Creation: Gameplay Thread

[Seon]

Talitha, Sunday

Spoiler 7 Tales of Creation :

7 Tales of Creations: It is quite well known among our culture that this earth was created when the Great Destroyer bed the Creator, but throughout my wanderings I discovered that other cultures had far stranger myths in their historybooks. Allow me to tell you about a few select gems…

The Elder of the Tamin, a Nomadic Race of people in the desert wastes:

Eh? What did you say, Wanderer? Creation? Oh my my… it has been a while since I was asked that question… good thing that I know the answer, young man. In the beginning, everything was a desert. A desert! As far as the eyes could see, I swear by my mother’s grave.

Now, young man, this was no ordinary desert, for it was absolutely flat. Cross my heart, absolutely flat. None of these sand dunes, desert plants, nor those skittering deadly scorpions. We didn’t exist either, mind you. It was just sand, sand as far as the eyes could see. Then the gods came.

Well, no, I did not see the gods myself, young man. Don’t be silly. It all happened thousands upon thousands of years ago! What, you think the gods willed all this mountains, sand dunes, and horrid seas in days? Sheesh, people nowadays have no patience whatsoever. First, the gods of time proclaimed the world to begin so that the stars and the moons in the sky could turn. Winds began to blow across the world and allowed for clouds to gather.

When the clouds gathered, the God of Water appeared with all his mysteries in the world. He thundered down from the clouds and crashed into the desert sands! When the dust settled, a great spring of water was created, from which the seas emerged. The sea very nearly consumed all of Creation, if not for the timely arrival of the other gods, who created the mountains of stone and dirt from the swirling desert storms. The gods could not, however, affect the lands already claimed by the God of Water. That’s why the seabed is all sand, young man.

What? How did we come along? Oh that’s simple. The gods got together one day, put their heads together, and discussed how to divide creation. Of course the gods, being proud creatures, bickered over who should have the most lands. Eventually, they arrived on a great compromise. They would create Men, created in the Gods’ image, in order to inhabit our world. The people would be free to worship anyone, and the gods would, instead of fighting over lands, would seek the souls of all the people on this earth.

Hmm? What? How did the suns and the moons and the stars come from? Oh go to sleep, young man.

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The Priest of Igtnithal:

It came from the sea.

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The Elder of the Rinani People, who inhabits the mountains:

Hello there, traveler! What tales should I tell you today? Wow, Creation? That’s going to be a long story. Luckily for you, you came to the perfect man! You see, I was there with two other wise men when the Messenger from the Gods came from the heavens to explain it to us.

What? Who are the other two men? Oh that doesn’t matter.

Anyways, listen very carefully. You see… creation… don’t actually exist! Yeah, you heard me right. It doesn’t actually exist. Our world is a carefully crafted limbo set between our previous life and the next. When we die, we move on to the next world… and then the next… and then the next until we finally reach the True Creation, our paradise! But to have the chance to move on to the next, we first have to live a virtuous life to develop our souls! Else we are reincarnated into another body in this existence. Wanderer, I must urge you to live a virtuous life and cease your wanderings too. Where will you be once the God of Death comes to judge your soul?

What? Who made this kind of system? Oh well that’s the Creator of course. He willed it into existence so that the True Creation will only be inhabited by the most Virtuous and the Powerful of the souls.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

A drunken old man in the Kingdom of Peridor:

Wha-? Creation? Why the hell are you asking me for, young man? If I knew how Creation came into being, would I be here, drinking away my freaking sorrows? Whaddaya mean you don’t know who else to ask? Okay, okay, here’s what I’ve heard… Creation… is like a beer bottle.

Yeah, you heard me right. This freaking jar of beer. Tastes more like soup. INNKEEPER! YOUR BEER TASTES DISGUSTING! Whaddayamean it’s actually a bowl of soup? Oh. Right. Anyways, it’s like this jar of beer. It’s hard on the outside and seems like it’s mostly dirt, but it’s actually mostly water. And once you partake of it, you have this sudden sense of great joy and your troubles seems to melt away… and it also has a very good aerodynamic shape for throwing and I had a place where I was going with this metaphor but I forgot.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

A wanderer in the desert: Creation is kind of a mess.

Way Talitha explained to me, anything that you believe in has a chance of being true. Enough people believe, really believe in something, more likely it is that it will become retroactively true. So back in those days, people believed that the world was created from nothing and it was actually created from nothing.

Now we have a thousand different people with their personal stories about how the entire world came into being so all those different creation myths are canceling each other out and placing the entire thing in a really crappy limbo of a situation.

What? Talitha? Oh, yeah, I met her once. Caught her in a net, a cleverly designed trap if I may say so myself. That’s how I learned all of these things. Wish I haven’t though.

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So which one is true?

Answer to that is my tale, of course. I’ve also met Talitha and forced her to explain things to me in more detail… See, we were not the first ones to live on this earth. It was actually the Giants who lived on this earth before us. The gods that we know were mere children to the Great Primordial Gods who lived and ruled these giants.

The giants were a fierce yet cultured people, loved by Talitha and all other gods alike. The Giants worshipped all of the gods and the Great Primordials showered them back with love and gifts. The greatest gifts of them all, however, was the gift of Magic. See, overnight, the giants were suddenly able to wield powers as if they were gods as well!

For a while, things were well… until the giants grew too overconfident. The giants, on their dragon mounts, stormed the palace of the Gods themselves, seeking to take our lords’ seat of power. This rebellion against the gods was a miserable failure. The gods were disappointed. The Primordials were infuriated.

The Great Destroyer, who knew the values of life that he destroyed and still holding out love for the giants, refused to punish the giants for their transgressions, but the Creator disagreed. The Creator took the great Hammer of the Destroyer and swung it down upon the earth. In an instant, the Giant civilization ended. It was here when Talitha grew to be a cold witch that we know her as today. She kept on restarting the clock over and over again, hoping that she could somehow change the Creator’s mind this time or somehow save the giantkin from destruction. It was no use, the Creator’s will was indomitable and the giantkin’s fate was written in stone. For the first time, Talitha failed to cause a miracle. Her heart broke into pieces when she saw her favored race die a hundred million times. When she finally gave up, she could not care for anything at all anymore.

Then Men were created in order to replace the giantkin. We were made much smaller, much less intelligent, and much less quick than the giants. To keep us from rebelling, of course. However, Talitha did something special and wicked to spite the Primordials who destroyed the giants. She gave them the curse of Mystery. The men were made to forget how they were created, what kind of beings the gods and the Primordials were, and what was their intended role in the world was. Disgusted, the Primordials left our world to begin a new one elsewhere. That’s how we came to be.

Of course, you don’t have to believe me. Who says the gods know the truth too anyways?

 

[KaiserElectric]

Riconteu, Friday

Spoiler :

"So let me get this straight. You traveled for years through desert and tundra, rain and snow, braving man and beast alike, searching for an audience with me...and you only want to know how the world was created?"

Aluse swallowed, not expecting such a cynical comment from a God. The old helmet perched on the rough stone altar betrayed no divine powers behind it. Aluse considered the enchanted helmet being a mimicry, but only Riconteu would have chosen to converse in this way.

"Well...yes. Is that...a problem?" he stammered in reply.

"No, not at all," the helmet said. "I'm just surprised that you went all that way for a trivial question like that."

"Trivial?"

"Oh yes. I mean, usually ask for some arcane knowledge. The origin of our world, though, is old news, and other Gods could give you an answer to that question. Hazalizelia's recollection of the creation, I think, is particularly amusing."

Aluse again wondered if this was really a God he was speaking to. "Your priests didn't know what your answer would be, so I figured if I found your shrine..."

"You could ask me yourself. At the very least I admire your effort."

"So can you tell me?" Aluse said, barely containing his excitement.

