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 Telust A faint smile-equivalent crossed the ‘face’ of the Prime Artist, eyes closed for a moment as he listened to the sock goblin’s falsehoods. “Ahh, the act of creation, of bringing into being something new, it calls to me. An art form, a wholly new, wholly original work of spoken fabrication. This pleases me. However, if you’re making something new with the words you speak, then it isn’t the truth, it isn’t knowledge recited or established fact given voice. I must conclude that you either do not know or for some obscure reason will not tell. A pity, looks like we will be here for the long haul.” Telust turned their attention back to Arl and Stuggd, commenting, “Thaumic engineering is my purpose and reason for being. Making wonders and phenomena, channeling the nature of magic, it is what I am here to do. So, a semi-sentient proto-universe, yes? Very well.” Telust produces a Creation of Monsters to fulfil Arl’s semisentient protouniverse request.
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Oct 7, 2019 01:06
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Against what seemed to be unsormountable odds, the plan worked. A swirl of protoplasm, divinely charged by Telust's skillful hands became a safety net, able to withstand the thaumic blast that Arl coaxed out of the reactor, with Stuggd making sure that it could survive the ordeal. Cooperation saved the day! Except... you all felt it. It might have been barely anything, but you still blasted a nascent universe. Potential, smothered in its crib for faults it couldn't even conceive of. And sure, it worked and was safe, but you might need to do it again in the future. Maybe even make a routine out of it. Is this a price you're comfortable with paying?
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Oct 14, 2019 15:24
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Telust Telust looked at what they had wrought collectively, and nodded. The problem was solved in the short and medium terms, giving them all the time they needed. "Excellent. I suggest we work on a new version of this engine at our leisure, where this fault is solved, so that a few kalpa from now we can replace it with a better model."
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Oct 21, 2019 22:59
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 Stuggd Stuggd watched as the now thaumic-blasted universe writhed, wholly unprepared for the arcane saturation. It was not a pleasant sight. Stuggd felt a tangible twitch, and knew they were right about magic even more than before, to let mortals touch this power, handle it and thoughtlessly wreak destruction beyond their comprehension all without knowing why it was wrong? No, Stuggd would have to crack down on magic use even harder, find ways to burn it off as part of a more permanent solution... But that would have to wait. This was the worlds heart, but if one piece can break, what's to say of the remainder? The cairnsmen, the stuggdaemons, they would have to handle the will of Stuggd on the surface for... A while. Leaving The Duty mostly in their hands wasn't something Stuggd was wholly comfortable with, but. The Worlds Health takes precedence. Stuggd won't fail their charge again. Stuggd will be taking a backseat to world affairs for an undetermined period of time as they thoroughly examine the workings of the world to find anything else in need of repair; leaving their worldly dominion somewhat weakened without its stalwart guardian, and left more to their own devices than ever before. Arcanuse fucked around with this message at 01:31 on Oct 22, 2019 |
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Oct 22, 2019 01:26
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In A Grand Palace... A mortal closes her eyes. Her eyelids are heavy, her eyelids are veils, her eyelids are a treaty-line, encoded in the pollen encrusted on the legs of honey-bees and the arc of sunbeams in the evening. A promise fulfilled. She will see a throne room in a great palace, carved of obsidian drenched in the tears of pining. A treaty was made here. She does not know it, how could she? Somehow, instead, she knows it will die here. A woman rises from her throne, wearing a golden mask of sunlight that covers every angle of her face. It is made of spun dreams, whispered hopes for riches and salvation. "No, this will end here. You will bow, as you have always bowed, Honey-In-Our-Veins." The mask says. It has a voice like a cold knife across skin. She is the Empress of Eyelids, the keeper of dreams and sleep. The mask and it's white robes circle around the form of another woman, smaller, hunched over. She carries a rictus-smile, wears a jester's outfit. It is encoded into the depths of her being. "Really, getting caught in such an elementary trap like that..." Empress chuckles. "...you have so much left to learn, and you will. You will learn to serve." The rictus-grin looks up, towards the guards, they wear masks made of nightmares - hounds with baleful maws, hummingbirds whose beaks drip with brain matter, a debt collector carrying chains. Her eyes fix on the hummingbird. The hummingbird looks back at her. They know they have one moment, one chance. "No, it is you who will learn." Honey-In-Our-Veins whispers. The Empress pretends not to hear. "Where should we start your new service? Perhaps in the lowly realm of daydreams? No, no..." The Empress's shoes click against the floor. Her robe swirls like a smug storm-cloud. Honey-In-Our-Veins rises. "I said, it is you who wil-" The Empress cuts her off with a fit of cackling. "So stubborn! What delightful spirit." The jester spits on her. It drips down her mask, which curls into fury. She is about to speak, to deliver proclamation. Instead, the eyes of the hummingbird and Honey-In-Our-Veins meet. This is the moment, planned and prepared. The flash of a serrated sword, shock in the hound and the debt collectors faces. The hummingbird soars forward. Her knife finds the Empress's back like lovers find one another's hands. Over and over again. She begins to fall over, the Jester catches her. "Shhh...it'll be just a moment." The sword again. Again. Tearing flesh and blood. The Mask is placid, like a mountain lake on the edge of winter. A moment later, there is no body. There are only robes in Honey-In-Our-Veins hands. The Mask falls to the floor, and shatters into a million pieces. And so does the ancient treaty. Honey-In-Our-Veins laughs. --- Each feels it. Vertigo. Elation. Confusion. Like the rush of a great fall. It fills their mouths and eyes. Something old, something fragile has shattered. Ashnat's maw, so close to Sawush's hind paws, closes down upon air. No, not air, the smell of lilacs and sweat. The yummy rat is already gone, scampering across eyelids as if they were lily pads. They see a whole new world to run through, new escape routes, new hidey-holes, even new cheeses to nibble on. Alysidor feels an old chain, a precious friend, a life-long companion, snap. Many chains snap, many chains turn to other things, many chains laugh at him. They are free, free of themselves, free of logic and reason. Across an ocean, on a battlefield adorned with limbs and curses and hexcraft, a god-general surveys the work of his followers. New flowers bloom between the bodies and discarded weapons, carrying eyes and whispers. He smiles, a new age of heroes. And a weaver, hands full of bandages for the battle, feels a community, a meaning, torn asunder. In another place, a baguette crawls from between cobblestones, as if it was nesting there. It walks on disjointed hands, shambling towards bakeries on some narrow street. They will be consumed. Everything will be consumed. A healer grumbles in frustration, their latest con ruined. And farther away, a woman awakens from a dream, tears on her face. Her dream is a real thing, her dream is terrible, her dream lives with her now.
