Pantheon - The Third Age - Story and Writings Thread

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Mynaesos
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Post by Mynaesos »

Aardon Rishon stood in the center of the courtyard and examined his senior students. Each stood as he had instructed them : feet almost shoulder-width apart, the front foot facing forward with the rear foot perpendicular to the front, and slightly crouched with their weight evenly distributed to the balls of each foot. The stance was familiar, though the amount of time they had been holding it and the master's intense scrutiny was not. Joints had long since begun to creak and ache, though no student dared to move so much as a muscle. When discomfort turned to agony, Rishon finally barked, "Two!"

As one, the class pivoted, lifted the front foot in a high arcing kick, and finished with a lower, faster kick with the rear foot. Sore joints and stiff muscles betrayed most of them, as only a handful managed to maintain balance and properly execute the maneuver.

"Disappointing," Rishon stated simply. "Watch as I demonstrate it again." Rishon executed the kicks flawlessly, the movements showing incredible strength and yet a supreme sense of calmness.

"'But it's not fair, Master,' You say. True, you do not have my advantages, but neither do you have my greater weight or age and the difficulties they bring. Certainly you must admit that it is a bit more… complex for me to do it. Did you not listen when I told you that true strength comes from the center, comes from balance?

"As I watched, I saw many of you waiting like colts, ready to spring from the gate. You think, 'The command may come at any moment,' and you are correct. But if it may come at any moment, then each moment is the same. If at every moment you are balanced and ready, then patience becomes meaningless. But if at every moment you are anticipating, then each following moment becomes a drop of water in the pail that you carry. If you carry this weight, it will make it that much harder to react if it does not throw off your balance entirely, toppling you like a tree whose roots are undercut by the river. The superior fighter is not the one that acts most successfully, but the one that reacts most successfully. And if you do not think you can react to inaction, then you have learned nothing from my teachings.

"Ket'stin Yewke. Ket'stin Nogga. Step forward." Rishon gestured to two of the giants who had performed the maneuver successfully. Nogga was one of the few females in this class, and though she stood at least two heads shorter than the largest student, Yewke, she carried herself with far more grace. Yewke, on the other hand, was a thundercloud on legs - dark and brooding and lightning-fast. "The Aardonan has instructed me to pick my most able student for a task of great importance. As I have yet to pick a Thu'stin, the two of you will compete physically for that honor."

Nogga waited for the signal from their master to begin, but Yewke felt no such compulsion. The fist to the side of her head nearly led to the contest ending then and there, but she reacted just in time to prevent more than a glancing blow. Recovering, she grabbed the cuff of Yewke's uniform and began to pull his arm down and behind her, shifting her center of balance to turn it into a throw. But Yewke's punch had been too quick, and as he was already pulling back his fist, it did not give Nogga the momentum she needed. Instead, Yewke pivoted in turn, sending his elbow to Nogga's stomach.

Sensing the blow coming, Nogga exhaled explosively to minimize the impact. She felt the elbow sinking into her stomach muscles, even as she rolled over Yewke's back. Reaching for the opposite shoulder, she visualized the leverage she would apply to bring him into a submission hold. Unfortunately, she was not allowed to realize her vision, as Yewke quickly stood up straight, tumbling Nogga into the air. It was all she could manage to turn her landing into a roll. Before she could recover, Yewke was on top of her, choking her with her own collar.

"Stop!" Rishon shouted, the word devoid of any emotion or sense that its recipients could do anything but obey. "Recover." After the two had both stood and readied themselves, the master gave the command, "Again."

Much like the first round, Nogga spent most of the time on the defensive. Yewke dominated the match with his superior strength and speed. Though the smaller giant managed to hold her own, she invariably ended up being pinned by Yewke. After one final leg sweep brought Nogga down, the Aardon had seen enough. "Ket'stin Yewke, your skill is impressive. You are the strongest and fastest of my students. One wonders if you are not touched by the new God of War to the south." Accepting the compliment, Yewke bowed to his master, trying to hide the slightest of grins as he did so. "However, it is the touch of Aarklar we seek, not uKulwa. This, I see, is held by Nogga."

"But, master…" Yewke began, his grin no longer present.

"Speed and strength are not enough, Yewke. Not once did you try to use balance or leverage or your own opponent's momentum against them. Instead, you relied on brute power to dominate your opponent. In this you were successful, but you will not always face an opponent weaker than you." Ket'stin bowed to his master's knowledge, albeit stiffly.

"Thu'stin Nogga, you are out of uniform. Please visit the quartermaster before you report to the Aardonan." The newly appointed First Student bowed to her instructor before quickly limping off in the direction of the quartermaster.

"The rest of you, heed today's lesson well. You'll have much more to learn when your true instructor arrives. Now get on, before I get another lecture from Aardon Sheni about her students arriving too hungry to achieve Communion."
“Borders are scratched across the hearts of men
by strangers with a calm, judicial pen,
and when the borders bleed we watch with dread
the lines of ink along the map turn red.”
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Mynaesos
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Post by Mynaesos »

The following notice is found posted at crossroads and nailed to trees along many of the major roads in Eiran.
Martovan Academy
Now Accepting Students of Any Race or Faith

Let it be known that the city of Martovan, formerly known as Marvan, is an open port, and the Martovan Academy will decline no applicant on the basis of faith or race.

Modest port fees will be levied, a third of which will go to the followers of Dagon to ensure safe passage.

All weapons will be peace bonded by the Harbormaster before entering the city, and an oath must be made to abide by the laws of Martovan and supply reasonable aid in the event of attack or natural disaster.

Worship of gods other than Aarklar is tolerated, but coersion of any kind towards the same is not.

Any scrolls or books brought into Martovan or its harbor will be given into the care of the Royal Library until a copy may be made.

Tuition will be decided on a case-by-case basis that it may be affordable to all, and it gives access to all public halls of the Academy. Acceptable tuition may be currency (exchange rates and fees apply), trade goods, or items of historical or philosophical interest.

Employment opportunities abound. Make inquiries at either the Harbormaster's office or the Headmaster's office.
"Teachers open the door. You enter by yourself.”
-Chinese Proverb
“Borders are scratched across the hearts of men
by strangers with a calm, judicial pen,
and when the borders bleed we watch with dread
the lines of ink along the map turn red.”
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Eztlicoatl
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Location: Coiled about the sun

Post by Eztlicoatl »

Journal of Mercuse di Montressor, second expedition in the jungles of Malyth, south of the Great Range:

Summer,

I have dizzying moments of terrible clarity.

I want to turn back, to undo all the insanity I have set in motion. But I look at the mire in which I am set and, to turn back now, would seem a trek equally loathsome. I am fix’d in my resolution.

We are plunging into the very heart of the jungle of Malyth. No longer is it a near but untouchable menace seen from the deck of the Spirit; now it is all around us, clinging to us, impeding our progress, hiding the denizens of this hell from us.

I have left the captain of the Spirit and twenty crewmen back at the river to await our return from Oaxcala. With me travel a hundred men. We have twenty soldiers, and we have pressed all the able bodied men – around thirty – from a village we laid our anchor at. Our horses are finding the terrain near impassable, and it slows us terribly.

I can glimpse, through the canopy, the smog of another distant blaze. Sometimes we can smell ash upon the wind. The jungle is quieter here, though I can scarcely guess if that is because we are trudging through it and scaring the wildlife away, or if there lurks some other cause. At night, I have fears that something or things watch us from the darkness. So far, we remain unmolested.

How has it come to pass that I have grown so mad and so distant from myself? I spend my days hacking through this jungle and, when we rest, I transfix my gaze to the sun. I do naught else at night but translate this insidious Codex of the Blood Serpent. The more I discover of its meanings, the more I think the people of old Oaxcala were right to eradicate the Cult of the Sun. Yet, I can no longer restrain my own ruination.

Yesterday, I lashed one of our baggage carriers so badly, we had to cut his neck chain free and leave him to die in the jungle. The men are afraid, that is obvious. They fear me, though they fear the jungle more. I see more of them now, like me, idling their free time by staring at that great burning disk in the sky. But they talk of gold to chase away their fears. I talk of gold too, but I don’t know why. I no longer want it. I desire one thing. That is, when I am sane, I want my freedom and home but, for the great proportion of my time now, I want to return to the summit of the Temple of the Sun. I want to fall to my knees before the sun, and I want to beg it to destroy me.

I shudder now as I write this. I read over the scribblings of the last few days and it seems as if another man – a madman – has writ them. I will end my days in this jungle. It is a certainty.

