Terrance888
Discord Reigns
I'm interested to play but I don't know if I'll be able to. All of my stuff is open except Tai, which I might pick up.
NDNESVI(Reboot): Myths, Legends, and Gods
- Thread starter Ninja Dude
- Start date
Dreadnought
Deity
I intend to pick up Onoqu, but I am considering my second choice at the moment.
Ninja Dude
Sorry, I wasn't listening...
Alright, claims have been updated. Stats have also been finished for a while.
Orders are tentatively due July 14th. If you have any questions you can catch me on discord or shoot me a PM.
Orders are tentatively due July 14th. If you have any questions you can catch me on discord or shoot me a PM.
Seon
Not An Evil Liar
The Trade in Souls
The Merchant--that was the only word with which to describe him--was an unusual sort of fellow. He had orange eyes, denoting his infernal origin, and had a jovial and overly friendly attitude even when the people of the town threatened to call the guards. He was not an evangelical member of the Impostor Church, although he almost certainly had a healthy disrespect for Gods and the customs of the people of this land. He dressed strangely with brimmed hats and silk clothes of unusual design, although many found it difficult to comment or describe it (or even think too much of it) when they were outside his presence. He had a strange and singsong manner of speaking with others, as if talking to a confused animal, and often spoke while his mouth was full of some food or other things that he snacked upon. He was a merchant, and indeed described himself as so, but he never carried any goods to sell aside from the tool that he carried to conduct his business.
It would actually be far more accurate indeed to describe him as a laborer--an extractor of a sort. Hell had no shortage of goods, but there were things that they prized--for reasons that were never quite clear. Surface foods, for one. Souvenirs from the surface too. Stories. The Merchant was after a much rarer and perhaps more (or less) valuable good: human souls. Where he went, sounds of jingling souls trapped in runed stones and treated jars followed. He carried with them a strange device--a metallic tuning fork of some kind, that he insisted was capable of liberating a body of its soul.
He was an extractor of souls, collecting them in the above ground and sending them to Hell for reasons that he refused to clarify. He was a merchant too, he insisted. He saw the extraction of the soul as a service that he provided. A holy service, even. He received the soul from the poor hapless (or perhaps just greedy) fools above ground in exchange for a service. Sometimes, the removal of the soul was in itself a boon, as it allowed for a certain numbing of painful memories and wounds, especially for those who always preferred the wastelands for the fertile valleys. Sometimes he paid for them, in material wealth that he obtained or carried. Sometimes, he simply taught them secrets--and he knew a lot of secrets.
Sometimes, people in their peak of greed and foolishness sought him out for the grandest prize of them all--immortality that they believed that transition into a soulless husk could provide. The Merchant was all too eager to provide such a service, of course. Even for those who didn't seek him out for such a purpose often found themselves transformed, discovering their newfound unchanging nature years later. Such people were usually exiled or killed, by their peers who did not trust such frivolous expenditure of their very soul or by those who found their nature as an undead abhorrent, even thinking undead creatures that looked and acted much as they did while they were still alive (or perhaps they found that even more disturbing in its own way).
Such people who sold their souls to the devils of hell either disappeared, assumed to be taken by the environment, or formed isolated communities of their own where they helped each other come to terms with their own undeath and newfound unchanging nature. Sometimes, these isolated communes vanished over night too, as if Hell rose up out of the folds between the worlds to claim their own.
None of these were of any concern to the Merchant, of course, who spent his days and life in constant search for new ports to explore and new people to do business with. His galleys are still sighted all over the world, always disappearing before anyone can mount a response to his trickery. It is said that the oars of his boats are manned by the lost souls he has received, who are forced to toil away out of Nyubar's light for all of eternity.
The Merchant--that was the only word with which to describe him--was an unusual sort of fellow. He had orange eyes, denoting his infernal origin, and had a jovial and overly friendly attitude even when the people of the town threatened to call the guards. He was not an evangelical member of the Impostor Church, although he almost certainly had a healthy disrespect for Gods and the customs of the people of this land. He dressed strangely with brimmed hats and silk clothes of unusual design, although many found it difficult to comment or describe it (or even think too much of it) when they were outside his presence. He had a strange and singsong manner of speaking with others, as if talking to a confused animal, and often spoke while his mouth was full of some food or other things that he snacked upon. He was a merchant, and indeed described himself as so, but he never carried any goods to sell aside from the tool that he carried to conduct his business.
It would actually be far more accurate indeed to describe him as a laborer--an extractor of a sort. Hell had no shortage of goods, but there were things that they prized--for reasons that were never quite clear. Surface foods, for one. Souvenirs from the surface too. Stories. The Merchant was after a much rarer and perhaps more (or less) valuable good: human souls. Where he went, sounds of jingling souls trapped in runed stones and treated jars followed. He carried with them a strange device--a metallic tuning fork of some kind, that he insisted was capable of liberating a body of its soul.
He was an extractor of souls, collecting them in the above ground and sending them to Hell for reasons that he refused to clarify. He was a merchant too, he insisted. He saw the extraction of the soul as a service that he provided. A holy service, even. He received the soul from the poor hapless (or perhaps just greedy) fools above ground in exchange for a service. Sometimes, the removal of the soul was in itself a boon, as it allowed for a certain numbing of painful memories and wounds, especially for those who always preferred the wastelands for the fertile valleys. Sometimes he paid for them, in material wealth that he obtained or carried. Sometimes, he simply taught them secrets--and he knew a lot of secrets.
Sometimes, people in their peak of greed and foolishness sought him out for the grandest prize of them all--immortality that they believed that transition into a soulless husk could provide. The Merchant was all too eager to provide such a service, of course. Even for those who didn't seek him out for such a purpose often found themselves transformed, discovering their newfound unchanging nature years later. Such people were usually exiled or killed, by their peers who did not trust such frivolous expenditure of their very soul or by those who found their nature as an undead abhorrent, even thinking undead creatures that looked and acted much as they did while they were still alive (or perhaps they found that even more disturbing in its own way).
Such people who sold their souls to the devils of hell either disappeared, assumed to be taken by the environment, or formed isolated communities of their own where they helped each other come to terms with their own undeath and newfound unchanging nature. Sometimes, these isolated communes vanished over night too, as if Hell rose up out of the folds between the worlds to claim their own.
None of these were of any concern to the Merchant, of course, who spent his days and life in constant search for new ports to explore and new people to do business with. His galleys are still sighted all over the world, always disappearing before anyone can mount a response to his trickery. It is said that the oars of his boats are manned by the lost souls he has received, who are forced to toil away out of Nyubar's light for all of eternity.
Ninja Dude
Sorry, I wasn't listening...
Sounds good!
To others that plan on participating for this upcoming update: I am considering pushing back the order deadline, as no one has really posted or PM'd anything resembling orders and we have one story
Any suggestions on a new deadline?
Oruc
Reactionary
I have no idea what I was doing
Thlayli
Le Pétit Prince
Give us until the end of July!
Dreadnought
Deity
I have just returned from a trip and can devote time to writing this week.
Ninja Dude
Sorry, I wasn't listening...
You heard the the man! Once August begins, so too shall the update process.
Sift through some old PMs, use the wiki, or hit me up directly. I'm happy to help jog your memory!
