NDNESVI(Reboot): Myths, Legends, and Gods

Double A said:

It could hover.

Click to expand...

If you have the power to make an environmentally sustainable hovering continent, please be my guest. I'll be spending mine on more realistic projects.

excerpts from the Journal of Koru, supplicant to the spring


Elder Halim told another story of Yagna today how benevolent she was, how gracious and kind for gifting the spring of life teaching us the how to tend the earth and care for nature. I can't be the only one here who notices the stories the elders tell us contradict each other. One moment she is kind and the next she abandons everyone and nobody knows why? Or that she taught us to immerse or ourselves in nature and become one with it and then she teaches us that we're to be natures master and tame the land cultivate it to our needs? still they have plenty of food here.
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Alot of us are still waiting to drink from this spring, Kin especially is getting desperate she was coughing the other day and I swear there was blood. Fyran is saying we should just sneak to the spring and get a taste for ourselves. Maybe we should for Kin's sake I mean what are a bunch pacifists going to do. hopefully get rid of that rash too.
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Kin is out of breath and tired all the time, I don't know whats wrong with her the symptoms seem random. But we've decided to go to the spring We need to go right to the source though, we tried drinking some of the runoff water or the stuff they use on the crops but it didn't do anything. Well I don't feel any different.
We'll go tonight, just one sip and Kin it should heal her.
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We should've left after one sip but the taste was most amazing experience I've ever had, but what the Elders did and now I can't sense Kin or Fyran. I have to write this down. One sip wasn't enough we kept drinking and drinking until we saw lights approaching water. The elders were chanting and women were wailing, they were beseeching Yagna to return they had offerings of food that they lay at the waters edge. Then a young boy and girl knelt before the offerings and the elder just killed them slit their throats.
Suddenly I could sense those around me I could feel Kin and Fyran's fear and shock, but the Elders I could sense were desperate and angry, so Angry! Then we knew they could sense us too and they all turned to us and we ran. I don't know where Kin and Fyran are anymore I could feel them, sense them and now I can't.
I can sense the elders they're happy, no more then that elated now. But Gods I can't get it out of my head, I can hear her, Yagna calling to me. I don't want to go back.

OOC: I haven't wrote anything in years so there we go.

The edifices are nothing less than a guide to the very workings of the world itself- or rather, they are shaped in such a way as to be a guide for those with a keen eye for patterns. They are no substitute for the dreams, of course, but they do serve as a reasonable, if flattened facsimile thereof.

Just as a shadow on the floor gives one an impression of the full shape of the body that casts it, so to are the great floating stones the shadow of something immeasurably greater. A body has height, width and depth, its shadow only two of these traits. The thing represented by the stones, strange as they are, is infinitely stranger, possessed of measurements in directions indescribable with the words of man, chromarch, typhan, alari, giant, or even dragon.

Yet these shapes, indescribable as they are, are not the ravings of fools or the products of idle hallucination. Lorensian numeratics are entirely consistent with the existence of these 'directions that cannot be', and indeed require them: they lead to nonsensical implications if constrained to a world of only three directions.

Thus, the edifices, the great stones that hover like mountains in the sky, are key to our furthered understanding of the world. Their shapes can serve as a visual shorthand for many natural phenomena: the cleavage of certain stones and crystals when struck, the diffusion of dye through spinning cups of water, the shapes of the clouds in the sky, the trajectories of falling objects and more. I believe that, through further understanding, we will come to understand the underlying mechanics of our world: the very way that matter is varyingly attracted to and repulsed from itself.

Of late, much attention has been given to these interactions of matter that occur at a fine scale. The study of metals has been of particular importance: how they rust and corrode, how they can change phase and melt when subjected to immense heat, and how they might alloy with other materials to form new matter with distinctive new properties. The study of the curves of the great edifices, combined with the rules of Lorensian numeratics, has thusfar shown incredible predictive power, something which could entail a revolution in ingeniering, from the production of the tiniest tools to the mightiest fortresses.

However, this work has also led to fearful places. By applying these calculations to vast objects, rather than small things, one finds very large discrepancies. Monolithic structures are stable, even when they ought to buckle and collapse. Distances measured through the air are incorrect compared to their equivalents measured along the ground, often only to minute degrees, but on occasion with very significant errors. The very shape of this world, so far as we understand it, seems wrong: an unstable, even irrational solution to a very complex question.

It is possible that past measurements have been made in error, and that consistently enigmatic results have emerged as a result of experimental errors and oversights. These inconsistencies may even come to threaten the basis of Lorensian numeratics, and by extension our current understanding of the material world. However, it is similarly possible that these errors are simply expressions of some yet-undiscovered phenomenon, something which shall become the great work of the next generation of natural philosophers.

-Mandas

DO NOT POST UNTIL I GIVE THE GO AHEAD

Update 5
1600 A.C. - 1700 A.C.​

In those years, fear ruled mortal and divine alike.

In those years, violence replaced mirth and song throughout Creation.

In those years, war raged on.

The foul necromancer Xalthar, commanding a shambling empire of a million twists and tattered bodies, had spread death to the realms of sea and shore for years. Her own form had become a gnarled husk of what it once was; Xalthar had nearly perfected her craft, anchoring her soul to her physical form, regardless of its condition. Even as Xalthar’s body withered and shrank, her magic became all the more potent. Like a great tidal wave, her undead hordes swept over cities and towns, washing away the living. Yet another power held sway in the south. One whose waves were far from metaphorical.

Harika demanded justice.

The Goddess of Sea and Storms challenged Xalthar directly, at long last. Harika could no longer trust that indirect storms and typhoons could scattered Xalthar’s forces, while Xalthar salivated at the prospect of reanimating a Goddess and claiming the mantle for herself. Xalthar reckoned that the Naginata of Winds would make a fine war trophy, and ensure that her power stretched across every sea in Creation. The Typhans rallied behind their progenitor, while Xalthar held celebrations with her small cadre of disciples. She had imparted dark knowledge to these followers, planning on having them serve as administrators and generals in her world empire. Once Harika was crushed, they planned on covering all of Vasheroth in undeath, before pushing on towards the rest of Creation. Of course, the battle against Harika still had to be fought, but its result was a foregone conclusion.

Finally, the day came.

The Tempest inched ever closer to shore, eventually stopping just short of the beaches. Storms battered the corpse-laden shores, and Xalthar noticed the weather had become… unexpectedly hostile, with lightning striking her undead forces with uncanny precision. The necromancer huffed, before giving the order for the legions of undead to descending into the sea. A river of rot and decay, emptying itself into the sea. Awkward Typhan bodies dragged themselves to the water, gaining unnatural speed and finesse once finally in the waters. Harika looked on, disgusted by the procession before her. Thunder boomed in the distance, muffled by the surrounding waters. Two immortals had taken to the field, and neither intended on backing down.

