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[RP] Dawn of Divinity


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THE SECOND AGE – The World and Its Becoming

Turn 10

 

Spoiler

 

 

With the aid of mighty Vu’u, the Nyren of the River reform their simple riverside settlements into the world-sphere’s first true city. It takes the resources and work of a generation, even with the aid of the Avatar, but sure enough there soon stands a shining marble metropolis at the mouth of the river. The ornate walls protect from attack from the land, and vigilant eyes watch the rivers and patrol them in sleek boats. Marble gargoyles in the shape of Pati watch the faithful from above as angelic protectors, and busts of Vu’u are common adornments to plazas and squares. Upon its completion, a grand procession is lead through the city by the priesthood of Kaha-Nu-Buhu, culminating in a twilight candlelit boat procession to the mighty ziggurut temple standing within the middle of the river, the light of the Ruby Moon illuminating the passage of the faithful. By day the city bustles with activity, fed by the plentiful river and the beasts of the Soul Reef beyond. By night are made benedictions to the ancestors and to the Ruby Lady and her lion, with grand flotillas of barques leaving the ziggurat to pay homage at Kaha’s self-made Temple further downstream. The city will become known as Carda, a name that will ring out through history as the oldest city on the planet, and certainly the first whose construction was mandated by a god. Nyren from distant tribes and small villages are awed by its sight, for truly nothing comparable exists in most of the world. Even delegations from the Forest are awed, and priests of Kaha from the Tree itself come to make pilgrimage to the holy city and learn more accurately the sacred rites of the dead, the ancestors, and the immortal Soul. For now, Carda is but a city-state on the Soul Coast but surely it will command a grander place in history.

 

Exitius acts in the world to provide his warlike children with greater mastery over the arcane, creating an entire subrace gifted in such matters. Though the Venandi were not in any way stunted magically, their new Kin are positive savants. Though few survive the rituals to create these respected and feared war-mages, the Kin possess magical skill and intuition equal to the average Forest Nyren wizard at least, and at best see the magical world and the applications of the runic script with a natural eye beyond even the most learned scholar. Indeed, the Kin become the first sentients on the World-Sphere to use complex metal constructions, using runic magic to mine and smelt – with some even capable of shaping adamantium into useable shapes, and imbuing them with eldritch power. A side effect of their creation, perhaps unintended by Exitius is that the Kin can indeed breed with each other to create viable offspring – a fact soon learned, and then concealed from the rest of the Venandi. Time will tell whether this will lead to an entire offshoot society, or ruling caste, or whether the Kin will remain as the shamanic support for their wider race.

 

As well as creating the Kin, Exitius’s power flows once more into the world in the form of the Dragon, brought into being from its destruction at the Shatter Peak along with the Horror of Ixthalizzum. It still screams in its first few moments of rebirth, before settling once more into this world. It is once again ready to do its master’s bidding.

 

Yngbald’s staff is recieved with great awe and celebration by the wizards, shamans and priests of the Adamantine Tree. For the next centuries many will come to wield it, but almost never in anger. It remains a mostly ceremonial and scientific object, used to heighten ones knowledge of the magical world. Indeed, under the direction of its users, the collective knowledge of the Nyren mages continues to accelerate.

 

The rest of the gods are idle for now, but one has been idle for too long. By the will of Almighty Ao, Overgod of All, the indolent plaguelord Skatal is condensed into an artefact – the Pariah’s Amulet. Its wielder is conferred great health and total resistance to disease and afflictions, past, present and future, at the cost of becoming an asymptomatic carrier for a painful and deadly pestilence that strikes down those near. Such is the curse of Skatal’s essence that should the wearer forsake his amulet that they too shall be striken with the horrific disease – until they wear it once more. It falls silently into the long-ruined meeting hall of a Nyren village ravaged by plague on the continent of the Great Burrow. The mindless Skatalkin vermin infesting that place regard it with awe.

 


Minor Occurences:

 

  • Whilst holy Carda is rightfully considered the World-Sphere’s first city, urbanism is becoming an increasingly prevalent phenomenon. Complex towns are developing in the former lands of Do-rah, and the settlements surrounding the Adamantine Tree are fast becoming more interlinked.

 

  • A society forms among a section of the learned wizards and priests of the Forest Nyren, who – upon reading the enigmatic script of all that is and has been from the walls of the Adamantine Tree – become somewhat curious about the nature of the so-called Lost Gods, those who have been artifacted. Time will tell if this society develops into anything more than academic curiousity...

 

  • A far flung Ravaniin nest colony makes contact with the Pati. Not being afforded the holy protection of Vu’u like the Nyren, this goes less than smoothly for the crow-men. The colony is abandoned within a few years, but many of its former inhabitants are “guests” of the Pati for considerably longer...

 

  • Contact is made between a migrating Kyrkal kindred and the Myrdians dwelling in and around the temple at Yngbald’s Folly. They find their wailing, orca-like languages to be remarkably similar and communication is far simpler for them than it is between the likes of Nyren, Ravaniin, Pati and Venandi.

 

  • A Thallite sorceror by the name of Frogath-yoz’Oth declares himself King of Thallites, then promptly decides against the silly idea and later commits suicide out of embarassment with a demolition sigil drawn onto his forehead. Still, it’s a funny old idea, and his peers contemplate the idea of monarchy and statehood while consuming his corpse. Maybe it will catch on? The idea of tenderising meat with demolition spells CERTAINLY will.

