erez87
Lord of Random
I invite the gods of good that aid humans to officially form a pantheon. A test of goodness will be given. The test will be taken in the south pole.
NDNESVI(Reboot): Myths, Legends, and Gods
- Thread starter Ninja Dude
- Start date
thomas.berubeg
Wandering the World
The "Good" Pantheon already exists.
erez87
Lord of Random
Who is a part of it?
And where is the Pantheon held? I would build a grand Temple Palace for us in the south Pole made of pure substances to have us all meet and spread our power together.
And where is the Pantheon held? I would build a grand Temple Palace for us in the south Pole made of pure substances to have us all meet and spread our power together.
Jehoshua
Catholic
- Joined
- Sep 25, 2009
- Messages
- 7,248
It was us who held back the sky, and kept the forces of chaos at bay.
It was us, who in the long winter gave hope to mortals, that their doom would change to hope in years ahead.
It was us alone of all the gods, who did something for mortals sake, at the advent of the Lord of Ruin.
-
You gods have condemned us, for we have cared not for your intentions, and care not for the lamentations of the heavens at that which was meant to be and which heretofore has come to pass. Yet now a menace alien to the order of the world, a being from before the beginning, which by ancient gods was imprisoned, bound, and laid low, has been set free. Let the gods now see what is proper, and set aside the quarrels of the past in the name of common purpose against this great foe, that he who seeks the ruin of all the world might be cast down once again lest all mortalkind perish at its hand, and at the hands of the demons unleashed at its advent.
We shall do what it is possible for us to do towards this end, rendering if providence ordains it so that which is just unto the warden of chaos, and raising the sword of heaven in readiness for the battle ahead that the ties which bind may be cut, that the pestilence that assails us might be cast into the void where it belongs and that the serenity of order might be restored. Thus we offer unto those few gods who care for the order of existence and the integrity of the material plane our assistance should they wish for it, and our wisdom. If they deny this offer, let the consequences be on their heads for all merit that which is merited, according to their works. That being said, even if others do not see that it is so, we shall do what it is necessary for us to do regardless of the co-operation of the gods in their effect.
-
ooc: Vash notes that he alone of the gods has done anything in anticipation of the advent of Nital, and that he is quite prepared to work with other gods against the current mutual problem that Nital presents, bygones being bygones. He also noted he will do what he can against him regardless of other gods approval of his actions or co-operation in constructing a plan against his threat to the mortal world anyway.
It was us, who in the long winter gave hope to mortals, that their doom would change to hope in years ahead.
It was us alone of all the gods, who did something for mortals sake, at the advent of the Lord of Ruin.
-
You gods have condemned us, for we have cared not for your intentions, and care not for the lamentations of the heavens at that which was meant to be and which heretofore has come to pass. Yet now a menace alien to the order of the world, a being from before the beginning, which by ancient gods was imprisoned, bound, and laid low, has been set free. Let the gods now see what is proper, and set aside the quarrels of the past in the name of common purpose against this great foe, that he who seeks the ruin of all the world might be cast down once again lest all mortalkind perish at its hand, and at the hands of the demons unleashed at its advent.
We shall do what it is possible for us to do towards this end, rendering if providence ordains it so that which is just unto the warden of chaos, and raising the sword of heaven in readiness for the battle ahead that the ties which bind may be cut, that the pestilence that assails us might be cast into the void where it belongs and that the serenity of order might be restored. Thus we offer unto those few gods who care for the order of existence and the integrity of the material plane our assistance should they wish for it, and our wisdom. If they deny this offer, let the consequences be on their heads for all merit that which is merited, according to their works. That being said, even if others do not see that it is so, we shall do what it is necessary for us to do regardless of the co-operation of the gods in their effect.
-
ooc: Vash notes that he alone of the gods has done anything in anticipation of the advent of Nital, and that he is quite prepared to work with other gods against the current mutual problem that Nital presents, bygones being bygones. He also noted he will do what he can against him regardless of other gods approval of his actions or co-operation in constructing a plan against his threat to the mortal world anyway.
Thlayli
Le Pétit Prince
OOC: So far, the pantheon consists of Nyubar, Tai, and Statute, at least in the sense of formally working together. Although I'm not opposed to Kross joining under the right circumstances.
Jeho, I'll reply to your diplo soon.
Jeho, I'll reply to your diplo soon.
Seon
Not An Evil Liar
Exhibits of the Museum.
Exhibit: A single stalagmite, 8.6 meters tall,
A biting chill. A sense of vertigo, loss, and longing. It was too steep. We needed to turn back. Such a waste. A failed expedition. An insurmountable challenge, for a while. Death comes slowly, while men reconsider and finally flee.
Exhibit: A wooden figure of a small man facing against two, larger, wooden figures standing upon a podium.
A sense of defiance, sorrow, fear, and certainty of one's innocence. Voices cry out: "Dangerous thoughts! Must be removed from the city and the community! Heretic! One of us no longer!" A small man stands accused of large thoughts. His world is too volatile for his peers, so they cast him aside. All of his brightness and thoughts do nothing to shield him from the pain of loss.
Exhibit: A war table marked with maps and troop formations. A small group of people prays around this table to different gods in different tongues. A sense of fascination, suspension and uncertainty. The animals of the forest come together in fear of a great fire. What is a wolf? What is a wolf to the deer, when the flaming brand draws near?
Exhibit: A singular candle shining in darkness.
This is one of my favorite exhibit in my humble museum, although it is merely a replica of what once was. I call this exhibit: time.
You see, before Vash foolishly and arrogantly bound time into flow in one direction, time was just like this. No, not like the candle. Transforming time into a candle is, in fact, what Vash did. The greatest act of tyranny known to men and the gods. The Curator chuckles at this point.
No, no, no, before Vash bound time into this horrid melting candle, time was like the flame. Coolest at its heart, wildest at its edges. Always shifting, unable to be pinned down, and beautiful. Events still transpired, and you could even put logical sequences to the events, but the order of what had happened would always be up for debate.
But now, time has been trapped to follow a singular path over one direction by the foolish tyranny of the gods. Look upon this candle as the flames of the wick slowly melts it into nothingness. Eventually, nothing shall be left. This is the fate imposed upon the world by shortsightedness. Never forget.
Exhibit: A single stalagmite, 8.6 meters tall,
A biting chill. A sense of vertigo, loss, and longing. It was too steep. We needed to turn back. Such a waste. A failed expedition. An insurmountable challenge, for a while. Death comes slowly, while men reconsider and finally flee.
Exhibit: A wooden figure of a small man facing against two, larger, wooden figures standing upon a podium.
A sense of defiance, sorrow, fear, and certainty of one's innocence. Voices cry out: "Dangerous thoughts! Must be removed from the city and the community! Heretic! One of us no longer!" A small man stands accused of large thoughts. His world is too volatile for his peers, so they cast him aside. All of his brightness and thoughts do nothing to shield him from the pain of loss.
Exhibit: A war table marked with maps and troop formations. A small group of people prays around this table to different gods in different tongues. A sense of fascination, suspension and uncertainty. The animals of the forest come together in fear of a great fire. What is a wolf? What is a wolf to the deer, when the flaming brand draws near?
Exhibit: A singular candle shining in darkness.
This is one of my favorite exhibit in my humble museum, although it is merely a replica of what once was. I call this exhibit: time.
You see, before Vash foolishly and arrogantly bound time into flow in one direction, time was just like this. No, not like the candle. Transforming time into a candle is, in fact, what Vash did. The greatest act of tyranny known to men and the gods. The Curator chuckles at this point.
No, no, no, before Vash bound time into this horrid melting candle, time was like the flame. Coolest at its heart, wildest at its edges. Always shifting, unable to be pinned down, and beautiful. Events still transpired, and you could even put logical sequences to the events, but the order of what had happened would always be up for debate.
But now, time has been trapped to follow a singular path over one direction by the foolish tyranny of the gods. Look upon this candle as the flames of the wick slowly melts it into nothingness. Eventually, nothing shall be left. This is the fate imposed upon the world by shortsightedness. Never forget.
Seon
Not An Evil Liar
Treatise on the Gods, especially pertaining to Nyubar, from the Impostor Church.
-Nailed on the shrines of every “good” gods in the world by unseen Impostor Priests.
When our Gods claimed that they were ‘good’ and their actions ‘morally justified,’ we had accepted it without question. We still follow these gods who now claim to be part of some “pantheon” of “good” and trust them with our very lives and souls.
Before we, from the Impostor Church, may even discuss the fleeting nature of the concept of “good” and “justice,” and how we should never allow some nebulous organization of unseen beings hold monopoly upon these words, simply because they hold the sword and power and we do not, the Impostor Priests would like to invite all of mortalkind on examination and discussion on the behavior of the gods.
For the purpose of simplicity on this treatise, we shall focus our attention on a single god among the so called “Pantheon of Good,” Nyubar.
Nyubar claims to be an equal and unbiased god, welcoming each mortal into the world and ushering their soul out when their time comes. However, the god’s behavior remains frustratingly inconsistent upon close examination and reflection.