"I suppose. To be fair, none of us have strong recollections of the Creation, so my account is probably just as inaccurate as the rest. But if you insist..."

Silence permeated the cave as Aluse awaited his answer.

"Well then, where to start? Let's start with the name. Creation. I prefer the term 'invention', but the definition is the same. The world and everything around us was invented by a greater force than any of us."

Silence again fell, leaving Aluse more confused than satisfied.

"That can't be all of it..."

"Of course not. Like I said, I cannot easily recollect the Creation. I can easily imagine, though, how the Creators must have felt."

"What do you mean?"

"The Creators are, after all, inventors. The world began as something simple, say, a mass floating in emptiness. The Creators, pleased with the invention, ask themselves how they can improve it. 'Let us divide the mass into sky and land, and put our symbols in the sky to signal the changing of day to night' one says. 'Let us separate Earth from sea, so the water can bring life to the Earth', another says. Several days of new ideas and grand designs later and the Earth is complete."

"Then comes the difficult part. You are knowledgeable of my teachings, I presume? If so, what is the higher purpose of invention?"

"To help others," Aluse recited loyally.

"Of course. That was the problem the Creators thought. While impressive, Earth was hardly useful to the creators. They had gone on without it for quite some time, after all. That's when, I would imagine, they created you."

Aluse blinked. "Me? You mean...mankind?"

"Certainly. Man was created so that others could benefit from the creation of Earth. Quite a simple explanation, if you ask me. The world was, in essence, the first invention, and with no one to share the invention with, they created you. Nothing quite as grandiose as other myths of creation, but certainly the most honest."

Aluse bowed respectfully. "Thank you, Riconteu. I shall remember your words as long as I live."

"That makes one of us."

 

[Quisani]

Griminir, Saturday:

Spoiler :

Creation of the world.

Alright, here's the short story. You wanna know all the detailed secretive interesting bits, you going to need to give up something better than that.

Alright, at first there was nothing but darkness and shadows and a single flame that shone in the darkness. That spark grew into one of the first elder gods. If you had given me more, I'd even tell you his name. Suffice to say, that he burst forth from the flame. And for a time he was alone. Then he decided he need a companion, so he weaved the shadows into the first elder goddess. They had children. Their children are what you mortals would call old gods. They are the elements, the forces of time and space. These are the gods who made the world that you see around you. Now, this was a bit of a collaborative effort amongst a few gods. A contest, really. The idea was that they would build one thing together, and the god that added the best feature would rule over them. Now first there was Keth, the god of earth and stone. He made the land we stand upon strong and firm. Next came Pylees, goddess of the waters. She made the seas and rivers to stand out against Keth's dirt. Surtha, goddess of the air, wrapped the skies around. Azak, god of fire, having nothing to work with, tricked the Keth and Pylees into making plants so that he might have something to burn. The other three got mad at Azak, so they took a spark of his fire, some earth, some water, and air, and made the animals to eat Azak's trickery. They fought amongst themselves for a while. When they finally got tired of fighting one another, they sat down to figure out what to do about the life they created. Finally they decided that some of their children would rule over them. That's that other race.... the big one's, the giants. They were fine until they tried to overthrow the old gods. It's really a good thing for you humans. You were meant to be servants to the giants. But then most all of the giants were killed and the rest were lost. Then the old gods made you, but were grieved about the their children, and have been silent since their loss. And now there's the rest of us. The other children. I, Grimnir, son of Keth and Pylees, am one among many gods.

 

[Terrance888]

Jalasafar, Saturday

Spoiler :

I once heard a tale about creation.

A single almighty god created the world in six days and rested the seventh.

I am not that god.



I once heard a tale about creation.

A great god lifted the immeasurable heavens from the boundless earth, defining both, and died holding it above us, but still lives within us all.

I am not that god.



I once heard a tale about creation.

A great war between old gods and new gods, and upon their victory the new god created a new world, and placed the best of the old upon it.

I am not among those gods.



The truth of the matter is. There is no such thing as creation.

The universe as I know it, not the one that you know, but the one I know, has always existed.

No, the earth has not always existed.

No, the waters has not always existed.

No, the heavens have not always existed.

No, not even I have always existed.

No, not the moon, not the sun, not the stars, wandering or fixed. Not the fish or the birds or even space or time itself has always existed.

No, not even the gods themselves have always existed.

But the universe has always existed.

But the fabric. The foundation. The universe. The eternal... essence. The playing field. The chess board. The cosmic hodgepodge of anything and of everything.

This has always existed.

I am a young god, but I've seen many things.

This world is but a pebble beneath my feet, one of an infinite worlds.

No, they have not always existed. Even at this moment, countless are being created and destroyed.

I've heard tales from elder gods, who heard tales from elder gods, who heard tales from their elders as well, on and on into the dustless beginnings of godhood. Yet for them all, the universe was already created upon their birth.

No, they have not always existed. Even at this moment, countless are being created and destroyed.


However, the fabric of the universe is nothing. It does not move, or breath, or create. Alone, it is purposeless, motionless. Left alone, it is more worthless than the barren rock, the lifeless sea, the parched air. Left alone, there is no existence. It exists, but it does not exist.

To exist, something must exist it. History... change. Agents of motion, of action.



There are only two agents that have always existed.

Order.

Chaos.

One seeks to place things in their rightful place.

The other seeks to move things to their desired place.

Neither is good. Or evil. Or right. Or Wrong.

But unlike everything else. They have always existed.

Are they eternal? Yes.

Are they gods? Yes. And no.

Are they powerful? Yes. And no.

Can they answer prayers. No.


And so the Universe has always existed. But it did not exist until Order and Chaos came to being. Order and Chaos has always existed, but they did not exist without the existence of the Universe. The Universe is that which is acted upon. Order and Chaos are those which act.

These have always existed.

And because they have existed, Change has always existed.

In a sense, I have always existed. Even though I am young, I am ageless.

I did not always exist. Yet I am eternal.

I am a god.


For the world you are standing on. You wish to know it's creation?

The Universe of Anything and Everything is an arena of great conflict.

It isn't a war, or an argument, or even duel. For agents without hate cannot war. Agents without logic cannot argue. Agents without passion cannot duel.

Chaos and Order revolve together ceaselessly across the boundless universe. Order places things in their rightful place. Chaos empowers things to seek their desired place. On and one, they spread across the cosmos.

And so countless worlds are brought together.

And so countless worlds are taken apart.



And at each world, different smaller agents were born. Imperfect fragments and mixtures of Chaos, Order, and the Universe.

You may call them Gods.

I am one of them.

In the eddies of the great agents we watch over their creations.

Even Order has destroyed worlds.

Even Chaos has created worlds.


Your world is special. It was not created by Order, or Chaos, but exclusively by Gods. Fleeing the destruction of worlds chaotic and orderly, they gather in this gyre of the universe.

And together, they created. As a god creates, his essence is dispersed into nothingness. As a god is venerated, his essence is empowered with purpose.

As they shaped the boundless rock. Many died. Many, like me, appeared.

As they shaped the heavens and earth, many fought, many killed, many died, many lived.

As they molded the seas and peaks, many squabbled, many bound, many loved, many hated.

And so, the remaining Gods came together. Their numbers were few. If yo take a drop from the ocean, and made that an ocean, and take a drop from THAT ocean, and made that an ocean, and you take a drop from THAT ocean, our numbers were fewer compared to our beginning than comparing this drop to the original ocean.

And together, we created Humanity.



Order.

Chaos.

Universe.



You are indeed special. Across the entire universe you are the first world I know created only by the Gods themselves, sustained by the surviving gods by the veneration of their creations and not draining it from their fellow gods.

And so we few remain.

Many new gods are born. Many old gods die.



Order.

Chaos.

Universe.



Change.