 


 

MAP:

 

pO5X59E.jpg

 

Because small Nyren tribes are all over the place I’ve only included the largest/most prominent groups. Red hex on Exitium marks the place that’s been nuked.

 

AP ROLLS:

Wol-Kot – 7

Vyrnen – 12

Yngbald – 9+2

Ixthalizzum – 8

Exitius – 8+2

Kaha-Nu-Buhu – 6+3

Bruk – ARTIFACTED

Do-rah – ARTIFACTED

Lavrat-es – ARTIFACTED

Skatal – ARTIFACTED

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“In what language do worms think?”
-Ixthalizzum, God of Indecision, Confusion, Derangement, and Irony

 

 

What a strange concept! One of his Thallites tried to crown themselves as a permanent leader of his people! How wonderful! Did he think it was wonderful? NO. This was TERRIBLE. They would deign to GUIDE his whole race?! That was much too certain and far too stratified for his liking! Or maybe he didn’t actually think that...?

The Madgod Ixthalizzum pondered a moment as she idly drove a few Myrdians insane. When a mind was mostly stable, it was only natural that disgusting, static hierarchies would be established. If he twisted their minds any further, it would upset the wonderfully balanced chaos that had taken hold in his people. To add more confusion and indecision to their culture would lead to a briefly amusing but ultimately boring anarchic murder-spree, for sure. It was only a matter of time until some enterprising Thallite managed to take control and declare themselves the ruler. And he would be sane to allow something like that without HIS blessing!

 

Nay! He would designate his OWN candidate! One that would be interesting time and time again! In fact, he would do one better--he’d create a whole ROYAL LINEAGE that would be suitably interesting for him from this day on! And if it became boring, he’d just bless another family, and they’d eat the boring one! Perfect! Now to seek out the perfect candidate...

 

Ixthalizzum threw his consciousness down into the depths of the underpaths and sniffed out an appropriate vessel for his heinously marvelous plan. Finally, he happened upon an unassuming female Thallite--and since he was now bored with searching, she was clearly The Chosen One. He forced a sliver of his consciousness into her poor, unprotected mind which sent her into a violent, convulsive seizure. In her dazed and thrashing state, the Lord of Confusion shrieked a message louder than any thought had the right to be.

 

“Be still and rejoice, mortal! For you are Chosen by the Giver of Gifts! The Lord of Balance! He that Ebs and Flows! She that Waxes and Wanes! The Voice in Chaos! 

 

Be still and give thanks, mortal! Your progeny are blessed by my betentacled grace! My many eyes are upon you, and you shall be the vessel to Godhead!  

 

Be still and be fearful, mortal! For your offspring shall be thrice-fold! They shall know much danger! They must be protected against the lowliest Ix, to the most cunning of Thall. 

No gift is without payment, mortal! No grace is without harm! For when I give boons, I must similarly harm. Such is the nature of Balance. Stand fast! Accept your reward, and receive your punishment! My gift is the Spore of Greatness that shall find supple earth in the moistest of Ixless caves. There your funglings shall know three graces, and three curses.

First of Three--the child will know great wisdom and foresight! Slow to anger, shrewd in action, brilliant in all things. But they will know great misery and loneliness, for they will be truly sane, and their darkest hours will be all the darker.

 

Second of Three--the child will wield power beyond compare, as the magic of the world shall be as an extension of their very body! Master beyond equal, the ebb and flow of chaos they will know beyond knowing! But their bodies will be frail, misshapen things, easily broken and warped. 

 

Third of Three--the child will be a font of innovation, inspiration, and creativity! They will have sparks of brilliance that will change the course of history, and innovate in ways never considered before! But these sparks will be few and far between, for their madness will cripple them beyond reason. 

 

To these thrice-fold motes, I gift thrice-fold life to guide their people. They will face Thrice-fold challenges, and thrice-fold dangers. Rejoice, Mortal! Rejoice! Rejoice at the coming of the Three!

 

The Three-As-One! Blessed be!”

 

And so, Ixthalizzum screamed in her mind until bloody ichors drooled from every one of her orifices. After three hours, Ixthalizzum left her be. When she awoke -- shaken and disturbed from her contact with the Madgod – she felt a strangeness she had not experienced before. In the coming days she would give birth to triplets. And these triplets would be destined for great things...

 

Ixthalizzum looked deeper into the caves, and carved out an enormous cavern. It was here he would lay a gift for his children, and a test for his God-touched. Gathering surface insects and plants of his sibling Gods, he twisted them until they were suited to the deep tunnels and moist caves common to the Thallites. Many of them were edible, tasty, and nutritious for Thallites, but also hardy and easy to grow. However, not only was it tasty for Thallites, it would be attractive to all sorts of beasts and monsters down in the deep places of the world. The horrors of Wol-Kot, the ravenous Ixkin, and even the filthy skatalkin would seek these caverns to eat their godly bounty. If they were truly worthy of ruling the Thallites, his Three-As-One would puzzle out a solution to conquer it.