It is dark now. I watch insects flying to our campfire and burning to cinders within it.
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Bel
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Post by Bel »

Dust gathered on spires and steeples; stone weathers and crumbles. An older city still. A city built upon the ruins of ancient malice.
A shadow haunts this place. Echo of long dead forces. The darkened streets twist upon themselves, winding up and around the sides of old stone hills. The buildings are carved and shaped with figures, gargoyles and grotesques, a thousand styles, new and ancient, blended together in this morass. Far beyond the borders of the Twisted Lands, yet its spirit is twisted still. The populace a blend also, people of so many races, though some are conspicuous in absence: Dwarrow, Giant, Satyr, Orc. Much has been forgotten, but still there remains one thing to remind the knowledgeable of the city's beginnings.
A park of sorts, though the vegetation is sparse, and strange. It occupies the centre of the city, untouched, though not from the desire to preserve. Within, the ground rises steadily, dirt giving way to shattered stone. One can almost perceive a shape to it, the way it seems to rise and fall: there were once steps to this peak.
No sign remains of the one for whom the Ziggurat was once seat and centre, but a shadow of memory persists. The Ziggurat, they say, is cursed.
*
The Prophet laughs as his feet touch the broken stone of the summit. His god lets him feel the history of the place on which he stands, and he knows the Ziggurat is no more cursed than the other mounds upon which these people have built their homes. From the peak, he can see across the rooftops to the glint of the ocean beyond the city's borders. His people are all around him, descending throughout the city; and beneath him, he feels the Lord's power begin to wash through, to cleanse the stain of violence in a tide that overwhelms the shadow that has suffused the place for so long.
Liberation.
He does not walk the streets this time. The people shall bring themselves to him. They will hear the Lord's will. And they will thank Him for His gift to them; though some may not do so immediately.
With time. He gave his thanks silently to the Great Lord, the one who sees the true path. Yes, Lord. We have barely begun.
Si vis pacem, para bellum
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Unzen
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Post by Unzen »

A great horn sounded from the temple in Ermnyth. An internal voice came to the people of Ermnyth telling them to come to the square in front of the temple. A great throng soon appeared, murmuring in confusion and anticipation. Appearing upon the steps was Varmor. In a great voice Varmor said, “Behold believers and unbelievers alike, the Lord of the Bridge, Unzen!”

A blaze of shimmering blue appeared beside Varmor, swiftly coming into form as a great warrior, a like to the war gear of Varmor, but much greater. In a great voice, Unzen spoke to the crowd in a somewhat archaic manner, filled with majesty.

“Know ye the ways of rectitude as ye approach the great questions of the age. Trials and tribulations have come to ye, bridgecrossers and chosen of the Lord of the Bridge, and more will yet come. Unwavering belief in the righteousness of the cause ahead will give ye the ability to confront with equanimity the obstacles lying in the path of the restoration of Eiren. Harken back to these words in times of sorrow and travail.

Go ye forth, and listen to our beloved prophet Varmor in all things; for we have chosen him well from the far side of the bridge to lead ye in these times of strife. So do we speak”.


Unzen raised a horn to his lips and sounded a mighty note. As the note faded, Unzen too faded beyond mortal and undead sight.
Nou aru taka wa tsume wo kakusu
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an Carraig
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Post by an Carraig »

First Turdus Merle reports to The Book:

so The Warden has lost her voice for a while. through her own neglect.
I am sent to give you the way of it to record in The History of the Truth.
i tried to tell her that MacLaomainn was a lost cause but he tugged at her heart
and she had to learn the hard way. she has a penchant for long-haired,
red-headed human men in skirts. i couldn't dissuade her from attempting his redemption.

not that mac was such a bad choice, really.
there was a lot of man in that scruffy human body.
she was just too new to Eiran and he was too close to the walls for too long.
the remnants of his party of miscreant Grey Guard and the splinter contingent of men calling themselves Justicars, left Void's Ward in early summner to bear mad Mac's body back to Akadis. my squad of Meruleans was charged by The Warden to accompany them while the rest of the Merulean army was busy gettin the word out. a few squads accompanied a large westward bound contingent of Grey Guard, to keep the lines of communication open across Eiran and to investigate the state of affairs on Dusk Claw and the Maw. one squad of those Grey Guard had a fella named Rourke with them who'd heard Maz Lo was forming a constabulary up north in Martovan and they headed there to join up.

i rode on MacLaomainn's chest most of the journey, keeping watch and
making sure the gulls knew to steer clear. i kept thinking he would raise his thick head up, pop open that white eye of his and blow worts at me, but he never did. the man called Ahrnold kept flapping his great appendages at me but i stayed with Mac the whole way across on the boat and back through the forest of Oa.

another squad of Merulean Messenger Regulars broke off and flew to SouthPoint Garrison and brought word back that while we'd been in the Shattered Lands, Olvir had been occupied by a brutal sort of justice. The Warden bid us not interfere, nor engage with any other deities, so we stayed outside it a few miles up the North Shore while Seren Grieve and Terapin, from the Far Point Prison Grey Guard went to procure passage on the docks in town.

On that boat, a Cook's Wood squad of Merulean Regulars joined us to lend song to Mac's funeral procession. The Warden sat by the body on a wooden chair in the Captain's Quarters. The Captain of The Sea Thrush was an old convict made rich with the new traffic to Akadis, who'd once been at Far Point Prison. He left the running of the ship to his crew and also sat at the table, alongside The Warden, though he could not see her. He drank the entire passage and showed not a sign of drunkeness. Sometimes one or the other of them would talk to Mac. If The Warden knew The Captain was there, she gave me no sign.

The Voyage was a short and somber one, except for the night before we pulled into port at Akadis. We could see light on the horizon and knew we'd make Akadis by dawn. Excepting none of the humans could sleep. they roamed the decks in small groups and pairs, all watching the lights as we circled round to port. one of them finally brought a keg of liquor up out of the Galley and eventually, another one of them started to sing. the tone of it is nearly too low and too slow for most other birds to hear, but Meruleans or Blackbirds as the humans say it, are better attuned to the lower pitches of human speech. That is why an Carraig chose The Meruleans as her aspected creatures on this world. We can hear both she and her followers. so if i've got the way of what they were singing, the dirge was about a soldier named, of all things, Gunga Din. if this is human legend, the Meruleans have no knowledge of it, but The Warden seemed to enjoy it. It was the only time she stirred during the voyage. My brothers, the Meruleans from Cook's Wood, joined in with their melodious keening and i tell you, Bookman, no human ear ever heard a chord as sweet as the song those birds and men made that night as we drew closer to the City of Justice with the mortal remains of MacLaomainn.

The Warden did not disembark with us at the dock in Akadis. For all i know she may have had a few words to finally say to The Captain. He stayed with the ship and did not attend us to the Temple. The streets were bathed in the cool light of dawn when we walked Mac's body up the hill. People came to the porches and windows of their huts and villas to watch the procession. Six battalions of Merulean Regulars, repeating the dirge of Gunga Din the sailors had taught them, lined the eaves of the route to the Hall of Justice where stands the likeness of an Carraig, staring out toward the rooftops of the city, sitting on a wooden chair.

The Grey Guard laid the body in front of The Warden in the center of the Hall and knealt, as did the Justicars while those that had joined the procession through Akadis crowded into every available space in the Temple.

Seren Grieve told the tale of the battle at Voids Ward as if he were giving his report to an Carraig. Told how Mac spoke to some of The Wardens of Void's Ward before the fighting broke out, and how he had not wanted to engage with the Ice Titans for fealty some of the Grey Guard Ice Titans owed their Lord Amplarx. he knew, he said, that much of an Carraig's will.

Grieve was the right one to speak of it all. He was brief in his discription of the deciding duel between the two prophets and also told how Mac was bent on not having the two armies killing each other and innocents and destroying the city in the name of a mission he wasn't clear on. Grieve said that when the duel was over, Mac raised his head to see Orlen and whispered, "Vengence this day, Justice another." and saluted Orlen and died.

No please, Bookman, don't interrupt my song now. i know you were there as well but i must report in full. i am First Turdus of this Army and it is my duty to give report to The Book and The History of the Truth. an Carraig trusted Mac and Mac charged me with this duty. i owe him for calling him camran one too many times. make your scribbles now, for my song is nearly over and i would roost in the Hall of Justice tonight when i'm done here.

And then, when Seren Grieve fell silent, and the last strain of the Merulean song ended, an Carraig inhabited the statue of her likeness and spoke, before her people and her fallen prophet, to give them succor.

macloamainn is gone from this realm.
my hand was elsewhere.
i left him alone,
without instruction or defense.
and now, on Eiran, i am without voice
save those of you who love me still.
maclaomainn saw the injustice
of the slaughter of a city and so
freely gave himself in honorable duel
to avoid the shedding of just blood.
he has more than earned a place in
the Hall of Justice.
Inter his mortal remains here,
under my gaze, so that we may remember
and never again forget, one of the ways
man or woman may redeem themselves in my service.
maclaomainn is gone from this realm but not yet
beyond mine and i will find him rest as payment
of the debt i owe him and you.