 

[Arrow Gamer]

Saturday, Shan

Spoiler :

In the beginning, nothing existed except the music. It danced and fluttered, changing and forming shapes with it's sound. It melded and shifted, mesmerizingly complex yet infinitely simple. Slowly, surely, it began to take a solid form. The notes took solid forms, hardening into a being. The... thing... that stepped out of the whirling sand storm of notes was as wild as the notes themselves. The music ceased, its energy spent on the creation. Shan surveyed the area, noting how empty the universe was. In the distance, if it could be called such in this mysterious area, similar scenes could be seen playing out.

One after another, gods stepped towards the center point among them, a space that seemed inches away but took hours to traverse. As they arrived, they found themselves to be light years away. Eventually, they met. Eventually, the world was stabilized, time made real and the Creation... created. And through it all, Shan watched. He was not a god of creation. It was not his place to participate in such things.

But when the world was made, he filled it with vibrant things. He populated the land, and added many things. He urged fire to coalesce, creating the sun, and willed the animals to enter the world.

And soon, the world was created.

 

[TheBookkeeper]

Dusk Report (Round One)

So went Creation. There were many tales of Creation, of course, though the most popular tended to be metaphysical and ambiguous in origin. This reflected the mystery of the time; it seemed to be an era of omens from distant gods. In deserts, a woman surrounded by a swarm of butterflies would be seen lost in the distance, often revealing the ruins of lost civilizations (+2 Acts Talitha & Grimnir). A warlord in the far south died, which his successor declared as a sign decrying cowardice, and spurring him to wage war on his neighbors. This mane, Alexis, would become known as the Hand of Shan (+2 Acts Shan). Dark dreams plagued people along the coasts of Zubarah, and those who did not pay heed were swallowed into the depths of the ocean, and those who survived these encounters reported the claws and tendrils of impossible creatures (+4 Acts Yiklith). And then some gods were obscure enough to be forgotten entirely, as names such as Akuma and Attaris passed deeper and deeper into legend...

But even in these shrouded times, some gods worked toward something more concrete. Quelimane became known as the patron protector of the townships Sofala, Zagros, and Kandros, wherein the followers of Riconteu found themselves developing more advanced tools. These three settlements would come to be known as a threefold bastion of civilization and knowledge in a world ruled by the unknown. But it was a world only just beginning...

The Pantheon Tonight
-Bu-Ay: 2 Acts
-Grimnir: 3 Acts
-Hazalizelia: 2 Acts
-Jalasafar: 2 Acts
-Quelimane: 1 Act
-Riconteu: 1 Act
-Shan: 2 Acts
-Talitha: 3 Acts
-Yiklith: 4 Acts

And the winner of the Creation Story contest is... Terrance888! Of all the geneses presented, I felt Terrance's best captured the mysterious ambiguity presented by the current pantheon, as well as embodying Jalasafar's character of change (though Talitha's seven tales came close). As a prize, the Acts awarded to Jalasafar during the next Dawn Report will be doubled! Congratulations!

To everyone else, good show so far, and look forward to round two, which begins later today! (and as this is a lot of information, and I'm but a human before so many gods, make sure to shoot me a PM if I've recorded any of the numbers of anything else here incorrectly).

 

[TheBookkeeper]

YEAR 7

The days went on, and so did the gods. Some found prosperity, such as the eternal Quelimane, enhanced by the prevalence of the eighteen star Crown and Shield constellation in the night sky (+1 Act). Others were not so lucky, such as Riconteu, whose flighty inventor crowd failed to respect the Summer equinox festivals for years on end (-1 Act). But most empowered of all was Bu-Ay, who reached new heights as suicide became common among the masses seeking to understand this world of unknown (+3 Acts).

But all of this seemed only foreshadowing the greatest revelation of all, as the first Moon appeared in the sky, and the world trembled in awe.

COSMIC EVENT DRAW: The first Cardinal Body has appeared! For a review of the nature of Cardinal Bodies, refer to the rules at the beginning of this thread. This Moon can be claimed by Gods belonging to the Sphere of the Unknown (presently Bu-Ay, Grimnir and Yiklith), and has a minimum bidding price of 4 Acts.

The Pantheon Today
Bu-Ay: 7 Acts
Grimnir: 5 Acts
Hazalizelia: 4 Acts
Jalasafar: 6 Acts
Quelimane: 4 Act
Riconteu: 2 Acts
Shan: 4 Acts
Talitha: 5 Acts
Yiklith: 6 Acts

 

[Seon]

Talitha, Tuesdays

Spoiler Epilogue :

Night. The stars in the sky continued their eternal journey across the stars.

The seventh little daughter gazed silently towards the ruins of Lendar from the tallest tree in the mountains. The entrance to the original seat of the Kingdom had all but collapsed. She did not stir when the Goddess emerged from the shadowy recesses of the forest to wait for her at the bottom of the tree. She did not ask why the Goddess came to her nor did she beseech her for a divine favor. There was no need. They each knew each other's tales and harbored almost no curiosity towards each other.

The seventh little daughter took the Goblet, an ugly little thing overadorned with jewels, from her backpack and flung it into the dark recesses of the forest. She told her father that she loved her and hung her head to weep. When dawn comes after a night of mourning, the Goddess will still be waiting for her. When she finally comes down from the tree, the Goddess will be there to make sure that she is fine, that she will be alright. She will then vanish from sight, leaving her with her own questions. This would be the first time that she encountered Her. It will most certainly not be the last. All such things were predetermined and fated to happen the moment that the first man emerged from the mud.

She wept, for her family's sake and her's.

-We are, each of us, angels with only one wing. And we can only fly embracing each other.

 

[Seon]

Talitha, Wednsday

Spoiler Dreamer's Thoughts :

Took another sip today.

Couldn't hurt. Couldn't sleep otherwise.

I remembered all that stuff I did when I was but a still little. I relived finding that bird nest in the forest and climbing up that mountain all by myself. I remembered how the stars used to strike me with so much wonder. I remembered all those things I used to have time to do.

...................................................................................................................

I took another sip.

I had to. Needed to get away-from all this. Needed to separate myself from my duties. I'll work better once I'm well rested anyways.

It's too much, too much.

I remembered my first horse, how I felt invincible on top of him. I dreamed of a time when I used to ride upon him under the night skies, not caring about the rest of the world. I remember how the wind brushing against my face felt so wonderful. I relived watching it eat the grass on a perfect meadow in a summer's day, without a care on my chest.

I miss him.

.......................................................................................................................................

As I take another sip, I realize that it's not a particular memory that I am looking for, it's everything that I am looking for. It's all those scattered memories of my fractured mind that I wish to return to. When I dream, I can remember when I could actually feel the sun shining down on my face.

I remember her. She's smiling. She's wearing the black dress that goes along so well with her flaxen hair. She has a sing-song voice and looks at me with deep blue eyes. She's still alive.

..................................................................................................................................

I'm scared.

Not of what has already happened or what will come, but what won't. Will I ever feel like I do in my remembering dreams? Will I ever see or hold her close again?

I don't regret my past. I don't regret all the memories that I made and I don't regret turning to them. They are the best moments in my life and I will never let any of them go.

I take another sip.

.....................................................................................................................................

I remembered so many thing. The day that we heard the bard from beyond the desert come and sing for us, the day that I lent her a coat during a rainstorm, the day that we went stargazing. I don't want to let any of that go. I want to keep remembering. I want to go back, take me back.

Everything can wait until I wake up again.


-“The hardest thing about the road not taken is that you never know where it might have led.”