 

[8AP God-Touch Dynasty: The Three-As-One] Always born in triplets, and always die at the same time, these three beings are blessed and cursed in many ways by Ixthalizzum’s twisted mind. One is blessed with great wisdom and intelligence, but will suffer from unpredictable bouts of manic depression. The second is blessed with immense magical power and control (immense even by Thallite standards) but will be crippled, deformed, and often in pain. The third will have great potential for creativity and innovation, but only rarely. The rest of the time they will be a raving lunatic. All three have three times the usual Thallite lifespan (1500 years of age). Once they die, a random Thallite will be blessed with triplets, and the next generation of the dynasty will be born.

 

[4AP Shape Land] An enormous cavern is shaped (the size of one hex) and is implanted with a plethora of insects and fungi delicious and nutritious to the creatures of the Underpaths. Insect-husbandry and fungi-farming are relatively simple for the creatures here. Sadly, it will be filled with immensely dangerous creatures in competition with the Thallites for control. It lies in the hex closest to the Thallites home caverns.

 

[4AP Left over]

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EXITIUS, LORD OF DESTRUCTION

 

Rock shifted deep in the mountains, as a great scaled body twisted over itself. Scale like diamond glittered and danced in the limited light, scraping rock and leaving light gouges as it passed. The sound of heavy breathing filled the space, and a low chuckle issued forth, as Exitius surveyed the work of his fellow Godlings. Red eyes shone, cutting through the darkness, and magical power roiled off the avatar, as the God of Chaos considered his next plan.

 

The Dragon descended the mountain, powerful wings propelling him downhill. For several weeks, he flew overhead, looking for something, but also for nothing. After his long search, he came across a band of Kin practicing their arts in a forest clearing, performing magic and blood ritual, forging the weapons for which they were famed. 

 

Descending, the Avatar took on a different form altogether, and soon stood not as a dragon, but as a huge Venandi, coiled with scale and black as pitch, and covered with red tribal tattoos. As soon as he entered the clearing, there was silence and hostility. No word was spoken, no gesture was made, as Kin quickly assembled a semi-circle around the Lord of Destruction. Without so much as a warning, they struck, magic exploding from their bodies.

 

Without so much as a second passing, they were broken, crawling in the mud, their heads in their hands and screaming silently, words incapable of escaping their mouths. Eventually, Exitius grew tired of their screaming, and fixed the minds he had broken without so much as an ounce of effort.

 

As they crawled and begged his mercy, for now they knew he was their Lord and they feared his wrath. After a few moments of basking in their worship (or perhaps it was a few hours, immortality did confuse one’s notion of time) Exitius displayed to them his will. ”You are mine, but I am a loving master, and upon my faithful I have deigned to grant two gifts.”

 

Their squirming stopped, and now they watched the black Venandi with extreme interest. “The first gift I shall bestow upon you is one of knowledge. To you, my faithful, I give the knowledge of my favoured creatures, the Great Serpents – known to you as Dragons.”

 

With another violent flash in their minds, and some more tortured screaming, Exitius planted his gift of technology – the Venandi and the Kin would hence forth know how to tame dragons, enabling to ride them and to use their shed scales and other such things in crafting.

 

A cold smile came across the features of the God, as the Black Venandi pointed his claw at the youngest and fairest of the Kin present. “My second gift is one that will unite the Venandi clans. You will bear a child – my child - and he and his descendants shall be blessed with my favour and my power, to rule forever as the Kings of all Venandi.”   

 

If the young Kin was horrified or shocked, it did not show – Venandi chose their mates for strength and power, and none could match the power of their Creator....

 

Actions

 

-Exitius commands his avatar to give the knowledge of dragon taming to the Venandi/Kin. 4 AP

 

-Exitius fathers a line of “demi-gods” who will unite the Venandi clans into a single kingdom and rule them as their monarchs. The first of these God-touched is the first Venandi king, King Tyrannos the Progenitor. 8 AP

 

1 AP remaining.

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”My siblings are weakness incarnate before the greater truth. You are weakness incarnate before the greater truth. I, Wol-Kot, gift you salvation.”

-The Temple Walls

 

 

 

Sylvaniel had spent an eon in the darkness at the center of the earth. She did not eat, and she did not sleep, apart from her walks through the endless expanse of Soth-Kogarth. Though the temple never increased in size, somehow there were always new hallways to pace down, new records to peruse.  She had read every rune, every magical incantation in the building, and practiced them to perfection. Over centuries of watching from afar, she knew of the races which infested her planet, and of the paths she could take to reach them. But she had become bored. The useless dreams of long-dead mortals were of little interest to her, except to remind her how petty the lives of her ancient kin had been.

 

So it gave her great joy when finally, after hundreds of years, her god spoke to her again.

 

”It is time, Sylvaniel,” the voice of Wol-Kot echoed from the walls, cool and steady. “You know all that I do of this world. It is time to return.”

 

And Sylvaniel replied. ”What must I do?”

 

Laughter came in reply, and the Nyrnen thought she saw the glowing scriptures flash brighter for a moment. ”What would you like to do? I have watched you, Sylvaniel. You yearn to use the power I have gifted you. You would see mortals bow before your crest, fear you like a force of nature.” He paused, still amused. ”It is as I said to you all those centuries ago. As you will it – so shall it be.”

 

Mist gathered in the temple halls, obscuring the way farther in. Sylvaniel’s heart pounded in anticipation. At last. Power sizzled around her as she once again sat in the stone boat across the quicksilver lake. The temple’s light flickered behind her.