Xalthar gave a nonchalant gesture, urging her legions forward, both swimming or awkwardly walking along the bottom of the seafloor. The Typhans arranged themselves in defensive formations, skewering the slow moving hordes. But the numbers Xalthar brought to bear were seemingly limitless. Typhan formations would lose a soldier or two, and those soldiers would quickly join the ranks of the enemy. Sand, blood, and ichor all clouded the waters, with alive and dead forces alike blindly striking at perceived enemies. Xalthar focused on reanimating fallen enemies, head darting to and fro to keep track of the massive battle. She had become so caught up in this duty that she nearly missed the Goddess of the Seas barreling straight towards her, naginata at the ready.

With unimaginable speed, the massive figure bolted through the water, sending friend and foe flying. Xalthar panicked, immediately calling up her reserves to form a massive shield in front of her. Underneath a tangled mass of limbs and rotting flesh, Xalthar listened. She heard thrashing, cursing, and the screams of her minions. It sounded like a slaughter, but it was unclear who had the knife against their throat. Then all at once, silence. The thrashing had stopped. She could feel it. A stillness in the water. She did not need to look beyond her wall of servants to know that Harika had no doubt fallen under the sheer weight of the undead.

A sharp pain. A look of horror.

Slowly, the Naginata of Winds punctured Xalthar’s abdomen, cleaving through the mound of bodies separating Xalthar from the battle. In a panic, Xalthar ordered her forces to charge Harika, who continued to plunge the massive weapon into Xalthar’s center. The necromancer found herself not only being stabbed, but lifted, higher and higher. She could see Harika, hoisting her up, even while the Goddess’s blood ran freely from the gashes and tears in her flesh. Harika had skewered Xalthar, but the price had been dear. The Typhans rallied around their Goddess, as Harika herself struggled to remain on her feet. Xalthar wailed as she was lifted out of the water and the sea drake Arash tore her from the weapon’s grip and high into the air.

The underwater halls of the Typhans were filled with a mixture of merriment and concern afterwards. Harika had dismantled Xalthar’s empire in a massive battle, most of the undead disintegrating or going limp once their leader had become incapacitated. Still, Harika had sustained grievous wounds, and it was rumored that her troops had to carry her back to the Palace. The Goddess enacted one final punishment on Xalthar before retiring; after Arash had his fun with her, Xalthar was placed once more upon the Naginata, which itself was planted firmly on a desolate rocky isle. There, Xalthar would be struck with lightning, her anguished screams a constant warning to those who would trespass into Harika’s realm.

Escaping the quickly with what little forces they could maintain, Xalthar’s apprentices fled west and south, bringing their foul craft with them. By no means possessing the talent that the original necromancer had, these mages still introduced a dark magic that had been previously unknown to most of Creation. The dragonlords to the south found the practice deplorable and an affront to the natural order, although lower-ranking officials and especially curious scholars were sometimes eager to catalog this new craft. To the west, where death was everywhere, necromancers found not only plentiful bodies with which to use for their craft, but also willing students. Cities who had endured against the horrors of Nital and Rula for centuries were eager for a means of sustaining themselves. Many argued that the reanimated dead could better serve the living if they maintained defenses, provided cheap labor, and served as a large portion of the military. Of course, some had their reservations. After all, the dead technically just had their souls jammed forcibly back into their mortal coils.

All told, the war with Xalthar had been a deadly and costly one, etched into the minds of sea and land dweller alike for generations. Yet it served as a prelude to a far bloodier conflict that loomed on the horizon… sometimes quite literally. For the titanic frame of Nital could sometimes be glimpsed against the afternoon sky, visible from as far away as the Black Mountains. Even from such a massive distance, onlookers could tell that the far-off figure represented only hellish pain and suffering for Creation’s inhabitants. The figure’s swaying and creeping movement along the horizon assured them that the brute was on the move; an unnerving fact about something as big as a mountain.

For those much closer to Nital, the Lord of Ruin could be seen in full view, terrible and awe-inspiring. Having butchered a dozen cities and towns, Nital now marched along the perimeter of Onoqu, delighting in picking off stragglers or sending ripples of fear throughout the entire continent with his roars. Strange rains began to fall in Onoqu, smelling of iron and maintaining the red coloration of the clouds they fell from. This abnormal weather terrified those still clinging to some semblance of an ordinary life in the region, while those who openly dedicated their lives to Nital found these waters soothing. In time the region would grow incredibly fertile, with vegetation and fungi alike growing to absurd sizes. Local animals were said to lash out against those not yet pledged to the Blood God, but would serve as easy prey or even kill themselves in the presence of true believers.

Such clear blessings were polarizing; communities could no longer feasibly claim that “they didn’t know” who provided these phenomena or “if it was right to worship” such a force. Old traditions of indirect or implied worship were replaced with zealous persecution of those that did not worship Nital. Communities that traditionally opposed Nital or resisted his temptations found themselves butchered or pushed out of Onoqu. Most of these refugees would flee westward towards the Celestial Citadel, supposedly the only place safe from such depredations.

While the human vermin were falling in line, Nital had yet to secure obedience from the countless numbers of spirits, demons, and nightmares that had taken His entrance into the world as a chance to invade as well. Nital saw these as stowaways, leeches that had attached themselves to a far nobler beast. But these vermin had a use all the same. The nightmares of Sorna terrified and destroyed wherever they ventured, tearing asunder mortal minds and leaving the body ripe for harvest. Nital would force these lesser beings to earn their place at his side, shackling those nearest to Nital to the Blood God’s will. Slowly but surely the “stowaways” became less erratic, swirling in patterns around their new master’s form.

Even as Nital bent these newcomers to his will, more and more nightmares continued to pour forth from the gaping hole in the ley-network. Lacking sufficient prey (as nearly every mortal in the immediate area had been broken), these shades took to fighting one another, devouring their “brethren” before slowly venturing into the outside world. The Bakuraj continued to produce increasingly horrific monstrosities, harvesting more and more of mortalkind’s fears.

But not all was despair. A light in the west still shone through the blood, smoke, and fear. The Celestial Citadel remained steadfast, even in the face of a potential apocalypse.

Taking advantage of Nital’s strange detour to Onoqu, the agents of Tai and Achandrasha set out to evacuate any and all that might come into the path of Nital. Tai had allowed the two Sunbearers Maryea and Usfton to come under the governance of Achandrasha and the Night, dimly lighting the way for those seeking safe passage in the darkness. Human messengers and warriors were accompanied by achandaki and chromarchs of all hues; an outpouring of color and hope in a land where the mere concept of salvation had become nearly foreign. These forces directed refugees to bypass Onoqu by traveling with haste across the northern steppes, or through the mountain passes to the south.

The celestial magic of the achandaki did well to ward off the wisps and spirits pouring out of Multor, while the warlike chromatai and the Order of the Adamant proved adequate in repelling cultists and onoqui. Under the lights of the Night, and of Maryea and Usfton, many chromakin gained a preference towards the night. These beings would adapt and later become the Chromyea; nocturnal chromakin that draw strength from the night and keep watch over their communities while others sleep. The chromyea watched a third object join the Amber Suns pulled by Maryea and Usfton, yet it seemed wholly different from those familiar lights. It was a moon, emanating a sickly yellow glow and a strange air of mockery about it. Mortals initially welcomed another beacon of light in the darkness, but quickly came to eye this new arrival with suspicion.

