.
He shook his head to clear it of those memories. Finally he could perform the ritual to bring the ancient god of undeath, who alone might have the answers to his questions, back into the world. The book described a single way to do that: to awaken the ancient god, blood was required to flow, the blood of an undead whose veins still held living blood.
Vàlkoren looked at the sharp blades of the sculptures on Argothoth’s sarcophagus, well-suited to bleed his body dry. He decided not to think further, and threw himself against the sculptures. His body rammed into the sharp stone blades, and cold pain filled him; he cried, writhed, called to the gods, Argothoth and all fiends for the suffering to end.
In the end, his prayers were answered, his body was lifted away from the broken stone blades, albeit excruciatingly slowly. A black light exploded on the edges of the sarcophagus, and the lid shattered in a thousand shards, destroying the beautiful basreliefs. Shards of marble and ivory flew through the room, slicing through Vàlkoren’s still-flying body. Instinctively, he lifted his martyred hands to protect his eyes from the shards; when he lowered them and looked again, he saw the god in all his dark glory.
A robe of black and violet, trimmed in silver and gold, was delicately caressed by an unnatural breeze. Long skeletal hands emerged from wide sleeves. Argothoth wore a crown on his head, though it resembled a helmet, made out of gold and silver. Only his lipless smile was visible through the helm, and twin pools of red power where eyes should have been.
Vàlkoren was delicately placed on the ground, and he instinctively knelt. His wounds were healing quickly, a gift of the lycanthropic blood within him; the pain had already waned, a gift of the undeath in his body.
The long silence was broken by what the priest thought to be a long exhalation. Then, the god spoke.
Who are you, mortal, to awaken the god of undeath, time and darkness? I am Argothoth… speak!
Vàlkoren discovered he was trembling in the god’s presence. He couldn’t move his mouth, the words couldn’t escape his lips. Suddenly, however, he realized his fear was unfounded. The god wasn’t threatening him, simply ordering him to speak. He found his courage and began:
“Vàlkoren Mòladur, my lord, your humble servant! Mighty Argothoth, lord of time and darkness, I awakened you because someone has usurped your place in the pantheon. A god called Queeaqueg has claimed the rulership of necromancy and undeath, and now he proclaims himself the undisputed lord of such powers.”
The red pools within the crown’s eyeholes seemed to turn dark for a moment. Argothoth spread his arms, and the mausoleum shook. Cracks formed on the floor of the gargantuan crypt, and Vàlkoren instinctively protected his head with the tome, to avoid being struck by the rubble falling from the ancient ceiling.
I do not believe your words, mortal!
Argothoth tried to summon his ancient necromantic power, but nothing happened. He couldn’t feel power flowing into his limbs, he couldn’t reach the might capable of snuffing out life and lighting it again as a gray, eternal flame.
The god howled.
The mausoleum shook again violently, and Vàlkoren had to overcome his own instincts, which cried for him to flee that place before he would be buried forever beneath tons of marble and stone.
After eternal moments, the god’s wrath evaporated. The tremors stopped, and all that was left were sinister creaking sounds echoing through the crypts. Vàlkoren lifted his head to look at the god once more; Argothoth materialized a long black metal staff in his skeletal hand, and an orb of darkness beat on its tip. The god extended his other skeletal hand towards him.
Rise, Vàlkoren. Tell me all you know about this false god, all you know about the other gods and this new world.
Argothoth began walking towards the exit of the mausoleum. Vàlkoren followed him closely.
You awakened me with blood, and I shall claim its power. Within me time will flow, I shall bring darkness, and the lord of the fluid that bestows life, that warms living beings. Until the time…
The god looked at Vàlkoren.
Until the time my throne will be mine again!
The god’s laughter caused the mausoleum to tremble again, and caused Vàlkoren’s bones to shake even more.
When they left the burial complex, Argothoth turned again to his first worshiper.
Why have you awakened me? Why would you bring an ancient god back to life?
The priest thought about it for a moment, then he spoke.
“I have a question to ask you, my Lord. A question which only you can answer.”
Argothoth stopped and turned towards him.
So be it. You brought me back to the world, and I am in your debt. Ask your question.
Vàlkoren felt his heart throbbing in his chest. His half-undead blood still allowed him to feel what vampires cannot.
“Look at me with your divine eyes, look inside me. Am I undead or am I alive?”
The god stood silent.
“I know this sounds like a meaningless question, but how can a person exist without knowing what he is? How can I go on, day after day, without knowing the true essence of my existence?”
Anguish filled the priest’s words. The question had torn him for far too long. Was he alive or not? What was the meaning of his existence.
“You who are the true Lord of Undeath, you alone can answer me! I implore you, tell me, am I alive?” The tone with which he asked the question led Argothoth to believe that Vàlkoren wished to be alive, and wished to be told that he was. After a long moment, the god answered.
I cannot say.
After a moment, he continued.
Your essence is too intertwined to be judged, now that I am deprived of my rightful powers. Be patient, wait until my throne is reclaimed. When I will have my powers again, you shall have the answer you seek.
The god started walking again; Vàlkoren hesitated before following him. It wasn’t the answer he expected, it wasn’t what he wanted. But he swore he would give his soul, if he still had it, to help Argothoth reclaim his throne.
Death is the threshold through which life eternal is reached.
Saving Eiran is the main reason for existing.
Embrace Death as the best means towards this goal.
The most powerful god in Eiran Pantheon 2.0
Divine Rank: 11
Total Worshipers and Prevalent Race: 2.411.443 (undead humans)
Saving Eiran is the main reason for existing.
Embrace Death as the best means towards this goal.
The most powerful god in Eiran Pantheon 2.0
Divine Rank: 11
Total Worshipers and Prevalent Race: 2.411.443 (undead humans)
tnx norn,
i wonder if you could tell me who is your close friend...
i wonder if you could tell me who is your close friend...
Death is the threshold through which life eternal is reached.
Saving Eiran is the main reason for existing.
Embrace Death as the best means towards this goal.
The most powerful god in Eiran Pantheon 2.0
Divine Rank: 11
Total Worshipers and Prevalent Race: 2.411.443 (undead humans)
Saving Eiran is the main reason for existing.
Embrace Death as the best means towards this goal.
The most powerful god in Eiran Pantheon 2.0
Divine Rank: 11
Total Worshipers and Prevalent Race: 2.411.443 (undead humans)