 

”Make of the world what you will, but do not die!” Called the voice of her god. ”I shall have need of you soon!”

 


 

[COMMAND GOD-TOUCHED: 1 AP] – Wol-Kot is planning something. He expends a minuscule effort to speak to his Nyrnen servant. She is to go to the surface, anywhere on the surface, and wait for him to speak to her again. In the meantime, she is free to make the most of her time....

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Yngbald, lord of magic and progress

All was normal for the Nyren tribe around the tree of Yngbald. Or that was what it seemed like until what seemed like blue lightning struck just outside a tree. But it was not blue lightning, it was an avatar of the god Yngbald.

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Before them stood Ahzek Ahriman, Avatar of Yngbald. He had appeared in the centre of the village and by now Nyren were starting to appear. Then he spoke. A loud and somewhat arrogant voice booming out for all Nyren around the great tree to hear. “HEED MY WORDS MORTAL FOR I AM AHZEK AHRIMAN, THE REPRESENTATIVE OF YNGBALD.“His voice then boomed a little less loudly after that. But it was still quite loud to the Nyren assembled before him.

The arcane god has seen it fit to bless your tribe with knowledge. For in his wisdom Yngbald knows that of the knowledge a wise mage learns during his or her life they can teach little of it. For they themselves are dedicated to the art of discovering with magic. However, when a mage then dies much of his knowledge is lost. Creating a grave loss for your tribe.


Then there was a lengthy. pause before Ahriman spoke again. “Thus Yngbald has seen it fit to teach you about written language. And the art of books. For what mortal memory cannot contain materials can. Thus I will teach you how to story your knowledge for all future generations to remember. Even if plague ravages this tribe, it’s knowledge will remain for your descendants.

 

Ahriman than proceeded to teach the Nyren of books, script and written language. Then before leaving he says one last thing.

 

Before I leave must tell you one thing. Beware the servants of Wol’Kot. Do not let them steal your artifacts anymore or this tribe will wither and fall.

Ahriman then dissapereaed with a flash of blue lightning. Dissapearing just as he had appeared.


AP income:

Rolls: 7ap

Less than 4 ap: 1ap

Stored ap: 1 ap

Total ap: 9ap

AP spendage:

4ap, command avatar. The avatar of Yngbald ,Ahriman, is to teach the Nyren about the script. Teaching them how to make books, teaching them a written language based on the runic script and allowing them to pass on their knowledge.

5ap stored for next turn

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THE SECOND AGE – The World and Its Becoming

Turn 11

 

Spoiler

 

 

And so were born the Three-As-One, decreed rulers of the Thallite people, to a rather confused female Thallite. After partially recovering from both the mental violation of Ixthalizzum’s “blessing”, the extremely sudden progression of a triplet pregnancy and of course the trauma of childbirth, the “chosen one” made the altogether remarkable (for a Thallite) decision not to eat the “spare” offspring. The chosen one and her children are soon caught up in a swift migration into the newly created Great Cave, as the Thallites and many other denizens of the deeps swarm into this new space. For a species who have lived in tunnels all their lives the massive size of the Great Cave has a somewhat agoraphobic effect, and some of the Thallites simply refuse to look up at the ceiling a kilometre above them. Nevertheless, they take to their home with gusto, using magic, tools and artifice to carve out settlements and safeholds within this new battleground of the endless war between the insectoid creations of Wol-Kot, nests of territorial skatalkin, and their bestial Ixkin brethren. In time, the Three-As-One rise to prominence within Thallite society, their incredible skills complementing each other well and covering the weaknesses of the others.  Eventually, through a mix of guile, might and sheer creativity, the Three-As-One become nominal rulers of the majority of Thallite tribes. Within the space of a few centuries, the Great Cave is mostly secured, and the Thallites begin to worry somewhat less about NOT being eaten by rampaging monsters and more about internal social development. Nevertheless, their society does become CONSIDERABLY tied to the fortunes of the Three. Crises in Thallite history in this period are often preceeded by the extreme depressive episodes of the First, or boughts of ill-health for the Second, or a catastrophically BAD idea from the crazed mind of the Third that was mistaken for one of his rare moments of genius. An example of the latter is the Flooding of Groh’loth, where an “inspired” irrigation project went awry when an underground aquifer burst into the cave and demolished a town – the Third was non-plussed, stating that there WAS indeed water now, and the WATER was certainly happy with the new state of affairs.

 