Astounded by the blessings that had been visited upon them, the refugees pledged their lives to Tai and Achandasha almost wholesale. Following the instructions of their saviors, these humans worked together with the chromarchs and achandaki to form a massive network of communication and governance. The time for running had past. Now was the time to prepare, rebuild, and dig their heels in against whatever storm might come.

The gathering became known as the Choral Quorum, a representative state that relied on high-speed and long-distance communication through the chromarchs to effectively represent the wishes and interests of those governed. Chromarchs and humans were also bonded to one another through special rituals, representing the balance struck between the two; the whimsical chromarchs given focus and purpose, while humans are reminded of their duties and watched over diligently.

Quorum external affairs were slightly less glamorous and carefree than their methods of governance. While Nital had some sort of aversion to the Celestial Citadel and those that flocked to it, the nightmarish beings that creeped out of the eastern shadows had no such scruples. To make matters worse, the innocence and trusting nature of many chromarchs had been exploited by adherents to Nital and Rula, sowing seeds of despair within the Quorum in its early days. Intruders were incinerated immediately by chormatai; the Choral Quorum was quick to institute a zero-tolerance policy towards those that would threaten this carefully guarded realm.

To assist in protecting and stabilizing the territory within the Choral Quorum, its leaders devised new rituals in the school of celestial magic. With the direct assistance of the achandaki, the chromarchs and humans of the Quorum discovered many subtleties of that confounding art. In due time larger rituals were organized, previously impossible due to the scarcity of practitioners. In times of great need, these rituals could harness the power of hundreds or thousands of willing individuals, although situations rarely called for such drastic action. Not all innovations were necessarily massive either; as the blessings of Achandrasha and Tai upon the Quorum became more apparent, minor rituals performed on a daily basis permeated life within the Quorum.

While Achandrasha continued to tend to the Quorum and the mysteries of the night sky, Tai had a momentous occasion to tend to.

The Deceiver had finally been brought to justice.

Rather, an agreement had been made to finally imprison Vash for a thousand years for his transgressions against Creation and Gods alike. Nyubar and Statute would meet Vash at the Amaranthinium for all to see, while Tai sensed the occasion from his lofty position. Beaming with pride, the First Sun listened to the announcement of the terms. Vash stood upright, grasping a tall staff while the twin blades Daybreaker and Nightbringer rested at his side. Tai yearned to bring this up, but heard the droning words of Statute as they continued: “agree that all possessions that currently pertains to each party of this contract, rightfully pertains unto them…” Even in defeat, the Lord of Change mocked his foes by flaunting such weaponry. Still, the crowd of attendees bearing witness to such an occasion broke out into thunderous applause when it was announced that the contract had been officially agreed to by all parties, and that Vash would finally enter exile.

Nyubar’s cloaked head turned to watch as Vash ascended the steps towards the portal to the Celestial Realm. Nyubar mused when Vash would walk through the final gate. Would Vash be so proud then? The small figure continued until finally reaching the portal. Turning back to look upon the crowd, Vash simply smirked and continued through.

Vash’s smirk quickly dissipated as he found himself hovering in the sky, met with all manner of gorgeous lights and twinkling stars. These sights were not why Vash had been taken aback. Vash ignored these otherworldly beauties and gazed upon his own visage, which now glowed in a glaring yellow light. A cheap trick on the part of his would-be imprisoners.

Vash’s smirk returned.

Vash himself vanished.

The crowd’s cheers turned into gasps as Vash’s painfully illuminated body vanished from the sky. The post-ceremonial speech of Statute was cut short as heads turned towards the skies, desperately searching for the missing God. Nyubar and Statute quivered with rage, as Tai reached out with his senses. The light had been more than a cheap trick; it had marked Vash for a situation like this. The First Sun would not abide such trickery, and had the foresight to mark Vash. After moments of silent contemplation and focus, Tai managed to gain a muddied image of a bright light flittering through a world of crimson and shadow. It appeared that Vash had his own interpretations of what “in the beyond” had meant, and had fled Creation entirely.

Aside from public outrage and confusion, the trio of gods observe no other trickery afoot. Obliged not to harm Vash and to work towards the imprisonment of Nital, Statute, Nyubar, and Tai quickly returned to their labors.

One of the first orders of business was to begin reinforcing the ley-network, as none were eager to recreate the absolute disaster that had befallen Creation near Onoqu. Disciples of the First Sun worked where they could, trying to repair the leylines wherever possible, but the reach of the Quorum stopped at the borders of Onoqu. Unfortunately, past this point was where damage was most prevalent. Still, chromarchs adapted specifically to interact with the ley-network. These strange beings would become known as Chromagems, becoming attuned to the structure of the ley-network and capable of tapping into its energies to a limited degree.

Nyubar also labored to restore some semblance of integrity to the system Nital had left in tatters. Scaling a massive mountain near his Citadel, Nyubar created the Spring of Dancing Water. It’s cool, shimmering waters trickled down to the base of the mountain, quickly becoming a site of pilgrimage and healing for Nyubarites. In these waters, Nyubar cooled the Silver Chains, which were wrought atop the same mountain and then linked to Leyweaver. Nyubar lowered the chains down into the leylines, kept secret until a moment of necessity.

The cool waters of the Spring hissed upon contact with the Silver Chains, giving rise to a great mist. Nyubar blessed this mist and interwove it into the ley-network, creating a dense fog beneath the fabric of Creation. This would serve as another barrier for those hoping to leave or enter Creation. Such hopefuls would instead find themselves wandering a disorienting world of fog and shadow, nearly impossible to navigate without prior experience and a massive amount of luck. The effects were felt instantaneously in the West; the outpouring of entities from Multor had slowed to a trickle, at least at the site of Nital’s entry. The minds of mortals still served as gateways for lesser beings to slither into Creation, but the most obvious and glaring route to entry had been made perilous by Nyubar.

In these early years of preparation, Statute appeared infrequently in the public eye, mulling over how to handle the befuddling situation before him and the other gods opposed to Nital. One rather bizarre actions the God of Balance took was the breaking off of several chunks of his being and immersing them in the blood of mortals who had freely offered it to their lord. In time, these chunks of Statute’s stony body would grow more and more into the shape of regular human bodies. In time, three siblings would arise from this ritual: Zadre, Yptych, and Lit. Statute would give them governance over War, Technology, and Trade, respectively, serving as both demigods and administrators within the Amaranthine Empire.

While some gods aimed to prepare for the war that was bound to ensue, others saw Creation as flawed, undesirable, or simply too dangerous to reside in anymore. They prepared other worlds for their followers, keen on creating utopias based on their own visions of right and wrong.