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Oct 24, 2019 16:45
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 Alysidor There is a figment flying free, a free and joyous thing singing in the colors of liberty. There is a rattle in the aether, and chainclad fist that tightens around its newborn wings. "What are you, thing?", asked a voice like grindstone upon bone, "You do not belong." The figment squealed something incomprehensible, even as a piercing glare manifested as a spear through its heart. Yet still Alysidor understood. Or understood enough, at least. He turned to leave, pausing only to extinguish the life from the invading dreamthing with a contemptuous squeeze. ______ A voice echoed in the subspace of the World. "Heed, kin and kin-pretenders", Alysidor made his will known to all those who knew to listen to such things as he traveled, "For I bring FELL tidings. Worst in AEONS. The lock to the dreamscape has been broken, and the cage crumbles. Figments run free, nightmares are free of their chains. And this I know, for the chains are tied to the heart of the Empress of Eyelids, ever since I put them in place so long ago." "Thus for certain we know that her heart beats no more. A God has fallen." "This must be RECTIFIED with IMMEDIACY." ______ The Dream Embassy was in a flux. More so than usual. Alysidor arrived, as he did occasionally, to drag away malcontents trying to escape their duties to the bliss of dreams. But today his task was far more important than mere retrieval. He slammed the corpse of the slain dream on the nearest clerk's desk. "Explain", he spoke in a tone that was the very incarnation of the concept of ominousness. A tone that gripped your heart and spawned a cold panic in the back of your head.
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Oct 24, 2019 17:17
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The clerk has a face of orchids. Honey-bees dart between them. Their suit is excellently tailored. "Uhhhh sir, I'm sorry but we're having technical difficulties. I'm sure it'll be fixed in-" A nightmare skitters under their desk like an errant spider. The orchid squeaks. Bees hum angrily. They recompose themselves and continue. "Sir, please be patient. We're working as quickly as we can restore order. I'm sure the Empress will have the situation under control momentarily." They don't sound as if they believe that.
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Oct 24, 2019 17:20
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Alysidor A withering thing. Feeble. Only barely holding itself together. Alysidor grimaced. "Do NOT presume to hold me, servitor", Alysidor snarled, "Your Empress has forfeited her Duty alongside her Life. She will not be forgiven, yet her mistakes must be fixed, nonetheless." With those words, Alysidor made his way deeper into the dreamscape, the tormented rattle of history's misdeeds trailing behind him.
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Oct 24, 2019 17:28
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There is screaming. Sometimes the screams scream. Sometimes the colors scream. There are many colors. Each tied to a different emotion. Fields of colors, forests of colors, marshes of color. There is reveling all the way down. Drunk on honey and newfound life, common dreams and nightmares laugh until the the specter of chains falls across them. The old paths, once reliable ways to the Palace of Slumber, are gone. All is chaos, all is burning. A new chain blooms on Alysidor's shoulder, and begins ranting angrily at him. He ignores it.
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Oct 24, 2019 17:32
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 Alran "I hardly think that was necessary, Chainmaster." Alran stepped out from behind Alysidor, placing a hand on his... Hm. Shoulder? "They say you catch more flies with honey... But, then again, there is a lot of honey around, isn't there?" "As for these 'technical difficulties,' though, I do agree that something must be done. If the rip goes unmended, the quilt falls to pieces. And we're looking at a very large rip indeed. So," they said, "who else knows, and do you have a plan beyond grumbling and condemnation?" MaxieSatan fucked around with this message at 01:08 on Oct 25, 2019 |
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Oct 24, 2019 17:37
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 Ashnat This cannot stand. Things are meant to have boundaries and purposes, just as rivers have banks and flow and without them they are a mere bog. The Rat must have engineered this, this world of hidey-holes and stagnant chaos. The Hunt gains yet new purpose, and Ashnat submerges into the radiant fragrance of the tepor of a late summer day, to plan the next move.