When mourning is sufficient, The Grey Guard
and Justicars must, once again, to their Watch.
While i am without voice, First Turdus Merle will
convey to you my wishes and blessings through
him known as The Book to be recorded in The History of the Truth.
Far Point Grey Guard and Justicars, you are granted access
to the coffers of the Treasury of Justice in this house.
Clothe and arm yourselves and then go forth,
seek you out those who love Justice across World's End in the city of Altrian.
Make your way quietly and without incident through the lands of other gods.
Break you no custom and engender no ill will.
Give word to Turdus Merle should any new conversions to our cause
seem in anyway...remarkable.
May my sister-god Anaya be with you in your journey.
Proselytize only where you may do so without redress,
in the taverns, garrisons, and constabularies of Eiran.
The Peace of Justice be with you all.
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Madadeva
The Gap Into Spam
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Post by Madadeva »

The party rode to Southwall, the vitality borne of Life gave strength and speed to the horses and they arrived outside the city walls in 10 days. Southwall was markedly different than Elthart. Being so close to the eastern Abyss, this town had been hardened by centuries of periodic battles with horrors from the Abyss. The town was well fortified, with a small castle at its center. It was ruled by Baron Largros, a large rough man and his council of Watchers. While there was some small trade north and west, Southwall was substantially self sufficient. The Baron and his council had certainly heard of Devaguhya’s arrival on Shaldir. They had had reports about Elthart dedicating themselves to the God. However, they did not plan to simply abdicate their independence, God or no God!! Largros welcomed Devaguhya at the city gates. He bowed respectfully, but coldly. “Well, God of Life; are you here to demand our surrender? Devaguhya smiled, and placed his hand of the Baron’s shoulder. “I ask for nothing that is not freely given. I only wish to visit your sturdy city and offer the service of Life to its citizens. Do I have your leave?” Largros started in surprise, “A God asking my permission?” he thought amazed!” “I … I … Certainly, Lord, you may visit.” As the God walked down the paved street, followed by his Paragons and Protectors, Largros suddenly realized that the chronic ache in his right leg was absent. And the slight wheeze that challenged his breathing … was gone! His Life was indeed being strengthened. Perhaps this God was worthy of being followed after all!

Three weeks after he arrived, the mood of Southwall was markedly different. Citizens walked the streets with smiles. Many had declared themselves for the new God. The strength of Life filled follower and non-follower alike. Largros thought, “This Devaguhya is like no God I have ever heard of! He is respectful to mortals. He spreads his preaching but demands nothing. Despite himself, Largros was finding it difficult not to like this deity! Suddenly Largos heard screams from the courtyard. “Baron!!!” a frightened townsperson called! “DIRE WOLVES!!!” “Damn!!” the Baron thought as he grabbed his sword and ran to the gates. Townspeople were screaming; a large pack of dire wolves had been spotted near the city. While the gates could be closed, it meant death for all outside. The Baron steeled himself for the necessary decision. “Hold.” Devaguhya said firmly as He frowned. Life can also protect (a sigh); but I had hoped to delay a demonstration of this lesson. “Paragons, attend me! And link to your prophet and all your brothers and sisters. You must all learn this well … but I take no joy in the teaching.” The howls of the wolves could be heard now, blood curdling and close. And then the pack broke from the trees and headed for the city. Their eyes yellow filled with blood madness; they were the size of small horses and bent on destruction. There was at least two score. The Lord of Life stood directly in front of the pack. His Paragons spread on either side. Amazingly he had sent his Protectors inside the city. As the wolves came close, Devaguhya held up his hand, a deep sadness was evident in the pain on his face as he whispered, “I withdraw the support of Life.” Wails sprang up from all the dire wolves in front of the God; and from those in the forest not even close. It was a forlorn cry of surprise and anguish. Then all of the wolves fell to the ground. They looked around whimpering, and the glow of Life left their eyes. In the span of a few moments, all of the dire wolves were dead. The Lord of Life glowed brightly with the absorbed life force of the huge pack. His Paragons as well, glowed with might! Softly, after a time, they heard their Lord speak. “Release this gift, that some good may come of our need to slay so many.” And with that command, Life flowed into the surrounding ground, strengthening the flora and fauna and trees themselves. But of the wolves; they remained dead and beyond redemption!

The Baron had been observing in silence. He and the council were clearly impressed. As for the city, the citizens in increasing numbers pledged themselves to the Lord of Life, until finally, one week after Devaguhya had rescued the city from the pack, Baron Largros met with the Lord of Life. A wry smile was on his face, “Well, my Lord, the city is yours. Although it hardly seems like I need to tell you that since most of my citizens have already pledged undying loyalty!” The God laughed good naturedly. “No, my Baron. The City is YOURS!” And with an affectionate touch on the shoulders of the Baron, a glow transformed Largros to another important Paragon of Life. “But I accept your fealty, in service of Life! Our city needs you, and your knowledge of the Abyss. I feel there will come a time when all will be required to defend Life against the horrors held back. I demand no worship, but I accept that freely given my friend.” The baron flexed his wings. Befitting his character they were a bit courser than most! He examined them and laughed, finding that they suited him. “Well, Lord Devaguhya, then I pledge MY city to your service in friendship rather than demand.” The deity and baron clasped arms and then the Lord of Life took his leave.
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The Void
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Location: The bliss of the oblivion.

Post by The Void »

Eyes skimming over the page, Ahmed read the report. Written in Scholar General Mussifs typical spider scrawl, it informed Ahmed of the state of the city of Olvir. Troop counts, state of rations and population morale bored Ahmed to tears.

Letting it drift down to rest upon the desk, he reached across to open a letter he had received from one of his agents by urgent mail that morning. The razor thin blade broke the seal with ease as he unfolded the message. Lips moving, Ahmed read the first few lines before stopping. after doing a quick double take he stood and left his office.

The buzz of the city filtered through the windows of the Ministry of War Studies as the head of Intelligence paced quickly down its halls. Soon he was headed up the spiral stair case of a tower at almost running pace. Moments later he was banging hurriedly upon the door at the top of the tower.

"Come."

Quickly he was in the room and quietly closing the door behind him, catching his breath.

"I presume whatever it is that has you so huffed is urgent by the way you were banging my door down."

"Yes M'Lord, there is further developments with the orcs to the east. Bad developments Grand Marshal." He said carefully, watching Nevistal carefully for any signs of his explosive temper. He seemed short of patience today.

"Enough of your games Ahmed, spit it out."

"A Void theorist took it upon himself to go and attempt to assassinate the leader of the Orcs to the east." Ahmeds eyes twitched as he mentally flinched in preparation for Nevistals sudden outrage.

But the grand marshal was still. Not a muscle flinched, and the only signs of his rage were his fast whitening knuckles as his right fist clenched. After what felt like an eternity he spoke through clenched teeth.

"And?"

Swallowing, Ahmed Chose his words with care. "He failed sir. And is now in the hands of the Orcs."

The crash from the objects on the desk being hurled across the room could be heard from out in the streets below. "Yekiths teeth! Those fundamentalist small minded idiots! First they start executing priests and now this! Bastards the lot of them!" The Grand Marshal roared as he threw a globe next to his desk out the window of the tower, where it soon shattered on the stone streets below.

He sat down hard behind his now clear desk, and cradled his head in his hand. In silence stood Ahmed, looking down upon his lord for what felt like hours. Eventually he gathered his breath and decided to continue the conversation.

"What should we do Lord? Send a envoy?"

Nevistal looked up at him, and the stress of the previous months were starting to show. The Grand Marshal was beginning to look old and drawn. "No, I am in no doubt they already plan to do as such. What of Olvir? Any news?"

with a sigh of relief Ahmed gladly went on to explain the letter he had read that morning.

"Yes Grand Marshal. I received word this morning, from a passing ship. Mussif has managed to gather all the people from around city, as well as the live stock, before the great drought hit. We were fortunate that our scientists managed to figure out that the drought would hit before it did. It would have most surely spelt doom for the people in the area. As such, we have managed to save everyone, and the drought has so far claimed no life.

As for our people within the city, they are in fine health. As you know, Mussif is our finest scholar in the ways of siege warfare and he is treating the drought as such. The entire city is on rations and is in high spirits knowing that the desert will provide safety against the crusades of the Orcs. The army we sent there is well equipped and prepared for anything M'Lord. And we have fresh supplies and troops inbound via the sea."


The grand Marshal noticeably calmed as the news was explained to him. Ahmed took his time in telling the only good news he had for the day. He had hated his posting at his desk, and was glad that he had some field time booked over the coming months.

"Right, I shall inform the Diplomacy department of the... unfortunate event. Otherwise, you are to carry on with your previous assignment. Oh, and let Him know of all of this. I hear hes busy raising an army in Khes to fight brigands. He should know of all this as well. You may go."

Dismissed, Ahmed slowly closed the door behind him. He always felt grateful to leave such meetings in one piece. He had learnt that the trick was not to be the one responsible for the bad news, and had heard of Scholars who had done otherwise. He pitied them.

Returning to his office, he began packing for his trips across the continent, as The Stile continued to run like a well built clock around him, just a small ant in the greater scheme of the hum of the city.
Last edited by The Void on Wed Mar 05, 2008 8:32 am, edited 1 time in total.
speak ov it not as one
speak ov it not as none
speak ov it not at all
for its continual
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Unzen
Ramen
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Joined: Sat Oct 27, 2007 10:16 pm

Post by Unzen »

“An interesting last few months, Daimyo”, said Marzon.

“Yes, it was. Things went well, everything considered.” Varmor replied as he cast the line into stream.