The most obvious to the other gods was the one known as Curator, who had for centuries remained in the shadows and in the dreams of mortals. Within its Library, perusing its collection and mulling over the laws and histories of Creation, Curator deemed the established order as inherently oppressive. Why should the divine rule over the mortal? Why must mortals value their soul so much, when it only leaves them in the end? This constant questioning of values led to the creation of the Impostor Church; a body of individuals dedicated to questioning the norms of the world and even the authority of the gods.

Impostors rarely found themselves welcomed with open arms in Creation, as a world where gods walk the earth is not the most ideal environment for questioning the divine. Still, the memory of the Long Winter, and even the Fall of Vash’eth remained in the backs of mortal minds. Tales of hubris and wanton destruction at the hands of the gods caused some to briefly question their devotion. Brief moments of doubt were usually all it took for Impostors to plant the seeds of dissension in a community; even if fellow mortals could not be convinced to abandon their faith entirely, freedom of thought would erode confidence in the gods in due time.

Nybar in particular took special offense to both the Impostor Church and the experiments of Curator. Traveling through Creation, oftentimes in the company of the Order of the Adamant, Nyubar hunted down several husks that had been given some semblance of life by Curator. The undead were an abomination in the eyes of Nyubar and the Order, a mockery of the natural cycle of life and death. Persecuting the allegedly depraved Impostors became a much more difficult task; they seemed to slip from people’s minds, hard to grasp and remember. Informants were practically non-existent, and bringing an Impostor back to the Amaranthinium was almost always a failed endeavor unless several veteran members of the Order were given the task.

While communication through dreams became exceptionally dangerous, as the Obscuring Mist swallowed up demon and dreamer alike, some still found their way to the Library of Curator. More often than not, those dreamers whose minds were pulled towards the Library (or any dreamlike realm) would attempt to navigate the Mists, before eventually becoming fatigued and return to their beds in Creation. A few unfortunate souls would find themselves lost forever in those Mists, wandering alongside the horrors trapped there. Those who managed to make it to the world of the Curator were not eager to make the trek back, and found themselves welcomed into an experimental realm promised to give mortals all the freedom they could ask for.

Curator named the little idyllic plane “Hell”.

In Hell, the rules of reality shaped to fit the whims of its occupants. Gravity could be shut off at any moment, colors changing to fit the mood of the locals, and the occasional thunderstorm that rained eggs. All seemingly housed within a great cavern, Hell’s unique system of governance and…existence comes from the Shuddering Spire, a living structure which stretches nearly to the top of the cavern. There, the Impostor Parliamentarians debated the laws governing human nature and nature of existence itself. The Shuddering Spire would then take the essence of these debates, as well as the emotions and thoughts of Hell’s inhabitants, and adjust the world accordingly. This governing apparatus, along with those under its sway, would become known as the Republic of Hell.

While sparsely populated at first due to the treacherous journey and the casualties implied by such a chaotic system, the Republic of Hell eventually grew to be comparable to a moderately sized city in Creation. The Republic very rarely lacked resources, or even required them, as mortals could simply will necessities into existence. Violence was not unheard of, however, as men and women wishing to freely indulge themselves oftentimes came into conflict with one another. Such conflicts were only exasperated by the chaotic nature of Hell; a riot in the streets could quickly find itself set upon by man-eating buildings, or the imagination of a disgruntled laborer could give rise to floating hammers with a preference towards maiming officials and vandalizing property.

A similar experiment would take place, although enacted by a god with a far greater inclination towards the rule of law. The Father of Curses and Determiner of Guilt had set out to create his own world, governed by justice and peace.

Fuku’s departure was initially met with an uproar. Fuku was not personally known by many adherents throughout Creation, but within the Amaranthine Empire, Fuku was an extremely personal God, one that held a prominent role in ceremonies and due process of law. Many argued that there was no need for a new world, as the Amaranthine Empire and its other deities were working to bring paradise to Creation already. Still, the outrage and uncertainty following the supposed exile of Vash meant that at least some would follow Fuku from the Amaranthine Empire. With ramshackle boats and a continent of enraged countrymen to their back, Fuku’s host dared cross the northern seas, heading towards the mainland.

Once ashore, Fuku’s host found themselves met by raiding parties, curious locals, and local rulers. None dared attack a party led by a god, but some definitely had doubts about the party’s intentions and kept a close watch on them. Still, many desperate and outcast groups joined Fuku’s migration toward the northern woods; many giants were powerless to stop their thralls escape bondage and join Fuku’s movement. Finally, the mass of exhausted yet hopeful mortals came upon a spot deemed acceptable by Fuku. Fuku raised up a tall tower of black stone, with a shimmering gateway at its entrance. He called it the Tower of Exiles.

At Fuku’s urging, the throng of followers poured into the gateway, greeted with a world of emerald rolling hills, mild winds, and gentle rivers. Mighty forests provided lumber for construction, while seeds had been brought with for agriculture. The land was pristine and beautiful to behold, but also entirely undeveloped. It would take plenty of work to establish it as a self-sufficient community, but Fuku had provided a solid foundation. Fuku also demanded that all residents pledge to adhere to a democratic system of government, embracing one another in cooperation and peace. Most simply nodded at this requirement, eager to find respite from a world plagued by war and nightmares.

Word would eventually spread of this paradise, of its strange requirements, and of its acceptance of all. Rumors of such a place were quickly controlled by local rulers and nobles, eager to keep peasants and slaves from leaving en masse. Merchants would occasionally come from Fuku’s plane, searching for goods that could not be obtained outside of Creation. Saboteurs, warriors, and the Impostor Church all made attempts at infiltrating this paradise, to varying degrees of success.

The Impostor Church found limited success, as Fuku’s bounty made it hard to argue whether or not the gods had been good to mortals. Of course they had! Was it not Fuku who sacrificed his own position in the Amaranthine Empire to bring this blessing to mortalkind? Impostors were tolerated so long as they followed laws, but often found themselves laughed out of discussions or excluded from matters of governance. More malevolent incursions into this world were met with more than just laughs. To celebrate the anniversary of the paradise’s establishment, Fusta gifted her husband a massive leopard, a beast so mighty that the goddess could not bring herself to slay it. The size of a small hill but as graceful as a butterfly, the leopard guarded the Tower of Exiles night and day, piling bones of would-be trespassers all along the path as a warning.

Curiously enough, Kross constructed his own gateway to a paradise, although this one was far more predictable and solitary than the ones mentioned above. A realm of pure cold and ice, Kross left Creation in favor of a world more favorable to him. His winds would continue to blow forth from the entrance to this world, located in the north pole. The Frost Giants occasionally visit this world, although Kross merely resides there in quiet contemplation. While other gods planned wars or grand schemes, Kross simply created what he wanted; a cold world for a cold god.

Of course, one more god fled Creation, surrounded by far more controversy than even Curator or Fuku. The Changer had fled past the Obscuring Mists, traversing through shadow and smoke, dream and reality, his telltale glow attracting all manner of horror upon him. Racing through the darkness threatening to envelope him, Vash finally arrived at a strange structure, alien to the environment around it. Here, even things not meant for mortal eyes shrank and cowered, leaving Vash’s illuminated figure standing before the massive construct. To Vash, it appeared to be a massive prison, a cell meant to contain something beyond comprehension. Massive silver bars bowed outward, caked in rust and grime. As Vash approached, his light pierced the darkness within, revealing its contents. Nothing.