Nyubar claims to be unbiased, but the god has indulged in moments of clear favoritism among mortals. Look upon their so called glorious citadel and the fertile lands that have risen up around this building. This is a clearly a gift to mortalkind, yet the only one who are able to enjoy it are its caretakers: servants of Nyubar whose ancestors were determined to be “wisest and bravest of all people.”
In essence, the so called god of life and death, the so called Gatekeeper who deem all life equal, have taken from the world its greatest and the best to worship them inside their citadel.
If Nyubar wanted this citadel to be a beacon of light and hope in this world, why build it upon the tallest mountain in the world, difficult to reach for the weak who may be inspired by life within these hallowed walls to become better?
If Nyubar wanted those inside the citadel to be safe, why did they rob us of our bravest and the wisest? Would it not have been better if the weakest among us were taken instead to be safe from the world that may do it harm? Instead, our weakest and the abandoned lie asleep on the dirty streets and the forests, preyed upon by the ‘evil’ gods for their weakness, and hated by the ‘good’ for the same reason.
Instead, Nyubar chose to create the citadel upon the tallest mountain of the world and filled it with life and fertility to lure those ‘strong’ and ‘wise’ enough, robbing them from the rest of the world. As a result of actions such as these, the Church of Nyubar is now one of the most proliftic and powerful organization in the world.
Let us examine this fact against Nyubar’s words.
Nyubar claims to be a simple Gatekeeper, ushering souls into and out of this world. What use does a Gatekeeper have for religion? What use is for us to worship an impartial Gatekeeper, if this Gatekeeper refuses to show us favoritism in moments of life and death?
Simple answer is that Nyubar is a liar. Nyubar has never been the impartial Gatekeeper it has claimed to be. It has consistently shown favoritism among mortals. Aside from the aforementioned incident with the citadel, Nyubar has endorsed the war between the Gods and Vash the liar, despite the quarrel in question (murder of a god) having very little to do with their precept of life and death of mortalkind.
Why would Nyubar interfere in such a conflict? Careful examination of the records of the gods reveals a startling truth: that Nyubar was selected to take up the Patron’s Domain of Chi after Vash’s defeat. We charge that Nyubar was tempted, just as Vash was tempted, to take the powers of a dead god, and sought an alliance with the other gods in order to seize it for themselves. For this ambition, tens of thousands of mortals needed to die.
Yet Nyubar claims impartiality as they continue collecting souls with a smiling face—even those of the followers of Vash—the very same people that Nyubar charged their followers to kill through their support of Tai and Statute’s laws out of some foolish greed and ambition to control the one inalienable part of us that were just out of their reach.
Let this be clear—Nyubar is not an impartial nor fair god. They despise the followers of Vash and supports their own follower with gifts of fertility and life. This leads to our next point: the evil shadow that’s swallowing the world that is known as the Adamant Order.
Any and all of Nyubar’s claims towards impartiality and favor falls apart when you examine the fact of this organization’s very existence. Nyubar claims that it was never interested in mastery of the human soul, yet the fact that these warriors are unkillable simply due to the fact that they exist with one foot outside the gate, shows that Nyubar clearly has more control over their own domain than they pretend to. In addition, this shows that Nyubar is capable of stopping death.
All those mortal souls who perished in the great war against Vash needed not die—Nyubar has simply allowed this atrocity to happen under their own name.
Why? Is it because death is an integral and joyful part of our life? Is it because, as Nyubar’s priests tirelessly say, that our souls are all forgiven by Nyubar upon death? That it would not be fair for so many souls to see what glory awaits them beyond the Gate? Is it fair that a poor orphan girl lies starving and dying in the streets and for levied soldiers to die for the sake of ambitious few while the nobles, kings, and those who serve the “righteous” gods are afforded every luxury and care in life?
This brings us to our final and most controversial point: the nature of our very soul. It is clear from the records that mortals and humans existed in some form before the arrival of the soul. From this, and the evidence of husks who still retain their memories and emotions in death, we may surmise that soul is not an integral part of life, even though it may be an existence that we may no longer be able to imagine.
Yet this does not stop Nyubar from bringing in new souls into this world constantly even as war, famine, demons, and madness rampage across the lands.
Why?
If all souls find the purest of all joy in death, would it not be better to shut the gate through which the souls enter our realm forever?
If our experience in life is somehow valuable, then why is the end result: passage through the gate with joy in their eyes, the same? Nyubar himself had said before that even the most depraved souls leave the same way, forgiven in the end. It seems logical that those who have done as much good as they have deemed possible in life should die with pride in their eyes at a job well concluded. Those who had not would die with regret in their eyes for not having done more. Those who had died should do so with fear in their eyes, afraid of possible punishment and judgement for their excesses.
Yet Nyubar claims that all is forgiven in the end—and that all souls share the same fate. Joy.
Should an orphan girl starving in the cold streets at winter die with joy in their eyes, finally glad that their weak and pitiful life has come to an end? Should we take Nyubar’s words as endorsement of all excesses and sin? After all, if all soul is forgiven at the end, then we should all strive to experience as much of life as possible—including the paths of sin.
Should we believe that murder and death is morally good, for it simply causes joy upon the victim? After all, if our soul is immortal, than our life in these mortal coils, no matter how extended it is, is merely a blink of an eye. If somebody is in pain, or is to weak to survive in this world, would it not be better to execute and purge them from our society based on Nyubar’s words of forgiveness?
What is beyond the Gate anyways? Nyubar is oddly silent in this matter—claiming that it cannot look beyond the Gate.
If so, then how can we assume that the fate that awaits the dead beyond the Gate is, in any way, good? Nyubar’s words that all souls are forgiven and are joyful in the end? But we have already established that Nyubar is a liar.
Even if Nyubar is speaking the truth, why is joy the single shared reaction between all souls, no matter what kind of life they led?
Is there something truly so grand that it inspires joy in everybody who sees it? Yet with the various cultural differences of mortalkind, between the giants of the frozen north or the fishmen of the seas below, it is difficult to believe that there exists any one singular place where all mortals can be happy.
The alternative we come to is mind-affection. It is clear from the wisps in the west that there exists ways to enslave the minds of people to feel in a particular manner. We charge that this Gate is the same. It forces those who look upon it to feel joy, no matter what emotions they were previously feeling.
What is beyond the Gate, and why is it tricking us into believing it is good?
Why has Nyubar not investigated this possibility yet? What happens beyond the gate?
Is it apotheosis?
Or digestion?
The Impostor Church invites all followers of the God to ponder this question.
The Impostor Church believes that there is strength in man’s heart, strength sufficient to challenge the gods. We must raise our voice as one against the heaven and ask the question: why? Why must the world be like this? Why must we die, and why must we live?
As a people, together, we must seek the answers that gods, in their petty struggles between each other, have neglected to answer. Together, we are strong, strong enough to oppose the gods. Strong enough to demand answers where there are none.
Study the sciences. Study the world. Study the Gods’ words and why they behave in certain manners. Question everything. Your soul does not belong to Nyubar. Your morality does not belong to Statute. Your body does not belong to the Curator. You are your own master, and only you can write the epic of your life. Only we, together, can write the epic that is the history of mortalkind.
So rise up, followers of the Impostors. Rise up and shout to the heavens that you need, nay, deserve answers! Only deadly sin that the Impostor Church recognizes is complacency.
-Nailed on the shrines of every “good” gods in the world by unseen Impostor Priests.
When our Gods claimed that they were ‘good’ and their actions ‘morally justified,’ we had accepted it without question. We still follow these gods who now claim to be part of some “pantheon” of “good” and trust them with our very lives and souls.
Before we, from the Impostor Church, may even discuss the fleeting nature of the concept of “good” and “justice,” and how we should never allow some nebulous organization of unseen beings hold monopoly upon these words, simply because they hold the sword and power and we do not, the Impostor Priests would like to invite all of mortalkind on examination and discussion on the behavior of the gods.
For the purpose of simplicity on this treatise, we shall focus our attention on a single god among the so called “Pantheon of Good,” Nyubar.
Nyubar claims to be an equal and unbiased god, welcoming each mortal into the world and ushering their soul out when their time comes. However, the god’s behavior remains frustratingly inconsistent upon close examination and reflection.
Nyubar claims to be unbiased, but the god has indulged in moments of clear favoritism among mortals. Look upon their so called glorious citadel and the fertile lands that have risen up around this building. This is a clearly a gift to mortalkind, yet the only one who are able to enjoy it are its caretakers: servants of Nyubar whose ancestors were determined to be “wisest and bravest of all people.”
In essence, the so called god of life and death, the so called Gatekeeper who deem all life equal, have taken from the world its greatest and the best to worship them inside their citadel.
If Nyubar wanted this citadel to be a beacon of light and hope in this world, why build it upon the tallest mountain in the world, difficult to reach for the weak who may be inspired by life within these hallowed walls to become better?
If Nyubar wanted those inside the citadel to be safe, why did they rob us of our bravest and the wisest? Would it not have been better if the weakest among us were taken instead to be safe from the world that may do it harm? Instead, our weakest and the abandoned lie asleep on the dirty streets and the forests, preyed upon by the ‘evil’ gods for their weakness, and hated by the ‘good’ for the same reason.