Marzon, hand of the Daiymo, and Varmor, Daiymo of Ermnyth and of the people of Unzen, Living and Undead; were fishing along a stream outside of the city, away from the crowds that always made orcs a little uneasy. Here they reflected on the events of the last few months in a more relaxed setting. It seemed to have helped the Daiymo, he was in a good mood as they fished on the bank of the stream.

“The Crusaders believe you were sent to save them from that…. outburst.” Marzon said.

“It certainly made my task easier. Though I meant to save them from themselves when I set out with that host. I could have let them go, but we have no use now for the people of Unzen taking matters into their own hands. Their chance for success on their own was slim. They saw the light.” Varmor replied.

“If that outburst was aimed at the Crusaders it was like trying to hit an ant with a sledgehammer.” Marzon mused.

“Save they hit the wrong ant.”, Varmor smiled.

A swift tug on Varmor’s line followed. Varmor set the hook and started to bring the fish in, but it broke loose at the last second; the silver backed fish gliding swiftly away downstream. He looked at the empty hook ruefully and picked a worm out of the container lying next to where he sat.

“Look, a yekith.” Varmor chuckled as he gazed at the worm, deftly set it on the hook, and tossed the line back out.

“How go the preparations for the embassy to the faithless?”, Varmor continued, going back to the subject at hand, “Have you chosen the envoy yet?”

“I have. He is well suited for the task and awaits your instructions.”, Marzon replied,
“Though do you still want to do so after they sent that assassin?”

“Yes, I do. The faithless did not send that fool, he just thought he was serving their cause.” Varmor reasoned.

“It was a good thing you had Denier by your side.” Marzon smiled. That powerful katana was a blessing, he thought. As for the assassin, plans were already made for his fate.

“Knowing what the hooded ones are helped the selection process for the envoy.”, Marzon continued, speaking of selecting the envoy. Intelligence reports from the questioning of the survivors of Olvir had given the Marzon that answer, a somewhat surprising one for him, but one that the Daiymo had already guessed at from piecing together reports from several sources. The knowledge helped in the selection of the chief envoy.

”Now that we are away from the temple;”, Varmor said, giving Marzon an impish grin, “you can give me a straight answer on how the light dragon passed over Enstorm unseen?”

“Who would have known such a thing could happen?”, Marzon shot back, embarrassed, “I saw a dragon at Void’s Ward once. My horse is smarter!”

“You should have said that perhaps the light dragon passed over the abyss and not over Enstorm at all.” Varmor chuckled. “As for the light dragon, it is reportedly from the old age. Dragons were more intelligent then. They have lost that somehow. Perhaps the reason is buried on one of the books of the faithless. In any case, tell the watchers to occasionally look in the sky in the future. - In case the light dragon had passed over Enstorm.”

Varmor then paused for thought.

“The light dragons flight, and the passage of the outcast prophet, seems to have caused no small amount of consternation in the East.” Varmor went on. “Why though is beyond me. They seem to have no trouble with interfering with affairs on Enstorm; if the rumors are true.”

Marzon began to mull on that when Varmor suddenly cried “Fish on!”. A fish fought fiercely as Varmor’s fishing rod bent in an arc.

“Enough talk of the affairs of Eiren!”, Varmor cried, “They’ll not believe the size of this fish! A fine dinner this will be for the staff, if we can only land it!”

Marzon reached for the net, though the fish was not nearly as large as Varmor suggested. But he took the hint. Enough, for now, of the affairs of Eiren. It looked like the remainder of the afternoon would be the time for listening to fish stories.
Nou aru taka wa tsume wo kakusu
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Post by Bela Gin »

The Word of Zephyr


<smile>

Truly, the way all "gods" should be. Who would choose to not follow one such as the Eldest after reading such words?

The book was short. "And to the point!" Zephyr had said, with his usual grin.

When they began asking how he was to be worshiped, I passed the question on to him.
"Worship?? Worship me?!?"

"Their question, Zephyr, not mine."

"And did you tell them the very notion is preposterous?"

"No. I thought, perhaps, they should have your own words on the subject. "

"But you did laugh, Father, yes? I mean, how could you not?"

"It took all my discipline, but I did not."

Zephyr laughed uproariously as he tried to imitate the stump holding back a laugh.

"Okay, Azver. I'll write something down for you to give them."

"My thanks, Eldest."

"Yeah, no problem. But come on, you must have chuckled!"

"Perhaps I smiled broadly."
The next morning, he handed me his book. All it lacks in volume, it makes up for in wonder. In wisdom. In beauty. Ah, my favorite section...


"Worship." Such a flexible word. Sometimes a deity demands how s/he will be worshiped. Sometimes it is the worshipers who create the words; the rituals.

As for the me, it is very simple... Your devotion to the Forests is devotion to me. If you are Loving the Forests, you are Loving me. If you are caring for the Forests, you are caring for me. If you are honoring the Forests, you are honoring me. I demand nothing else. I require nothing else. I want nothing else. The only "prayer" to me that is of value is a prayer asking my help with the Forests. And those prayers I will always answer to the best of my ability. Every leaf and twig is far more worthy of reverence than I am. Every Forest is a cathedral more holy than anything that could possibly be constructed in my name. Live in the Forests. Live with the Forests. Live as a part of the Forests. You could not "worship" me more thoroughly or devoutly than this.
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O-gon-cho
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Post by O-gon-cho »

Raucous lifted his head from his foreclaws, and gazed solemnly at the creature in front of him. Amazing. Here sits a fellow prophet of a G-ddess. Not the same G-ddess as my beloved, but a G-ddess all the same. The creature noticed his movement.

“Ah good, you awake. You had me worried there for awhile. The membrane of your left wing is in shreds; we will need to stay on this island for awhile to allow it to mend before you can attempt flight again.

“I am Raffa. Pr…”

“Prophet for Brid, of the Outcasts. Yes, that much my beloved shared with me. If my left wing is as bad as you say, I do not understand why I am not keening in pain at the moment…?”

“Your Lady may have just taken on Healing, L-rd Dragon-“

“Call me Raucous.”

“-Raucous, then. But for years, and still continuing, many of Brid’s followers have had to fend for themselves. No one would treat them. So, many of us are skilled in basic care.

“I admit I have never seen, much less treated, a dragon’s wing before, but it appears to be not so different from a drake’s. The vegetation around here offers many benefits, praise be to Zephyr for supplying such at need. I have numbed and pieced together the membrane with a salve I concocted and allowed to harden of tobacco, powdered willow bark, milkweed thistle, and wild honey. The shreds are covered by sorrel leaves. I am debating how best to immobilize the wing…”

“I will hold it still…”

“I doubt it. At least while you sleep. But do what you can while awake. The less movement the better.

“You were out for 36 hours. Are you hungry?”

Raucous considered that question. Not knowing he would be unexpectedly in an unknown location, it had been three days since he last hunted before the call from his beloved and Brid came to him. Add the travel time to the airship and the 36 hours after they arrived here, and he hadn’t eaten in quite a while. He had no appetite at the moment, but he attributed that to shock. He looked Raffa over and realised this prophet of Brid’s will most likely spend the next few days trying to bring enough meat to him to keep him strong enough to heal. If only his fellow kind were around to fly to him with help...

His snout turning up in a small grin of apology, he addressed Raffa once again, “It appears we are rescuing each other; you have my gratitude.”

“I’m off to find some food then. You wouldn’t…you wouldn’t happen to be vegetarian? Or omnivorous, at least?”

Raucous shot Raffa a look that said it all.

“I figured as much. I’ll bring what I can.”

Raucous watched the bulk of Raffa penetrate the dense vegetation, and disappear from sight. Bringing his head back down to his foreclaws, he began contemplating on the situation…

…and awoke to a large feline, freshly slain in the draconic way, laying in front of him. It was enough to hold his hunger for a good three days or more.

Impressive. This Raffa is better than I thought.

The blood of the kill stirring his appetite, Raucous made short work of the feline, and again returned to a healing slumber. As he slept, he did not see Raffa return, dragging a large capybara behind him. Raffa knew it was barely a mouthful for the dragon; he expected to be supplying his needs for days.

Then he stopped in shock when he saw the carcass of the feline…
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Eztlicoatl
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Post by Eztlicoatl »

Journal of Mercuse di Montressor, second expedition in the jungles of Malyth, south of the Great Range:

At last we are free of this accursed jungle.

The savages here call it Zallic, place of evil, and having journeyed through it numerous times now, it is evident why its namesake is thus. Dangerous beasts – jaguars, giant snakes, poisonous toads – man-eating creatures lurk within. Gibbering, wicked monkeys scoop at travellers, trying to take away their packs. Strange half-man, half-monkey things cling to the tops of trees, chewing at leaves, and ascending and descending with a horrid contrast of languor and vigour. Birds of such beautiful colour, yet such hideous screeches, harp incessantly and stare at us with great eyes of pitch black.