Vash sensed the powerful wards within the cell; other than the massive opening in the front, the walls felt suffocating and oppressive. Potent magic still held sway here, isolating it from the primordial chaos and terror outside. Vash could not hope to destroy such a structure; magic such as this was not the Lord of Change’s forte, nor did he have interest in such a pointless task. Instead, he strained against the wards and the spells so intertwined with the cell, attempting to separate the mystical properties of it while keeping the physical form intact. After considerable effort, the great labor was finished; where once the wards had kept something in, now they repelled attempts to enter. The process of inverting the wards weakened them, a consequence of the Changer’s lack of knowledge regarding this particular magic. Still, Vash had laid the foundations for a great undertaking.

Having tinkered with the wards, Vash proceeded to change the contents of the cell into those befitting the Lord of Change. The cell had been big enough to house a small mountain range, and Vash intended on filling that space with a realm that matched his nature. Floating islands and shifting spires filled the once-empty space. Once finished, the barren world had become filled with structures that existed only in dreams and imaginations. Yet there were still elements missing.

Those who prayed to Vash, seeking safety from the undead, the nightmares of Multor, or the general chaos of the world soon found themselves magically transported in the Obscuring Mists, a guiding whisper in their ear. Not all made the journey; indeed, it is unknowable how many were lost during this journey to Vash’s new home. Those not lost in the Mist had to avoid the many beasts that lurk in the shadows. Entire communities of adherents prepared for the journey to the promised land once knowledge of it became widespread, but only one or two newcomers trickled in at a time. But those that finally made it wept at its beauty and the security it represented.

Even dragons began to make the journey, seeking the unprecedented opportunity to directly serve underneath Vash. Eight dragons in total make the voyage, seeking salvation from the ruin visited upon Creation. For their piety and dedication, the Lord of Change saw it fit to elevate these dragons beyond their draconic peers, gaining immense power and prestige. These beings, deemed “elder dragons” by Vash and his followers, no longer feared the Mists, nor the darkness outside Tar Vash’eth, as the city cropping up in this plane had come to be called. The elder dragons guarded the gates of Tar Vash’eth, where the wards were weakest, and patrolled the alien skies with diligence. Some even guided followers through the Mists, providing a safe alternative to an otherwise traumatizing journey.

The massive prison would not be the only thing repurposed by Vash in these years. “The Changer” was an apt title given to a god with such a desire and proficiency for tinkering with the creations of others. Vash studied Daybreaker and Nightbringer carefully, observing their qualities and key characteristics. He disregarded the souls within, who seemed thoroughly uninterested with lending their wisdom to a god whose blood they no doubt yearned to taste. Vash recalled tales that the blades of the Celestial Citadel that possessed souls could only reach their full potential if they voluntarily offered their power to the wielder.

Vash had little patience for such trivialities.

Finding a place outside of Tar Vash’eth where the warping energies of the alien plane crackled with power, Vash began work on fusing the two weapons together. The process was long and volatile, arcs of energy shot outward, and Vash nearly lost an eye to the flames that leapt up from Daybreaker. The souls within the twin blades wailed; their very essence being melted, shaped, and smashed against their will. Vash tuned out their protests, and continued to work towards his goal. Finally, the two blades became joined into one sword filled with tremendous power.

As Vash gripped the hilt of the newly forged weapon, he felt a rush of suffering and capacity for destruction rush through him. Terrified yet curious about the blade’s capabilities, Vash scried, peering back into Creation. Concentrating his mind’s eye further, he located Nital, trudging eastward. Vash could almost make out faint threads, shimmering and subtle, stretching from Nital, reaching all the way to the east. Vash followed the threads, heart racing with exhilaration. Finally, he found where the threads led to. The reason why Nital was in the world in the first place. The one who held the beast’s leash. Vash felt himself lift the sword above his head, even as he continued to view Creation. The link would be cut.

Vash felt a sudden jolt of pain rip through his body, and a numbness in his sword-arm. Immediately he knew something had gone wrong. The link that bound Nital to his conspirator remained, while Vash found the link tying himself to the contract between Nyubar, Statute, and Tai severed. Vash cursed, knowing that the other gods would have noticed the contracts dissolution just as quickly as he. Vash cast the sword to the ground, the metal clanging in a mocking tone.

With the contract dissolved, the other signatories had cause for cautious celebration. Vash’s wording had obviously been intentionally misleading to the three other gods, who now had their hands free to punish Vash at the soonest opportunity. However, they also remained resolute in their decision to stop Nital’s rampage, with or without an agreement with Vash.



To the rejoicing of many, Yagna returned from dormancy to lead her flock to prosperity once more. The Wellspring of Yagna flowed freely, and the region around it became lush with vegetation. Special seedlings were gifted to her most devout followers, planted with great reverence towards the returned Goddess of Nature. A far more prestigious gift was bestowed upon a prominent Alari chieftain; dubbed the Crown of the Alari by Yagna. Spectacular to behold and clearly amplifying the presence of those that wear it, the Crown became a treasured heirloom among the Alari realms.

However, gifts are not always as they appear.

The Crown, similar to other mischievous artifacts found in Creation, began demonstrating a strange quality. Those who possessed it had abnormal success in pursuing their ambitions, be they peaceful or destructive. Yet at the most inconvenient moment, the Crown of the Alari tended to vanish, only to be found by another ambitious individual. Kingdoms held together by charisma would collapse quickly, arranged marriages turn sour, and treasuries run dry in its absence. Viewed as a curse by many, others still claimed that the Crown of the Alari was a blessing, and that the Alari would one day master its powers and realize Yagna’s vision.

The seedlings, on the other hand, were much harder to justify.

Within ten years of their planting, the seedlings grew exceptionally tall and sturdy, with deep roots that were rumored to be as hard as stone. Their branches produced delicious fruit, addictive to devour and always bountiful in the growing season. Yet those that consumed the fruits of these trees found themselves afflicted with all manner of illness. Coughing up blood, oozing sores, and horrific deformities all plagued those who feasted upon the fruits within a few months of consumption. Consuming the fruit also inflicted a sort of obsession with spreading the trees around creation. Many a leper would swear up and down the boons of Yagna’s fruits, even while the flesh rotted off of his face.

Those closest to the Wellspring managed to maintain their health with minimal side-effects, although they remained uncured of their obsession for exporting the blessings of Yagna to other lands. As the years went on, the trees began exuding an overpoweringly sweet scent wherever they grew, attracting all manner of vermin and pests. In time, these areas would become disease-ridden bogs, suitable only for the lowliest of creatures.