Instead, Nyubar chose to create the citadel upon the tallest mountain of the world and filled it with life and fertility to lure those ‘strong’ and ‘wise’ enough, robbing them from the rest of the world. As a result of actions such as these, the Church of Nyubar is now one of the most proliftic and powerful organization in the world.
Let us examine this fact against Nyubar’s words.
Nyubar claims to be a simple Gatekeeper, ushering souls into and out of this world. What use does a Gatekeeper have for religion? What use is for us to worship an impartial Gatekeeper, if this Gatekeeper refuses to show us favoritism in moments of life and death?
Simple answer is that Nyubar is a liar. Nyubar has never been the impartial Gatekeeper it has claimed to be. It has consistently shown favoritism among mortals. Aside from the aforementioned incident with the citadel, Nyubar has endorsed the war between the Gods and Vash the liar, despite the quarrel in question (murder of a god) having very little to do with their precept of life and death of mortalkind.
Why would Nyubar interfere in such a conflict? Careful examination of the records of the gods reveals a startling truth: that Nyubar was selected to take up the Patron’s Domain of Chi after Vash’s defeat. We charge that Nyubar was tempted, just as Vash was tempted, to take the powers of a dead god, and sought an alliance with the other gods in order to seize it for themselves. For this ambition, tens of thousands of mortals needed to die.
Yet Nyubar claims impartiality as they continue collecting souls with a smiling face—even those of the followers of Vash—the very same people that Nyubar charged their followers to kill through their support of Tai and Statute’s laws out of some foolish greed and ambition to control the one inalienable part of us that were just out of their reach.
Let this be clear—Nyubar is not an impartial nor fair god. They despise the followers of Vash and supports their own follower with gifts of fertility and life. This leads to our next point: the evil shadow that’s swallowing the world that is known as the Adamant Order.
Any and all of Nyubar’s claims towards impartiality and favor falls apart when you examine the fact of this organization’s very existence. Nyubar claims that it was never interested in mastery of the human soul, yet the fact that these warriors are unkillable simply due to the fact that they exist with one foot outside the gate, shows that Nyubar clearly has more control over their own domain than they pretend to. In addition, this shows that Nyubar is capable of stopping death.
All those mortal souls who perished in the great war against Vash needed not die—Nyubar has simply allowed this atrocity to happen under their own name.
Why? Is it because death is an integral and joyful part of our life? Is it because, as Nyubar’s priests tirelessly say, that our souls are all forgiven by Nyubar upon death? That it would not be fair for so many souls to see what glory awaits them beyond the Gate? Is it fair that a poor orphan girl lies starving and dying in the streets and for levied soldiers to die for the sake of ambitious few while the nobles, kings, and those who serve the “righteous” gods are afforded every luxury and care in life?
This brings us to our final and most controversial point: the nature of our very soul. It is clear from the records that mortals and humans existed in some form before the arrival of the soul. From this, and the evidence of husks who still retain their memories and emotions in death, we may surmise that soul is not an integral part of life, even though it may be an existence that we may no longer be able to imagine.
Yet this does not stop Nyubar from bringing in new souls into this world constantly even as war, famine, demons, and madness rampage across the lands.
Why?
If all souls find the purest of all joy in death, would it not be better to shut the gate through which the souls enter our realm forever?
If our experience in life is somehow valuable, then why is the end result: passage through the gate with joy in their eyes, the same? Nyubar himself had said before that even the most depraved souls leave the same way, forgiven in the end. It seems logical that those who have done as much good as they have deemed possible in life should die with pride in their eyes at a job well concluded. Those who had not would die with regret in their eyes for not having done more. Those who had died should do so with fear in their eyes, afraid of possible punishment and judgement for their excesses.
Yet Nyubar claims that all is forgiven in the end—and that all souls share the same fate. Joy.
Should an orphan girl starving in the cold streets at winter die with joy in their eyes, finally glad that their weak and pitiful life has come to an end? Should we take Nyubar’s words as endorsement of all excesses and sin? After all, if all soul is forgiven at the end, then we should all strive to experience as much of life as possible—including the paths of sin.
Should we believe that murder and death is morally good, for it simply causes joy upon the victim? After all, if our soul is immortal, than our life in these mortal coils, no matter how extended it is, is merely a blink of an eye. If somebody is in pain, or is to weak to survive in this world, would it not be better to execute and purge them from our society based on Nyubar’s words of forgiveness?
What is beyond the Gate anyways? Nyubar is oddly silent in this matter—claiming that it cannot look beyond the Gate.
If so, then how can we assume that the fate that awaits the dead beyond the Gate is, in any way, good? Nyubar’s words that all souls are forgiven and are joyful in the end? But we have already established that Nyubar is a liar.
Even if Nyubar is speaking the truth, why is joy the single shared reaction between all souls, no matter what kind of life they led?
Is there something truly so grand that it inspires joy in everybody who sees it? Yet with the various cultural differences of mortalkind, between the giants of the frozen north or the fishmen of the seas below, it is difficult to believe that there exists any one singular place where all mortals can be happy.
The alternative we come to is mind-affection. It is clear from the wisps in the west that there exists ways to enslave the minds of people to feel in a particular manner. We charge that this Gate is the same. It forces those who look upon it to feel joy, no matter what emotions they were previously feeling.
What is beyond the Gate, and why is it tricking us into believing it is good?
Why has Nyubar not investigated this possibility yet? What happens beyond the gate?
Is it apotheosis?
Or digestion?
The Impostor Church invites all followers of the God to ponder this question.
The Impostor Church believes that there is strength in man’s heart, strength sufficient to challenge the gods. We must raise our voice as one against the heaven and ask the question: why? Why must the world be like this? Why must we die, and why must we live?
As a people, together, we must seek the answers that gods, in their petty struggles between each other, have neglected to answer. Together, we are strong, strong enough to oppose the gods. Strong enough to demand answers where there are none.
Study the sciences. Study the world. Study the Gods’ words and why they behave in certain manners. Question everything. Your soul does not belong to Nyubar. Your morality does not belong to Statute. Your body does not belong to the Curator. You are your own master, and only you can write the epic of your life. Only we, together, can write the epic that is the history of mortalkind.
So rise up, followers of the Impostors. Rise up and shout to the heavens that you need, nay, deserve answers! Only deadly sin that the Impostor Church recognizes is complacency.
Ninja Dude
Sorry, I wasn't listening...
Loving the stories, diplomacy, and smack talk 
Keep it up everyone!
I believe that the front page is super totally finished for real this time, and I will soon begin working on the wiki. What I would like from you guys, either posted in thread or in your next set of orders, are lists of people and place names that you wouldn't mind me using. These could relate to specific people and places, or just be generic ones for me to use in past and future events. Right now we have a slew of cities that lack names, not to mention a few continents.
Keep it up everyone!I believe that the front page is super totally finished for real this time, and I will soon begin working on the wiki. What I would like from you guys, either posted in thread or in your next set of orders, are lists of people and place names that you wouldn't mind me using. These could relate to specific people and places, or just be generic ones for me to use in past and future events. Right now we have a slew of cities that lack names, not to mention a few continents.
inthesomeday
Immortan
- Joined
- Dec 12, 2015
- Messages
- 2,798
Child of Shadow, Part 1
Screams, wails. Fire, suffering, but above all, blood. Hana alone had escaped this fate, the destruction wrought by the mountainous figure of boiling red, and as such, Hana alone was to confront it in her sleep.
The familiar nightmare reached its recurring climax. The scene all around began to slow, and the low buzzing Hana knew so well rose again over the cries of her clan and the cawing of the Onoqui. And with the buzz rose the whisper, again, as it did every night.
Come to me, Hana. Hana... Come.
Hana...
And once again, the red all around, the faces of those she once knew and loved, the claws of the demons tearing at the life she once had-- it all began to fade. It turned from vivid colors, slowed to frozen, into first, a blurry gray. Then the gray blurred further, and turned to ash, and all at once spun away from her as the buzz became louder.
Come to me.
And before her rose the oh-so-familiar spire that pierced the black sky of the land she found herself night after night. And the whispers were so calming, so saccharine. The reflective obsidian face of the obelisk that rose into the heights of this new reality showed her mother, then her father, then her husband. All back to life. All with outstretched arms.
Hana...
Just as she did every night, she began to glide towards it. The beautiful solace, so wondrous and loving... If only she could touch it, maybe everything would be okay...
She drew closer and closer to the black surface, vibrant against the all-encompassing darkness of her dreamscape. Her eyes grew wide and her fingers stretched out, and she came within inches of the surface...
But all at once, just as it did every night, the whispers turned sinister, and Hana saw the true face of the great obelisk. The hideous reality hidden just beyond the beautiful veil.
And as she snapped awake, the whispers slid from her ears, grating against them with one last death rattle, fading away before Tai's morning light.
Bakaraj, scraped the sound as it slipped further and further away, Bakaraj...
In the morning light, Hana rose, and clutched her belly.
It was not time to slip into the beautiful lie of the obelisk yet. No, she had to fight to stay alive at least until she could enter the domain of the fabled Dark One, in the cave of the reborn. There, she hoped against all reason, with a hope kept alive by an unwavering faith, that Lea would protect her son from the plight of Nital.