We left in our wake a trail of dead beasts, leaving the corpses behind of those we could not eat. With those denizens of the jungle, we laid those of or baggage bearers who had not the stamina to endure the entire march. Many of the savages we pressed into our service have died. On two of the days, when the humidity of the jungle was impossible to bear, several of them simply dropped dead where they stood, or collapsed into a state wherein they were passed any use to us. So many fell this way, it became efficacious to simply sever their heads at the neck, rather than unfasten the whole link of chains we had fixed about these sub-humans.

This morning, as the jungle thinned - alike a mist cast to nothing by a strong wind - we came upon a startling discovery. The ash of the jungle is heaped beside a great stone road. Hewn stone blocks are buried in the earth, and great boulder-like shrines appear at regular intervals. The jungle is cleared at least one hundred metres from side to side, and the road extends north and south into the immeasurable distance. Some great and powerful effort must have been exerted to fulfil this end.

The shrines tell the story of the Codex, though I know not from where these depictions of snake creatures come from. In many of the carven vignettes, a great snake presides over bloody rituals of devotion. In most, the disc of the sun burns above. Is this a depiction of the One God? I shudder to write its true name down. It is late afternoon, and the sun descends behind the jungle.

I am fearful now to write much. Rarely do I feel cogent enough to record our journey. My diary is full of strange scribblings, and diagrams of sacrificial rituals, annotated in the same archaic language of the Codex. Who could have written them but I, and yet, wherefore in my mind is the memory and knowledge of having writ these things down?

We are no more than two days from Oaxcala. What has transpired there to bring this vast road about? I left the lost city a tangle of vines and ghost-haunted ruins, peopled by backward men and women, meek and decadent. They had not the will to forge such a causeway of civilisation, nor had they the knowledge of the Cult of the Sun to carve these shrines. What then do we journey to? What fate awaits us in the terrible city to the South?
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Eztlicoatl
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Post by Eztlicoatl »

The sun arched inexorably to its zenith. While the jungle howled a foul triumph of bestial screeches, the heat of the sun blasted forth with fury. The shirts of a half-dozen dead sailors would have clung to their flesh from sweat, if they had not already been soaked red with the stain of spilt life.

Carrion birds lurked, picking at the gashes and rents, squabbling amongst the spools of innards which had splashed onto the great road of the One God.

The severed head of a soldier, half fallen from its helmet, lay a dozen feet from the gutted body it once had crowned. From the depths of the jungle beside the roadway, a vast snake slithered upon its belly, sliding from side to side upon the blissfully warmed stones of the road, basking in the glow of the sun, and making its way towards its meal. With a slow but deliberate dislocation of its jaw, the snake began to swallow whole the head of the would-be conqueror.

Enamoured of its meal, the great snake barely noticed the vibrations of the war party, as they set upon it with nets, grabbing the snake, and cramming it within a cage suspended upon a pole of wood.

A carrion bird, startled by the commotion, and the strange forms of the creatures, flew skyward, trailing a loop of entrails in its beak. It soared and soared, until the war party were no bigger than a fist, the tails of the creatures barely distinguishable from the snakes they carried in baskets and cages. Below, the road both diminished in view, and stretched ever farther north and south; carved through the jungle for thousands of miles, civilisation hacked and burnt by force through the tangles and darkness of the wilderness.

The bird rose, the scent of blood still in the air, though wafting stronger now from the south. Southwards the bird flew, where the road came to a great city of stone, ringed by miles and miles of cropland. Somewhere far below, men were being herded towards the city. Herded by a party of warriors who, seen from above, seemed to slither more than run, and to glint in the light of the baleful sun.

Where a year before had been nothing but the insatiable greed of the jungle - smothering the ruins of a once great civilisation - there now stood a testament to a vast, all-consuming will. A city of stone, soaked in lime, gilded with gold, and crowded with step-palaces and towers; a city whose focal point – an immense temple pyramid, flanked by two smaller temples of worship, surrounded by a great wall alike a hideous snake – had become the capital both of civilisation and of barbarity.

The bird soared higher yet, catching the scent of fresh blood, and circled far above the temple district. Below, the streets of the great disk like city-centre were daubed in gold and, from above, the whole thing appeared a blazing sun. A vast crowd thronged about the temple. The crowd surged, chanted, roared, and hissed in cruel fury and adoration. A slaughter was taking place.

…. …. …. ….

“ESS-LI-KO-AT-EL! ESS-LI-KO-AT-EL!”

Beneath a mask of a golden sun, eyes of piercing red glared outward. A forked tongue darted and licked with murderous avidity as a prisoner gasped his last. An obsidian knife carved a ragged line across a man’s throat, hot blood poured in gouts into the deep stone bowl of the altar. The prisoner choked his screams, kicked spasmodically, and went still. Their blood continued to pour, filling the bowl, overflowing into gutters, and running alongside the steps of the great pyramid.

The bloody knife was raised into the air, and droplets smacked across the gold mask of the master of the ceremony. The knife darted back down and carved under the ribs, making a hole large enough for clawed and scaly hands to rent free the heart. As the heart was held aloft to the still rising sun, the multitude at the base of the pyramid hissed in approval. The next prisoner was bound and hoisted so that their head hung above the slowly emptying bowl.

“ESS-LI-KO-AT-EL! ESS-LI-KO-AT-EL!”

As the faithful reached delirious heights of fervour, the high priest drew to its full height. The lifeless body of the last sacrifice was hurled far below, rolling down the steps and leaving a crimson trail. At the base of the pyramid, like the other sacrifices, it was butchered and thrown in pieces into great bubbling cauldrons.

The priest arched near ten feet tall, balanced upon the base of a thick, scaled tail. Warm blood from the sacrifice ran over its arms and torso, trailing down its serpentine form. Behind the high priest, great snake men held the remaining captives in bonds. The warriors were the best of the Ssathiss. Selected for their strength, agility, and unflinching devotion to the Sun, they were garbed in armour made from quilted cloth and large, thick scales. Hundreds of them stood on watch in the temple district below, and upon the walls. Thousands of other parodies of man and snake, fell and hideous creatures, crowded the streets, eager to partake in the hour of devotion. Yet, there were others besides the Ssathiss present.

Knots of savages and human descendants from the original inhabitants of Oaxcala voiced their devotion, though more from fear than love. Perched upon the roof of the great library, a single Yekith coiled about a column and watched the proceedings with fascination. Ten of the prisoners being sacrificed had been gifted by the Yekith to the Cult of the Sun.

Finally, almost in the centre of the crowd below stood a tight group of terrified men. Led by a man in rugged, though finely-made, attire wearing a golden sun mask, like the Ssathiss high priest’s, these men were a mixture of soldiers and sailors. They clung to their weapons and their equipment, and to each other. All about them surged the fanatics of the bloodthirsty sun-worshippers.

“ESS-LI-KO-AT-EL! ESS-LI-KO-AT-EL!”


Another lifeless and drained corpse rolled to the base of the pyramid. Apertures vanishing beneath the temple itself drained the overflow of the sacrifice though great bowls.

Amongst the group of forty or more explorers, their leader alone looked fearless. He stood at their head and began to chant with the crowd. In his hands, the tattered pages of his own journal, held up to the sun almost like an offering of his own devotion. His men, terrified, having stumbled into a den of snakes bent on slaughter in the name of their wicked god, had already forgotten their childish dreams of wealth, and now prayed to be ignored by the creatures around them.

At the summit of the pyramid, the prisoners from the Yekith now butchered, three infants were held above the bowl – simply held fast in the hands of the temple guards, rather than bound on the scaffold. The high priest cut their throats in three quick motions, and their last screams pierced even the din of the chanting. Their young life-blood gushed into the bowl, mixing with the rest, and slowly draining. Their tiny forms shook and titched. Their little feet kicked still, and hearts not even large enough to fill the palm of the high priest were ripped free from their lifeless cages.

Mendez’s spirit sank, and his face paled the colour of ash as he watched the murders from below. Just in front of him, Mercuse stood chanting with the snake creatures. There were few sacrifices visible at the summit of the pyramid now. The infant’s bodies were being cast to the base of the steps. Mendez wondered what would happen when the fiends ran out of sacrifices. Not wanting to find out, he grabbed the explorer by the shoulders and thrust him about.

The sun mask fell from Montressor’s head, and the wild eyes of the madman glared with fury at Mendez. Mendez slammed his fist into Montressor’s face, drawing blood and dropping the man to the ground. The violence had an effect. The explorer stared back at Mendez his eyes wide now, not with insane devotion to an unspeakable monstrosity, but with disbelief and fear.

“What . . . what is this . . .?” he stammered.

For the love of the gods, Montressor! Let us be free of this place before we all bleed our last upon that scaffold!”

Their resolve bolstered by the sudden interruption, some of the men pulled their leader to his feet. Mendez continued, “we must return to the others, those we left in the jungle. Forget the riches! Forget the glory! We will be slaughtered like dogs if we live but one more hour in this evil place!”

The others nodded their assent. Mercuse cast his eyes back at the temple summit. There were no sacrifices in the scaffold. It seemed the high priest watched them.

“For the love of our lives, then,” the explorer managed, “we must flee. How,” he began to say under a strained breath “how could this have come to pass…?”