These centuries would also see the expansion and solidification of Venandi rule over the entire south of the Great Continent, fuelled by their newfound mastery of the dragons and the actions of one who would go down in history as legend – Tyrannos the Progenitor. Born of a union between Exitius and a young Kin acolyte, an admittedly novel way to create god-touched, Tyrannos’ tribe entirely re-organised itself based on the boy’s prophesised destiny. He was from early childhood stronger, faster and smarter than his peers. Gifted with the keen insight of one that has been touched by the divine, he is leader of the Venandi by skill as well as divine decree. By adulthood he has lead warhosts in great raids to pacify lesser tribes and heretics, as well as forging northward toward the lands of Carda and Yngbald’s Forest. By the end of what would have been a natural Venandi life, almost all Venandi tribes and settlements are bound under the iron rule of Tyrannos, God-King of All Venandi. By his will, raids are sent far and wide on dragon-back to far off lands to lay claim to their spoils and slaves. In time, even Carda and the River Nyren face his wrath. Kin dragon riders clash in the skies of the Soul River against swarms of Pati guardians, with dozens dying to dragonfire and teeth in the defense of their holy mission. Indeed, the only barriers to the conquest of Carda and its associated peoples are the airborne defensive efforts of the Pati, led by the wielder of Kaha’s Spear – the mighty artifact extracting a bloody tally on the raiders – and the efforts of wandering wizards from the Adamantine Tree, who match the Kin battlemages spell-for-spell. A more concerted push northward may be required to truly carve deeply past the Soul River and its peoples, if the Venandi truly desire that. For now, the wolfmen consolidate themselves into a kingdom under the rule of Tyrannos – who soon becomes father to a grand dynasty. Not all children produces from Tyrannos’ harem of worthy mates, both Kin and Venandi, possessed the same god-touched abilities, but many did. At the turn of his fifth century of life, Tyrannos feels that he will not live much longer... perhaps the divine forces involved in creating a single god-touched as opposed to a dynasty leave the dynasty members somewhat weaker than a singular act of creation? Nevertheless, even should the Progenitor soon die, his life has deeply effected the balance of power on the Continent. All but a few scattered tribes of Venandi are united under his descendants, a proto-kingdom well poised to transition into a lasting empire, and perhaps the start of a world conquest.

 

Sylvaniel spends many months travelling the Underpaths, after leaving her master’s temple. Armed with a millenium of scholarly knowledge on magic and the nature of the universe, as well as her mind-dominating Crest, she travels relatively unharmed through the harsh denizens of the deeps. Eventually, her path leads her to an altogether unfamiliar part of the world, finally emerging within the Great Desert, home of the Worms. Judging her position from the movement of the stars, and her knowledge of geography, Sylvaniel finds herself on that desolate continent’s eastern coast – a region home to a small colony of Kyrkal explorers in the shallow waters nearby. Through the influence of her Crest, she ingratiates herself with the Kyrkal and establishes a comfortable abode on the shore using resources this kindred has acquired and can trade for. There, Sylvaniel delves deeply into Soth-Kogarth... which attracts the attention of the primary inhabitants of the desert. Communicating with startled Worms via their dreams, over the next few centuries a veritable Worm Cast is created around her dwelling. She is the first non-Worm that has been able to communicate with them, using a mixture of the illusory mental effects of the Crest of Sylvaniel, the runic script, and the imagery of dreams. Sylvaniel shares some of her vast knowledge with her new Kyrkal and Worm followers, including the importance of dreams, the basic history of reality, and the existence of Wol-Kot. The existence of a world beyond the Desert is revelatory to the Worms, and emissaries from Casts across the continent come to commune and dream with Sylvaniel. The little enclave would be a bizzare sight from afar – a magically constructed manse, a Kyrkal settlement half dragged out of the ocean, and several immense worms pulled up to it like ships pulled into port. How Sylvaniel and her students will go from here is anyone’s guess.

 

Though the Forest Nyren have long interpreted and learned the runic script, the lessons of Ahriman inspire them to create their own written language heavily influenced by the divine script of Yngbald. Societies around the Adamantine Tree become deeply literary, with ideas transmitted far and wide not just via word of mouth but by the written word. Indeed, this transmission of ideas deepens the cohesion of this group until Forest Nyren move toward an idea that has been millenia in the making – a shared group identity, a nation based around their geography, knowledge, and reverence for the Adamantine Tree. This nation becomes known simply as Adamant, with the scattered towns around the tree becoming as one with each other – not quite a city, but a confederation of tribes and settlements united in culture. The Adamantine script becomes the primary written language across the continent, especially in neighbouring Carda and even spreading as far as to the Ravaniin nest colonies and even, in a highly practical form used purely for administration, in the newly established Venandi Kingdom.

 


 

And from their infinitesimal points of existence as artifacts, the beings Lavrat-es and Skatal are returned to their previous states.

 

They are Gods once more.

 


Other Occurences:

 

  • The world’s second city is created on the Southern Continent by the longstanding Nyren civilisation inspired by the Herdstone. Named Iranoch,  the new metropolis is a fusion of ordered marble architecture and wild spaces, with vast swathes of it left unchecked and free to nature by design. In these spaces, beasts congregate and our encouraged to flourish, with regular hunts from the city’s inhabitants. Also present in these areas, equally shunned and revered by the Iranoch Nyren, are those inspired shamans, leaders and artists who partook too deeply of the Herdstone’s wisdom and succumbed to the wildness it induces. These Wild Ones live bestial lives, living off the land and coming in and out of Iranoch’s wild places at will. They are observed by a silent priesthood who watch from the shadows and seek deeper meaning from the actions of their maddened kin. Should two wild ones procreate, Watchers will whisk away the child – if at all possible – to be raised by the civilised of the city in the (perhaps vain) hope that its parentage heralds auspicious things.

 

 

 


 

MAP:

 

pO5X59E.jpg

 

Because small Nyren tribes are all over the place I’ve only included the largest/most prominent groups. Red hex on Exitium marks the place that’s been nuked.