Hana felt a kick, and smiled.
She would try.
Screams, wails. Fire, suffering, but above all, blood. Hana alone had escaped this fate, the destruction wrought by the mountainous figure of boiling red, and as such, Hana alone was to confront it in her sleep.
The familiar nightmare reached its recurring climax. The scene all around began to slow, and the low buzzing Hana knew so well rose again over the cries of her clan and the cawing of the Onoqui. And with the buzz rose the whisper, again, as it did every night.
Come to me, Hana. Hana... Come.
Hana...
And once again, the red all around, the faces of those she once knew and loved, the claws of the demons tearing at the life she once had-- it all began to fade. It turned from vivid colors, slowed to frozen, into first, a blurry gray. Then the gray blurred further, and turned to ash, and all at once spun away from her as the buzz became louder.
Come to me.
And before her rose the oh-so-familiar spire that pierced the black sky of the land she found herself night after night. And the whispers were so calming, so saccharine. The reflective obsidian face of the obelisk that rose into the heights of this new reality showed her mother, then her father, then her husband. All back to life. All with outstretched arms.
Hana...
Just as she did every night, she began to glide towards it. The beautiful solace, so wondrous and loving... If only she could touch it, maybe everything would be okay...
She drew closer and closer to the black surface, vibrant against the all-encompassing darkness of her dreamscape. Her eyes grew wide and her fingers stretched out, and she came within inches of the surface...
But all at once, just as it did every night, the whispers turned sinister, and Hana saw the true face of the great obelisk. The hideous reality hidden just beyond the beautiful veil.
And as she snapped awake, the whispers slid from her ears, grating against them with one last death rattle, fading away before Tai's morning light.
Bakaraj, scraped the sound as it slipped further and further away, Bakaraj...
In the morning light, Hana rose, and clutched her belly.
It was not time to slip into the beautiful lie of the obelisk yet. No, she had to fight to stay alive at least until she could enter the domain of the fabled Dark One, in the cave of the reborn. There, she hoped against all reason, with a hope kept alive by an unwavering faith, that Lea would protect her son from the plight of Nital.
Hana felt a kick, and smiled.
She would try.
Terrance888
Discord Reigns
Never Forget: Vash LIES.
Never Forget: Vash HIDES.
Never Forget: Vash SLAYS.
Never Forget: Vash BETRAYS.
Never Forget: Vash HIDES.
Never Forget: Vash SLAYS.
Never Forget: Vash BETRAYS.
thomas.berubeg
Wandering the World
Nyubar has wandered the many paths of the world. In his guise as an old man, Nyubar has spoken to the wisest of magistrates and the most innocent of children, to the busiest housewife and the indolent drunk. Nyubar has heard many stories, acts of valor and charity and wisdom.
And Nyubar thinks.
And Nyubar realizes.
Perhaps he has made a mistake. Since his crime, Vash has worked almost tirelessly for the people of the world, for life, for creation itself. Perhaps repentance, atonement, is in reach.
And Nyubar thinks.
And Nyubar realizes.
Perhaps he has made a mistake. Since his crime, Vash has worked almost tirelessly for the people of the world, for life, for creation itself. Perhaps repentance, atonement, is in reach.
Seon
Not An Evil Liar
Preparation.
The Curator had no idea how to make a pie, but that was okay. If the self help books it found in the library (it tried to find books on making pies fit for human consumption, but most of them were intended for blatantly non-human consumption. It still had no idea how addition of cement into the filling was supposed to aid in muscle sculpting.) was of any value, then all that mattered was having the right frame of mind and confidence. There was also the issue of stirring, of course, and making sure the oven wasn't too hot (the oven was never too hot), but practically every other obstacle, the book suggested, could be overcome by simply believing in it enough.
With that in mind, the Curator decides that there is no issue with the fact that it had failed to find the recipe book that one of the visitors to the museum recommended to it in the library (it was, to be fair, a big library, and finding a particular book among all those books was nearly impossible). Surely, as a god who hoarded knowledge, it would be able to replicate something as simple as a pie without consulting the recipe books.
"So, uh, why do you suddenly want to bake a pie?" the Eye asked as she dug around an exhibit of a kitchen now commandeered for culinary purposes, making faces at the old pans and ingredients she pulled up. "Are these even safe for using?"
"Everything in the museum is preserved in perfection, it'll be fine," the Curator said imperiously. "Besides, can I not do something nice for people sometimes?"
"Fair enough."
At some point, the two cloaked beings decide that having two people.. god... things prepare a pie was a bit too much of a hard work, so the Eye leaves to grab a passing Custodian. The Custodian for its part appear mostly confused and annoyed that the Curator and the Eye have decided to neglect its duties for a few hours to bake a pie, but obeys its lords anyways. The Eye and the Custodian looks at the Curator, waiting for the next direction.
It is at this moment that the Curator realizes that it has no idea what it is doing, but it is not about to let its two subordinates discover this. After all, the self-help books said that fear and lack of self-confidence was infectious, and showing either so early on in the great work would certainly poison the final product. So the Curator starts signing and ranting out a list of ingredients that the pie will need.
The Custodian obediently scampers about the kitchen gathering up the ingredients: from baskets, boxes, subterranean vaults, etc, as the Eye watches with increasing incredulous eyes. Eggs, milk, butter, four, and as many bowls and cups as the Custodian could carry in its lower two arms are soon scattered all over the table at the center of the kitchen. Some of the ingredients that the Curator has listed off in panic appear more correct than other.
Admittedly, the Curator itself doubted that it would ever use cloves of garlic or green peppers in a pie, but it was important to be prepared just in case.
With that, it is time to start working.
............................
Fillings
"First, we must--"
"So what kind of pie are we making, exactly?" Eye says, worry apparent in her eye as she stares at the eclectic bunch of ingredients in the table. She suspisciously picks up a single carrot. "Carrot pie? Is that even a thing?"
The Custodian shrugs with all 6 of its arms.
"I was thinking of making pumpkin pie?" the Curator offers. It liked pumpkin. Children made interesting carvings out of them, so it had taken to keeping a small stockpile in case another child wandered accidentally into the library.
"I think it should be blueberry," the Eye interjects.
"Maybe it can be filled with cinnamon instead?" the Custodian signs with 2 of its arms.
"It can be all three," the Curator said. The Eye raised an eyebrow. Custodian shrugs again, as if completely used to the Curator's whims. Curator decides to begin with the pumpkins. It has no idea why, but the Eye refuses to help with this particular section of the baking process, so the Curator has the custodian smash up some pumpkins, spreading orange insides everywhere. The Curator wipes a chunk of pumpkin off its robes (the Eye looks unharmed, having taken cover behind a chair when the Custodian first brought up its fists) and signs towards the Custodian to begin putting the pumpkin inside a bowl. It is a purple, large bowl perfect for mixing ingredients. It is pretty proud of its choice of bowl. There the insides are further smashed into pulp. The Eye's eyes are comically big now.
Next comes the cinnamon. Unfortunately the kitchen does not have any cinnamon powder that it could use, but there was a rather large stockpile of cinnamon sticks. The Custodian smashes them over the bowl, powdering. By the time the Custodian is finished, its robes are covered in fine brown dust. It does not look particularly happy.
Next comes the blue berries, and to nobody's surprise it turns out that the Eye has been nibbling on them from the start. She hisses like an angry cat when the Curator snatches away the bag of blueberries from her blue-stained fingers. "That was for everybo-" the Curator begins when it feels somebody tugging on its robes.
The Custodian shakes its head and signs: "Just let them have this one. She's been really craving surface world fruits," it says. Its mouth is covered in cinnamon powder. Everytime it breathes, a lungful of cinnamon powder escapes from its insides.
"CONSPIRACY!" the Curator bellows and picks up a long wooden spoon, holding it up like a sword. The Custodian picks up 6 different kitchen implements with six of its limbs without missing a bit before lunging. The Custodian's spoon turns out to be the one it was using mix the ingredients together and little flecks of pumpkin paste and cinnamon go everywhere as it strikes. The Eye hurriedly reminds them both that they have work to do with the pie.
The Eye finally relinquishes the bag of blueberries when the Curator allows her to have a handful of them to chew on their own. The Eye leaves with her handful, stretches out on her stomach on the floor, and begins nibbling on the berries, apparently done with helping for the day.
The Curator attempts to paste and crumble the blue berries like they did with the cinnamon sticks, but it just results in messy juices being spurted everywhere, so it just dumps the rest of the contents of the bag into the bowl and hopes for the best.
The Eye, finished with her blueberries, picks herself off the floor, licking her fingers. The Custodian tries in vain to remove the brown stain from its robes. Curator realizes that it has still not added any eggs which it's pretty confident is part of all baking process, and attempts to remedy it immediately, and task the Custodian with breaking the eggs.
The Custodian obediently breaks a dozen eggs into the bowl. An impressive amount of yolk gets into the bowl. An equally impressive amount of shells go into the bowl. The Curator decides that this is not really concerning. There is a lot, admittedly, it has decided was not really concerning, but it refuses to lose hope. As long as everything is stirred together enough, it'll be delicious and everyone will love it. Hopefully anyhow.