 

[Seon]

Talitha, Thursday

Spoiler A Legend is Born :

The warrior adjusted his grip on the spear as he grinned up the hill at his opponent. He had wandered this frozen earth for many years… always traveling and always seeking… but now she was his. His target, a woman in light surrounded by a swarm of golden butterflies gazed down upon him from the very peak of the mountain.
The warrior was a hero: a man blessed both with a sparkling intellect and a powerful physique. He had charged into battle countless times and defeated every last one of his foes. However, he was still a man, and his opponent was a goddess. He felt his heart beat wildly as excitement flowed through his veins.
The butterflies dispersed.
He saw his opponent more clearly now. The shimmering clothes that Talitha the Cruel wore beforehand was now replaced by a suit of leather armor which ill-fitted her. In her awkward hands were a small sword and a shield. If not for the radiance, she almost looked pathetic.

No mortal man have ever dared to challenge me thus, yet alone find me in such a way, the goddess boomed. The warrior realized that the shape of the woman, Talitha, did not actually speak. The words simply seemed to appear in his mind. Turn away from this, human. Forget. Do not try my patience, for I am the cruelest one. Do not think that death is the worst punishment that I can deliver you.

“I am no ordinary mortal man,” the warrior declared. “I am Lerion, the youngest son of the Great Chief Temud! I have chased you for 10 days and 10 nights, never resting nor slowing my steps. I am worthy to be here, and I will challenge you!”

What do you want, human? The goddess asked. Why do you chase me so desperately? Is it money that you want? Land? Titles? Love? All these things you can take on your own, even if I did not help you. Why do you persist?

“I want you to grant me a wish!” the warrior shouted. “I want you to make sure that my endeavors will succeed!”

The goddess laughed. It’s true, she said. I can grant you any wish you want… but why do you ask for your endeavors to come true? I can make anything come true, without any endeavor.

“My wish is not something that can be granted with one or two wishes,” the warrior said. “The arrival point is one thing, but the path there is treacherous. I wish for a guarantee from a god that, if I truly seek the end point, I will succeed without any question.”

What is the endpoint that you seek? What is the predestination do you wish for?

“I will become a god,” he said.

The goddess stood silent. I accept your challenge, human. Come, kill me and take for yourself your future.

The warrior raised the spear over his head and hurled it towards the figure of a woman, penetrating the hide of the shield that protected her, the wood, the hide on the other side, and continuing on until it hit her armor. The spear tip penetrated so many layers of metal until it finally reached pierced the figure, emerging out the other side. The black ichor that comprised the gods came spilling out of her wounded figure, obscuring her form. Her radiance faded, and the warrior realized that he could finally see her face for the first time-

I grant your wish, Larion, the goddess said. I guarantee that if you remain true, you will succeed in your endeavors.

 

[Quisani]

Grimnir, Thursday

Spoiler :

Tam reached the top of the hill, and looked ahead at the trail of men, women, animals, and children making their way through the land. They disappeared into clouds of dust, and Tam could not see the front. Perhaps we will walk forever in circles. Perhaps we shall walk until we drop like flies. Tam looked back, and he could see the last vestiges of the mountains the loomed above his village. Perhaps the sand will sweep across this land, and claim any land good land that we find. He sighed. His home was gone, and he people now wandered the wastelands which had swallowed their land. Their home had been a spot of good land amongst the wastes since their father's father's father had been alive, and now they must search for new lands beyond the horizon. Tam found it cruel, when the seas lay so near, so wet and yet did not bring life. He was about to turn when he saw a figure walking along the trail their people had made. Tam was supposed to help any stragglers, and he was certain that he was the last person. He didn't recognize the old man and so he slowed down. The man made his way up to him without looking at him. "Greetings, elder, you do not wish to be left behind, do you?" The old man slowed for a moment and then continued.

No, we wouldn't want to be left behind. Lost, scatter, and forgotten here in this godforsaken desert. Yet, that is precisely where we find ourselves, isn't it? Without a home and wandering, cast from your homeland. Tam began walking beside him. This fellow unsettled him a bit. His clothes looked like the clothes of his people, but they were too clean for someone who had been walking as long as his village had. The old man alternately limped on either foot, as if he were deciding which limp he liked better.

"Yes, Elder One, we are without home, but perhaps today we shall leave the desert. Today we may find water, we must." While Tam found the old man unsettling, he was still responsible for any stragglers.

Quite. Young Tam, do you know the tale of this land? What lies underneath? In ages past, water flowed through these lands, before they were claimed by the desert. Before these lands were lost to the sands of time, this land was filled with many plants and animals. Some travelers have said that sands grow because the goddess Talitha spills sand from her hourglass. While some of the sand here did belong to her, that is not the reason. Do you know why these lands, your people, are lost to growing desert? Tam was startled when the man knew his name. He knew now this man was not from his village, and not from his tribe.

"Who are you? Why are you telling me these things?"

Hmm... I will tell you why. These lands are lost because they have been forgotten. Your people have forgotten these lands, and so these lands have fallen under my dominion. Your land, your people have fallen under the domain of the Lord of the Lost. Cower mortal, for you stand in the presence of a god. The entire time, the old man, the god, kept an even level and pleasant tone, even using a joking tone when telling Tam to cower. Tam knew that behind the joke was a command, so he fell to his knees.

"Lord of the Lost, I beg you to let us leave these lands, to find someplace where we might live; where my people might not be forgotten." Tam looked up and saw the old god had a smile on his face.

Your people are mine because they are lost. I am the god of wanderers, and have no desire to see these people die. I intend to let your people leave these lands, but I do not want your people to forget me like they have forgotten their old lands. I will lead your village to a new land. From there, they shall spread across the waters like dust in the wind. But first, you must ensure that your people follow my signs. They will guide you to new land. I will gift your people with a lost river. then you must continue until you find the river water forgot. Follow that path until you find the next sign. It will not be hard to see. A sudden gust of wind blew a dust cloud in the air. Do not let your people forget Tam, lest they remain lost. Do not forget Grimnir. As the dust settled, the old man was gone.

 

[Terrance888]

Jalasafar, Friday

Spoiler On the Dukanii River :

Sara knelt as she searched another body. The battlefield north of east of Karatoz took her nearly a week of traveling to arrive, but she no heed of time and expense as she carefully turned the dead man over. It was a heavily bearded Dukanii warrior, eyes still locked in the pain of battle.

The next one was a Peridorian, his face caved in by a mighty axe blow. She carefully took out her knife, the same she had used so many years ago, and carefully sliced open the hardened leather layers on the man's chest. Her hands shook as she gingerly butterflied the armor.

There it was.

A dazzling blue gem, in the shape of a tear, had hung under the man's... her son's armor.

Another one joined it as she lowered her grief-striken face towards the desiccated body. Her one and only son! She felt her age press upon her as her reservoir, her feeble attempts to hide reality, the inevitability of change in her life, the fact that he is dead. It did not merely crack, but was destroyed in a torrent of despair.

The sun was setting as she finished preparing the grave. There will be no moon that night. As she laid her son on pyre, she paused. Did his hand just twitch? Did his mouth emit a groan?

She leaned closer as the mouth broke free of it's mortise rigor. It whispered in her ear.

"Joooooiiiinn.... Meeeeeeee"

With the cracking sound of dried flesh forced into movement, her s... her... the thing grasped her by the hair and drew her face toward's its ruined mouth. She screamed, instinct taking over her as her knife flew from its shealth and into the moving corpse's temple.

The undead gave a choking grasp and released her. She fell back ontop the body of another soldier.

It too began moving. Terror clouding her eyes, she backed towards the Dukanii river. Towards safety as the dead on the battlefieled picked themselves up and looked upon her with their dull, lifeless eyes.

"Joooooiiiinnnnnnn.... uuusssssssssss"

 

[Immaculate]

Yiklith, Friday

My name is Zaman Alhazred and I have been diving since I was eight. Now I fish. The pearling season is over for the year. And the waters have emptied. Only the fishermen remain now.