It would appear that Yagna was paving the way for another race of beings to enter creation; the Slaagi. Hairy humanoids with hunched over backs and faces similar to those of a gnarled dog. Their twisted faces were often marked with sores and parasites, as they carried plagues and infestations as readily as a merchant might carry goods. Intensely hostile towards other races, the Slaagi quickly found themselves at home in the bogs and swamps of Yagna, while also finding neighboring communities of mortals easy prey. Even if a Slaagi party were to overrun a settlement and fail, one of their disgusting fallen comrades would finish the job for those that survived.

Despite large numbers of Alari once more gravitating towards Yagna, Fusta continued to hold sway in the southern jungles. Celebrating her marriage with Fuku, Fusta established a day of revelry and hedonism. On this day, all were expected to join in the festivities, Alari and Human alike. Some Alari, alarmed at the appearance of the Slaagi and rumors of Yagna’s strange fruits in the north, decided to continue worshiping Fusta as their primary goddess. Afterall, Yagna’s gifts seemed twisted and complicated to interpret. Fusta offered merriment and peace on at least one day of the year; something that not every god can claim to have done for mortalkind.

If Fusta’s annual celebration was a much needed break from the bloodshed found in Creation, the Night of the Hunt was a celebration of that very same bloodshed.

The first Night of the Hunt heralded the birth of Dancer, an amalgamation of thousands of animalistic spirits, primal forces of nature, and local gods. Rejoicing in the thrill of the hunt, Dancer encouraged beasts and mortal alike to experience the joys of hunting down and killing one’s prey, no matter how elusive or dangerous. On the Nights of the Hunt, all predators, regardless of species, had their senses heightened and their bloodlust intensified. No longer would animals shy away from human settlements, nor would the proud hunter merely kill for sustenance. All across Creation, hunters would indulge in a pleasure only felt when extinguishing the life of another. Even if it meant regret the next day.

Dancer’s influence on the world was not limited to one night of killing; the Hunter saw it fit to reward those animals in the wild that demonstrated an unusual aptitude for killing. Dancer usually conferred these blessings in the aftermath of the Night of the Hunt when such abilities were most evident, elevating chosen animals to the status of Great Beast. Imbued with a portion of Dancer’s essence, these animals became multitudes more deadly. Great Beasts grew to incredible sizes, with wits sharpening to match their imposing presence. Attracting followers of their own kind, as well as those from mortalkind, these gigantic animals would accept offerings and services from those seeking to appease Dancer, but such gestures always came second to the hunt.

Some mortals took the love for hunting back with them into civilization, looking to their fellow man to provide good game. While not officially linked to one another, these disciples of Dancer followed the same principals and could sometimes even sense the presence of one another. Much like the cabals of days long past, the murderers and assassins that venerated Dancer found themselves isolated from one another in most cases, yet still acting towards abroad, common goal.

Completely separate from the troubles below, the strange floating shapes continued to drift above Creation. The strange dreams that accompanied them, long viewed with suspicion and caution, were now actively sought out as a safeguard against far more nefarious forces that might invade a mortal’s mind whilst sleeping. Their paths had become charted by nomads and scholars alike, each with a vested interest in studying the shapes. For some nomadic groups, it meant protection from Rula, and reverence to the Great Mystery. For scholars, it was simply a matter of collecting data; in their minds, no sudden revelation could be had from those hovering stones. For centuries they had drifted here and there, with no discernable purpose other than to give locals strange dreams.

Yet the charts appeared off as the years dragged onward, and the nomads had to blaze new trails in order to follow the ominous shapes. It was well known that the arrival of Nital, the machinations of Vash, and the always scheming Rios could be attributed towards a great many phenomenon… yet the veering paths seemed somehow outside of their interests, perhaps even outside of their control. Those few mortals with the luxury to contemplate the stones’ new paths could not help but shake the feeling that something massive was afoot. Each year, the shapes inched closer and closer, until at least one piece of the puzzle was made apparent. The shapes were converging.

Many interpreted this convergence as a sign of the End, or at the very least, an omen of bloodshed yet to come. The Frost Giants wondered if the retreat of their lord from Creation had something to do with the shifting shapes, while their lesser cousins fought to keep the peasantry from panicking. The dragonlords throughout Creation dismissed the stones’ behavior, assured that in the end, the structures were of little significance. Yet scholars, wise men, and shamans across creation swore up and down that it meant something. It had to.

For the gods, it merely signaled another disastrous war.

Nital had been on the move once more, heading south through the subcontinent of Vasheroth. Fear itself served as Nital’s vanguard; entire cities retreated into the surrounding jungles or attempted to make the journey to Tar Vash’eth. Crimson waters poured down from the skies, and the beasts of the jungle became insatiable and fearless, lunging on those that dared flee from Nital. Those that fled to Tar Vash’eth fared only slightly better; the sudden influx of terrified mortals attracted less than desirable denizens of the Mists, starved of human flesh and fear for decades. The elder dragons did their best to protect and guide the newcomers, but chaos incited by Nital’s approach made the task nearly impossible. Whichever direction, whichever plane they ran to, those that fled found death all around them. And for those that stood still, death found them.

A small number of locals immediately bent the knee and attempted to placate the Blood God with sacrifices and tribute. The draconic kingdom of Morovash, alone among the greater states in Vasheroth, aligned with Nital. Morovash had a long tradition of venerating the dragonlords, with decreasing emphasis on the importance of Vash, especially with Vash’s numerous flights and self-imposed exiles. Old tales of a hero of Vash’eth resurfaced, a dragon who had dabbled in blood magic and nearly slayed a god to defend the city. To punish the gods for their hubris, once more the world would need such “heroes”. Horrific sacrifices were made to the dragonlords of Morovash, while neighboring lands retreated and closed their borders in disgust. Not that is mattered much; the bloodlust and chaos brought on by Nital had eroded away the order of these states, their palaces filled with vengeful spirits and demons, streets wet with blood and gore.

Content with the submission or destruction of the dragonlords of the south, Nital’s path curved northward, towards the great dunes of the east. The Lord of Ruin had chosen his path with some degree of caution; even while hell-bent on destruction, Nital was not above forward thinking. The sea of lava to the south was a tempting tool of ruination, but could also easily be weaponized by his foes. Nital would take the northern path, which both lacked a conveniently placed lava sea, and had plenty of terrified mortals with nowhere left to run. Nital was satisfied with this choice.

Nital’s massive frame came closer and closer to the mountains, with mortals fleeing deep within the crags and crevices in a vain attempt at escaping doom. His veins and tendrils sank into the clefts in the earth, prying out the cowering and the catatonic. Demons and spirits tormented their captured prey, feasting as much on their mortal fear as the blood that flowed freely that day. A great rumbling shook the earth, and the bloodstained fiends rejoiced.

And earth shook again. Nital remained silent. The silence spread to his forces. It soon became apparent that Nital was not responsible for this new development.

