Our Terrible Purpose

I am glad to see his updated. The long hiatus had me thinking it was a lost-cause. Good job :)
 
Thanks guys!

Stats are updated. I'm considering changing the format, and will discuss this with anyone who's on IRC later. If anyone has any questions or concerns, please contact me.

I'll have an expanded and updated climate map posted once I have internet again, and I might also post an economic map. I'll be setting a due date for turn two orders soonish.
 
I would find it useful if you were to explain, in an expanded rules section, in what manner magic is powerful and in what way it is weak.
 
Anomes can be used for practically any application - though this is influenced by the history of your particular faction. Look at it as a narrative tool, not as a resource that you should be exploiting. The numbers are just a rough approximation of how much narrative control you have over the game in a particular respect.

We're still sounding things out and establishing precedents at this point.
 
From: Ovin, Tsar-Priest of the Inevitable One
To: The Kingdom of the Bractemenn


Have you seen the light?
The fire in the night
It glances from the stars
And flickers from afar

Have you seen the dark?
The dying of the spark
The silence in its wake
Your soul away to take

His mercy shall save you
From His mercy

Or you may sleep
The sleep of dust
 
I would find it useful if you were to explain, in an expanded rules section, in what manner magic is powerful and in what way it is weak.

I would find it useful, if you were to explain, in an expanded thought section, in what manner love is empowering and in what way it enfeebles the soul.
 
Tales of the College 2 - The Impossible Room.

There is a room on the seventh level of the Nivian College that should not exist. There are no records of it’s construction, no memory of when it appeared, but most importantly, there is no space for this room. Exacting measurements have been taken of the rooms on either side of the impossible room, and comparisons made with the floor plans of the college, which, even at the seventh level, are still very accurate, and all agree that the amount of space between the two is 4 inches, the exact width of the stone wall.

Nevertheless, If one is to open the unlabeled door between rooms 7.15 and 7.16, one will find one of three rooms: a fully stocked laboratory, an ornate library, or a lavish great hall. Each of these rooms is the same size, 40 feet by 100. If the room is occupied, a new entrance will find the same room as the other occupant(s), indicating that only one instance of these rooms is permitted by the enchantments controlling the room. Any foreign object left in the room will be found in other versions of the room, in as close to the same place as the different geography of the room will allow. Any object taken from the room and brought out will remain as it is until no longer being held or seen, at which point it will dissapear.

The origin of the room is unclear. Though it would seem to have been in existence for living memory, as even the oldest mages claim to remember it, records only speak of the room as having been around for ten years. Analysis of the experiments being run at that time indicates that there were none being performed on either space expansion nor mind alterations. This is problematic, as this indicates that the Anomalies coursing through the college may have their own effect on the experiments being run. Additionally, as noted by Arch-Master Ross of the department of the Philosophy of Anomes, that the room may not exist at all, but that there is a spell causing all in the college to believe the room exists. He is noted as bringing this problem up in his classes to first level apprentices, and “From the mouth of babes” as he likes to say later, mockingly, most agree that it makes no difference whether the room is real or not, so long as all believe it to be.
 
… The initiate is then lead into a darkened room in the center of the temple, where a room containing a pool surrounded by white marble pillars are. Murals depicting the rise of the Shuddering Palace and the founding of the Empire cover every inch of the walls. The most prominent motif that permeates throughout the artwork is that of motherhood, namely, the Empress’s role as both the mother of the Shuddering Palace and, in some sense, mother of every citizen in the Iridescent Empire. The initiate is then blindfolded made to sit in the pool. The witch, or to use the term that Sensileans prefer, the Priestess, then leads the initiate through several lessons.

The Priestess begins: “My child, the powers of observation is one of the most important lessons that I will teach you. We, who practice the Hidden Arts, must stand against all threats posed against the Empress and all her children. To fight against these threats, we must know of these threats.”

“But I do not understand,” the initiate replies. “How will sitting in an empty room with a blindfold over my eyes improve my powers of observation?”

The Priestess lets out a sigh. “This is no mere empty room, child. It is at the heart of the Temple of the Holy Mother, which is itself at the heart of the holiest city. So listen. Listen closely with your ears and your heart, and tell me all that is that you hear.”

The initiate frowns in concentration. “I… I can hear heartbeats,” she finally says.

“Very good,” the Priestess replies, nodding. “Tell me more.”