The Curator ends up dumping a little of everything into the bowl. Sugar, flour, honey, some butter, etc, pretending to measure carefully. Custodian continues destroying the eggs with a neutral expression on its face before handing the leftover shells to the Eye, who puts them into another bowl and smashes them into fine powder with a mallet. The Curator is not sure why the last part is necessary, but it's not like it's hurting anyone, so it allows it.
"Now comes the stirring," the Curator says, handing the Custodian a clean scoop and nodding. The Custodian's hands begin moving at incredible speeds as the Eye and the Curator both run for cover.
Few seconds later, approximately 90% of the content of the bowl is on the walls. Custodian offers an apologetic shrug. "It's fine," the Custodian says. "Let's just pour what we have left into the crust."
"Oh yeah, the crust," says the Eye.
.....................................................
Crust
Nobody has any idea how to make a crust, so the Eye takes a rolling pin and flattens out some bread while the Custodian takes them and makes a vaguely bowl shaped thing. When they bake the thing, the bread should be toasted, and then they'll be solid, so it'll be alright. In the meantime the Curator desperately tries to use dabs of the filling to glue the bread together. The Eye is now trying to get the fire started at the kitchen. None among them knows at what temperature a pie cooks the best, so the Curator suggests turning it to the highest temperature possible by throwing as many kindling and charcoal into the firepit as possible. The Custodian agrees that this is a wonderful idea and really, the three of them make the best possible team.
..............................................................
As the pie sits in the oven and the raging inferno that is alight in the firepit, the three robed figures ponder the mess created in the kitchen exhibit. The walls are covered with filling, there is a bowl of finely ground egg shells that nobody has any idea what to do with, and a bag of flour has been tipped over and is now pouring silently into the tiled floor much to the Museum's distress.
"Gross," is the Eye's observation for the day. The Curator nods. It was pretty gross.
"Maybe the museum could just eat it?" offered the Eye. Curator shook its head. It would not use the museum on some frivolous task such as cleaning. Besides, what if it ate some priceless artifact in culinary history?
This is the moment when footsteps echo from the museum's halls and a horde of children* who have been trapped in the museum for subjective years enter. "Oh, what's going on?" one of them chatters excitedly. "Are you cooking? I want to cook too!" She runs excitedly into the kitchen, stepping over the spilling bag of flour and spilling more of them onto the floor. (the museum weeps). "Wow! I can see you put everything you had into it!" she nods approvingly at the tabletop of ingredients and the raging inferno in the oven. "But you know what? I think it could use more heat!"
A lot of thing happened at once after that, some of them more than others. Here's the thing of something that happened more.
-Oven caught on fire.
-One of the children began using the opportunity to cook something other than a pie and started trying to make noodles from the spilled flour on the floor, saying that it would be a shame to waste them.
-The first child to enter shouted encouragement as the cooking child started beating up the flour and vegetables together as if it will magically make noodles happen somehow.
-An older and more responsible child rushed forward to grab a towel to stamp out the fire.
-Another custodian wandered in, lured by the Museum's howls and the loud noises, decided that it was not its problem, and wandered away.
-The oldest child among them stood slackjawed and horrified at the chaos that broke loose.
After the fires are stamped out and the pie miraculously recovered from the wreckage of the exhibit, curator lets out a contented sigh. The pie is charred black, but the Curator is confident that it'll be delicious.
Step 5: Enjoy
Pie is good, the Curator thinks. Not as good as some it had eaten while wandering the human world, but not bad for a first attempt--despite how burnt it is.
Somehow there is enough pie for everyone. The Eye and a child makes horrid puns on how horrible running a bakery would be like and what a crumbly job they did on this pie. Children chatter over what exhibit they found in the museum, and the responsible child talks excitedly about a long lost book on history that she found in the library. A younger child makes a comment that his mother's pies taste better, and is immediately ribbed by the one sitting next to him. A few of them talk about the make believe fortresses of books they constructed in the Library corner, much to the Custodian's growing horror.
There's a place for everyone here, the Curator thinks, and for a moment the Curator allows itself a delusion that maybe it finally has a family worth sharing its story with. The moment quickly passes, however, and the Curator is back to being the imposing and tall figure at the dinner table. The pie did not turn out exactly how it wanted, but it can learn eventually.
It's done good, the Curator thinks. But there is always a margin for improvement.
-------------------------
Serves one Family (and a god)
*it should be noted that mortals of all ages pretty much all look like children to the Curator at this point.
The Curator had no idea how to make a pie, but that was okay. If the self help books it found in the library (it tried to find books on making pies fit for human consumption, but most of them were intended for blatantly non-human consumption. It still had no idea how addition of cement into the filling was supposed to aid in muscle sculpting.) was of any value, then all that mattered was having the right frame of mind and confidence. There was also the issue of stirring, of course, and making sure the oven wasn't too hot (the oven was never too hot), but practically every other obstacle, the book suggested, could be overcome by simply believing in it enough.
With that in mind, the Curator decides that there is no issue with the fact that it had failed to find the recipe book that one of the visitors to the museum recommended to it in the library (it was, to be fair, a big library, and finding a particular book among all those books was nearly impossible). Surely, as a god who hoarded knowledge, it would be able to replicate something as simple as a pie without consulting the recipe books.
"So, uh, why do you suddenly want to bake a pie?" the Eye asked as she dug around an exhibit of a kitchen now commandeered for culinary purposes, making faces at the old pans and ingredients she pulled up. "Are these even safe for using?"
"Everything in the museum is preserved in perfection, it'll be fine," the Curator said imperiously. "Besides, can I not do something nice for people sometimes?"
"Fair enough."
At some point, the two cloaked beings decide that having two people.. god... things prepare a pie was a bit too much of a hard work, so the Eye leaves to grab a passing Custodian. The Custodian for its part appear mostly confused and annoyed that the Curator and the Eye have decided to neglect its duties for a few hours to bake a pie, but obeys its lords anyways. The Eye and the Custodian looks at the Curator, waiting for the next direction.
It is at this moment that the Curator realizes that it has no idea what it is doing, but it is not about to let its two subordinates discover this. After all, the self-help books said that fear and lack of self-confidence was infectious, and showing either so early on in the great work would certainly poison the final product. So the Curator starts signing and ranting out a list of ingredients that the pie will need.
The Custodian obediently scampers about the kitchen gathering up the ingredients: from baskets, boxes, subterranean vaults, etc, as the Eye watches with increasing incredulous eyes. Eggs, milk, butter, four, and as many bowls and cups as the Custodian could carry in its lower two arms are soon scattered all over the table at the center of the kitchen. Some of the ingredients that the Curator has listed off in panic appear more correct than other.
Admittedly, the Curator itself doubted that it would ever use cloves of garlic or green peppers in a pie, but it was important to be prepared just in case.
With that, it is time to start working.
............................
Fillings
"First, we must--"
"So what kind of pie are we making, exactly?" Eye says, worry apparent in her eye as she stares at the eclectic bunch of ingredients in the table. She suspisciously picks up a single carrot. "Carrot pie? Is that even a thing?"
The Custodian shrugs with all 6 of its arms.
"I was thinking of making pumpkin pie?" the Curator offers. It liked pumpkin. Children made interesting carvings out of them, so it had taken to keeping a small stockpile in case another child wandered accidentally into the library.
"I think it should be blueberry," the Eye interjects.
"Maybe it can be filled with cinnamon instead?" the Custodian signs with 2 of its arms.
"It can be all three," the Curator said. The Eye raised an eyebrow. Custodian shrugs again, as if completely used to the Curator's whims. Curator decides to begin with the pumpkins. It has no idea why, but the Eye refuses to help with this particular section of the baking process, so the Curator has the custodian smash up some pumpkins, spreading orange insides everywhere. The Curator wipes a chunk of pumpkin off its robes (the Eye looks unharmed, having taken cover behind a chair when the Custodian first brought up its fists) and signs towards the Custodian to begin putting the pumpkin inside a bowl. It is a purple, large bowl perfect for mixing ingredients. It is pretty proud of its choice of bowl. There the insides are further smashed into pulp. The Eye's eyes are comically big now.
Next comes the cinnamon. Unfortunately the kitchen does not have any cinnamon powder that it could use, but there was a rather large stockpile of cinnamon sticks. The Custodian smashes them over the bowl, powdering. By the time the Custodian is finished, its robes are covered in fine brown dust. It does not look particularly happy.
Next comes the blue berries, and to nobody's surprise it turns out that the Eye has been nibbling on them from the start. She hisses like an angry cat when the Curator snatches away the bag of blueberries from her blue-stained fingers. "That was for everybo-" the Curator begins when it feels somebody tugging on its robes.
The Custodian shakes its head and signs: "Just let them have this one. She's been really craving surface world fruits," it says. Its mouth is covered in cinnamon powder. Everytime it breathes, a lungful of cinnamon powder escapes from its insides.
"CONSPIRACY!" the Curator bellows and picks up a long wooden spoon, holding it up like a sword. The Custodian picks up 6 different kitchen implements with six of its limbs without missing a bit before lunging. The Custodian's spoon turns out to be the one it was using mix the ingredients together and little flecks of pumpkin paste and cinnamon go everywhere as it strikes. The Eye hurriedly reminds them both that they have work to do with the pie.
