Pantheon 2.0 - Game Thread

[Benito Alvarez]

Plans?

When!?

Before or after I had to dissuade a Crusade against an ally?

When a rift to some daemons opened next to a major city of mine?

Or perhaps when I hear that more of my allies are in potential and urgent danger of being invaded?!


Your insane, Maeror. Death has twisted what good was left in the Healer. Perhaps I can save what was left.

[Injerian Praetus II]

Amusing how I was considered to be a monster. Yet there are some who follow the path of 'good' or 'neutrality' who have comitted far worse acts than I. It will come to pass that many will trust me more.

[Benito Alvarez]

Monster? Nay. We each must follow the path placed before us. Though some are shaded more than others. I know what I must do. I would hope that all other will as well.

Indecision can be worse than making the wrong choices. My days of indecision are over.

[I'm Murrin]

Your insane, Maeror. Death has twisted what good was left in the Healer. Perhaps I can save what was left.

It is not I who threatens to tear reality. It is not I who invade others lands. I have threatened no one. I do only what I am forced to by circumstance.

You came to me offering a gift, and I accepted. I offered gestures of friendship in return. And while this was occuring, you were ordering your men to attack my land!
I would have been a strong ally, Adomorn. I will make a stronger enemy.

[Benito Alvarez]

You are correct. A gift and my hand was offered. Your Prohpet arrived and was tested by Vann, your prophet of old. The Lord General was denied.

Ah, my Weeping God, how have you changed! The one I served in life is master no longer, and Hope is not for the servants of he who devours the spirits of the dead! My Lord", the voice continues, almost pleadingly, "you walk down the same dark path ancient Argothoth walked before you, and it will lead you to the same end... I served what you once were, but I serve not what you are now. Take this servant of yours, Lord of Death, and depart this place.

Your true shade was shown at the tomb, Maeror.

If not there then the at the Rift I am trying desperatley to hold closed, not to open. Who knows what damage has been done now that the souls of past lives are being sent into that Rift. No one will be able to tell what future evils will be strengthened by such an act.

These steps threatening the very fabric of the world will be stopped at all costs. You are a danger to yourself and to all others, Divine and Mortal alike.

To the Lady of Healing: I am sorry. I will do my best to save you.

As for the Lord of Death: You and I are enemies, now and forever. No quarter given and none expected. Good battle.

[I'm Murrin]

Lord Adomorn, once again I point out to you: There is no way your orders could have been given after you learned those things.
And in any case, by the oath of the Allfather, what you speak is falsehood. The threat to reality was ended by our combined power. The souls were not given, but the power I would have taken from them, in place of the divine energy I could not spare.

The power of many thousands of souls is channeled to help Adomorn ease the strain on reality; slowly, but surely, the strange disturbance disappears.

[Benito Alvarez]

I don't doubt what you did was for the best of intentions. However the sending of so many souls into such a place was folly at the best and sheer sutpidity at the worst. I repeat my earlier statement. "There are no perfect men, only perfect intentions." I only agreed to your helping me to stop this rift. If I had known that it would have been stopped in such a way, I would have rather it not be closed at all.

As for the Military actions being taken by Grathgor; I did not order, the Allfather take me if I am lying, him to attack. I will however capitalize on his decision. Since I did not order it, he will be punished for insurgency, but he is also a briliant commander and will be used to stop you from any further foolish actions.

I cannot believe that such a Rift was entirely purged with but a few Gods power behind it. It will be back, perhaps in another location, but it will be back. And I will be ready to stop it.

I will avenge my fallen comrades, even though they can never be returned from the Purgatory you sent them to.

[I'm Murrin]

I have heard such words before, Adomorn. And hear me: I allowed them to take me last time, but I will not be made to suffer again for such foolish intentions.
It is fools like you who have made me what I am.

[Benito Alvarez]

We are all products of our own paths and decisions, Maeror. I as well as You.

A shifting of blame will not save you.

Let there be war.

[Benito Alvarez]

Osmos was bored. It was the only word to describe it; bored.

He and his platoon along with the rest of the Crusade had been stationed a Linver for a whole two seasons with nothing to but “keep your sword oiled and the armor rust-free!.” To say the least was that the most enjoyable part of his days was when he was sleeping. At least then there was nothing to remind him that there was nothing to do.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rain pattered gently outside the tent door. This low to the equator, there would be no snow. No snow-fights with the rest of the platoon. No ice-berries to eat with breakfast and no ice-skating. Osmos now resented the useless weight those skates posed on the lengthy trek from the north.