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Oct 24, 2019 17:39
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 Sawush The Fugitive's Friend once more made its escape from Ashnat's jaws. It was close, a moment's hesitation away from his death, as always, but Sawush never hesitated. With Ashnat gone, Sawush goes slower, exchanging speed for stealth and caution. The dreams were free, the chains were broken. That was good. Of course, some of those were hunters, new hunters that hunted in terrifying new ways. But those were problems for the future. Look at the distant horizon, and you won't see the teeth glitter in the bush. Consequences existed to be evaded. A world where things changed through every idle dream. A world without corners and dead ends and cages. The words from the Chainsmith confirmed their suspicion. They had hoped it could have gone differently, but the Empress had been hunted down. They couldn't really bring much sympathy for them. Right now, they needed to run to somewhere. They made their way past past pillowed palaces with faceless beauties of all genders and combinations, sneaked through a dream where a man was killed again, and again while a woman watched and screamed, only for the scene to repeat again, into a wood where from the darkness, innumerable eyes that had never made a footstep on the world were watching. But the Darkness was Sawush friend, and none of them saw them. Until they arrived where they were. Her dress was motley, and Sawush cringed at the visibility of it. As they approached, light would slowly fade away, muting the colours of that outfit, hiding her. "Honey-In-Our_Veins." They whispered in the usual quick, impatient breathless voice. "You've succeeded. Are your followers close?" They didn't ask whether she was followed. Of course someone was tracking her,
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Oct 24, 2019 18:25
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Telust Alysidor's warning did not go unheeded, but not all deities were in a position to act. Nonetheless, it would be rude to ignore the Chainsmith. A wispy manifestation of the Prime Artist, albeit a finely crafted one, projected briefly beside the Patron of Obligation. It spake, "I am constrained, O Alysidor. The Dreamscape overflows with both magic and monsters, and duty binds me to see to them all. If my aid is uniquely and direly required, call upon me, but for the time being I will not shirk the unending task before me, and trust in you and others to end it at source whilst I do so."
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Oct 24, 2019 22:26
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Alysidor Alysidor was not fazed by Alran's presence, or the whisper sent by Telust, which he filed away in quiet disappointment. To the former he merely replied in his usual wroth manner. "Mercy makes for a poor master, Weaver. You have never understood this", a brief pause, "But you clearly understand expediency, which I cannot fault you for." He turned his eyes to the Dreamscape. His eyes scoured its surface, literally, taken the nature of the place. Imaginary flowers shred to pieces at the touch of his razor-sharp glare. "The Dreamscape is in ruins. The chains unravel, for they were all tied to the master-knot around the Empress. She never allowed for more. Here we pay the price for her arrogance." He turned to face Alran. "We must learn why she is dead. By her own hand, or that of others. We must punish those responsible. We must bind the hubristic dreambeasts set loose, who are already set to DEFY our rule. To defile our Creation. These are our tasks to be." Theantero fucked around with this message at 23:37 on Oct 24, 2019 |
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Oct 24, 2019 23:32
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Alran Alran nodded. "Our first priority, I think, should be damage control. We need a way to protect the material world from the creatures and concepts ravaging it... Once that's done, we can spend a bit more time sussing out why the Empress died." They reached out a hand to untangle an idle fancy from a clump of memories. "Perhaps we should enlist mortal assistance? A holy order... Gathered, then bound... I'm sure many would enjoy the chance to traverse the dreamscape freely, and, in turn, they could keep an eye on it and take care of any minor threats for us... "On the other hand -" They carefully descended a narrow spiral staircase made of intricately-folded paper - "if you'd like to avoid such measures, I could simply drape a Veil between the waking world and the rampaging dreams. This would, at least, keep the mortals from panicking, and I shouldn't need your assistance, but it seems... An inconclusive solution, to say the least. Your thoughts?"
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Oct 25, 2019 01:53
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Alysidor There was a moment of silence, as Alysidor thought. "Mortals are vermin. You do ill by yourself and all divinity by giving them such consideration. However, it is true that one of our chief obstacles here is this vile amalgamation of the Dreamscape with Material Reality. One of your weaves, though soft, pliable and... temporary", there is a small degree of disdain in Alysidor's tone as he speaks this, but at least he's seemingly trying to suppress it somewhat, "should provide enough guidance for godly will to navigate this disgraceful eyesore of a demiplane. At least momentarily." "Our other chief obstacle", he continued, "Are the myriad, alien dreambeasts running loose", Alysidor brandished Castigation in his hands, its flail-heads giving off a glint of cold malice in the dreamlight, "That is something I must perform myself." "After we are done, the situation should allow for us to delve deeper into its causes, and find out who are responsible."
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Oct 25, 2019 03:34
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Alran They shrugged. "You would do well, Alysidor, to remember that the boundary between mortal and god is less distinct than you'd like to believe. I still feel that delegating the upkeep of the dreamscape is our best move in the long term... but for now, I'll defer to you, and we can always re-evaluate once we've stabilized things and gotten some more information." With that, Alran brought out a knife and the First Needle, knelt, and carefully began slicing strips off of the ground and out of the sky. They stitched the dreamstuff together, piece by piece, focusing more on size and expedience than on aesthetics - this would be a piece designed not to be seen, after all! Alran will Create Fabric in order to craft a great Veil out of dreamstuff, hiding the waking world from the collective unconscious and vice versa. While this won't entirely solve the issue of the breach, it should at least keep things relatively stable and sane until a more permanent solution can be found.