The Eye finally relinquishes the bag of blueberries when the Curator allows her to have a handful of them to chew on their own. The Eye leaves with her handful, stretches out on her stomach on the floor, and begins nibbling on the berries, apparently done with helping for the day.
The Curator attempts to paste and crumble the blue berries like they did with the cinnamon sticks, but it just results in messy juices being spurted everywhere, so it just dumps the rest of the contents of the bag into the bowl and hopes for the best.
The Eye, finished with her blueberries, picks herself off the floor, licking her fingers. The Custodian tries in vain to remove the brown stain from its robes. Curator realizes that it has still not added any eggs which it's pretty confident is part of all baking process, and attempts to remedy it immediately, and task the Custodian with breaking the eggs.
The Custodian obediently breaks a dozen eggs into the bowl. An impressive amount of yolk gets into the bowl. An equally impressive amount of shells go into the bowl. The Curator decides that this is not really concerning. There is a lot, admittedly, it has decided was not really concerning, but it refuses to lose hope. As long as everything is stirred together enough, it'll be delicious and everyone will love it. Hopefully anyhow.
The Curator ends up dumping a little of everything into the bowl. Sugar, flour, honey, some butter, etc, pretending to measure carefully. Custodian continues destroying the eggs with a neutral expression on its face before handing the leftover shells to the Eye, who puts them into another bowl and smashes them into fine powder with a mallet. The Curator is not sure why the last part is necessary, but it's not like it's hurting anyone, so it allows it.
"Now comes the stirring," the Curator says, handing the Custodian a clean scoop and nodding. The Custodian's hands begin moving at incredible speeds as the Eye and the Curator both run for cover.
Few seconds later, approximately 90% of the content of the bowl is on the walls. Custodian offers an apologetic shrug. "It's fine," the Custodian says. "Let's just pour what we have left into the crust."
"Oh yeah, the crust," says the Eye.
.....................................................
Crust
Nobody has any idea how to make a crust, so the Eye takes a rolling pin and flattens out some bread while the Custodian takes them and makes a vaguely bowl shaped thing. When they bake the thing, the bread should be toasted, and then they'll be solid, so it'll be alright. In the meantime the Curator desperately tries to use dabs of the filling to glue the bread together. The Eye is now trying to get the fire started at the kitchen. None among them knows at what temperature a pie cooks the best, so the Curator suggests turning it to the highest temperature possible by throwing as many kindling and charcoal into the firepit as possible. The Custodian agrees that this is a wonderful idea and really, the three of them make the best possible team.
..............................................................
As the pie sits in the oven and the raging inferno that is alight in the firepit, the three robed figures ponder the mess created in the kitchen exhibit. The walls are covered with filling, there is a bowl of finely ground egg shells that nobody has any idea what to do with, and a bag of flour has been tipped over and is now pouring silently into the tiled floor much to the Museum's distress.
"Gross," is the Eye's observation for the day. The Curator nods. It was pretty gross.
"Maybe the museum could just eat it?" offered the Eye. Curator shook its head. It would not use the museum on some frivolous task such as cleaning. Besides, what if it ate some priceless artifact in culinary history?
This is the moment when footsteps echo from the museum's halls and a horde of children* who have been trapped in the museum for subjective years enter. "Oh, what's going on?" one of them chatters excitedly. "Are you cooking? I want to cook too!" She runs excitedly into the kitchen, stepping over the spilling bag of flour and spilling more of them onto the floor. (the museum weeps). "Wow! I can see you put everything you had into it!" she nods approvingly at the tabletop of ingredients and the raging inferno in the oven. "But you know what? I think it could use more heat!"
A lot of thing happened at once after that, some of them more than others. Here's the thing of something that happened more.
-Oven caught on fire.
-One of the children began using the opportunity to cook something other than a pie and started trying to make noodles from the spilled flour on the floor, saying that it would be a shame to waste them.
-The first child to enter shouted encouragement as the cooking child started beating up the flour and vegetables together as if it will magically make noodles happen somehow.
-An older and more responsible child rushed forward to grab a towel to stamp out the fire.
-Another custodian wandered in, lured by the Museum's howls and the loud noises, decided that it was not its problem, and wandered away.
-The oldest child among them stood slackjawed and horrified at the chaos that broke loose.
After the fires are stamped out and the pie miraculously recovered from the wreckage of the exhibit, curator lets out a contented sigh. The pie is charred black, but the Curator is confident that it'll be delicious.
Step 5: Enjoy
Pie is good, the Curator thinks. Not as good as some it had eaten while wandering the human world, but not bad for a first attempt--despite how burnt it is.
Somehow there is enough pie for everyone. The Eye and a child makes horrid puns on how horrible running a bakery would be like and what a crumbly job they did on this pie. Children chatter over what exhibit they found in the museum, and the responsible child talks excitedly about a long lost book on history that she found in the library. A younger child makes a comment that his mother's pies taste better, and is immediately ribbed by the one sitting next to him. A few of them talk about the make believe fortresses of books they constructed in the Library corner, much to the Custodian's growing horror.
There's a place for everyone here, the Curator thinks, and for a moment the Curator allows itself a delusion that maybe it finally has a family worth sharing its story with. The moment quickly passes, however, and the Curator is back to being the imposing and tall figure at the dinner table. The pie did not turn out exactly how it wanted, but it can learn eventually.
It's done good, the Curator thinks. But there is always a margin for improvement.
-------------------------
Serves one Family (and a god)
*it should be noted that mortals of all ages pretty much all look like children to the Curator at this point.
Terrance888
Discord Reigns
A Chormakin Priest of Tai Accidentally Sermons on the Imposter Church
Before even Raiko leaps over the horizon, Danus was already rolling out of bed. As the horizon slowly turned red and the villagers of Melonfall begun their first few chores, he was inside the Church of Tai, carefully cleaning the stained glass roof-windows in preparation for the day’s dawn sermon. For Danus was an attendant, a servant of the local Priest of Tai.
Their village, small as it is, is blessed two fold. First, within living memory, a sprite took hold in their little oasis, greatly increasing their watermelon crop and the raising of a temple to Nyubar by the new vigorous fountain. And then, there was Temalla, the Chromakin Priestess of Tai who graced the village with a living reminder of Tai’s daily blessings.
The sky blazes orange as Dorvik rises, challenging the remnants of the night to remain. Then yellow, as Taigos rises, steadily, before slowing and offering a hand for the next sun. The First Sun. Tai rises.
The villagers, or most of them, have gathered in the temple. But Temalla wasn’t here for the morning prayers. As the sky brightened by a magnitude and Tai’s light shone through the stained glass, the patient waiting slowly became muttering. And as Solace rose, her healthy green glow barely coloring the horizon as she held Tai steady, they begun to worry.
Danus walked amongst them, asking them to calm, to be patient. But inside, he, perhaps worries the most of all. There are many evils in the world, and unlike the villagers, he has some learning of their threat and their danger. Some say the unknown is the scariest thing of all. He would say, some have never heard of the unnamable horrors in the western continent. Never learned of the horrible power of ambitious men, with supernatural powers. Not all those whom the gods favor mean well.
The double doors open gracefully as a soft singing is heard. The crowd grew silent as the dancing form of Temalla entered, her soft luminescent yellow dress fluttering as she chirped a cheerful birdsong. In one hand she held a rolled up sheet of parchment: in another, a long, soft feather.
Danus gratefully waved at the congregation to be seated. The Suns were almost all up, but Temalla was here now, and she seems, surprisingly, prepared. At least, that’s what he hoped the parchment indicates. He had spent several long years trying to teach her to read and write, until he realized she knew all along and was just playing along to make him feel better. He chuckles at how earnestly she insisted that he helped her write in cursive, after he discovered her flawless calligraphy from before the Long Winter ended.
Temalla swirls in the middle of the room then, as she skips the last few steps, she begun to speak.
“My friends! Isn’t it such a beautiful day!”
She waves the feather infront of her eyes for a moment, the silence growing to the edge of awkwardness until:
“A new nest was made by temple! Did anyone see? A mommy bird and a daddy bird and three itty bitty eggs!”
Temalla smiles and places the feather in her hair.
“They were singing when I joined them, then they said I should go, so I did! Aren’t friends great? They help remind you about important things, like being here!”
Danus coughs gently, a soft but firm reminder for Temalla to offer the proper prayers.
“Oh, and why are we all here? Mhm? Because Tai rises every day and gives us the day, and the light! And he never asks for thanks. He’s kinda like that nice blacksmith down the road who fixes your necklace for free. Just because it looks nice on you. By the way, you should totally ask him to meet with you. You can be bestest friends!”
She winks and one of the maids in the audience blushes, the young girl hoping no one else noticed. Danus sighs, half at the innocence of the priest he serves, and half at how after twenty years of serving Temalla, she never offered prayers the same way twice.
“Just like how Tai is like our friend! He always comes and greets us every morning, and gives us his love and his light, and his farewells as he leaves at night. He watches over us, and he loves us. The least we can do is thank him. Even if he never asked for it.”