He awakens and is not sure why. His eyes go out of focus for a moment as he restarts his mind from the near coma of sleep he’d been cursed with since childhood.

What made me wake? The rain. It’s stopped. Thanks be to Adomorn for that much at least.

Osmos makes a small gesture of Justice in front of his eyes before getting dressed and leaving for mess.

Outside all is still. The warbler jays are awake allright, noisy little buggers that they are, but little else moves.

Where did everyone go?

He looks to the south. A board-plank stage had been setup for Jameak to speak to his amassed armies. He stood there now.

------------------------------------------------------------------------


The rest of Osmos’ platoon, along with his regiment, stood amassed amongst the greater numbers of Lord Adomorn’s Crusade. Jameak stood at the top of the stage.

Osmos stood still. As he looked on Jameak, clad in his helm that was said to be bless by Lord Adomorn himself, his mind went blank. Nothing else mattered except what was being said by his Leader and chosen Prophet of his God. Jameak’s golden hair shone in the morning sun, like a sheaf of the purest wheat. Those eyes were what really took Osmos. Such eyes could only be blessed by a God. As if Lord Adomorn looked out through them himself.

Jameak spoke. “We have been here for a long time my friends.” A grumble greeted that, it seems more men than Osmos were bored. “But know that this was not in vain. Friends of your Lord Adomorn are friends to us. And we don’t leave our friends to the wolves.” A cheer rose up, slow at first, and then as the soldiers remembered exactly what they swore to when they graduated, more took it up. Soon it rumbled across the sky, seeming to say “We always protect our own!”

Jameak raised his hand, and almost immediate silence rang out. A military silence. “As some of you are aware, our homeland is sickened. Some say a plague has found its way to Agathi. I come to you now not as a friend, nor as a commander. I come as your Prophet of Adomorn. This ‘sickness’ was in fact a Rift in the world. A Rift leading to no good, almost surely to great evil. This rift was closed…” An even louder cheer came after that but died at the look on Jameak’s face. He pauses before continuing. “….it was closed. But with the souls of the dead. Some of them the souls of our fallen comrades.”

You can feel the horror sweeping across the field. Soldiers never forget the ones they fight with. Faces begin to resurface. Faces filled with fear and courage, as they die protecting their own. Just as the ones they saved would have done for them.

“These souls were sent into the Rift by Maeror, and by those who serve Maeror.”

At first his is hard to believe. Almost all of the men have had a loved one die of old age, only to be greeted by a sadly smiling priest to send the soul along, and to help the ones left behind.

“Hard to swallow, I know. However. This will not stand. We will avenge our fallen comrades, and bring Justice to this Death dealing madman. There will now be a splitting. We cannot sit here and let this go unpunished, but likewise we cannot abandon our allies to the threat from the south.”

All knew what was coming next. Jameak lists off half of the regiments in Linver and tells them that they will stay and protect those who cannot protect themselves. Osmos’ regiment is not included in these.

“The rest will accompany Lt. Baird, my second in command, to bring Justice to those who sacrificed our fallen comrades. Know, however, that only priests and military forces are to be involved. Peasents had nothing to do with the loss of our friends, and will be ignored, as long as they do not interfere. Should they pose a threat, they will be considered a military force. Lt. Baird will tolerate no grey areas and will deal out punishments to any who do.”

“You go with my blessing, and the blessing of our Lord. Remember the face ouf our lost friends, for they fight beside us. In our hearts.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------
A quick salute and, with military efficiency, the soldiers begin to disassemble and clear out to the staging fields to await orders.

A single thought crosses Osmos’ mind before he gets to work on his tent,

We’ll certainly not be bored for much longer! We're going to war!

[Bhakti]

Maeror, I have a request. As you are friends with Nor Yekith, I am not entirely confident that you will agree, but, as the saying goes, if I do not ask, the answer is No.

Whether Nor planned it this way as an attack of the non-military variety, or he is not aware that his Houka carry the plague, my people seem in imminent danger of an extreme nature. If I give you Power this turn, would you use it to eradicate the plague, or give my people immunity to it?

[Injerian Praetus II]

He is at war, so I doubt he can cure the plague. I can. But as I said, I did not send it. Some of my Houka have turned to demon worship. Perhaps the same force that did that is using the plague. Funny how the same presence turned up in my lands when the plague first broke out.