Entire mountains tore themselves asunder with earsplitting explosions, raining ash, debris, and lava for miles. Countless combatants, torturers, and victims found themselves erased from Creation in an instant, pulverized by falling stones or incinerated by the lifeblood of the earth gushing forth. Nital himself howled in pain, massive portions of his body scorched black and his tendrils singed and writhing in pain. Nital stormed off to Lake Vash’aram, plunging his burning body into its waters. The first hissed, and then boiled, either at the intense heat, or at the rage radiating off of Nital. Imps traveling within Nital’s horde began cackling at the Blood God’s misfortune, they alone taking pleasure in such a destructive occasion. Nital soon realized that they were not of his own and had the imps purged, laughing even as they were torn asunder by hellish forces.

Having recuperated best as he could from the indignation visited upon him, Nital continued his rampage across the dunes. Brightskin tribes could see the behemoth days in advance, crimson twisters of wind and malevolence blowing before him. Many fell to their knees and wept, resigned to their deaths. Some found it somewhat ironic that the city of Bleedingstones would find itself right on the path of destruction. A tiny bit of humor before the end of the world, some would say.

Truth be told, the majority of the Brightskin tribes managed to flee to the north, although this set off a panic yet unseen. For years, Nital had been a distant foe, terrifying in the legends, but never actually visible to easterners. It was always a story that a friend heard from a traveler, who maybe caught a glimpse of Nital on one of his journeys. Now, slowly but surely, refugees began flooding northward, bringing tales of horror with them. Alari rulers were infuriated at the influx of human trespassers in the jungles, fearing that they would naturally align with the Fuku worshippers. However, it quickly became apparent that newcomers only sought safety and had no interest in local power-struggles. The real foe came soon afterwards, butchering any and all found in the southern lowlands. Nital himself spent minute portions of time rampaging in the jungles, focused on the task ahead of him. Onoqui, however, made themselves right at home in these new bloodstained lands.

Slaagi and Yagna worshippers alike fled before Nital’s forces, spreading plague and disease with them. Boats and rafts crashed upon the shores of the Amaranthine Empire, filled with families seeking shelter from the greatest foe Creation had ever known. The security of the Amaranthine Empire had become the stuff of legend for mainlanders, and it represented the last hope for many. It was a horrible realization, then, when many migrants were told to turn back, and to not bring their pestilence with them. Previous attempts at infiltrating the Empire had made authorities wary of allowing mainlanders in, and now the numbers had become too great to properly inspect and weed out the plaugebearers. Riots broke out, both among the migrants, and those sympathetic to their plight within the Empire. Surely exceptions could be made, and risks taken for them in these desperate times? Such sympathies were not found in the Crystal Legions, who forced newcomers at spear-point back into the sea, one way or another.

Unable to watch this turmoil unfold any longer, Nyubar took to the field against Nital on the dry steppes, Nyubar’s Citadel visible in the distance. Accompanied by volunteers and the Order of the Adamant, Nyubar carefully eyed the battlefield. He was comically outnumbered, with a small party of heroes and glory hounds standing before an ocean of hatred and malevolence. Regardless of why Nital had come this far, Nyubar had to put an end to this madness.

“I know not why you have wrought such destruction upon the land, but you shall be imprisoned once more for your sins.”

Nital disregarded the puny god’s threat. He came seeking Vash, the one Nital had been tasked to break and deliver to the Amaranthinium. The place reeked of the Changer, yet all that stood before Nital was Nyubar and his paltry force of do-gooders and paladins. No matter, Nital would sweep aside this annoyance and continue tracking Vash.

Nital signaled his legions to advance forward, a wave of blood and teeth screaming towards the steadfast champions of Nyubar. With a forceful heave, Nyubar brought up the massive Silver Chains, long hidden within the ley-network. Lesser spirits dissipated on contact with the Chains, while greater terrors writhed in agony, clawing at themselves to make the pain stop. Nyubar continued to thrash the chains about, cleaving deep into Nital’s ranks. The Adamant slowly advanced, joining the melee against the forces of darkness. Nital looked on, bemused at the mortals slowly making headway towards a force they had no hope of slaying. Amusement turned to mild annoyance as the formation of paladins began threatening to destroy some of Nital’s more valued servants and lieutenants.

Lifting them up with his tendrils, Nital found the Adamant surprisingly resistant, complimenting their capacity for annoyance. Like ticks, they could be stomped on several times, refusing to die even when powerless to fight back. When corruption and magic proved ineffective, Nital took to smashing the Adamant into the ground repeatedly, or tossing them far from the battlefield. For all their bravado and enchanted weaponry, they were still just men. Nital’s sickles ripped through the chaos of battle, cleaving asunder friend and foe alike, until finally, Nyubar turned the Chains against the Blood God. Despite the size difference, the struggle initially seemed even. The Chains had been made with this purpose in mind, while Nital’s sheer size made the task extremely difficult. The two toiled, with Nital trashing about while Nyubar struggled to stay on his feet. Then, from the east, a welcome sight appeared. Statute had arrived.

With battle raging below, Statute approached the partially restrained Nital, weaving a spell of imprisonment about Nital. The Chains tightened, restraining the Blood God, who now appeared resigned to his fate. Statute summoned a portal, intending to send Nital through to the Amaranthinium’s most secure cell. Nyubar rejoiced at the timely arrival of his ally and the victory that would soon be upon them.

As Nital inched closer and closer to the portal, he once again began to struggle, a base cunning motivating his actions. Freeing one of his hands, Nital pulled the Silver Chains with his remaining might, pulling Nyubar into his clutches. Statute demanded that his prisoner release Nyubar, but Nital only laughed. Nital intended on having a cellmate if he were to come quietly to the Amaranthinium. Nyubar cried out and gripped Statute’s arm, and the two struggled against Nital’s foul grip. As the two parties strained and screamed, an onlooker observed from the skies, smirking.

Vash had returned to Creation, eager to exterminate his would-be hunter.

Vash pointed a weapon at the struggling gods, a weapon representing the combined might of the Sword and the Staff. Vash had christened it the Spear of Destiny, a weapon meant to end gods who dared to challenge the God of Fate. All three of the gods below could feel an immense force about to strike, and gazed up at Vash’s illuminated figure. At any moment, their existence could be forfeit. They could die. Fear gripped them. Fear overwhelmed them.

Sorna overwhelmed them.

The mortal fear of the three gods had been irresistible to the God of Nightmares, who finally found their minds weakened enough to seize the opportunity. Their minds, serving as gateways to Multor, allowed legions of spirits to flood into Creation. Nital’s body went limp, sliding into the portal behind him and vanishing. Nyubar was released from his grip, but convulsed on the ground as shadows overtook him. Statute found himself caught in a storm of screams and shadow, the sounds and sights gnawing at his mind. All around Creation, mortals felt a primal fear visit their minds. Fear had claimed even the mightiest of Gods.

Vash looked on in disgust, unnerved by this development. He couldn’t see the three divine beings anymore, only an inky splotch of darkness radiating outward from their original location. Vash took aim, estimating Nital’s location, but the searing pain visited his arm once more. The Spear became white-hot to his grasp, and soon it devolved into its two components, the Sword and the Staff. The Sword continued to inflict agony on Vash, who was forced to drop it into the chaos below. The sickening mass bubbled and writhed beneath him, reaching desperately to pull Vash down and reduce him to madness. Vash fled, frustrated with the turn of events and unwilling to be reduced to a madman.