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Oct 25, 2019 03:45
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"Sent away, as requested." She says with an insincere smile. It burns in Sawush's whiskers. The bad eyes of someone with a plot. "I would like to thank you again for the all the help you've given us so far, and..." She throws a charm to towards the rodent. It is made of glass shards carved into teardrops, gemstones in blue and green. "...your payment as per our agreement. A shame it's ending so soon, what with the royalists soon to learn of your involvement and all."
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Oct 26, 2019 20:54
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Sawush extended a tendril of darkness, muting the colors of the shards as they were enveloped. The Moonrat not wanting anything to shine and betray their position. He inspected it himself. "Aah... yes, yes, this will help. I can travel and he can't follow. " Then their eyes grew a bit more fearful. "What? More hunters? Did you put them on my trail?" They said with a terrified whisper. Shogeton fucked around with this message at 21:08 on Oct 26, 2019 |
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Oct 26, 2019 21:04
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"Of course not, but the royalists are starting to put things together now that they've been punished for their complacency. Who else has your gifts? Your grace? Halina maybe, but she's...indisposed." A grin. "And so...they'll give him all the help they can." She drapes herself across a log dramatically, the shattered pieces of the Empress's mask clink. The sound is almost like crying. "But we could always keep helping each other, help us hide a little birdie and I'll make sure they're very distracted."
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Oct 26, 2019 21:08
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Sawush was as always terrified. Not even hearing all the flattery as he peered around nervously for Royal agents to be leading the Hunter and the Chainsmith after him. The clinking sound sending the rat in a flurry, the darkness suddenly shifting, vanishing. It was as if the god had just fled completely. Until a voice came from the log underneath her. "Hide a bird? I can hide a bird. The Chainsmith is displeased. He will hunt too. Hunt all. He'll try to rebuild the walls. Why are there still Royals? You said if the Empress dies, things fall apart. What is your plan. Hide? Run? Wait for hunters to die?"
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Oct 26, 2019 21:14
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"I assure you, we have the Chainsmith situation...under control." She giggles. "And it is! But you know what comes over a hunter in their dying moments. A desperate bloodlust, the need for one last kill, a signature to finish out their bloody lives. We're in that moment now, all we have to do is outlast them."
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Oct 26, 2019 21:17
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"No, I don't know! I don't stay around dying hunters! Don't understand them." The darkness once more shifted, to a shadow of a nearby tree. A shadow that was now a slight bit darker and had whispers come from it. "The mask? Is it a trophy? Don't hold on to it. Lose it. It makes noise. It lets them track you. Can't flee if you don't let go." He was now very nervous. This woman smiled too much. And smiling is what predators did. Trophy taking is what predators did. "Where is bird? I'll hide him."
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Oct 26, 2019 21:34
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"Listen to the charm, it'll lead you there." And a moment later she's gone, leaving only the scent of fresh-cut orchids, honey, and fresh tea.
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Oct 26, 2019 21:36
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Tyrtaeus Ahenobarbus "Glorious." Tyrtaeus emerges from the unbeing alike a rock flying up into the water. Where he stands, the chaos sublimates into a myriad colours and flavours, and where he looks, it rejoices with reckless saffron. The Sender of Mania has come, and with him, the joy of the courage of our transgressions. "Glorious, my friends. We abut the waking world, yet there is no waking to be done. Beyond the rules of gods and men, truly; so grateful am I that I had not pierced the walls of this realm earlier, as the pleasure is that much greater for the wait." A drop of blood falls from his spear. It births a thousand rivers, none of them flowing with anything but ideas. "It will be sad to see it gone, once we turn it into song. Shan't it?"
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Oct 26, 2019 21:43
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Alran Alran paused a moment - "Ah. The Deliverer." - but then continued stitching. "I'm... more surprised than I should be, come to think of it. "There is a beauty to this place, but I do think it's best kept closed off from the waking world. Too much chaos, too little story. This isn't a chance for heroes to slay dragons, peasant-women to outwit demons, great sages to make miraculous discoveries - it's a chance for their own swords to stab them, the idea of rice to devour them, those same sages to become lost in a haze of incomprehensible ideas and false hypotheses until they go mad." They paused again to check their work, and to think. "Which, I suppose, is interesting, but it doesn't strike me as your type of romance. Less 'mania,' more 'madness.' "I'll say to you what I said to him -" Alran jerked their head towards Alysidor - "And that's that the best way to keep things moving smoothly would be to create a holy order to patrol the dreamscape. They may indulge in its full beauty, and bring back all sorts of wondrous tales... while the rest of the world is kept safe." They smiled. "I only ask that, if you do so, you allow me to have a hand in it as well. Ten soldiers side by side, closely bound by philia and honor, are oftentimes stronger than a thousand individuals struggling in the chaos, after all."
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Oct 26, 2019 22:18
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Tyrtaeus Ahenobarbus "A wonderful concept, indeed. I would ask why you have not done that, but I will assume you were preoccupied." He takes off his helmet to taste the pleasant chill of the mauve breeze on his skin. His beard of copper glows in the limelight that is not there. "But the brave shan't be here to patrol the land, but to conquer it. We both know - someone will have to become the new power over Dreams - and whatever else is left from the Empress's domain once the vultures have had their share - and it cannot be one of our kind. Only whosoever can tame this place, through will and act, shall be the rightwise ruler of the Realm Oneiric." "This pledge of glory shall propel them beyond what brotherhood of arms can bring, and allow me to find the one most worthy."