 

AP ROLLS:

30AP is the MAXIMUM. If your given roll makes your total exceed 30, the additional power is absorbed by Ao.

 

 

Wol-Kot – 8

Lavrat-es – 6

Vyrnen – 8

Skatal – 6

Yngbald – 9+3

Ixthalizzum – 8+1

Exitius – 11+3

Kaha-Nu-Buhu – 8

Bruk – ARTIFACTED

Do-rah – ARTIFACTED

Skatal – ARTIFACTED

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”Offer to me your Body, your Strength,

Offer to me your Mind, your Will,

Cast your dreams to my abyss,

And they will rise as something more.”

-The Tenth Column

 

 

 

In the beginning, Kaha-Nu-Buhu gifted all living creatures with a spark of the divine. This gift was the soul ichor which now infused the world, and it was an act of profanity. That one god should lord over the essence of mortals for all eternity was never in the plan of Ao, and more importantly it was offensive to Wol-Kot.

 

For eons he had watched his wretched sister claim the right to what was not hers. He had long thought and dreamed to himself of how such a mistake of creation could be remedied. But the laws of nature were becoming set in their ways, and only through great power could they be altered. So he had slept. He had slept, and in Soth-Kogarth a great reserve of strength had formed, straining at its bounds, eager to be unleashed.

 

In the days before his plans come to fruition, the signs begin to appear on the surface in the form of strange dreams, not limited to a single area as when before he visited Yngbald’s forest, but now across the entire World-Sphere. There is a mountain in Soth-Kogarth, a great craggy mountain of black glass, and it screams in terrible agony. Above it is the red moon Vulu-Marama, its light casting eerie shadows on the still landscape. Each night for three days, the mountain screams in the minds of sleeping mortals.

 

On the fourth night the screaming is nearly unbearable, and at last the ordeal comes to a crescendo. The mountain shatters, crumbling to its roots as from its crystalline form writhes a great worm-like horror, its gaping maw gnashing hatefully in all directions at once. Rising, the creature devours the red moon, letting out a final shriek of victory as it collapses to where the mountain once was. There is only an abyss below, dark and yawning, and the worm falls, out of sight, into a vortex of deep fog.

 

With that, thousands of mortals wake up in cold sweats to discover that Vulu-Marama is still in the sky, where it should be. But all is not the same, and those with the means and knowledge to recognize it speak of a massive wave of psionic energy emanating from the deep earth.

 

The other gods, for their part, know immediately what has happened. The vast reserve of power held within Soth-Kogarth has collapsed in on itself, and the void left in its place hungers for more. None can tell what Wol-Kot plans for those who fall into its clutches, but the endless vortex now pulls on the souls of all mortals, opposing Kaha-Nu-Buhu’s intended afterlife. In most cases, of course, her claim is absolute. But those who have dabbled in blood magic see the vortex when they sleep, and find themselves wondering what lies on the other side.

 

----------

 

The night of the vortex’s birth, Sylvaniel was awake, anticipating that her god was soon to do something major and insulating herself from direct exposure. Even so, she felt the outpouring of strength from below and knew that there had been a change. Around her, the inhabitants of her enclave tossed and turned, but she merely turned her eyes to the stars.

 

A flash of crimson above, and a streak of light through the sky. Something had fallen from the heavens. It crashed into the dunes nearby in a plume of sand, and when she went to investigate, she found a small stone, only the size of her fist.

 

Related image

 

Three words were carved around its widest point, in the script of Wol-Kot’s temple. “For your conquests.” But the rock gave off no particular energy, and she could not detect any consciousness or use in it. A moment more, and the sand around her began to shift. She stood still as a floor of smooth basalt emerged below her, and a pedestal with markings rose. And as she had with Yngbald’s eye, she set this rock too where she was commanded. And the rock glowed red with hunger, and the script on the pedestal glowed with it, and the script said: “Behold, mortal, the SOUL STONE.” Around Sylvaniel, the floor was rising, and walls of more basalt formed to surround her. In the town, she could hear sleeping Kyrkal cry out in terror. Before her, the script continued to form.

 

”The power to correct the wrongs of creation lies before you, crystallized so that no man or god can destroy it. Only the stone on which you stand can awaken it, bathed in blood given willingly.” There was a sharp edge at the near side of the pedestal, and the priestess assumed she was expected to use it. As the first drop of her blood fell to the floor, the walls suddenly burst to life with carvings, glowing red. Now there was a power surrounding the stone, and truly surrounding everything around her. More of the script appeared near the ceiling.

 

”This place shall be your home, your palace, the seat of a new rule that will bring order to life and death. You must spread the stone’s influence, for all the souls of all who die in its realm will be spared the tyranny of the Red Lady. You shall learn how, in these halls.”

 

A basalt door had formed, and now slammed open. Sylvaniel turned from the stone’s chamber and stepped into a long hallway covered in the script of Wol-Kot. Some was knowledge she had already learned: rites of blood magic, to be performed on the soul ichor of others or oneself. But some was more practical: designs of great black obelisks, bathed in sacrificial blood, to extend the reach of this new gift.

 

Sylvaniel smiled. At last, it was becoming clear what her god desired. And as she thought on how long she had waited for this, she stepped out into the morning light and looked up at the black structure that would be her throne.