There is a look, one I can’t quite describe: furtive perhaps? Like maybe they have a great secret that is just a little too heavy to bear and they would love to share it, only they are afraid. There is fear there too.

I know I share that look.

And I think I know why my neighbors look at me, look at each other that way- but we dare not speak of it. The fishermen are perhaps the most heavily bowed by it- for they must face the source of their secret fears.

All this from dreams?

But it is more than just dreams. They know something has happened. They have heard of my son, Abdhul’s, drowning. Perhaps these looks are just for me… because I was with him. But I suspect they share these looks with one another.

In a way I must know for I too share their dreams.

I will follow them and listen to their fears. When they are in their cups the truth will flow.

***​

The moon is waning now and the worst of it is over. Men gather their courage, great gulps of courage, from clay cups at the tavern near the harbor. I sit in the shadows outside the tavern, cloaked in shadows, my ear intent upon the conversation within.

They speak of Kayyaum Duad. He left with his cousin to fish the southern shoals two days ago and never returned. Kayyaum’s cousin, Zaahir, has said little since his return and that look is heavier upon his face than any other. I saw him staring at my son, make up his mind to speak to him, take a step, falter and turn. I suspect he has seen something. Something only Abdhul would understand.

Kayyaum is not the only one missing. It is a good thing these men do not know that. Or their fear would truly be compounded.

I turn an ear to hear what they say. It is as I suspected- they too have had the dreams. Something, or someone, from beneath the waves has demanded salt, iron, and blood of them. Kayyaum had offered none of these and now he is gone. The others had made offerings- secret ones- none wanted to be the first to admit that what had begun as a pinch of salt had turned to plows and knives, to blocks of precious salt, to hogs and dogs drained of their life over the high tide under a full moon. They, no we, for I would count myself among them, had been bowing to the dreams- they had felt so real- without speaking to the others of it. None knew if the others had had the dreams or not. None knew that any others had been offering sacrifice to the sea in secret. Now, with Kayyaum gone, claimed by the sea, they were speaking. I almost want to join them, to share with them the catharsis of knowing that I am not alone in my strange dreams, my secret visits to the shores in the dead of night.

They speak for several hours, as they drink, they are more open. They feel less silly knowing that others feel what they feel, that they too have heard the secret whisperings of Yasaoloth. By the time they leave for the night, agreeing to continue their sacrifices and to face their terrors together, they are feeling braver and I know that that look will be gone from them.

Before they leave, they resolve to speak to Zaahir Duad and learn what happened to Kayyaum.

***​

I make no secret of my offerings, drawing a knife across my palm and offering my own blood before I drop my the knife into the sea. The other fishers watch me and soon they are speaking to me of their dreams, and asking me of mine. They too have seen glimpses, in their dreams, half remembered and half imagined, of grasping tendrils, dark oily waters, things that should not be. I don’t tell them of the face I saw in the depths and the hair I felt on my skin or the hand that grasped my arm and left a mark I still bear. It would be too much for them.

Having shared with them this experience, they open their cabal to me somewhat and we speak of Zaahir Duad. They tell me what I already know- what I had eavesdropped at the tavern. I nod and tell them I would hear his tale too.

But first we finish our offerings to Yasaoloth, solemn and serious, fear in our hearts, and push our little catamarans into the bay.

***​

Something has happened. And I suspect that it is simple. It’s a terrible thing and it fills me with awe and terror in equal measure. The bounty of our catch, the fish in our nets, has never been greater. And it is because of our offerings. The same thought goes through my mind that has gone through the minds of many. My son Abdul has received a gift, a pearl as white and pure and large as the moon itself- for what else would be in the lone abalone left in the basket Abdul insisted we retrieve on that horrible day? Our catches have increased with our sacrifices. What if? Would Yasaoloth offer a great bounty from the sea if only we offered more in sacrifice?

Today is no exception. The blood of my palm, the long iron knife I used to draw it has brought me the drowned one’s favor and my small boat is full to the brim with mackerel.

We help each other unload our catches, haul them to the market. We work together. There is something different in the way people look at us now. That look or a variant of it, is in their eyes now too. They have had the dreams. But they stay ashore, safe from the tide save for the dreams and the whispers on the nights of the full moon. But us, we are like warriors to them now. We are something to be feared, held in awe, something greater than simple fishermen. But none would speak of it. The fishmongers speak solemnly to us, no longer cracking jokes or even smiling. The bounty of our most recent outings does not go unnoticed and yet it remains unspoken.

Afterwards we gather, washing ourselves of fish guts and salt. The sun has set and we are eager to return to our homes and wives (Sarah- where are you today?) but first we must speak with Zaahir.

***​

Zaahir is not at his hut. We search a long time for him and as the crescent moon reaches it zenith, we find him. He is near the shore, walking amidst the brine pools were my Sarah lost her balance not so many years before. It seems like a sign- one I cannot quite interpret. It would be clear to Abdul but I am not sure he would be able to explain it to me anymore.

He sees us coming and knows why we have tracked him here. He looks to the waters; the tide is going out. The sand and rocks are covered in slick seaweed. Suddenly I miss my Sarah so much. For a moment I stare unseeing before realizing I have been watching small crabs picking away at a rotting fish carcass. Looking at Zaahir again I follow his gaze. He is watching the reflection of the moon on the night sea. We wait.

Finally he turns to us, and staring at me speaks, “Yasaoloth stirs. It rises.”

I nod. I hadn’t thought of it quit like that before but I realized it was true. My companions slowly nod also.

“It took Kayyaum.”

We nod again. It is the same conclusion they had agreed to in the tavern yesterday evening.

Zaahir looks at my arm and without thinking I rub my wrist. Zaahir almost but doesn’t quite smile at me.

One of the other fishermen, Aqil, asks the question we’ve all wanted to ask, “What did you see Zaahir?”


In another circumstance we might not have believed him. But tonight, with the crescent moon shining on the sea and our dreams fresh in our mind, our pockets full of the coin won though our offerings to the drowned one… we believe him.

 

[Immaculate]

Yiklith, Friday (Sorry second story- I actually have time to write and feel creative so I am writing now while I can)


My name is Zaman Alhazred and I have been diving since I was eight. It has been two months since we spoke with Zaahir and I have had too much to think about. Now I fret. Forces I cannot know or understand have made with me a pact i cannot refuse.

Sometimes it feels like a conspiracy.

And maybe it is.

We all hear the whispers. I do not know how far they reach but here, at the edge of the sea, they are with us every night. When the moon is full we wake panting and sweating, even on the coolest night. And there is terror in our heart. But it is more than just terrors that lie beneath the sea. Is it a conspiracy? Am I the only one who knows this?

I know something they don’t. I’ve known the terror of what lies beneath the waters. And I know something else. Yasaoloth is not just terror and dreams and madness. It’s a promise. Its more than pearls and fish. I’ve been thinking. A hog’s blood brings me not only protection from the horrors that lie beneath; I am rewarded for my sacrifice and my hull overflows with fish.

What if....

What if.... I sacrificed something greater?

***​

I watch the children playing on the sand, they race amongst the rocks laughing and giggling. When the sun is high and the tide is low it is easy to forget why we woke drenched and panting in the night. Maybe the children are a little more apprehensive of the water’s edge. Maybe the parents are a little more watchful. I am probably the only one who dwells on the whispers of the drowned one.

I almost sought out my son, Abdul, to ask him. I stood at the doorway to his room. He didn’t hear me- too busy with charcoal and vellum drawing pictures of the moon, tracing pathways across alien landscapes I did not recognize. He had stripped naked and his ribs were plain to see. I could tell he had been drawing for many days- had not eaten, had not taken anything to drink. He was planning a trip to somewhere. Somewhere distant. In his drawings the moon was calling him- but not to the sea- instead it called him out to the desert. There was something in the wastes: looking at his pictures I suspected it might be tomb. I almost spoke to him, almost asked him of his pictures and of my own questions. But more than not knowing I feared how he might answer. He had stopped gibbering- mostly. But if I asked him my questions, the gibbering would start again and it would be too much for me. Too much like with Sarah at the end. No- the fevered silence was better and so I did not ask. Leaving him water and bread I sought the sea.