“I hear the heartbeats of many men and women in the city, beating in unison with the Shuddering Palace. The Empire is united in love and harmony. I hear the excited chatters of merchants in the forum, the symbol of the Empire’s prosperity. I hear the music that sings praise to the Empress. It is… beautiful…”

The Priestess shakes her head, disappointed. “I said the same thing as you did when I was in the pool, child. I lied, just as you lied. In the future, be unafraid to tell me that you hear nothing. Also, you must explain to me how you heard all those things while failing to notice the scribbling noise made by that s-

“-py’s pen behind the pillar over yonder there,” said the Priestess. Jol, the Master Anthropologist of the Nivian College, looked down on his notes and frowned. Something was terribly wrong. The realization hit him like a four horse chariot and he rose up from his hiding spot with a start- too late. He was staring into the grinning face of the Priestess. In her hand was an ornate silver knife, bejeweled with pieces of the Shuddering Palace. He ducked and rolled out of the way of the expected slash and ended up running straight into the initiate who had, by this time, clambered out of the pool after removing the blindfold. Unlike the Priestess, the Initiate was well-built, drenched, and most importantly of all, not at all smiling.

The Priestess let out a cackle. “A scholar of Nivia, so far from the safety of your college? What is your name and for what purpose have you wandered into this temple? Do you desire the sanctity of the Holy Mother?”

“I…err…”

“Should I call the guards?” the Initiate said, her voice frigid; the tone of annoyance clear.

“No, no, this is more amusing this way,” the Priestess mused. “Go on, answer the question and we may decide not to kill you or something else depending on my whims.”

The scholar didn’t even dwell on considering what that ‘something’ was. “I am Jol of Athica, on a mission to learn about the culture and customs of the Iridescent Empire. I was trying to learn more about the wi- Cult of the Holy Mother. I did not intend on doing anything to-“

“I’ve heard enough,” said the grinning Priestess. “And have decided upon your punishment.”

Jol gulped. “And…?”

The Priestess’s eyes widened in glee “First, you shall be str-“

Halt. The grin vanished from the Priestess’s face in a second. Both her and the initiate seemed as if they had no choice but to comply as they began to back away from Jol. For his part, Jol discovered that he could no longer reach the Step-Through spell charm that he had prepared for just such an occasion.

For a century Mother stayed within the chambers of my heart, content and pleased. A warmth fell over my soul and stillness in my flesh.

A few grim-faced guards entered the chamber with swords drawn. The door behind them shut without anyone touching it.

Then did she wake and see the danger written in the stars, the tension and fear in the air. Then did I wake and see and hear the old tyrants circle to destroy my Lady, my queen.

Jol grimaced in concentration. Why couldn’t he reach the charm? If he could just reach the charm, he could step through. Disappear away from this place.

A darkness will soon fall over my heart, an emptiness over my soul. She shall take the bird and leave behind the throne room. She desires to see what the stars warned of with her own eyes. I cannot stop her.

You too must see this horror. Your superiors may be aware of the stars' warnings too, but they do not understand with their heart nor their eyes. You shall.


The guards began to advance. Jol let out a cry of relief as his hands finally broke through the psychic hold and grasped the charm. He shouted in victory as he raised aloft the small triangular crystallized spell.

He leapt.

His fit of laughter died out as he failed to recognize his surroundings. Instead of the familiar stone walls of his inn, the walls and floor tiles of this structure was made out of solid blocks of blue crystals. A large bed, also made of crystals and actually carved into the floor, stood at the center of the room. A strange sense of warmth from unseen sources permeated the room. Other than the crystals, however, there were no decorations in the room. The bed was just a bed, lacking any kind of ornamentation that is so common in Sensealean art. The walls lacked any kind of paintings or murals. By a large crystalline window were a bookcase, table, and a chair. A lone figure of a woman sat on the chair, sipping on a small glass full of a mysterious liquid.

“Where… where am I?” Jol muttered. “How did you redire-“

The woman picked up a small charm that lay on the table and waved it towards Jol. Jol recognized it as the Destination half of the Step Through charm, which he had hidden in his inn. “Oh,” he said. The woman turned to face Jol, a small hint of a smile upon the mouth, a mask concealing everything else.

Jol paled as he recognized the woman known as the Empress of Sensinsal.
 
So when do you expect orders to be done by?
 
I'll set a tentative due date for Monday the 19th, but I won't confirm that for the next few days. You guys will have at least that much time.
 
The bleak expanse of the plains smoked with the effusions of recent magical combat, witchfires burning crazily two and fro without any nomic energy source to be seen for the uninitiated. Two Furies circled miles distant, occasionally giving out piercing cries of solemn sadness, the green pavilions of the host of the Bractemenn lying within their slow, circular orbit.

The Tsarpriest floated above the hedgeworks of his own army, watching them. And he was angry.

"MAHOL," he prayed. "You have not stirred for three years. Your assistance in this matter would be appreciated, as I am but ONE man."

"The mothers of the Mahl have born children with my mark," returned the whisper. "Their skin grows red and thick."