As the Changer fled, Statute and Nyubar continued to writhe around on the battlefield, their minds pried open by Rula-Sorna. Across Creation, a similar sight visited mortals; the primal fear of the gods sent shockwaves throughout the world, opening smaller entrances to Multor. No end appeared in sight. The floodgates had been opened, and it would take a miracle to stop the torrent.

Luckily, in a world filled with gods, miracles are not wholly unheard of.

Achandrasha and her celestial forces sallied forth from the heavens, while the demigoddess Zadre arrived from the Amaranthine Empire with her Crystal Legions. Together, the two forces desperately fought their way to the heart of the chaos, where darkness poured forth from the two incapacitated gods. Zadre wept, prepared to slay her father if it meant a cessation to the nightmare. Achandrasha had no such concerns; placing her hands upon Statute and Nyubar, she forced the gateways shut, finally releasing them from Sorna’s grip. The shades and specters dissipated, slinking off to enjoy their newfound freedom, while the forces of balance and light recuperated.

The Reign of Nital had come to an end, but the aftermath could hardly be celebrated. Scars from that horrific age could be found everywhere and felt by everyone.

Nital himself lay motionless within the Amaranthinium, left feebleminded and docile by the traumatic encounter with Sorna. Yptych, the Demigod of Technology responsible for the reinforcement of Nital’s cell appeared mildly disappointed with this outcome, as the preparations appeared to be all for naught.

Statute was given a report on the status of his empire; the entrance of Sorna’s influence into his mind coincided with a larger invasion across Creation, especially in the Amaranthine Empire. While the God of Balance struggled to remain sane in the face of unimaginable fear, his citizens had died by the thousands in a similar battle. Zadre’s arrival to Statute’s side had saved her father from madness, but the Crystal Legions left behind were insufficient to protect everyone, and losses were massive.

To restore order to the mainland, Zadre took her legions across the Bay of Lapis and engaged in a massive military campaign. On her journeys she found ruined cities, wandering bands of terrified travelers, and local rulers eager to pledge their loyalty to the Empire in exchange for assistance. The giants to the northwest, largely untouched by Nital’s rampage, refused to submit, and offered fierce resistance when attacked. The Slaagi and Alari to the south were similarly fierce, with the added benefit of having lands wholly undesirable to Zadre.

The Choral Quorum endured in the far west, continuing to repair the ley-network where they could. The west had become dominated by Onoqu, now under the leadership of a mysterious king. Some claimed that he was actually a demon sent to rule in Nital’s stead. Others even suspected that he was Nital in human form, although such whispers were blasphemous, even in such a savage land. Both the Quorum and the Kingdom of Onoqu had frequent border clashes, making it difficult for chromagems to perform their duties further east.

In Vasheroth, the jungles reeked of death. The mixture of death magic, blood rituals, and nonstop war between Morovash and the remaining dragonlords ensured that no shortage of hardship would be found in these exotic lands. With each passing year, more and more flee to the fabled city of Tar Vash’eth, nestled in the beyond. Strange emissaries began appearing in Creation, calling themselves the Avashai. Lithe and frail in appearance, they claim to know the hidden paths to Tar Vash’eth, evangelizing on behalf of Vash and leading mortals to their magical city.

By the time Nital had become imprisoned, the experiments of Fuku and Curator had survived long enough to yield mortals born and raised entirely within their respective planes. Despite the strange conditions of both carefully guarded worlds, mortals could say with certainty that unusual methods of governance were preferable to being slaughtered or tortured to the brink of madness. In the Republic of Hell especially, Creation was seen as a long lost land, doomed to destruction and tyranny, itself a failed experiment of the other gods.

Throughout it all, Rios chuckled. His stunt with the volcano had been a priceless jab at one of the most dangerous beings to ever walk Creation. Sure, a lot of gods seemed to think they could create portals without consulting the undisputed expert of such an exotic form of transportation, but Rios could tolerate such rude behavior…for a time. He soothed his bruised ego by watching the frazzled inhabitants of Artaraka leap through portal after portal, establishing strange outposts in the most unlikely of places. A castle full of lizards. Classic.

And while it may have slipped the minds of many, the stones in the sky continued to twist and float, moving in accordance to one another in an inconceivable pattern. Finally, they stopped, and the whole world took notice.

No one could put their finger on the feeling felt that day. Like a universal “pop” went off in the fiber of everything living and inorganic. Had they all moved? Was this some sort of trick? Something felt different. The sky… looked different. Had things always been this way, and no one had noticed until now? Impossible. Yet... something was different.

The world had changed.

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


Note: No new climate map since nothing has really changed.

@Everyone: Sorry if this update took a while. I found myself rather busy these past few days, plus I sort of got carried away and wrote a bit more than I anticipated. I'm also heading off to work soon, so I didn't have time to proofread this as much as I had hoped. Once I get off of work I'll probably spiffy it up

@Thlayli, Terrance, thomas, and Jehoshua: Conflicting timescales and orders on when certain things were supposed to happen made things a bit awkward, but I'm hoping things were satisfactory.

@jackell, Jehoshua, and Seon: Your respective pocket dimensions are not represented on the world map, but this may change in due time.

@Everyone, Again: Stage II is right around the corner. I will post the guidelines for a transitional update that will bring us into Stage II properly. Right now just think about broad goals for deities, as well as cultures you would like to see take hold in this world. Creation is filled to the brim with mythology and clashes between gods, but it's mortal denizens are sorely lacking in documentation for the most part This update will be a chance to flesh them out a bit more.

As this is the end of Stage I, no point totals matter. Update 6 won't require any stats. If any of you have comments, questions, concerns, or complaints, please let me know either in the thread or through private messaging. This update and the whole process in general has been a bit chaotic, so I'll understand The front page will be fixed up and brought up to date later tonight.

@Iggy: Please explain what you did to Creation, since this was your little project and I feel that people might be curious/concerned.

I seriously can't believe no one else thought to make the damn moon.

looks like things finally didn't go "just as planned" for the lord of change, definitely shouldn't have used those swords as base materials... at least he's not too badly off though relatively speaking... (ergo not a gibbering wreck)

Jehoshua said:

(ergo not a gibbering wreck)

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inthesomeday said:

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rula-sorna = big winner

This was a wonderful read! I feel lucky I left to my own dimension at that time but whoever is attacking my giants... tsk tsk tsk...

Silly Vash, trying to out-contract Statute.

ND your maps are kill

Its sad statute wasn't bound to a thousand years of servitude.... but I suppose a reversion to the status quo (matter of statute currently being deficient in sanity aside) is fine. . Not like Vash is unscathed either though, losing the sword is a pain, really should of just made his own sword from scratch... (although at least he still has The Staff)

Anyway you're all welcome

Double A said:

Major action: Plate tectonics are now actively enforced.

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careful not to get salty, lucky

This was great!

Yes, very good update, action packed battle