Mendez led the way. The Ssathiss about them seemed too enraptured to care for the flight of the party. Forging their way through the press of the crowd, the explorers came to the great gate of the temple district, where the serpent’s tail of the wall merged with the jaws of the stone snake.

The party stopped. Mendez’s trembling fingers tried to clutch the hilt of his rapier.

Coming through the gate of the serpent was a war party of Temple Guard. In their midst, shackled to a series of wooden poles, were the men Mercuse had ordered to remain behind, on the road a few miles north of Oaxcala.

The high priest shouted something and, in a moment, the crowd of faithful surged upon the interlopers. Some made to fight, vainly trying to wrest their weapons free under the weight of their own comrades and the thousands of Ssathiss. Some were slain instantly, convulsing from poisoned bites. Most, however, were grabbed, constricted, disarmed, and borne towards the magnificent and bloody Temple of the Sun.

The crowd chanted and hissed. Above, the Sun reached its zenith, and blazed down with unending ferocity.

“ESS-LI-KO-AT-EL! ESS-LI-KO-AT-EL!”
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Post by Eugen Razvan »

Nor Yekith watched the slaves being sacrificed to the Sun God through the eyes of Vethian, a Yekith high priest. As the blood poured hotley from their wounds, glistening in the light like liquid ruby, the Lord of Mutation's thousand mouths smiled grimly.

It was time to embrace Malice again.
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Post by Cryak »

The clearing was still.
Silent.
Each blade of grass, each speck of mist, every tiny insect that rustled in the bushes was made into total silence. There was a frightening beauty to it, like the majesty of the coming snowstorm. The clearings' silence was almost in respect or awe, to the spectacle in front of it. The grass, the mist, the insects were all paying quiet homage to the pair of figures in the center of it's green lushness, and the power that pair was flanking. The only sound coming from the hushed clearing was from the pair. It was a colored sound; a black sound. It was the sound of the deepest opal and the darkest raven. It was low; lower almost than could be heard. And it originated at the power between them.

The pair stood with legs spread wide, arms outstretched in front of, and slightly above, their heads. Like parishioners begging favor from a god, the hands were stretched, each finger spread out like a fan. They were covered with gloves made of metal wire, knotted together like fishnet. The rest of their bodies were clothed in loose clothe robes, the color and feel of a fine desert sand. Their heads were smooth, and covered in holy tattoos. Each of the major storm elements were depicted on their shaven skulls. the Drought, the Wind, the Rain , and the Lightning Bolt. The tattoos glowed with a bright white light, now. The light pulsed and throbbed with the words coming from the pair. Each word steady and strong, pulled from the strongest of liquid stone, deep within their body's endurance.

tauraki
āwhā,
ua,
hiko,


When the first word moved out between the pair gently, as if it knew that it was unstoppable. tauraki. It gave them power over terrible heat and lack of moisture. This word had been used to create the hottest of deserts. Their tattoos moved from dark black or blue, to a dark grey; thunderclouds. It created a sphere in the air of sizzling heat marks. The air wavered and hazed as it burned all water out of its insides. The second word screamed forth into life from the pairs lungs with massive speed and force. It's being and existence was devoted to movement, and alacrity. āwhā. This word gave them the power of tornadoes and gales. They could nearly fly across the landscapes, or suffocate their enemies. When āwhā was sounded, the air inside the sphere began to spin at massive speeds. You could only tell it's high velocity by carefully watching the haze that had now become a barely perceptable blur.

The third word sprinkled out of the pairs mouths softly; carefully. ua was the word for the rain. It was the simplest and most deft of all the storm elements. With it one could water crops, or drown an army at attention. As ua fell out on the sphere, a deafening hiss spat forth as the rain flashed into mist. Where there was once an almost invisible gale, there now existed a dark and angry storm. The last word came out short and clipped, it's brevity was matched only by it's power.

hiko. The Thunderbolt.

When it barked out, the storm doubled in intensity. The inside of the sphere was absolute power, now. Off shoots of wind rushed out in all directions, making the pair's robes flap wildly. The branches of nearby trees were all swept back in it's face. But above all, the storm roared out it's might. Great crashes of lightning, the howl of the wind, it all swirled and crescendoed into a mighty note. The voice of a god.

Or a monster.

As the storm hit it's apex, the pair threw their arms out to the sides, and unleashed the storm upon the sky. It flew upwards, growing ever bigger, untill it covered the sky. There was no horizon any longer, and no sound could be heard over the might of the clouds above. The pair collapsed to the ground, all strength sapped to create the mighty storm.

The clearing was silent no longer.
From a single Acorn, a mighty Oak
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Post by Madadeva »

Their ranks had swollen. Fifty citizens of Southwall joined the Elthart followers of Life as they journeyed to Eastwall. They moved quickly, and within 10 days, they approached the entrance to this northern most city. Two months were gone in the fourth season and so much had been accomplished. Devaguhya wondered how his prophet and Padur were doing on their tasks. There had not been time to link deeply and check. Well, he sighed, he needed to trust in his prophet and Paragons. The Lord of Life had his own task ahead in the month that would close this season. A slight chill was in the air this far north even though it was still summer. This northern city was amazing! A large castle was evident in the center on a rise that allowed it to see beyond the tall and impressively thick city walls. The shops and establishments were very modern and well kept. A gravelly pavement rather than cobblestones, had been used for the streets. And the buildings were not just wooden and stone … but seemed to be structures of glass, crystal, and steel! The citizens were a tall people with a regal bearing and fair complexion. They had an inner strength and serenity that was apparent to all who approached them. As the company camped outside the gates a delegation met with their God. The leader of the delegation was a tall imposing woman. T’esta was her name and she called herself the ‘high princess’ of the east. “I have been aware of your coming to Shaldir. And I am aware that Southwall and Elthart have declared themselves for you. However, deity or not, do not think that we are so easily won over. Those standing with Devaguhya were shocked that someone would take such a tone with a God … especially with their God!! Some turned toward T’esta with distain. One particularly brazen Southwaller started muttering about ‘high and mighty northerners’ and was about to hurl a particularly creative invective at the ‘haughty bitch’ when their Lord raised his hand for silence. They were further surprised when he bowed to T’esta. “I respect your role, princess T’esta. Let us talk.”

For the next 10 days the followers of Devaguhya mingled with the eastwallers. The populace was polite and even at times jovial. They were incredible craftsmen and woman. The followers learned that the metals for the buildings had been mined from the mountains to the west. They saw processes that created the crystal and glass used for building materials and works of art of such beauty that their hearts sang! Some enterprising Elthart followers even were successful establishing trading agreements that they expected would make them rich! The easterners seemed to have handled the ills that befell Shaldir well. His followers were surprised that Devaguhya showed no concern about the lack of adoration shown by the easterners. Rather he seemed relaxed and enjoyed himself in conversation with T’esta and the other citizens. Toward the end of the first two weeks, Devaguhya was seen spending more time with the High Princess. Walking together, eating and laughing together, and sometimes simply standing beside each other looking at the stars.

On the 10th day of the God’s arrival at Eastwall, a contingent of Ice Titans showed up at the gates of the city; they demanded an audience with the God of Life. At the center of the city, in the castle, T’esta approached Devaguhya. He had been looking out the window of a high suite of castle rooms given over for his use. He had been gazing at the distance Icewall that held back the abyss. The Lord of Life sighed, worrying about this world that was now his home. T’esta touched his shoulder lightly. “They come."

As Devaguhya approached the contingent, the party split on either side of two regal Ice Titans who bore a comrade on a bier of oak and covered with roses. The two Ice Titans walked up to Devaguhya. Without a word they dropped to their knees; still standing a full foot taller than the tallest Eastwaller. They looked into the god’s eyes and placed their foreheads on the ground near the god’s feet. Devaguhya’s followers were amazed that anything, deific or mortal, could make such a regal race bow so low. Only one word was heard from the Titans; “Please.” Devaguhya sent out his mind to Amplarx; “Your followers are honorable; please do not hold this display against them … it is clear they are moved by love of your prophet and not weakness.” And to the Titans, “Rise regal followers of Vengeance. There is no need of such here … nor do I require your obeisance. Only respect Life. And while you are on Shaldir … do no harm; all life must be protected. Now please; rise.” The Ice Titans rose to their feet, and looked down on the god with questioning expressions. But Devaguhya was already walking up to the fallen prophet. Orlen rested in death; the effects of his battle with Maclaomainn evident. But it was clear that his body had been lovingly tended and preserved for this journey to find the God of Life. Devaguhya sent his thought again to Brother Vengeance, “I understand what you desire, the resurrection of a prophet is no small feat … but I sense he was worthy … I will make the attempt. Send me your strength!” A glow surrounds Devaguhya … strengthening him. The god of life holds his hands over Orlen’s body, slowly moving them from the top of his head to the bottom of his feet. He stares directly at the prophet’s bruised and injured body and closes his eyes; and over the areas of Orlen’s body where Devaguhya passed his hands, a filigree of silver and gold threads of power emerged. And then a glow spread from the filigree and covered every inch of Orlen’s body. An eerie silence descended over the Titans and the Eastwallers. Life could be sensed from the glow. Orlen’s injuries were abated by the flow of life and body was visibly strengthened. But still no movement stirred his limbs; his eyes remained closed. A murmur started rising from the Ice Titans. They could see that their prophet’s body had been somewhat restored, but he was still not moving.