So now I sat upon a rock by the sea, watching children play and trying to decide which one would wander away from the group, away from the watchful eyes of the parents. I tried not to think about it too much, to keep my mind clear. I thought of her and I felt tears roll down my cheeks. You might not understand why I would contemplate this- the murder of an innocent. But if you cannot understand then you have not known love and loss – not like I have. And you have not known Sarah.

I taste the salt of my tears as they fall from my eyes and it seems entirely appropriate.

***​

I am not sure why I did not take a child today. I tell myself that it is wrong but I also suspect that I somehow doubt my convictions. Is it a question of faith? Or morality? I lay on my mat of woven reeds and watch the clouds drift across the night sky.

Inside Abdul continues to sketch. Lack of sleep and what must surely be the Yasaoloth’s touch has driven his gibbering to new heights and I cannot stand to be near him when he is like this. He has run out of vellum long ago and now sketches on anything he can- the walls, the floor, the back of the clay plate I left for him.

Perhaps it is this loss that makes me miss Sarah all the more. Before, at least, I still had my son. And now, do I have him? Or does the sea? And did not the drowned one already take Sarah?

I’ve alluded to her passing several times now and maybe its time to make things clear. Then when I speak of holding a child under the water until it sputters and gags and finally drowns, then cutting its veins to release its blood into the sea, you will not think me such a monster.

***​

Did the drowned one take Sarah? Who’s face was that in the depths? That thing that tried to drown me, that grabbed hold of my wrist- it was human, more than human... I think maybe it was her.

Was it? Is it the dreams? The moonlight burning into my mind? At the time I saw only a figure- knew it was a woman- that it should not be. I thought panic and escape. But I’ve thought of that struggle, in the cold reaches of the crevasse and again and again I come to the same conclusion. It was Sarah.

I’ve gone diving again there. I’ve sought her. Why else would anyone dive the pearl banks out of season in the middle of the night under a full moon? But I cannot find the crevasse again. It will only be found when he wants it be found.

I know I am not well. My grief is too great. Losing Sarah almost broke me. I know that. I was strong for Abdul, for the last of my family. But he doesn’t really see me anymore and I am not sure if I should grieve for him too.

This is a bad place for me. If I am to contemplate the murder of a child I need to find a place where I can think clearly. I have not been to the orchard in a long time. It was one of Sarah’s favorite places. We used to take nighttime walks there, hand in hand, under the branches. We used to comment on how peaceful, how calm it was.

I think Abdul was conceived there.

I pick myself up and wipe the tears from my face. My mind is quiet, purposefully so, as I walk to the orchard.

I will choose soon; I can feel it. Already as I approach the orchard my mind is clearing.

***

Spoiler :

The smell of fig blossoms is strong here and instantly I am brought back to my earlier days when we would walk or picnic here. We never did work the orchard- we have workers who do. I am not a farmer and neither was my father; we are fishermen and divers. The orchard is our investment- bought with a pearl my father found when I was still very small. I pause; did that pearl come from the drowned one?

I wonder at how the major events of my life are connected and I cannot deny his influence throughout it. My ruminations take me back to that day.

She had slipped on a rock. The tide was low and slippery seaweed lay flat upon the stones that would be covered at high tide. She had been visiting the brine pools, purchasing salt. One foot in the wrong place, weight shifted ever so slightly the wrong way. And it was over. She struck her head as she fell.

I returned from pearl diving with Abdul to find her laying on our mattress. A medicine woman kneeled by her, mixing herbs for a poultice she would apply to her skull. Fractured she had said- a minute crack she could feel with her fingers- so small- tucked away behind the ear in a mess of tangled hair and clotted blood.

I had let her work, watching her clean my precious Sarah, apply the poultice and finally wrap her. Sarah did not wake for a long time- several weeks. As I fed her soup and cold tea I reminded her how much I loved her and how much Abdul and I needed her desperately. Back then I would never have considered offering salt and iron. Or blood. Things have changed. Zaahir is right, “Yasaoloth stirs.”

I had thought several times that she would not wake but finally, on a beautiful clear day, as I cut vegetables in the kitchen I heard stirrings. Her eyes flutter and she looked at me as if awakening from the lightest afternoon nap. But her eyes did not stay upon me, or even truly see me. They fluttered about, seeing but not comprehending.

And that is when I had first hear the gibbering that now I know all to well.

I continued to care for her, spoon feed her, bathe her, change her- how could I not. I loved her more than any other- I loved her more than I loved myself and I am to be truthful I loved her more than I did my only son. A mother will always love her children more than their father but for a husband and father it is different. If you shrug or shake your head then you have not known Sarah.

I wasn’t sure you see. Had she returned to me? Was there mercy? But as time went on, I did know. She wasn’t coming back. I remembered one night I wept and realized I was grieving. I contemplated killing her. In a way she was already dead. I would suffocate her and give her the peace that this frenzied gibbering did not.

Maybe now you understand the grief I feel for my son?

Maybe now you can understand how I would contemplate murder?

The sun is rising and the fig blossoms are beautiful.

My contemplations are maybe easier to understand now that you know the child would not be the first person I had murdered?

 

[Seon]

Spoiler Tales of Conquest :

During his travels in the mountains, King Larion the 1st, the Unifier of his People first called out to all other youngest sons of the chiefs in the plains, who flocked to him carrying their own retinues. He charmed all of them with his intellect and might, who acknowledged Larion as their new Chief. Soon, he had an army of 3000 men from the plains and led them to battle against the 5 tribes of Tremidor who sallied forth with 7000 troops from the deep mountains.

The highlanders were strong men, valorous in battle, but were cursed with bloodlust. When their armies first met in the field, the superior numbers and strength of the highlanders forced back Larion’s army. Misinterpreting the retreat of Larion’s army as a rout, the highlanders charged, disorganizing their battle lines and trampling their own people to chase down the fleeing plainsdwellers. Recognizing the disarray in the highlander army, Larion rallied his troop around and called forth his reserve units that he had hidden in the nearby forest to the battle. The five chiefs of the united highlander tribes were killed in the confusion, swiftly routing the highlanders. Of King Larion’s army, there were as few as 800 dead, while the highlanders suffered 2000 casualties and as much as 3000 captured. The rest scattered back to their respective tribes, spreading tales of their humiliating defeat and a powerful new chief.

The tribes surrendered to Larion’s army within the month. Larion declared himself King and built for himself his seat of power: a fortress built near the caves of Lendar. He integrated the vast expanse of the cavern into his fortress, soon transforming it into an impenetrable castle and the envy of all the rulers of the land.

With the mountain tribes conquered, he turned his attention towards the forests and the plains that he had originally come from…
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

The king let out a bloodcurdling roar of challenge as he looked down upon the assembled armies of the foresters and the plainsdwellers. Their enemies stretched out as far as the eyes could behold, outnumbering his own army 4 to 1, but he was confident of his victory.

His lieutenants, with whom he had forged a bond of friendship and blood that could only be broken by blood, formed up behind him. Far below them, the heralds of the Confederated Tribes of Dardani sounded the trumpets, and the united warriors surged forwards as if the levee holding back the flood was broken. The swarm of men swiftly began its climb up the dirt mountain, weapons chattering and humming as it craved for blood and the sound of battle.

All around, the King’s army screamed out a prayer to the gods for the King and prepared to meet the charge head on. The clouds and the vultures gathered to spectate the last great battle to decide the fate of the world as the people knew it.