The congregation follows, a half beat behind Temalla, as they prayed, praised Tai, and thanked him for his light. Danus now wondered what was in that scroll. It looked long, and the farmers need to head for their fields eventually: usually before Maryea rises, and even now Ferona is peering over the horizon, her blue melting into that of the sky itself.
So, as Temalla summersaults into a tangent about toads croaking in the mud by the oasis, he coughed.
“Oh, this morning, I found a GIFT!”
Her smile was so wide, he almost had to shield his eyes. She seemed so excited as she shows off the scroll. It had some twigs and leaves sticking out of it, but it was obviously high grade parchment.
“But wait, look!”
She unrolls the scroll to reveal lines of small, closely set writing.
“Writing! Isn’t writing so cool? They are like, talking to people a long long long time ago, or far far far away. Or talking to yourself! Danus, my good friend taught me how to read! Maybe I can teach it to others, too. How…”
Danus realizes she was about to plan a school, and coughed. They had two of those programs already and didn’t need a third.
“About I read this out to you! After all, some shy person post it up here, hoping others can hear his or her words. I can help, shy person! Thank you for your words! Let’s see what you have to say!”
Danus, coughs. This is a bad idea. No way can he let her set such a precedent.
Unfortunately, Temalla had already begun to read, and she did not seem like she wants to stop until she finished.
At first, she was cheerful, laughing along and commenting, apologizing for pronouncing words wrong. Even though her tone hid the message for the audience, Danus hears, and hears clearly.
When Temalla reached where it spoke of Nyubar, she became more somber. The Church of Nyubar was friendly to her, they helped buried the foxes she tried to adopt from a friend to the north. They died in the desert heat when she took them out to dance in the sands, and they comforted her as she wept.
When Temalla reached the word “liar”, she gave Danus a look. A look which spoke volumes. Was this another machination of Vash?
As the treatise questioned the nature of the gate, Temalla grew tears. So many friends she had promised to Nyubar. Why is this person asking such hard questions?
As the paper begun to suggest opposing the gods, in questioning reality, Temalla’s voice grew in strength, and she finished the scroll.
The temple was silent.
Then she turned to the heavens and shouted.
“I WANT ANSWERS! WHO NAILED THIS SCROLL ON MY NICE CHURCH DOOR!? I GREW THAT TREE MYSELF, MISTER! AND IT WASN’T EVEN A NICE SCROLL, EITHER.”
And she flew out the roof.
Danus panicked, and quickly sent the crowd to the fields before chasing after her. At least one thing is for sure: the Church of Nyubar will not be happy with the state of their flock that night. But regardless, he must make sure Temalla is safe.
For there are many dangerous out there.
Temalla flew through the village, shouting and crying.
“WHY DO YOU ASK SO MANY HARD QUESTIONS!?”
“WHY CAN’T I LIKE THE NICE THINGS THEY DO AND SAY?”
“WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH MY DANUS?”
“Uh… I’m Danus.”
“Oh, ok.”
“I think you were looking for me.” spoke a robed woman.
“Whoaaaaaa.” said Temalla, her burning curiosity forgotten under a deluge of curiosity. This woman is so particular! She had a cool robe with so many symbols on them! Doesn’t take good care of them though, that Tai’s disk is…
Danus felt himself pushed asside as Temalla grabbed at the woman’s cloak and cried.
“What happened to this? I made this eighty seven years ago with Tremar Donnel for the Tyronal’s attendant in Grassdunes! Why do you have it and WHY IS IT BROKEN?”
Before even Raiko leaps over the horizon, Danus was already rolling out of bed. As the horizon slowly turned red and the villagers of Melonfall begun their first few chores, he was inside the Church of Tai, carefully cleaning the stained glass roof-windows in preparation for the day’s dawn sermon. For Danus was an attendant, a servant of the local Priest of Tai.
Their village, small as it is, is blessed two fold. First, within living memory, a sprite took hold in their little oasis, greatly increasing their watermelon crop and the raising of a temple to Nyubar by the new vigorous fountain. And then, there was Temalla, the Chromakin Priestess of Tai who graced the village with a living reminder of Tai’s daily blessings.
The sky blazes orange as Dorvik rises, challenging the remnants of the night to remain. Then yellow, as Taigos rises, steadily, before slowing and offering a hand for the next sun. The First Sun. Tai rises.
The villagers, or most of them, have gathered in the temple. But Temalla wasn’t here for the morning prayers. As the sky brightened by a magnitude and Tai’s light shone through the stained glass, the patient waiting slowly became muttering. And as Solace rose, her healthy green glow barely coloring the horizon as she held Tai steady, they begun to worry.
Danus walked amongst them, asking them to calm, to be patient. But inside, he, perhaps worries the most of all. There are many evils in the world, and unlike the villagers, he has some learning of their threat and their danger. Some say the unknown is the scariest thing of all. He would say, some have never heard of the unnamable horrors in the western continent. Never learned of the horrible power of ambitious men, with supernatural powers. Not all those whom the gods favor mean well.
The double doors open gracefully as a soft singing is heard. The crowd grew silent as the dancing form of Temalla entered, her soft luminescent yellow dress fluttering as she chirped a cheerful birdsong. In one hand she held a rolled up sheet of parchment: in another, a long, soft feather.
Danus gratefully waved at the congregation to be seated. The Suns were almost all up, but Temalla was here now, and she seems, surprisingly, prepared. At least, that’s what he hoped the parchment indicates. He had spent several long years trying to teach her to read and write, until he realized she knew all along and was just playing along to make him feel better. He chuckles at how earnestly she insisted that he helped her write in cursive, after he discovered her flawless calligraphy from before the Long Winter ended.
Temalla swirls in the middle of the room then, as she skips the last few steps, she begun to speak.
“My friends! Isn’t it such a beautiful day!”
She waves the feather infront of her eyes for a moment, the silence growing to the edge of awkwardness until:
“A new nest was made by temple! Did anyone see? A mommy bird and a daddy bird and three itty bitty eggs!”
Temalla smiles and places the feather in her hair.
“They were singing when I joined them, then they said I should go, so I did! Aren’t friends great? They help remind you about important things, like being here!”
Danus coughs gently, a soft but firm reminder for Temalla to offer the proper prayers.
“Oh, and why are we all here? Mhm? Because Tai rises every day and gives us the day, and the light! And he never asks for thanks. He’s kinda like that nice blacksmith down the road who fixes your necklace for free. Just because it looks nice on you. By the way, you should totally ask him to meet with you. You can be bestest friends!”
She winks and one of the maids in the audience blushes, the young girl hoping no one else noticed. Danus sighs, half at the innocence of the priest he serves, and half at how after twenty years of serving Temalla, she never offered prayers the same way twice.
“Just like how Tai is like our friend! He always comes and greets us every morning, and gives us his love and his light, and his farewells as he leaves at night. He watches over us, and he loves us. The least we can do is thank him. Even if he never asked for it.”
The congregation follows, a half beat behind Temalla, as they prayed, praised Tai, and thanked him for his light. Danus now wondered what was in that scroll. It looked long, and the farmers need to head for their fields eventually: usually before Maryea rises, and even now Ferona is peering over the horizon, her blue melting into that of the sky itself.
So, as Temalla summersaults into a tangent about toads croaking in the mud by the oasis, he coughed.
“Oh, this morning, I found a GIFT!”
Her smile was so wide, he almost had to shield his eyes. She seemed so excited as she shows off the scroll. It had some twigs and leaves sticking out of it, but it was obviously high grade parchment.
“But wait, look!”
She unrolls the scroll to reveal lines of small, closely set writing.
“Writing! Isn’t writing so cool? They are like, talking to people a long long long time ago, or far far far away. Or talking to yourself! Danus, my good friend taught me how to read! Maybe I can teach it to others, too. How…”
Danus realizes she was about to plan a school, and coughed. They had two of those programs already and didn’t need a third.
“About I read this out to you! After all, some shy person post it up here, hoping others can hear his or her words. I can help, shy person! Thank you for your words! Let’s see what you have to say!”
Danus, coughs. This is a bad idea. No way can he let her set such a precedent.
Unfortunately, Temalla had already begun to read, and she did not seem like she wants to stop until she finished.
At first, she was cheerful, laughing along and commenting, apologizing for pronouncing words wrong. Even though her tone hid the message for the audience, Danus hears, and hears clearly.
When Temalla reached where it spoke of Nyubar, she became more somber. The Church of Nyubar was friendly to her, they helped buried the foxes she tried to adopt from a friend to the north. They died in the desert heat when she took them out to dance in the sands, and they comforted her as she wept.
When Temalla reached the word “liar”, she gave Danus a look. A look which spoke volumes. Was this another machination of Vash?
As the treatise questioned the nature of the gate, Temalla grew tears. So many friends she had promised to Nyubar. Why is this person asking such hard questions?
As the paper begun to suggest opposing the gods, in questioning reality, Temalla’s voice grew in strength, and she finished the scroll.
The temple was silent.
Then she turned to the heavens and shouted.
“I WANT ANSWERS! WHO NAILED THIS SCROLL ON MY NICE CHURCH DOOR!? I GREW THAT TREE MYSELF, MISTER! AND IT WASN’T EVEN A NICE SCROLL, EITHER.”