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Oct 26, 2019 23:09
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Alran Alran chuckled. "Not a bad idea, and certainly an ambitious one. I don't think our friend will see it that way, though." They turned to face Alysidor. "But I could be wrong. What do you think, Oathkeeper? It has been quite a while since Halina joined our ranks."
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Oct 26, 2019 23:46
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 Shahanna the Wildmaiden, Lady of the Grove and Scion of Gaia (not an active god this event, just a fluff-post): The sacred nature elemental Shahanna skirted the planes mortal consciousness, vaguely aware that something inside the minds of men and beasts had become drastically altered and rarefied of late. As if delivered in response to her deific ponderings, Shahanna heard the cold, bitter words of Alysidor - the God of Chains - shackling her tender green mindscape with its grave entreaties. Alysidor posted:"Heed, kin and kin-pretenders, for I bring FELL tidings. Worst in AEONS. The lock to the dreamscape has been broken, and the cage crumbles. Figments run free, nightmares are free of their chains. And this I know, for the chains are tied to the heart of the Empress of Eyelids, ever since I put them in place so long ago." Ah, so that would explain it - Shahanna had wondered how she had gained so many attentive new followers so rapidly! There were so many worlds that she could visit unhindered now, so many thresholds she could cross to spread her gospel, entirely unheeded by the powers-that-be. No longer did Shahanna need to limit her appearances to the mortals' material plane while they were on their vision quests, now that the Empire of Dreams was in tumult! Shahanna decidedly ignored the implicit summons in the Chain-god's planar broadcast. She had much to do, much to see, many to visit, and so many more out there to protect. This would be a time of growth for her kind's cause, she just knew it.
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Oct 27, 2019 00:01
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Sawush And moments later, Sawush vanished too, speeding away, terrified that some of the royals or HE would be following the tracks. Hunting and tracking someone down, rather than ambushing wasn't HIS way, but that's all the more reason why they had to be on the lookout for it. The paranoid state of the ever fleeing god only raised to new heights with what was happening. They did not only evade the eyes of hunters and predators that would serve HIM, like they always did, and guardsman and judges, that served the Chainsmith. But weavers and community leaders were evaded too, as were heroes and villains. And of course, Sawush knew far better than to think that the patron of healers wouldn't rat them out if she knew where they were, so any doctor was most definitely evaded. They didn't like the situation they were in. Not at all. They did consider the possibility of simply going to Alran, pass the information to them, and ask them to make sure Sawush didn't get hunted for it. They had asked to hide a fugitive for the necklace. They didn't say what the fugitive was going to do. It wasn't loyalty that prevented Sawush from doing it, because they didn't let themselves be bound, least of all by their word, but they didn't like giving up folks to hunters. And they were happy that there was this new freedom. They could of course simply have taken the chance that the Royalists would prefer to hunt their own, rather than go after a famously tricky to catch god. And that one, he thought about a bit longer. After all, possibly Honey-In-Our-Veins might be causing a ruckus whether they helped their co-conspirator or not. But then, it would make enemies, and that path wouldn't get folks off their back with the assistance they'd already given. They didn't have to go in the dreamworld of course, with the realms merged. Which made it easier. They hated the way it guarded. If they had to listen to the charm, how could they listen to dangers? Then, they found a dream of a house, with a matronly woman, vaguely outlined, was singing a song, and it smelled of pie. Except everything looked far, far bigger, like it might look to a child. It all had a certain vagueness to it, some parts of the room filled with copies of the same piece of furniture, but here and there was a picture, or a chair that struck out in detail. A man was sitting there, weeping quietly, looking with loving eyes at the woman working at the kitchen. Sawush ignored them, rushing towards one particular door that stood there. And the sounds from the charm started to get louder, until they could hear the sound of a hummingbird's wings. They looked at the door, the charm held in a tendril of darkness, and softly whispered, touching the door with the glass beads in a certain order. "The dawn is near and I am here My work is there No time to spare To avoid the whip please let me slip in between dreams and reality's seams. The subjects of the Empire of Dreams were ruthlessly kept working by their Empress. And she held all the control. Each dream connected to her Palace. Her servants went from her palace to each dream, then returned to her realm, to go to another dream from there. Such was the grand design. And so it was for a while. But the Empress worked her servants hard. Giving them unfair amount of work to make sure the right dreams were given. And harsh punishments for those who failed to do the work in time. And so, the workers had made shortcuts. Sawush felt that it could only smell more of Zorp's influence if they had been given a sock instead of a charm. It definitely seemed like something Zorp would be all for. The door opened. Instead of what was supposed to be there in that room, Sawush entered in a place that was neither light nor dark. There was no ground, or sky, just flashing colours.matching the colours of the glass beads on the charm. The only thing there, was path made out of wax. They went inside, and felt their defense recoil at the sensation. They were in between dreams. This was not a place where anyone was supposed to be. Nothing was supposed to be here, and if you stayed here long enough, nothing is what you would be. But it was a good play for a regicide to hide for a bit. Hummingbird stood there, his sword still bloodied, still masked, reacting to the opening of the door with a raised blade. "Who's there?" Sawush whispered, close by. "I am the Fugitive's Freind." "Sawu..." He started, looking elated. "Do not speak my name." the whisper harshly rebuked. "Not now." "I apologize I am..." "Do not speak your name. Do not speak any name." "But here we are..." "You are not safe. Nobody is ever safe. But you least of all. Do'nt speak your name. Do'nt write your name. Don't think your name." Sawush said. "Drop the sword." "This weapon killed a tyrant. it is a mark of our history." "It is a bloodied claw. Mark of a hunter. If you do not drop it, I leave." The whisper now sounded displeased. The sword was dropped, landing bloodied on the wax. "You leave behind more. When you flee, let things go. Things you hold on to, hold you back. Armor, wealth, masks. Friends, causes. Names and more." The hummingbird hesitated, then took off his mask. ... Somewhere in one of the cities, where guards had their hands full trying to deal with the mania going around, there was a bar that was somewhat disreputable. A woman came in. She was rather plain, about in her thirties. No real clear marks, her face lined by marks like many, with roughspun woolen clothes. She wasn't given much of a look. Walking to the bartender, she leaned in and whispered. "A friend in the dark said you might help a woman get away from things?" The bartender's eyes widened briefly, then nodded, respectfully blowing out a candle nearby. It was discreet, and not recognizeable, and thus a perfect prayer to Sawush. The light doused a bit, the tender looked at the woman. "You're a friend of my cousin Deros, your name is Marlete, you have trouble with your husband back home. You stay here. I'll put a mat and pillow in the stock room. You do dishes while you work here. You leave the inn when you want, but when you leave, you won't come back. And you don't bring any of your mess here, we good?" The regicide nodded. "We good." I think this counts as Gift Escape However, this works for as long as the Regicide doesn't actively try to get involved. Sawush way of hiding them will lose its effect if the Hummingbird masked guard gets involved with the fighting again. They're also hidden from everyone, even their allies.