"That is all fine and good, but blood-crazed Mahlen cannot kill a Fury. Nor can I."

"I am sleepy. Come back in a decade."

"No! Get up, you have rested enough."

The whisper sighed. "Come here."

A silver chain materialized from his navel, and it whiplashed him a thousand miles through time and space. He felt his bones rematerialize, then his organs, then his skin.

They were standing on a mountain peak, endless cold moonlit immensities marching off into the distance.

"I have been completing a ritual," said Mahol. A thousand wires of light surrounded him, a slowly rotating globe of symbols, each one an unutterable understanding of things that have no mortal tongue.

"Is this the Rkad Mountains?"

"This is where Mother killed Father. He tried to hide me from her. She pierced his eye with a solar lance and carved out his crystalline heart. That she burned."

"Ah," said Ovin. "Difficult childhood."

Mahol looked at him sidelong. "She made me watch, as Father's body shattered and grew the mountains."

"Grew?"

"They were lords and also seeds. Their spirits were broken so Mother's sisters could grow green from the Algid Earth."

"And now?"

Mahol spread his arms. The molten crown appeared above his head. Ovin had learned that this was only when he was about to make a great manifestation.

"My father's...shards...will rise."

Mahol spoke a single word, a word that was above what could be and also below it. It was a scream and the clang of a bell, and the rush of the wind.

He pointed at a mountain, a nameless titan of ice and snow.

The mountain broke in half.

And from its core, something sharp and crystalline with a long thin head that ended in a spike emerged on limbs of spindles. It looked up at the god and his servant with glowing blue eyes.

"> T < K | !" it said.

"< > < I X," said Mahol.

"Hello, I'm Ovin," said Ovin.

Mahol raised his hands and eight more mountains all about them cracked with the sound of smashing glass lowered four octaves into the deep.

Cthonic shards emerged from each, glittering forms of spiked crystal climbing out of the ground like giant spiders.

"That should kill a few Furies, I suppose," said the priest.

"When you have killed the servants of the Champion, summon Me," said Mahol. "Go."

The demigod collapsed in on himself and vanished, his symbol hanging in the air and the mind for a few seconds more.

"How like him to not send me back. Let's get on with it," Ovin said.

The cthonic shards chittered to themselves, and lept into the air, jumping from peak to peak, the floating priest at their fore.

They headed north.
 
I have added errata to the first post on furies and aptons.

The due date for orders is Tuesday, May 20th, by 11:59 PM EST.
 
Just a friendly reminder that orders are due in about two days!
 
Hey,

I'm about to ride a 24 hour plane ride. I'll try to get in my orders in time.
 
As Iggy is still away, and as I believe Thlayli's computer broke, I will be extending the orders deadline to Friday, May 23rd, at 11:59 PM.
 
Hey thanks for putting an exciting and engaging world together in your NES; I love your story-writing style. That said, I&#8217;ve decided to withdraw. I will continue to follow it with great interest. Have fun!
 
Atop beds of ice, the Cabal of Karkeron sleep, in the deepest citadel of their fortress. Though the years of a magus are many, the Cabal hoards them jealously against the Abyss; the hour is late, the years are long, and only the flickering lamps of Karkeron stand between the Weald and a new dark age.

But now, bells sound, and a steed bears its master to the Houses of Healing. A great hammock is prepared, and the patient prepared; Lord Goearn is fallen to a centaur’s solar lance, and the healing-magicks of the awakened will not suffice to heal the chief of the giants.

With grim expression the Cabal sets forth, down to the deepest caves, bearing before them the proof of their purpose. One of their number will have to be awakened before her time, the only one with the skill and knowledge to do what must be done. The spells are cast -- the blood warms, the heart begins to pump, and delicately, the brain and mind return. Thalia, master physicker to the Rozier, with her knowledge of the most ancient healing arts, has come to battle Death.

The ice-blindness is too much, and so others must see for her, and guide her hands. Poppy-milk is carefully mixed with spirit of ether, and the patient is put to sleep for a time. Great vats of water are boiled, and poultices prepared; the ruined flesh is cut away, and from the shields and swords of a regiment are forged a giant’s cheekbones. The wounds are stitched and bandaged with clean linen; attendants set aside alcohol for fever, and soap for the hands of the healers. Lord Goearn survives, though his left eye is lost forever; when he recovers, he wears the epithet Cyclops with stubborn pride.

Thalia lingers for a time, to teach the eldest of the healers and consult where her wisdom is needed, but the years are heavy on her brow, and shortly thereafter she retires to the ice caverns, to be wakened in time of great need, or when great tidings approach.

Her long sleep will be dreamless.
 
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