A lightning strike. Rain began to fall. The King smiled. His troops murmured all around in a mounting sense of dread. The enemy were at hand, their terrifying screams striking the hearts of all the men and their weapons gleaming with every strike of the lightning.

“Brothers!” the king cried. “Do not despair, for God has favored me! It has already been predetermined that we will attain victory! Do not falter, and we will succeed!”

The king swung the sword, drawing the first blood of the battle as the line crashed into each other. With each and every single swing of the blade by every single warrior upon that damned hill, a head, an arm, or a leg flew off. Curses and dings of bronze clashing against bronze and iron against shield rang out and were heard miles away by travelers.

The highlanders were a brave sort of men indeed, and also well trained, but the confederates were far more numerous and equally lustful for blood. Even as the hacked bodies of their comrades came sliding down the hill, three more men charged forwards to take their space. There seemed to be no end in sight, and even the king’s army could not help it self but retreat and give space ever so slightly…

But the old hill was not used to support so many creatures upon it, certainly not when the rain had softened the earth. With a harsh groan, the hill broke apart below the charging confederates, crushing many of them alive and burying many more in a downfall of broken stones and clay. The remaining confederates still locked in combat turned around and saw that their comrades had disappeared. They, filled with terror, routed, fleeing down the broken hill with equal urgency as they had going up. The King and his man-at-arms gave chase, and the night became awash with blood and gores.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

King Lerion the First returned from the highlands with an army of 10,000 men and subjugated dozens of borderlying tribes laying at the foot of the mountains. He left behind a trail of conquered subjects until he reached the river of Dard, where he was forced to wait until he could secure a passage for his army.

This gave enough time for the plainspeople and the foresters, along with warrior bands in exile from their homelands conquered by Lerion, to gather together under a single banner of the Confederacy and challenge Lerion. Combined, the armies of the Confederacy totaled at approximately 60,000 men.

When King Lerion heard this, he abandoned his attempts to cross the river and instead began his retreat. The Confederate army gave chase, losing many men to attrition and cleverly designed traps of King Lerion. Eventually the two armies encountered each other on a hill with the Highlands just out of sight. The united confederation army still outnumbered the King’s meager army, but he had come with a terrifying new invention of war: bow and arrows. King Lerion used many bows, originally used for hunting purposes in the highlands, in his army, completely outclassing the skirmisher armies of the confederates. It was for this reason that the confederate army was forced to march upon a defensive position on top of the hill to bring the fight to the King. The battle would have been lost for King Lerion if not for an opportune landslide which broke the morale of the Confederate center. Many men in both sides of the field thought the landslide was a sign that King Lerion was truly blessed by a god, Talitha, from whom Lerion claimed received his divine right to rule.

Whether or not the landslide was truly an act of god or a freak accident, this battle marked the end of the plainsmen and forester resistance to King Lerion’s rule. Kingdom of Dardani was formed with its seat at the mouth of river Dard.

 

[Terrance888]

Jalasafar, Sunday

Spoiler Independent City of Karatoz :

All remembered the day of the Dead. The bodies in Karatoz ford picked themselves up and assaulted the walls in the darkness. From the Keep, the local chief was murdered by the rising corpses in the family mausoleum. And all across Peridor and Dukanii, the dead are not dead. But are not alive.

And as dawn rose and banished the moonless night, one women walked before the advancing dawn. As the corpses fell back to earth she seemed to glow brighter and brighter, until she outshone the shone itself.

Her name is Sara, and she speaks for her patron, the God Jalasafar.

And so she spoke to us. Change is inevitable, she said, embrace it, cherish it, ride the waves of change from crest to trough, for that is life. No Change... that, that is death.

As the keep is opened and the body of the dead chief was burned, Sara became our leader.

Under her rule, bodies are burnt on the open pyre, their ashes entering the sky, changed forever.

Under her rule, Karatoz men wander the countryside, sending the dead back home.

Under her rule, Karatoz achieved its destiny. It is independent of the fractious Dukanii. It is independent of the warring Peridor. It is independent of the mercantile Donotod.

No. Saratoz is independent.

And she is strong.

 

[Seon]

Spoiler The little cup :

The Cupmaker raged. His tools flew out and the door slammed. The walls and the floorboards rattled. Through it all, he loosed a stream of proganity so acid it threatened to peel the already fading paint. Rejected. HIM! The most skillful and the most prestigious cupmaker in the entire Kingdom! Not even by the King himself, but some absent-minded bastard of an advisor who even had the galls to send a guard to escort him non-too-carefully out the door. His offerings never even reached the edge of the King’s vision.

He threw a knife with enough force to lodge it into the walls of the palace. The cup was a masterpiece: prefect by all regards! And it lay shattered to fine pieces around the doorway. It took a year for the cupmaker to craft this out of the finest jewels and pearls at no small personal cost to his finances and relations. Glittering, inscribed around every inch of the cup were tales of the Endless Talitha. Her cold and frozen eyes made out of the sharpest diamonds and the faces of fearful men made out of the roundest pearls. The goddess’s demon dogs engraved out of darkest obsidian with eyes of ruby rampaged all around the miniature world of the cup, tearing apart the masses.

Gruesome? Yes. But a perfect gift for the youngest son of the king, known well to be bloody-minded. If not for the dim-witted, worthless advisor who took offense to the Cupmaker’s “attempt to shaken the fair mind of the young lord,” his cup would have been the pride and joy of the entire palace! He returned to his workshop and punched the walls until the skin of his fists burst. Eventually his raged ebbed and his vitriolic shouts turned into sobs as he buried his face into his worthless hands. It was his best work, and he knew he would never create another once more. He absent mindedly looked up to the rafters too seek the one which would best support his weight when he caught sight of a lone butterfly which had drifted into the room.

The mad cupmaker remembered his younger days when he used to chase after the same butterflies in the meadows and wished desperately that he could return to them. The butterfly in the rafters took flight and fluttered away into a blind spot. Suddenly, the maddened cupmaker felt inspiration bubble up from inside him. Memories. A wish. Yes, he thought. If he could not attain immortality by appealing to beauty, than he will through a Wonder the likes of which the world had never seen and never will see again! He would create a treasure so valuable that it will be talked about long after the God Kings of Dardan became all dead and forgotten.

He took to the work with a frenzied devotion. He molted down all the remaining bejeweled cups he had left, scraped out the jewels from their shattered remains, and scattered them all about the workshop floor. He jotted down diagrams of his future work on whatever surface he could find-scraped onto windows, scratched into the dirt, cut into the wood of his home, and even carved into the back of his hands. What few little friends that he had whispered of madness, witchcraft, and demonic possessions and soon all his neighbors and former patrons shunned him. Soon, nobody dared to approach his home due to the filthy smell of molten tar, blood, gore, and excrements. The only time that the mad cupmaker ever ventured forth from his dwellings was to sell whatever that he had-furnitures, leftover jewels, doors, and even clothes- to get what little food that he needed.

In a way, the cupmaker enjoyed the shunning. In a way, it confirmed what he always thought was true. He always thought that his neighbors were sometimes too nice, too happy to see him. It was all an act after all, he mumbled, and came down upon his work with an even greater fervor than before. He asked his little creation, should I put yet another butterfly there? Or perhaps something else entirely? Maybe a flower or two? He lost a finger to a knife held by shaking hands, tore open his skin with a mistimed stroke of his hammer. As he carved the butterfly, he could not help but cut himself constantly and spill blood all over the creation.

And when he was certain that he was finished, he embraced the little cup with more passion than he had ever shown to a woman.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

The God King Lerion the 1st and his six children were the same people as they were when the mad cupmaker was first thrown out of the palace doors. Every year during the summer the entire family toured around the capital on top of their high horse. They crossed the same little bridge, rode the same little boat to cross the river, and said hello to the same little peasants of their kingdom. So when a filthy monster of a man suddenly appeared in front of them with a cup of wine, the old king actually had to be nudged awake by the first son.