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Oct 27, 2019 01:34
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Alysidor Alysidor paid scant little attention to Alran and Tyrtaeus as they had their asinine scuffle over mortal. He had more important things to do. For example, how to stop mortal ideas and fears about knives, the weather, or things in the dark, or bread from tearing apart Creation. He could annihilate them, but that might be damaging in its own right. And Alysidor was a custodian of Creation, first and foremost, so that was out of the question. He already squashed the ideals and legends concerning a small eastern sparrow earlier, reducing the entire thing to nothing but a small bird in the minds of all. But chaining every single errant thought/thing would be more arduous and time consuming than just bringing them their due Castigation. If he took upon such a task himself, it would leave him very little time to perform the actual investigation, or to fix the core of the issue. Dreamsand fell between Alysidor's fingers as he lifted some from the ground to inspect it. It formed a variety of fantastical shapes, shone in a myriad colours which only existed in dreams, and then vanished before it even touched the ground. Alysidor grimaced at the whimsical display. He had never liked this place, or its contents. Dream and idle thought usually only inspired missteps he then had to deal with. Then again. Maybe. Perhaps this time they could perform in his stead. Mortal dreams and ideas took form, now, after all. This included fears. Fears of being chased, trapped, being found out or exposed among them. Fears of chains and imprisonment. Fears of Alysidor himself. Yes, perhaps. If he took all these fears of repression, and spiced it with mortal conceptions of himself, he could forge a dreamchain with a will of its own, that would aspire to keep all things in defiance of the natural order bound and entrapped. Something he would not need to police or babysit because it was already infused with his will. A stopgap solution, that by its nature would dissipate when the dreamscape was once again properly separated. Alysidor thought about this, and nodded. It was time to unleash a nightmare upon reality. OOC: CREATE CHAINS + Binding Mastery as Alysidor gives form to the very idea of chains and his own modus operandi out of all these newly corporeal ideas and fears, with a self-driving will to entangle and contain all these troublemakers, and then sets it loose to do its thing.
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Oct 30, 2019 15:15
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Ashnat One of the rivers flowing from Tyrtaeus's spear suddendly grows dark and deep, its multicolored flow becoming treacherous and dangerous. From it, Asnat's snout emerges, a cold eye gazing at the present gods. "You talk of opportunity and conquest? In this stagnant chaos? How can things follow the rightful flow if it has been perturbed, turned into a chaotic marsh? This isn't someone's carefully laid snare, it's a prey's flailing! Cowardice and instinct intermingled to steal away some more time. I won't stand for this. I will find them, and they will know that there's no escape from the hunter!"
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Oct 30, 2019 15:35
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Tyrtaeus "And so, the crocodile appears! How is your day? Have you convinced the Sun to chase down the Moon yet? I believe in you, friend. One day, it will yield." Tyrtaeus shoulders his spear and smiles. "I see you have your doubts. Conquest, my friend, is the moment when the power is growing, and resistance is overcome. What better resistance than from the foundations of the universe refusing to be cowed into their nature? And what more power can one have than to shape the shapeless through sheer force of will?" He shrugs. "Nevermind, however. I have use for you, Ashnat. I need you to take me and Alran to the shores of the River of the Dead."
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Oct 30, 2019 18:02
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Ashnat "A curious request. But, as your luck would have it, the River is now a perfect spot for gathering the tracks of those responsible for this. After all, nothing buys silence better than steel. So, if you want, I can give you a lift. Just don't interfere with my quarries once we're there. And don't look for me when you want to get away, I'm sure we'll bump into each other, no searching needed."