[I'm Murrin]

A cruel wind blew across the mountain valley in the southern range, rattling through the brush, whistling over the harsh stones. The trail through the valley was narrow and steep, and treacherous underfoot. Admar Tellem Meckros, damaged and alone, struggled upwards, into the range.
The prophet had walked for three days from the lands of Adomorn; three long days, never stopping for food or rest, he strove upward into the mountains of his realm.
The chill of the wind cut into him like a knife. His right hand, where he had grasped the sword, throbbed still with the sting of his rejection. The blessing of Maeror could do nothing to ease such pain.
When the path became too steep to walk, the prophet climbed. The stone cut into his hands; though the cuts healed almost as quickly as they formed, his hands still became slick with blood. But his grip was sure, and Admar Tellem Meckros climbed on. When he reached the top of the slope, he passed onto another trail; and his trial continued.
When at last the signs appeared he did not feel accomplishment, he felt no relief, but tears came into his eyes, and he wept as he strode forward. He passed by the structures that rose around him, and continued. Scattered people began to appear in the streets of the ancient city; as he passed, each stopped and bowed their head to him. He did not see them.
The prophet passed finally into the great plaza, and there he stopped. Dried blood flaked and fell to the ground as he clenched and unclenched his fists. His tears drew shining channels down his face.
"Though I knew not where I walked, Maeror has guided me here." He did not know that he would say it aloud until he did so. A weight seemed lifted from him, but his burden was still heavy. He turned his face toward the heavens briefly and offered a whispered prayer, then stepped into the shadow of the temple.

There was movement in the darkness, and then the voice of Or drifted to him at the entrance.
"I did not know that you would come so soon." The dragon's head emerged from the darkness, and its body edged forward after it.
"You know why I am here," the prophet said.
"Do you not have a war to attend to, General? Your people suffer." The dragon tilted its head so that it peered at the man from one round eye.
"I will go to them, once I have found what I need. Do you know why I have come here?" he demanded.
"Yes, mortal. We both knew this moment would come. You seek answers about your god."
Admar felt his worries return to him, then, and he could hold back no longer. "Dragon, please, speak plainly this once--tell me of your Weeping God. I must know who it is I serve!" Distress crept into his eyes as he pleaded. "How can it be that we are unworthy?"


(Note to Xar: This is not intended as an actual move for this turn. It is simply part of a continuing narrative. My moves will concern Admar's actions after he has heard what Or will tell him.)

---------------

My dear Bhakti, I will be glad to aid you in this matter. I exist to give my gift of health to the world.

[Bhakti]

My dear Bhakti, I will be glad to aid you in this matter. I exist to give my gift of health to the world.

Thank you. *bows* I will be in touch.

[stonemaybe]

Murrin:
"You also appear to be misreading Chisi. The followers who cause her such trouble are not in her own lands, but on Olaern.)"


Apologies to you both. I did indeed misread that. However, I was not aware I had any worshippers on that continent so the original apology stands, Chisi.

[stonemaybe]

Nor Yekkith:

I am concerned about the mutagens that are being released into the sea from your land, via your 'rivers', and the effect that your Womb of Abomination will have on this.

Any comments?

[Injerian Praetus II]

Nor Yekkith:

I am concerned about the mutagens that are being released into the sea from your land, via your 'rivers', and the effect that your Womb of Abomination will have on this.

Any comments?

Care to comment about how you slaughtered my gift of Houka to sway a city into worship?

Now, as for Abomination's Womb. It is indeed feeding mutagens into the sea. I'm surrounding the coast line with new life. I have every right to do so.

[Mistress Cathy]

Hail Simjen!

My followers have built a great library in Jovian and I have found a place of honor for your clock so that all who enter the library will not miss it. I would like to commission some of your followers to work a golden plaque to commemorate the gift and the generosity of the god of fire and the forge.

To Hedra Iren,
Hail, goddess of knowledge. Please accept my welcome in my library in Jovian. I also see the value in knowledge and perhaps we could work together to make the library a place where all Eiran could learn.

[Simjen]

So that all may understand my actions, at least as much as I am willing to reveal, I will tell most of what brought me to bring Hedra Iren into our ranks and most of how it was done. Forgive me if I am intruding on your privacy, Hedra, but I believe what has transpired should be known. I will leave as much as possible to you to reveal if you see fit.

While digging to greater depths into the mountains of Magoddar, a group of dwarven miners discovers something mysterious, breaking into what seems to be an ancient complex of ruins deep beneath the mountains.... in the center of the room, lies a large stone table, cluttered with parchments, quills and ink bottles, as well as several candles. And beside the table lies a stone stool, on which sits an impossibility: a young woman of stunning beauty, slim and almost ethereal in her appearance, with hair long enough to touch the floor, and white despite her seemingly young age, although it has strange faint violet and blue highlights. Her face is perfect and unblemished, her eyes seem to be both violet and blue at the same time, and she wears long, flowing white robes. When the dwarrows enter the room and gape, amazed, at all they see, she lifts her perfect head from the page she was writing on another thick book and looks at them. "The wheel turns again." She simply says. "New gods are on the world of my birth. Tell me, O Simjen" she suddenly says, as if sensing Simjen's presence, however intangible, "Father of the Dwarrows, why have you sought me?"