 

Related image

 


 

[CREATE FORCE: 20 AP] – The endless vortex, a void in Soth-Kogarth beyond which nobody knows what exists, begins to pull at the souls of the mortal realm. While the vast majority are still tied to their creator, those who have severed their ichor from Kaha-Nu-Buhu through blood magic are helpless before the new divine force. When they die, their souls are cast adrift, and slowly but inexorably pulled to the realm of Wol-Kot.

 

[CREATE ARTIFACT: 6 AP] – The Soul Stone, a manifestation of Wol-Kot’s will which requires monuments of sanctified basalt to properly channel. In its area of influence, which may be expanded with the construction of such monuments, the soul ichor of those who perish is ripped from its proper course to the Ruby Lady, and pulled toward the stone itself. Clearly, it is the Dreamstalker’s intention that this flow of ichor should eventually go to him, but in fact it has a tendency to linger around the artifact itself. With a great number of deaths occurring in the influenced area, blood magic performed close to the stone could be exceptionally potent.

 

[SHAPE LAND: 4 AP] – As the first of the Soul Stone’s monuments, and as a standing command to his most favored mortal, Wol-Kot raises a massive basalt pyramid around the stone, on the outskirts of Sylvaniel’s enclave. The interior contains enough rooms for the functions of palace and temple, with cavernous halls and private chambers, but the centerpiece is clearly the tiny chamber at its center which holds the fist-sized glowing rock. If the stone were used as intended, the building could soon be host to great power, but for now it is little more than just that...a building.

 

0 AP SAVED

Edited by Zanderaw
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Yngbald, lord of magic and progress

Areon Brightsteel, a powerful young mage of the nation of Adamant walked back in his home village. The village bordered the great tree and was settled under it’s leaves. Amongst other forest Nyren he was considered a hero. A valiant mage who had fought the Venandi and defeated one of their prime mages in a duel. Preventing the kingdom from going beyond the great river. However, he himself saw himself as a butcher.

 

Areon himself whilst aware of the neccesity of war did not enjoy it. He preferred the aquisition of knowledge and had simply been on a journey to the first city. To bask in it’s glory and to study it in order to ascertain a deeper understanding of life and magic. He had simply been forced to go into battle as he was attacked by Venandi. In any case, he was now considered a hero and once his study of the city had been finished he gladly returned home. Eager to continue studying the tree of Yngbald and gain a greater understanding of magic.


That had been a month ago and now he was getting bored. Whilst studying the runic script was interesting he just felt bored. The pursuit of knowledge whilst interesting in and of itself was useless without anything to use it for. He had no goal, no ambition he wanted to achieve but to gather knowledge and keep things stable. Then, as he stood in the center of the village square he was suddenly somwhere else. He was surrounded by what he could only call magic.

 

Around him were numerous colours and lights. Some darker, some lighter. Some aquatic, some malicious. Even just looking at the magic was pushing the mind of Aeron to it’s limit. But quickly Aeron’s attention drifted to a figure. A lone figure in a dark cloaked with an oaken staff in his hand. And where his right eye should be there was only a dark hole. The figure smiled an old and wise smile at Areon before speaking.

 

Young Nyren. You have seen much in your short live but have much yet to see. 

You have proven yourself worthy and will be rewarded with both great power and duty. Your duties wil be thrice. You will protect this forest from outside incursion, you will spread and preserve knowledge and you shall maintain order in this forest.

 

In order to achieve this thrice you shall be granted a gift. You shall gain an increased affinity with magic, you shall live much longer than your normal mortal lifespan and will more easily attain knowledge as well as remembering it. Furthermore, once your duty has ended your memories will be left to your succesor. So that he can be succesfull in his or her task. 

 

And you shall find a succesor. Because I decree it to be so. Now return to the world of mortals Aeron the Librarian. Preserver of Knowledge, protector of the great forest and the force that maintains order in it. Go and fulfill your duties.

 

Then in a flash of bright light Areon was back in the centre of the village. Then looming before him stood the famed Ahriman, towering before him. Last seen centuries ago but looking exactly like the stories said. Then it spoke again. “Behold mortals. Because before you stand now the Librarian of this forest. He has been blessed by Yngbald and now I will bless all of you. For Yngbald wishes not this people perish in primitive melee warfare. To do that he gifts you this knowledge. 

 

A creature then appeared before the Nyren. Asssembled before their eyes with stone, vines a magic. A creature twice as tall as a normal Nyren and made entirely of stone. Then it took a step forward and the Nyren gasped. The thing moved. Then Ahriman spoke once more. “By the grace of Yngbald I will teach you how to make golems. Consider it a reward for achieving nationhood.” Ahriman then taught the Nyren how to make golems.


AP income:

Rolls: 9ap

Less than 4 ap: 1ap

Stored ap: 2 ap

Total ap: 12ap

AP spendage:

8ap, create god-touched Librarian.

This Librarian will have thrice the normal life span as a normal Nyren as well as increased magical affinity and will have a much easier time gathering and remembering knowledge.

Furthermore, the Librarian is a role. The Librarian shall find it’s succesor with the help of a specialized instinct which points the Librarian to the most worthy succesor. Who the present Librarian will then teach. Then once the present Librarian dies his or her apprentice will gain the position and power of being a Librarian.

And with the position come the knowledge of all Librarians before them. Making sure that each Librarian is more knowledgeable than the one before them.