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Oct 30, 2019 18:13
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quote is not edit
LupusAter fucked around with this message at 18:38 on Oct 30, 2019 |
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Oct 30, 2019 18:26
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Tyrtaeus "If it were truly curious, you should ask why I make it. But, then again, it will be apparent once we arrive." "Come, Alran. The voice shall carry far. Or do you prefer to stay? Fair enough. Then it is only you and I, Ashnat." * * * Underneath the sullen trees, the River of the Dead continued its unending journey. The pale waters that flow between the worlds of the living and the dead seemed unconcerned by the presence of the Ahenobarbus. Ashnat had left, too busy hunting a prey living or dead. Tyrtaeus rose upon a sun-bleached rock, laid upon the dull grass aeons ago by the hands of a titan or a giant, he would not recall. He looked across the water. The dead side did not have Supporting his weight on the spear, he chanted: Arrive, you spirits in flesh! Come, you songs unwritten! A dawn of courage rises, And my call beckons you forth! Pick up your shields and spears, Put on your helmets! Buckle your greaves and gauntlets, And stand ready to conquer! Come to the River, And swear your oaths upon its waters! quote:EMPOWER COURAGE (with Heroism) to create a sacred order of fighters to fight the chaos of the Dreamspace from all those brave, wise, and resourceful enough to come and swear on the waters of the River of the Dead that they shall not stop until that land is brought to peace.
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Oct 30, 2019 19:52
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Ashnat Poetry. Of course it's poetry. For someone claiming to delight in heroism and bloodshed, he sure likes to take his sweet time getting to the juicy parts. No matter. Surely someone here knows something about the recent events, you don't blur the boundaries between reality and dreams without needing to make a few corpses. Ashnat submerges himself in the currents, sifting the ink-black depths in the search for the newly arrived traces of his quarry. Currents bend to his will, dragging those who draw his gaze towards his ever-hungry mouth. Empower Rivers to drag the souls that look like they'd be useful nearer so they can be interrogated after being ritually chomped.
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Oct 30, 2019 23:02
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Turn One: Absolute Past --- Sawush Light feet across a lily pad. Down a river, away from his smell. Sawush cannot even think the name. The name is beyond their mind. Sawush can only recognize it in negative, the space it should occupy and cannot. Each footfall is hidden in the sound of babbling laughter-water. A whisker twitches. Hunter? No. Not hunter. Wrong whisker. Worship whisker. They listen to the twang. In a place both metaphorical and real, a man is stabbed a hundred times. An echo of the murder that began all this, replayed in reverse. A Royal Hunter shoving a knife in an innocent back, again and again. It plays out a dozen more times, sometimes with bows or spears or nets and then swords. But it always the same story, the hunter found prey. Their followers. The Hummingbird is still safe, but how many backs lay between those hungry teeth-knives and that back? It is a question that churns in Sa- Splat They slide off an invisible wall. It feels oddly...fabricy? The Lunar Rodent leaps again. Splat Oh no, oh nonononononononononono. The Hunters had to be close. SO CLOSE! quote:/r 3d10k1 Rat do a help for a hummingbird = (2+7+5) = 7 OOC: You succeeded in hiding Hummingbird...for now but the Royalists are killing your followers, slowly for now (1 Believers Stress)...but how many are you willing to sacrifice for your own safety? Also, Alran’s fancy new barrier is gonna gently caress with your attempts to get around even with your charm - it’ll mitigate the damage for now, but this could get worse. You’re standing on a lily pad in the middle of one of the great rivers of the dreamscape. --- Alysidor You are the chains, and so the chains are you. Every chain. It is a truth that lesser mortal minds struggle with, they cannot understand the true nature of a chain. They see the literal, sometimes the metaphorical, maybe even the allegorical, rarely the spiritual, but never the final truth the chain is itself, and itself is you. A closed circuit, an eternity of perfection. It is this perfection that lets you tear a chain from yourself. It is this perfection that lets you quench it in dreamsand, it screams. It is this perfection that makes it listen after. It is this perfection that will cause it crawl from all the places in the world where there is Wrong. It will burst from the cobblestones, just behind the baguette, and bring it down in a hurricane of chains. They will sear, they will burn, but they will not start a fire. It happens again and again, chaining like a hungry worm. But there is always more, and Alysidor can already feel the strings pulling on his godsoul. But it did calm the world around you. quote:/r 4d10k1 Alysidor making a shadow self; absolutely cannot go wrong = (7+3+8+9) = 9 OOC: Arrested Development Narrator Voice: It did, and will continue to do so. Every turn this doppelganger exists it will get stronger, every turn it exists it will drag you further along its path as it can only appear where you are Feared and in Nightmares. This turn you will take One Coherence Stress as it tugs on your nature. Next turn it will deal more. You can stop it by absorbing it again, or by reconciling it with yourself some other way. On the other hand it’s doing an excellent job covering for you, and along with Alran’s work it is has seriously stabilized the Dreamscape and will continue to do so. --- Alran Weaving, Alran learned long ago, was not about differences or similarities or any such thing. That was thinking too small. No, weaving was about connection. The way two threads can become one, and then two again (or sometimes three). Dream twine comes to their fingers as they work. Knife and needle unify for the cause of Alran’s fingers. It doesn’t take long to have something heavy and dark, almost like funerary wear. It is cold to the touch. Not just slow atoms, a cold shoulder, a denied promotion, it tastes dreadful in every way, even the ways dreadfulness would find dreadful. Nothing wishes to touch it. But like anything made of cloth, there will be holes. In the end, there are always holes. Still, it does make everything