And she flew out the roof.
Danus panicked, and quickly sent the crowd to the fields before chasing after her. At least one thing is for sure: the Church of Nyubar will not be happy with the state of their flock that night. But regardless, he must make sure Temalla is safe.
For there are many dangerous out there.
Temalla flew through the village, shouting and crying.
“WHY DO YOU ASK SO MANY HARD QUESTIONS!?”
“WHY CAN’T I LIKE THE NICE THINGS THEY DO AND SAY?”
“WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH MY DANUS?”
“Uh… I’m Danus.”
“Oh, ok.”
“I think you were looking for me.” spoke a robed woman.
“Whoaaaaaa.” said Temalla, her burning curiosity forgotten under a deluge of curiosity. This woman is so particular! She had a cool robe with so many symbols on them! Doesn’t take good care of them though, that Tai’s disk is…
Danus felt himself pushed asside as Temalla grabbed at the woman’s cloak and cried.
“What happened to this? I made this eighty seven years ago with Tremar Donnel for the Tyronal’s attendant in Grassdunes! Why do you have it and WHY IS IT BROKEN?”
Rios was feeling whimsical. That was normal, but this was different. He was even taking the time to write down his thoughts. Have you even seen a god write? Usually they just snap their fingers and a bunch of runes show up on a rock in a desert, and some schmuck decides to make a religion out of them even though he can't actually read. Or breathe, because someone forgot to invent air.
Remarkable things, mortals. They could breathe without air and pretend to read and make pies, and all at the same time. Wait. No. That's gods.
"Hey," he thought. "I could make a pie. I'm a god, and gods make pies, right?" So he went to work. And by work, I mean he dressed up as a mortal, portaled into a hamlet, and stole a pie. "This is too easy! I could make pies all day!" he exclaimed without a trace of irony (except I totally didn't and also I'm not sure what the hell's going on with the POV and pronouns here. Am I a narrator or am I Rios? Or is Rios me? I mean, this is probably the kind of crap I would do if I was a god.). (Also how do you punctuate a sentence that ends in a parenthesis thing but the parenthesis thing has multiple sentences?)
And so he did. He made many pies that day. The ones that barked were the hardest to make because they usually woke up the villagers. He decided that, after being stabbed by peasants for the third time, he probably had enough pies, and would go back home to eat them. Many of them were delicious, but many others were sharp and pointy, especially the ones that barked. Rios decided to not eat the barking pies. He decided to send one of the pies, the best pie (actually a blueberry cobbler), to Nyubar because [I just did a 1 to 14 roll on random.org and got a 1]. He would also impart with it a gift of knowledge: while it was being consumed, the imbiber would learn how to bake the perfect cake.
Remarkable things, mortals. They could breathe without air and pretend to read and make pies, and all at the same time. Wait. No. That's gods.
"Hey," he thought. "I could make a pie. I'm a god, and gods make pies, right?" So he went to work. And by work, I mean he dressed up as a mortal, portaled into a hamlet, and stole a pie. "This is too easy! I could make pies all day!" he exclaimed without a trace of irony (except I totally didn't and also I'm not sure what the hell's going on with the POV and pronouns here. Am I a narrator or am I Rios? Or is Rios me? I mean, this is probably the kind of crap I would do if I was a god.). (Also how do you punctuate a sentence that ends in a parenthesis thing but the parenthesis thing has multiple sentences?)
And so he did. He made many pies that day. The ones that barked were the hardest to make because they usually woke up the villagers. He decided that, after being stabbed by peasants for the third time, he probably had enough pies, and would go back home to eat them. Many of them were delicious, but many others were sharp and pointy, especially the ones that barked. Rios decided to not eat the barking pies. He decided to send one of the pies, the best pie (actually a blueberry cobbler), to Nyubar because [I just did a 1 to 14 roll on random.org and got a 1]. He would also impart with it a gift of knowledge: while it was being consumed, the imbiber would learn how to bake the perfect cake.
Jehoshua
Catholic
- Joined
- Sep 25, 2009
- Messages
- 7,248
~ deception and lies while oft found together are distinct and separate concepts.
~ true and false, true because we are hidden from those who seek us out, false because the concealment is a matter of not being able to be found rather than being secluded in a place apart from the presence of gods and mortals.
~ True, wherein the speaker denotes acts that were.
~ False, for betrayal requires allegiance to begin with. We owed no allegiance to Patron or to the three, hence there was no betrayal.
-
As the judgement is chosen by the world, so is the judgement in accordance with TRUTH and assigned unto the keeping of the wise Lord. Thus is power assigned unto him who was in the beginning place established as shepherd to the needy.
Terrance888
Discord Reigns
OOC:
1) which message is more memetic and thus easily remembered, recorded, and passed on by the mortals.
2) tai sees arranging a meeting under false purposes for the sole purposes of murder, and divine murder itself, both betrayals of a kind of unspoken sacred trust between gods at the beginning of the world. Once broken, it can never be remade. Like the boundless seas that once lived, full of life and magic untold, snuffed before their time. Why would any other meet you without heavy precautions? Also, the betrayal of your followers where you were a no show. But of course, you have no allegiance to them whatsoever.
Edit. Just noticed the last part. So one in ten thousand were born with vash's gift. Is that evenly distributed/random, or are there noticeable trends in who gets what when and how?
Edit edit: Nyubar should totally bake the perfect cake with the silver chalice. Or is bake a euphemism for steal still?
1) which message is more memetic and thus easily remembered, recorded, and passed on by the mortals.
2) tai sees arranging a meeting under false purposes for the sole purposes of murder, and divine murder itself, both betrayals of a kind of unspoken sacred trust between gods at the beginning of the world. Once broken, it can never be remade. Like the boundless seas that once lived, full of life and magic untold, snuffed before their time. Why would any other meet you without heavy precautions? Also, the betrayal of your followers where you were a no show. But of course, you have no allegiance to them whatsoever.
Edit. Just noticed the last part. So one in ten thousand were born with vash's gift. Is that evenly distributed/random, or are there noticeable trends in who gets what when and how?
Edit edit: Nyubar should totally bake the perfect cake with the silver chalice. Or is bake a euphemism for steal still?
Jehoshua
Catholic
- Joined
- Sep 25, 2009
- Messages
- 7,248
OOC:
1) Vash changing the fate of random villages doomed to destruction of course
2) Tai sees what Tai wishes to see, and you are correct in general with regards to Vash's relationship with his followers. The relationship is one where people follow because they want to follow, not one like say with Statute or Tai where there is a binding relationship (Chromatai genus) or compulsion (Amaranthine empire with Statute as its head of state). Vash'eth for example emerged not because Vash directed it be built, but by the natural gravitation of forces to the magical nexus that was the eye, ergo it was merely "Accidental" to Vash's actions [although its destruction wasn't once I figured out the most likely trajectory of that turns plot arc with regards to evil forces, dragon-god plots and all that. Corruption and stagnation are not really vash's thing, being the Lord of Change after all]. You can see this attitude as well in that Vash's more recent interactions with gods and mortals have been effectively random (curiosity/interest in a specific circumstance aside) apart from where there was some specific purpose he had in mind (like when he looted the swords, or killed patron) for furthering his great plan.
As for magic, gifts of Vash are random/evenly distributed without preference to race or whether one is a follower of Vash. The congregation of magi in the lands where Vash is exalted above all other gods is simply a matter of magi going where they are appreciated, as well as the fact that a majority of magi gravitate to the worship of Vash by the simple fact that the gift of Vash is the central axis around which their lives revolve.
1) Vash changing the fate of random villages doomed to destruction of course
2) Tai sees what Tai wishes to see, and you are correct in general with regards to Vash's relationship with his followers. The relationship is one where people follow because they want to follow, not one like say with Statute or Tai where there is a binding relationship (Chromatai genus) or compulsion (Amaranthine empire with Statute as its head of state). Vash'eth for example emerged not because Vash directed it be built, but by the natural gravitation of forces to the magical nexus that was the eye, ergo it was merely "Accidental" to Vash's actions [although its destruction wasn't once I figured out the most likely trajectory of that turns plot arc with regards to evil forces, dragon-god plots and all that. Corruption and stagnation are not really vash's thing, being the Lord of Change after all]. You can see this attitude as well in that Vash's more recent interactions with gods and mortals have been effectively random (curiosity/interest in a specific circumstance aside) apart from where there was some specific purpose he had in mind (like when he looted the swords, or killed patron) for furthering his great plan.
As for magic, gifts of Vash are random/evenly distributed without preference to race or whether one is a follower of Vash. The congregation of magi in the lands where Vash is exalted above all other gods is simply a matter of magi going where they are appreciated, as well as the fact that a majority of magi gravitate to the worship of Vash by the simple fact that the gift of Vash is the central axis around which their lives revolve.
Terrance888
Discord Reigns
Ooc: 1) right. Always there to take credit. Mhm. You could have all died! Doomed. DOOMED I say! Good thing I changed your fate, huh?
2) fascinating.
Edit: Tai doesn't understand fate, obviously.
2) fascinating.
Edit: Tai doesn't understand fate, obviously.