My king, the mad man said. I present to you, a little gift. When the king saw the cup with all of its little engraved butterflies swarming around, his eyes grew round from astonishment. It was a sign, surely, of the goddess that had given him his children and his Divine Blood, Talitha the Endless. He shooed away his guards and personally took the cup away from the monster of a man, curtly thanked the smiling madman and rode off by himself back to the palace.

His family later found the king smiling and sleeping in his chamber, the beautiful grail lying on a table next to him. When he awoke, he excitedly told his family that he re-experienced the glorious battles of his past and insisted the rest of his children to drink from the same cup. When they awoke and told their father of having similar wonderful dreams, the king became delighted beyond words. He personally rode out to seek out the mad cupmaker, embraced the reeking horror of a man, and then led him back into the palace.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

The god king’s six children grew worried.

As the days went past, they found their father spending more and more time with the damned demon cup. They constantly told their father to relinquish it, to not to drink from it again. The wrath that the King showed their own children silenced the issue from them or anyone else. When the King began to scribble poetry wherever he went, pouring out his wish to be in the past, the children grew terrified. Their terror turned into righteous fury when one summer night, the king drank from the same little cup with his sad little heart and never awoke again.

The mad cup maker was taken from his room by no less than 6 guards. A bag was thrown around him and when it was removed, the cup maker found himself staring into the faces of the three sons of the king. The first son’s punch cracked what teeth the mad cupmaker had left. Then all three sons descended upon the cup maker and tore him apart from limb to limb. His still living head and torso was sent to the deepest pit that the third little son could find to rot.

The damned little cup disappeared in all the commotion. Lerion the Second, the first son, chose not to order it found once more. He forbade it from being mentioned in his presence ever again, for even the smallest mention of him gave him the most terrible of all migraines.

 

[TheBookkeeper]

Dusk Report (Round Two)

So went Creation. In this period, many Gods seemed especially interested in laying claims to individual peoples and societies: Shan's King Alexia spread his influence on conquest in the far south; Grimnir acted to guide a small desert village to water (+6 Acts), leading them to develop the foundations of dowsing; Quelimane continued his protection of the Triplet Villages, letting his grace be known by making the river running through them shine as liquid gold for a time (+2 Acts); Talitha blessed King Lerion and the Kingdom of Dardani, where surfaced the curious Goblet of Tears; Jalasafar focused on the King Kazu of the reddening hills of Peridor.

Other Gods were interested in more celestial matters. Yiklith uncontested claimed the Moon under its sway, forming a Bond with the Lord of Death Bu-Ay in the process. From his own domain, Bu-Ay spurned a waking nightmare, when across the world corpses rose for a single night, seeking to take others back with them to the grave (+10 Acts Bu-Ay). It was during this night that the oracle Sara arose, leading a defense of the city Karatoz, following the will of her unknown benefactor, Jalasafar.

All the while, the rest of the world continued to turn. Among other development, Shan pushed a single volcano into existence on the southernmost continent, taking care to harm no humans in the process.

The Pantheon Tonight
-Bu-Ay: 12 Acts
-Grimnir: 6 Acts
-Hazalizelia: 4 Acts
-Jalasafar: 0 Acts
-Quelimane: 4 Acts
-Riconteu: 2 Acts
-Shan: 0 Acts
-Talitha: 0 Acts
-Yiklith: 0 Acts

New Scriptures:
-Goblet of Tears (Talitha)

New Oracles:
-Sara (Jalasafar)

 

[TheBookkeeper]

Dawn Report Round 3

As the newly born Moon covered the Sunm the world held its breath, as the light of the Sun seemed to die by the advances of the young upstart. Inch by inch, the light dimmed. Birds returned to their nests, confused at the seemingly early onset of night. Wolves howled as total darkness enveloped the world.

And the moon stayed there for nearly an hour before, almost reluctantly, it eased out of the way. A sigh of relief was heard world wide, but in Karatoz, a different feeling, that of fear, struck a particular women.

Sara, the Oracle of Jalasafar, knew of her patron’s self sacrifice. But she felt no need to share it to the rest of the world for now. The secret buried deep within her heart, she walked outside to welcome the return of the light with the cheering townspeople.

On her window counter, a tulip died. Across the world, one after another, the flowers keeled. Scions of Jalasafar’s trump, they are no more.

A god has died that day. That same day, a different god was born.



It would seem this Eclipse would cement the standings of the gods among their followers, but increasingly, many turned away from the deities above and below. Although the world is yet young, many, especially those who were far from the blessings of the various gods, begun doubting. Even if they did not, attendance to various ceremonies dropped during this time (-1 Act All Gods). Especially hard hit are, surprisingly, the followers of Bu-Ay and Yikilith. Their fear seems to have turned many against their gods instead of closer worship, and religious traditions have suffered appropriately. (-1 Act).



COSMIC EVENT DRAW
The Great Eclipse has occurred, and doubt is rising of the realities of the Gods. Local spirits and false idols even weaker than the Pantheon are gaining in importance in areas generally ignored by the might of the Deities. How will your god react to this loss of faith? How will your most feverent followers react?

The Pantheon Tonight
-Bu-Ay: 12 Acts
-Grimnir: 7 Acts
-Hazalizelia: 5 Acts
-Jalasafar: 0 Acts
-Quelimane: 6 Acts
-Riconteu: 3 Acts
-Shan: 1 Acts
-Talitha: 1 Acts
-Yiklith: 0 Acts
-Geregsurhi: 5 Acts

 

[Quisani]

Grimnir, Friday

Spoiler :

The pain was near indescribable. Limbs torn from his body. Limbs for the gift he had made, the cup which had consumed him. He knew not where he was, only that he had been seized and torn and wrench and pulled apart. So much like the first gift he had made for the family. He gasped and flopped about the floor, dirt and dust burning the flesh where his limbs had been. The cupmaker screamed and cried and cursed and begged all at once. There was no reply. Soon, unconsciousness overtook him. Regaining consciousness only rewarded him with a renewal of his agony. Yet, he did not die. Over and over, he was pained, and yet he did not die. Finally he cursed the darkness and begged to let him die. This time there was a reply. Finally, the cupmaker was still

"Death will not visit you here. Bu-Ay is... preoccupied by his machinations on the surface above. His efforts strain him, and as such, you have been lost to death. You have been left here by those whom you sought to please, and they have forgotten you. You have had your your skills taken from you, your trade, your mind. Even the goddess Talitha has abandoned you to this fate. There is no word which describes but lost." This voice from the darkness carried greater weight than the cupmaker had ever heard, even in the voice of the King. It was heavy, old, reminding him of both his masters master and the cupmaker's grandfather.

"P-please.... whoever you are, let me die!"

"I have yet to decide what to do with you, mortal. I could send you to Bu-Ay with ease. But there has been some exchange, some bargain. And there could be more. There are things I must consider. First, though, since you are lost, you will find some things you lost some time ago."

The cupmaker, through his pain, could feel his mind work more clearly than is had since his madness had come upon him. Morever, he felt his pride melt to some degree.

"P-please, if you c-can give me back-k... ugh... m-my mind... t-take.... this... pain."

"Very well mortal, it has been decided. You are mine." The air was silent, and suddenly the cupmaker was wracked with a burst of immense pain. Then, when his mind cleared, he could feel that wounds were covered in new skin and that the pain had greatly lessened.

"Thank you, divine one! Praise you! Will you grant me the return of my limbs?"

"In time. I have other dealings which require my attention, so you will wait in my abode. There are others like you... and others who are different. They will care for you. If you are a useful servant, you may fly like those butterflies you chased in your youth. Now, let us depart."

Then the darkest dungeon of Dardani was empty once again.