much less...hazy? Almost as if the world were a crisp glass of alpine water now, instead of a smoky brew. quote:/r 3d10k1 creatin' dat fabric = (7+10+3) = 10 OOC: Your work, in tandem with Alysidor’s, has temporarily lessened the chaos in the dream realms. You can safely reach the Palace. --- Ashnat Ashnat watches the babbling brook. The eddies whisper to him like clutchmates, filled with secrets. They know where the best souls hide. It doesn’t take much effort to convince them to drag them to his mouth. They scream going down, begging for mercy. He has none. Ephemeral bones crack his mouth. Their marrow tastes of hidden knowledge, well-worn riverstones, and grief. It will do. “Excuse me, my lord?” A woman with hair like ink and a coat made of sunsets stands on the opposite bank. Her face is soft and round, warped by sharp cheekbones that jut out like a sword shoved in a tasty gut. On her hip sits a long blade. She wears a cruel grin. Ashnat can see the taste of the hunt in the curve. “Lord Ashnat, I merely heard the crunching of bone and was curious as to the source of the sound.” She bows. It is a lie, but it is a properly shaped lie. Hunters do not hunt the prey they are not prepared to take. “I am Baroness-Yearns-For-Flesh, the Songtress of Sinew, the Lord of Lusts.” There is a necklace of teeth, a thousand different species, some real, some dream-creatures, around her neck that covers her plunging neckline. A hunter of many kinds, this one. “I have always held you in the highest esteem, and believe we have business to discuss.” quote:/r 3d10k1 Crocco and the Soul Chomp = (2+9+2) = 9 OOC: I’m going to let you ask three questions that the spirits will answer to the best of their ability. This very nice lady who totally doesn’t give you “Halina with half the restraint” vibes also wants to talk to you. --- Tyrtaeus They come. Some are strong and tall, built like heroes of your oldest legends. Some are short and lanky, like clever thieves. Others have a thousand spells on their lips or instruments or holy weapons. Each takes an oath, sealed in a terrible gulp of river-water. It tastes of dusty tombs, discarded spider-skins, and the tears of widowers and fathers. It changes them, just enough. They need that mythic twist afterall. One foot in the realm of the living, one in the realm of the dead. Not quite undead. (Nobody wants a visit from Halina and Alysidor in a rare fit of agreement.) but...something new. They fight their way across the land, righting wrongs and protecting the innocent. Many in the dream realms, new to Tyrtaeus’s glory, fall in worship. It pleases him greatly. There’s only one problem. A sword. It’s always a sword, isn’t it? For a proper velocity to the story. (Once it was a glaive, but that’s another tale) It is a sword quenched in a dream empress’s blood. All it’s holders die. They whisper that the Hummingbird dropped it, in terror of it’s growing power. There is no contradictory evidence. It tears down all thrones in it’s way, finding a new hand for each, a new story. Except yours. It stubs it’s nose at you. A rival claimant for power. It even begins to slaughter your followers. What an impertinent little dream blade. quote:/r 4d10k1 Empower that Courage to Heroic = (8+6+4+9) = 9 OOC: Your order has begun it’s work excellently, but there’s a fuckin magic-rear end sword whose competing in the godly heroics market with a more leftist spin.
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Oct 31, 2019 21:35
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Alran Alran took a step back to look at their handiwork and smiled. The colors swirling around them began to stabilize; the landscape, for the most part, ceased shifting; the screams ringing in their ears... didn't really go anywhere, actually, but they were all coming from one direction, at least. That might be its own problem, but it was one that could be dealt with later. "That's that, then. The veil should prevent any mortals from wandering in here, and any beasts from wandering out, while your... serpent?.. takes care of any that have already made the trip. Which means," Alran said, turning towards a massive building in the distance, "that we should focus on stabilizing the Land of Dreams itself. Shall we, Alysidor?" #=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=# =#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#= #=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=# The Midnight Palace was not designed by mortal minds, was not built by mortal hands, was not made for mortal needs. It was shaped by ideas of palaces, of Great Landmarks - here you could see a great tower like that of Pyri-Coryfi, and there the waving banners of Sirongjing - but these were placed without regard to practicality. Certain areas were entirely enclosed by walls, with others left wide open, and - at least at first glance - it seemed as though the highest floors could only be reached from each other, via an intricate web of catwalks. (As they passed beneath the lattice of bridges, Alran stared up in admiration. Alysidor was unmoved.) The two gods found their way to the front door and began working their way through the labyrinth of hallways inside. Dreams of all sorts walked the halls, and shrunk away from the pair, whispering as they passed. Alran noticed that each of them was wearing a striped armband - navy and black on purple. This would be the symbol of those that didn't kill the Queen, then... or those who desperately want us to believe that, at least. At the entrance to the throne room stood a pot-bellied soldier with sunken eyes and a miserable expression. They were leaning on a halberd, pointy-end down, and it seemed as if they would fall over the instant it was removed; they were wearing old, stained, tattered clothing; and yet, in spite of it, they carried themself with an undeniable gravitas. As Alran and Alysidor approached, they held up one hand. "I am Marchion Dead-Parent's-Voice. And you, my friends, are trespassing." MaxieSatan fucked around with this message at 20:17 on Nov 1, 2019 |
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Oct 31, 2019 22:46
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Ashnat The surface of the dream river bubbles, as Ashnat gives his interlocutor the courtesy of showing his eyes. The cold gaze fixates on the woman, unblinking. "You sound certain. And you look like someone who knows her turf. Very well, what is this business you claim we have?" An even tone, calm waters hiding treacherous eddies.
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Nov 1, 2019 19:58
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