On the next turn I manifested on Eiran so that I might speak to her in person.

As you enter the mysterious ruins your dwarrows discovered, a feeling of serenity and antiquity - or rather, timelessness - seems to pervade you. Your immortal eyes see what the eyes of your dwarrows didn't: no mortal being ever walked into these halls, before your dwarrows came. There is power, in these ruins, a subtle but nonetheless real power that permeates them; it draws you to its source like a gentle call, and it does not surprise you to learn that the center, the source, is the mysterious lady in the ruins, whose beauty is even clearer to eyes such as those of a god. There is something about her, a quality you cannot define; she is not a deity, yet she is not mortal, either - and in her eyes, as she lifts her head to meet your gaze, you read the wisdom of millennia behind a sea of blue and violet. She does not smile at your approach, but you sense it is not out of arrogance; rather, her smile would be of such beauty that even an immortal's heart would be smitten by it. "Father of the Dwarrows", she says in her strange, exotic, musical voice, "Your coming echoed in the stones and the mountains, and I am honoured by your presence. The deepfires sang your name as you took your first step onto this world of Eiran." Upon hearing you didn't know you were seeking her, she nods. "Such is often the nature of such quests - that one does not know what one was seeking, until one finds it." She stands, then, and you notice how she is tall for a human woman, possibly taller than most human men as well, but she is slender, and perfectly proportioned. Her flowing, evanescent white robes seem almost to be mist around her, and her long, white hair almost seems to burn with incandescent light, faintly gleaming blue and violet as she moves. She wears no jewels, but she does not need any: her beauty is such that even an immortal's heart could be easily impressed. "I see in your eyes, O Master of the Forge, that my nature is a mystery to you. The wheel has turned many times since I last walked the world, and memory of me and the past I come from has vanished like a dream upon waking. Know, O Smith, that I am of the time when Eiran was one land, when your people had all but forgotten you, when the world was still in its innocent infancy, and out of its people, arose those who called themselves gods. Their names have long been forgotten by the people of Eiran, though you heard them echo in the emptiness between; their rule was short, but much was lost during their reign.
"The blood of one of the old gods flows in my veins; my father was no mortal man. The God of Knowledge, whose name was Avatar, was my sire; thus I belong neither to the mortal world, nor to the immortal. When the time of the Sundering came, I was still a child; yet I remember seeing with my own eyes the destruction wrought by the god-fiend named Nephirthos. My tears fell as Norn ascended, though I knew not of her at the time. And in the aftermath of Nephirthos's deed, when the sky wept divine blood and the gods withdrew, lost in divine war and destroying each other, leaving shattered Eiran alone and friendless, I grew up listening to the stories of the past, and remembering a greener time. And when I came of age, my father's legacy awakened, so that one day, a spirit of knowledge sought me, and told me of my lineage. It took me to my father's realm, once a haven of knowledge and lore, but long abandoned and encircled by chaos. There I saw my father's true legacy - the lore he had collected - gathering dust or perishing to the ravages of time, and I knew the purpose for which I was born. Here, in this vault, I collected what I could of my father's lore; here, for four millennia, I have collected my own lore, calling upon the same spirits that served my father, spirits for whom stone and metal are no obstacle. I am ageless, through my father's heritage, and I have taken the role he once held, though I am not fully divine." She glances at you carefully.
"You seek knowledge, O Simjen, and this is good. But knowledge can be dangerous if given into untrained hands. I mean no disrespect, O Father of Dwarrows, but I have seen too much devastation wrought by those who thought they knew, and I have seen how knowledge itself can be used as a weapon. That you seek knowledge is commendable; whether you will accept only what is given to you, is the choice you have to make. For better or for worse, I will not let my father's legacy and my work be misused, whether for good or evil, and worthiness alone grants access to this knowledge. And your time is limited: even were I to allow you access to all the lore I possess, your mind, mighty as it is, could still not grasp more than a fraction of it in the time you have."