As Orlen lay still on the bier, the Eastwallers considered that even a God of Life might have a problem reviving the prophet of the Ice Titans! Soon they noticed that the God had moved to the head of their prophet. And they saw words mouthed rather than spoken. “Return brave soul; your people need you.” And one divine tear fell from the God of Life onto the glowing prophet. A concussion of Life!! The Eastwallers and Ice Titans were knocked from their feet! When the Ice Titans recovered and shook the cobwebs from their head; they saw standing by Devaguhya, God of Life, their Prophet Orlen. Orlen glowed with Life. While the brilliance of the glow eventually dulled; the richness of Orlen’s Life was palpable! And it did not fade. The Ice Titan’s were elated that their prophet had returned to them. They controlled their natural tendencies out of respect for the Lord of Life, and no ‘accidents’ occurred with the populace of Eastwall or the followers of Devaguhya. After a while, Devaguhya called T’esta and his Paragons to join him. The Lord of Life pointed to the Ice Wall in the distance. “This is the ward of Life for Eiran from the horrors of the Abyss. I stand for Life in all existence. I can tell you that what exists at the bottom of the Abyss is NOT Life.

The morning found Devaguhya and T’esta watching the dawn from the highest spire in the castle. They greeted the morning in silence. Down below, the followers of Orlen made plans to return home. Devaguhya turned to the high princess and held each of her hands in his. They looked into each other’s eyes in deep friendship. We are allied against the ills that will beset this age. This city will show for the Lord of Life! Perhaps there will be a few years of peace before the inevitable; but we will be ready!” A glow spread from Devaguhya and T’esta glowed a golden hue and then … a tinge of High Purple. Etheral wings spread from her back; they were more beautiful than any yet seen on Eiran. And then the wings faded. “I accept the role of High Paragon liaison to Eastwall. There will be much work to prepare.” A sigh from Devaguhya, “And I too must prepare. Until we meet again!! Please guide our followers.” A mental hail of farewell touched all minds in the city, Human and Ice Titan. All eyes turned up to the high spire and smiled in farewell to the God of Life!
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Eugen Razvan
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Post by Eugen Razvan »

". . . and like the worms that burrow in the soil, Nor Yekith is a coward. But he burrowed into the dark knight above when the gods of old stood against him. He fled."

The long line of people seeking to join the Cult of Flesh moved slowly down one the twisted and corroded streets of Aytham. The sky above was masked by a dark, heavy cloud - purple lightning seethed though the roiling mass, like squirming veins lit up with brief but spectacular energy. The air was heavy with humidity and awe, as well as the screams of the faithful as they were being transformed into Yekiths. To one side of the street a warm river of liquid flesh flowed sluggishly to the outer reaches, to the womb pits and digestion vats. Frequently, a limb would float by like some pale, macabre fish.

The crowd moved forward slowly, despite the urge to reach the temple below the mammoth heart that floated at the centre of the melted and twisted city. At the middle of the line, stood an obese, well-dressed man, masking his eagerness behind a wide smile on his face and sardonic comments.

"Tell that fool to damn his mouth," the well-dressed man said aloud so that others would hear him. "He won't be alive for too long if he expresses his opinions so willingly."

A woman standing before him turned around and scowled. She had practiced self-mutation using acid and razors, so that he arms, legs, chest and face were severly scarred. "It is a test for those of us who are awaiting to join the Cult; those who are foolish enough to listen to them fail the first test and are banished from the city and the God of Mutation's lands."

"He is a coward," the figure droned almost mindlessly. To the right of the street was a long row of metal posts - or metal grown into the shape of fingers or trees. Suspended in cages made of their own bones - Yekith fleshlovers had used magics to cause bones to grow from the skin and expand and merge into a cage. It was impossible to escape, and equally impossible for the prisoners not to blaspheme against Nor Yekith aloud.

Cancerous growths on their necks, faces and tongues forced them to speak almost constantly.

"Ah," the well-dressed man sighed. "Well, He has nought to fear from me. If I was once admired for my wealth and tendencies to flaunt it like my now dead friends, I am equally admired for my humility.

"Our god will find in me no small amount of faith and conviction," he said with a hint of irony or self-deprecation. "Alas, my cardinal sin is not so great as their's." He nodded at the row of bone-caged prisoners. "It's that I talk and joke too much."

"Nor Yekith will grow your mouth and your lungs larger, and have you humour the slaves with your loud voice," intoned a crippled man standing to his right.

The well-dressed man snorted. "That, I have no doubt. If it is one thing our great and might lord has taught us, it is that beauty is a wasted element. It means nothing for it has no inherent value. That is why I find it appealing I can stand amid the poor and dispossessed and wear my clothes without a hint of superiority. But function," he breathed audibly as though the air did not stink of attar and flesh, but of spring and perfume, "my friends, that is the thing that our Lord knows best, and makes him above all others.

"Nor Yekith transforms people into better functioning individuals or devices. Because they fulfil a role, and contribute to tangible, real things - not this metaphysical rubbish sprouted by the other gods - they have real worth. Of course," he continued, bolstered by the fact that he had the attention of everybody around him, "some would say value of function is defined by the system they function in - like a worker ant has value in an ant colony and no function in the flatulent noble's bed - that form and function are therefore subjective elements; meaningless without the cultural framework they operate in.

"But," he pointed a fat finger at the heart beating in the sky - it was closer now, "is it not possible to conceive that one has imagined a perfect world? If that is the case, then we have a moral and physical - aye, I say 'physical' - right to bend our knee and swear obedience. We serve something greater than meaningless ideals such as those vomited by the followers of other gods."

"Silence, you fool," sneered the scarred female. "I'm here to have my skin turned into bone so that I can fight in His armies, and for my womb to swell so that as I swing my blade I give birth to Yekiths that will fight with me. I piss on your philosophies."

The well-dressed man chuckled and stroked his cheek. He was sweating now; they were almost beneath the heart and the heat emanating from it seemed to drown the air and make it humid and viscid. A purple light emanated from it pulsed with the beating, and the flesh rivers seemed to undulate and quiver to the veinous, hideous glow.

There was an element of nervousness to his laugh, and his own heart shuddered violently.

The line of hopeful worshippers curved with the street to the right and into the centre clearing of the city where the black ziggurat stood. The obese noble was near the edge of clearing, and had a wide view of the space.

There were no Yekiths using magic to melt bone and flesh, shaping people into them. The clearing had become a butchery.

Houkas and Threshks were tying people to the ground - stretching their limbs out, binding them with rope-veins, and severing them. The limbs were thrown into the flesh rivers whilst the torsos screaming cultists shuddered, rolled and flopped about. It was a carnal nightmare, bloodied, writhing and crude.

Hundreds of limbless figures crawled or whimpered like squat, pale worms.

No one in the line screamed or fled - they seemed transfixed by a horror atop the structure.

At the top of the ziggurat a vast, ghostly black worm covered in a thousand mouths and teats laughed mockingly. A Yekith high priest goaded the limbless cultists onwards, urging them to reach the black pyramid and receive the gift of complete transformation.

Many did not make it. The dead, the insane and the weak were thrown into the flesh rivers. But for every ten that died or drowned, a Yekith was born.

The well-dressed man collapsed to the twisted stone of the street, a hand on his heart and another on his mouth. Bleak horror surged in his body, as though a black worm gnawed on his victuals.

"My great Lord," he whispered. "Forgive me, for I do not have the strength . . ."

Unable to see through the hot tears that blurred his vision and the inward horror of his mind, he was not aware that a Houka had reached him. When its furry hands grasped his shoulders and dragged him into the clearing, he spasmed in shock and fainted.

Some time later, people in the long line remarked at the bulbous and limbless body floating down the flesh river like a pale island. An island with a facial expression fixed in rigid, dead terror.
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Eztlicoatl
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Post by Eztlicoatl »

We the undersaid, all soldiers,

Bernal Alvarez
Alonso Gavila
Bartolome Brescia


and two undersaid, all sailors useless piss dribbling cowards as useful on land as their boats are and good only that they cannot read a word to see what we have gone and writ here,

Juan Olmedo
Yanez Trujillo


Declare the undersaid to be as true account of the end of the expedition as is writ and if it be lies then we live in a world of lies and if we do not our lies will give cause to the gods to strike us dead – yet, not that god whom they call the god of the sun and of the sacred flame. To die by him is not a fate fit for brave men.

Being the first point – we journeyed at the convenience of our brave master the great explorer Mercuse di Montressor celebrated scholar map maker man of words. Under his command we travelled to the lost city of Oaxcala which by di Montressors account was a ruin and a home of weeds and weak men.

Being the second point – we reached a point in the river where further progress on boats would have meant we drew away from

BEING THE SECOND POINT – we proceeded down the river and came upon many and various strange signs and portents like the swelling of the sun in power and fury the unnatural hours of daylight increasing and snakes churning in the river so thick the water ceased to flow and there were large snakes too [this Juan Olmedo insists to declare].