Ferax visits the Historian below Magoddar... The Historian considers the question silently, and as carefully as if she had centuries to make her choice; in the end, she nods, saying, "It is my father's legacy that I preserve, and in my father's name I seek to continue his work. It is not strength that I seek... but knowledge." After which, she looks at Ferax with luminous eyes and says, "Prophet of the Father of Dwarrows, the very stones cry as the past comes to the fore. I speak to you and, through you, to your Maker; the dangers of ages past have been awakened. A war unlike any other is approaching, and storm clouds are gathering; and items of power have been found, that bring the war ever closer. The gods of old forsook their wards, and their ancient artifacts are finding their way into mortal hands once more. Seek them, O Prophet, seek them O Simjen, for if these items fall into the wrong hands, a catastrophe like none Eiran has ever witnessed will come to pass. I shall offer my help, though my words are meant for gods alone."

Realiing that the task set before me was more than I could shoulder by myself, I sought the aid of my fellow gods. Though many gave what assistance they could, I could not have done what I did without Vadhaka's help.

I will fashion two linked objects. One a book: the cover made pure silver, the spine of leather (crafted by my hand from a beast not found on Eiran, supple yet strong as steel, the color a pale green), and the pages of gold leaf, so fine that the number of them is infinite, yet neither will a page ever tear. The other is a quill; plucked from the wing of [a phoenix], it will look like fire yet feel like cold steel. When touched to the gold leaf, it will burn a fine, indelible mark. Nothing else can mar the pages. On the cover of the book will be three runes: Truth, Purity, and between the two and larger than both, Law.

The purpose of this book will be to set and inforce law. Be it natural law or the rulings between men, nations, or even deities. What is written will be reflected in what is. And it will be bound to the one who writes their name on the front page.

When it is finished, the book will be delivered to Ferax, who will then deliver it to the Historian bearing this message:

"Greetings, Historian. The time has come for you to take your place... Vadhaka Chorae... and myself, Simjen the Smith, welcome you. Though you may not relish the task, it is one you should not set aside. You are needed... Beyond that, chaos rears its ugly head and even the fabric of reality wears thin in places. It is beyond our power to fix these things. But it is not beyond what you can do, though it may be beyond what you can do now.

Take this book that my prophet bears to you. It has been crafted by my hand... as a gift, as a means to your ascendancy, and as a symbol of both who you are and who you will become. A deity of Law is needed. And though you may choose your other domain, you cannot deny this is so.

Will you accept, Historian? Will you help us? Or will you watch again as the world is torn apart by forces beyond the understanding of those who wield them?"

If she accepts, my prophet will give her the book... When this is done, [the phoenix] will bring the quill, Ferax instructing her to write her name upon the first page.

May you guide her, Allfather, and may you have mercy on us all.

And finally

The Book of Law and the Searing Quill are forged in an endeavour so mighty that the world itself shakes when the Book is finished. Ferax takes it and delivers it to the Historian, relaying your message. The Historian considers Ferax's words carefully, for long, silent moments, then looks at the open book on her table and, with a move that suggests finality, closes it. She looks at Ferax with her strange eyes and speaks.
"I do not relish the task placed before me, but I see the necessity for it. I will take my father's place among the Pantheon, and I will uphold Law as the world needs. But know this: Law favors no one, and so does Knowledge; any who breaks Law - be it for good or evil - shall be answerable, no matter what his or her allegiances. And know this too: knowledge is a weapon unlike any other, as my father knew all too well. I hold in my care the lore Eiran has forgotten, and lore of my own which Eiran never saw: this lore should not go unused, but some of it is too dangerous for any - mortal or god - to wield properly. Thus, I will be the only judge of whether one is worthy of any knowledge he might seek from me; and I shall maintain my neutrality in these matters. The world of Eiran is what is important, and my father's duties are now on my shoulders."
She takes the book... a surge of divine power focuses in the Historian's chambers, as if the whole world were imploding, but just when Ferax believes himself to be about to die, the wind disappears, and ahead of him the Historian stands transfigured. [The phoenix] bears the Quill to her, and she solemnly writes her name on the first page of the book, in fiery letters: Hedra Iren.

Do not grow accustomed to such forthrightness from me. It is not in my nature, even if I consider my nature to be a benign one. In this case, however, I considered it important enough to share, though I will admit to a trace of pride in my actions. Let no one think that Hedra Iren is my pawn or that I did not do what I thought best for Eiran.

[Simjen]

My apologies, Lady Iren. Apparently, I am as blunt as the hammer I wield and as rough as the callouses on the hand that holds it. Though I held back little, I meant no offense. I simply could not prevent telling of your beauty, both physically as well as the strength of your presence, though there was no compelling reason to speak of it.