Being the third point - the River Spear caught on fire one night we know not why and those who say it was di Montressor who ordered it to be burnt are liars and cowards and drink their own piss spit on them. The same night the captain of the River Spear was hanged dead from the sails of the Spirit of Fortune as he was a mutinous liar.

Being the fourth point – we journeyed into the jungle about three quarters of us and the rest of the lice born sailors stayed on the Spirit and we also pressed some of the savages in the jungle into being our baggage carriers. We put chains on their necks which kept them together and that was good but it was bad too as we wasted time unfastening the chains when they collapsed so we had to then cut their heads free from their necks to keep the company moving. [And Juan Olmedo wants it known we were going to Oaxcala to become rich men as di Montressor told us the place was built from gold and the fountains spill’t diamonds on one day rubies on another]

Being the fifth point – when we came upon the road our leader [who was a good man – Alonso Gavila] said that things had changed since so short a time when he was there last and that someone had built the road. [ and Juan Olmedo wants it writ that it was not for some people but mostly for wicked snake cretures with bodies of men and heads and tail of snakes]. Our leader placed a guard on the road [their souls may they rest in peace – Alonso Gavila] and we the rest went to the great city of Oaxcala that was no longer a place of weeds and of weak men but it was enrounded by miles of maize crops and men and women worked in them and snakes were there too. But the city was great and rich and tall palaces were everywhere to be seen and the centre had a great temple flanked by two others and the wall about the temple district was like a stone snake and the gate was its mouth. And there was a great library and an observatory and patterns of stars and great calendars carved into some street stones.

Being the sixth point – there was a ceremony to the sun who they called Eslaykotel [Eslikoatl – Juan Olmedo wishes to correct the pronunciation] and they were sacrificing to the god. Prisoners given to the cult of the sun [all were snakemen which are called another name but I do not know it – Alonso Gavilla] by a curs’d Yekith fellow belly crawler fiend, and small children all slaughtered on the altar. At the end of the ceremony the snake things brought the men who our leader had left behind [and they must have taken thousands of wicked snake creatures to capture these men who would have fought like lions and were good soldiers but also had some useless sailors who can barely fight unless they are drunk and at sea – Bartolome Brescia] and they captured all of the expedition besides us. [Juan Olmedo wishes it writ that we had hid in the city outside of the temple district because we were frightened by the crowds of snake things – but Juan is a coward and does not know truth from lies like he does not know a woman from a young boy, and it was di Montressor who entrusted us to stay beyond the wall in case some wickedness should befall us].

Being the seventh point – not all men were sacrificed straight away. Only ten were butchered their throats cut while hanged upside down and their blood collected in the altar – the rest were taken to a prison somewhere in the temple district. Each day another was killed in same fashion these cruel fiends show’d no mercy and delighted in the bloody work. But for them also it seem’d solemn work indeed. We stayed for two months pretending to be merchants and the snake creatures seemed to have lost interest at the end of summer in taking fresh captives [Juan Olmedo wishes it known it was his idea to disguise as merchants]. In those two months almost all of the expedition was sacrificed. We have not seen di Montressor slain if the fiends try to slice his neck so brave and noble it is their knives will be broke on it.

All this we declare, good Duke, to be a faithful account of our journey. We give it to a travelling merchant who will take it back to you. We shall not keep it on us in case we are found and seized by the demons in Malyth. We go now to return to see if the Spirit of Fortune still waits in the river.
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uKulwa
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Post by uKulwa »

The Assault On Zendra
As the sun set on the night of the first dark of the moon that winter, the 2nd impi laid their fires as they had for months, in plain sight of the city of Zendra. From the walls the lights of their camp-fires would be a small lake of stars on the otherwise dark hills of the rolling plains. They banked the fires well, to burn all night, and ate a light meal, while they awaited the Prophet-King, and reminisced on the stories they’d shared the evening before.

Not long after midnight he arrived, with his escort of Igazi Isiphuzi, breathing hard from the long run from kwaBuluwayo, but fit and ready after a short rest, which he took in silence while sharpening his Ikxwa.

Now the warriors filtered away from the fires, leaving them burning, until, in the lee of the nearest hill, they formed up in regiments to listen to the words of their King. He addressed them from a low rise, with a quiet passion that lit fires in their veins, and raised their eternal desire for glory and honour.

“My Children,” he said. “Tonight at last, after the planning and training of a full year, will we drive the light-worshippers from the mainland of Southern Imray. From the Mountains of the Dragon, across the Shylan Desert, and to the shores of the Sea of Dawn, these lands will be ours, dedicated to the glory of uKulwa!”

The warriors, rank on rank, raised their spears in silent approbation of the Warrior-King who would fight with them in the front line, inspiring his men to victory.

“Hear my words my Children, for these are my commands and as you know, none dare break my commands lightly.”

“First, only those who take arms and oppose us may be slain. uKulwa does not make war on women and children. Second, the paths to the sea will be left undefended, to allow those who wish to escape to the other cities to do so. Third, all captives are to be given the choice to convert, or to leave the mainland.”

“Remember these commands my faithful, for they are the wishes of God. Now, keep out of sight while we form up near the gates. The Igazi Isiphuzi will climb the walls in dark places, and move toward the gates where they will silence any guards and open them to us.

Sunrise neared as the regiments crept closer to the gates, and the Igazi Isiphuzi, quiet as shadows, sought out the dark unguarded patches and slipped over the walls as the regiments moved forward at a jog, barefoot, silent and sure over the ground, as the formed up outside the gates they expected to be open.

But the gates did not open. Even as they reached them, the felt at once the oppressive aura of peace that hung over the city. On the walls, the elite squads found themselves unable to attack the guards. Unable even to lay a hand in anger upon them.

”The cowards have forced their cowardice upon us,” cried the squad leaders! “We cannot fight this magic. Fall back and regroup!” Stumbling back they down-climbed the walls, confusion battling the frustration they felt. “Fall back!”

Ulwazi, bursting as he was with the power of his God, knew that this time, it had not been enough. “Withdraw!” He called out to his warriors. “There are more ways than direct attack. Take up siege positions around the city. Nothing goes in, nothing goes out. Kill anybody who tries.”

Even as the Impi followed his orders, a runner dashed up, breathless and singed.

Nkosi! A great flying lizard has attacked the camp, killing guards and burning supplies. The slaughter was worst amongst the u-dibi, the water-boys who remained behind in the safety of the camp. It was driven off my Lord, but many have died.”

Ulwazi bowed his head for a moment, in silent respect for the boys who had fought the dragon. He knew uKulwa would reward them in their next life, and that they had died as warriors, proud and brave.

“A battle is not a war my children,” he said, looking up. Have faith and we will prevail. God will not allow this deed to pass unforgotten, that I promise you.

”Gather the corpses and build a pyre in sight of the city walls. We will burn our dead and celebrate their courage. They deserve nothing less.”

And it was done as the Prophet commanded. The bodies of the guards, and the poor water-boys who had been kept from combat in the camp and thus died, were cremated before the walls of Zendra, and their ashes scattered to the winds, while the regiments of the 2nd Impi laid siege to the city, ready to bar all from entering or leaving.

--From the Oral History of Khumbula, the Rememberer
All Things Begin and End in Strife.
------------------------------------
Msasi Haogopi Mwiba.

The Hunter Does Not Fear Thorns
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Eugen Razvan
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Post by Eugen Razvan »

It had occured to Nor Yekith many centuries ago that the fundamental problem with slavery was that slaves were allowed to think. Constraining slaves using chains, bars, walls, weapons and threats and borders was effective to the degree that it defined limitations. However, it provided no limitation to thought. Strangely enough, the more limitations one placed on intelligent organisms, the more explorative or rebellious thoughts became.

Nor Yekith did not find it hard to imagine that slavery existed on a scaleable system. On the one hand there were those who had no existence apart from pure servitude to their masters - true slaves. A little bit along the scale, there were servants payed to do their duties; however, their culture enforced them to work for someone. Law and value systems constrained them. At the ultimate, opposite end of the scale, there existed those who believed they served no one other than themselves. Which was a lie, for they were enslaved by their mortality or the demands of their position (such as rulers tasked with governing the 'sweating masses').

Nor Yekith imagined himself as above this. How could he be constrained by anything when he served no one but himself? His followers existed to maintain his vast projects, and he was effectively immortal. Therefore, everything below him was, comparatively, a slave.

If his needs were so immediate and so important, which they were, they were consequently of paramount importance. Therefore, the necessity of restrictions being placed on his slaves was greater.

Nor Yekith's actions to deprive thinking from 99% of life was easily understood, once one considers the inverse relationship of restriction and rebellion.

In the Second Age, the God of Mutation and Malice birthed headless humans from the womb pits in their thousands. That process was to begin again immediately. The limbs would possess a rudimentary mind. Individuals not born from the pits would lose their heads through mutation.

More complex tasks would be left to the Yekiths, beings that could be relied upon to obey for their faith seemed innate.
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