 

And in the event no Librarian or apprentice is alive one will arise when it meets certain circumstances which are.

1. An affinity and skill with magic

2. A great desire to gather and preserve knowledge

3. The wish to keep order in the great forest.

 

The position of Librarian can be attained by any species. (except the Sand worms of Wol-Kot and the crazed creations of Ixhtalizzum)

 

4ap commanding avatar. Ahriman teaches the forest Nyren how to create golems. 

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Vyrnen:

Guardian of all earthly creatures.

 

xnbpGmm.jpg

 

 

Vyrnen awoke from its slumber, thinking on many things. What to do and what to create, as the god looked upon the world it saw a great deal of change. Its beautiful children, the Nyren had expanded and grown into the most dominant species on the World Sphere. However, the other gods have been using them as their playthings. Which angered Vyrnen, for once this peace-loving god felt something it has never felt before, rage. The first thing Vyrnen wanted to do was destroy those who had strayed from the path. However, that would make it no better than its brothers and sisters. Who often quarreled over some trivial things.

 

Vyrnen set out, finding its avatar. Who had been protecting the Ravaniin from the other gods. Realizing it hadn’t given a name to the avatar Vyrnen dubs the avatar, Hyron. Commanding him to educate the Ravaniin and get them up to speed so they have a chance to protect themselves from the Nyren Kingdoms. Along with this order, the avatar will protect them from any other avatars or god-touched. As well as spreading the word of the Vyrnen.

 

Vyrnen creates another avatar, dubbing this one Ayron. Which takes the form of a Nyren. Sending it to the southern continent. With a task to educate and spread the word of Vyrnen. Telling those Nyren down there that the one who created them wishes for them to live their lives peacefully and fully. Along with this, Vyrnen creates a subspecies of Ravaniin. Which she sends to the north eastern continent. Living in the mountains. This subspecies is similar to the Ravaniin. However are more suited to living in fairer climates. As well as the ability to communicate with the other species. Vyrnen dubs them Rijanviin.

 

Feeling the power Vyrnen had stored up slowly fading, it creates an artifact on the small little island it created so long ago. This artifact is a crown. If worn the crown grants the user the power of limited creation. Allowing them to make whatever they desire. However, the crown has a price. Each time the user creates something, it drains some of their life essence. Until eventually they die from over using the crown.

 

With that Vyrnen wanted an identity change, for so long the god had been indecisive on deciding what it wanted to be. For most of its time on the world sphere, it had taken on a form of an indrik, a mythical creature that only lives on the small island Vyrnen created. This needed to change, so Vyrnen recreated an image. That of a female Ravaniin, she would travel the lands. Giving guidance to those around her. As well as helping anybody she can.

 

 

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A Rijanviin warrior.

 

Summary:

30 AP

-10 Avatar created

-4 Command Avatar

-4 Command Avatar

-5 Create Subspecies

-6 Create artifact

1 AP left

 

 

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“If you seek your lover’s heart, you need a long, sharp knife!”

-Ixthalizzum, God of Indecision, Confusion, Derangement, and Irony.

 

 


Ixthalizzum was, for the first time in aeons, given a sense of purpose! After an argument in the great Void with his fellow gods, something had become clear(ish) to him. 

Love was real, love between gods was totally righteous, but most importantly...

 

… Ixthalizzum, due to his ever-changing form, was infinitely attractive. 

 

This final revelation was an immense confidence-boost for the otherwise (maybe) shy and (possibly) reserved God that he was. As he probably loved all his brother and sister Gods equally, he decided he would court them all at once! How could they reject someone as mathematically alluring as herself? However, there was one pressing problem--

--Ixthalizzum had no game.

He had no idea how to court, as such a thing was not part of his nature. Being unable to decide on a course of action, he cast his gaze to his beloved Thallites to observe how mortals performed their own courtship rituals. 

He spied two Thallites sitting near one-another in a cave, awkwardly touching their gnarled grasping-limbs together. One, after a few minutes of trepidation, suddenly pulled from his pouch three objects; a polished stone, a generously-proportioned mushroom, and a desiccated cave-beetle. Fine gifts to be sure, but could such things inspire love between mortals? The receiving Thallite hissed and gurgled in pleasure. So happy she was that she suffered a brief manic episode and began to strangle her suitor. This was only temporary though, and the both of them embraced one-another’s face-tentacles in an expression of tender romance. 

The whole sight brought tears to a thousand of Ixthalizzum’s eyes. He gifted them both visions of his screaming thanks for showing him the beauty of love. As he left them to recover from their duel aneurysms, he analysed what he saw so that he might scale the act up to the level of godhood.

What he knew mostly for certain was that she needed to take things slowly. He/she/it would start with a thoughtful gift. Each God had their own interests and desires, and gifts had to be suited to each accordingly. She didn’t think he had the power to court all of them this era, but he’d do what he could. He could not cut corners in the pursuit of love

He first looked to Exitius. They had differences in the past. He could remember almost perfectly the time he had insulted the madgod in her crag. The words were hurtful, but there was such... passion in his proclamations that Ixthalizzum could not help but be intrigued. 
What did the Lord of Destruction like? Mountains, certainly, and destruction. He also liked fighting, conquering, and large, female, bipedal lizards. With a spark of inspiration, he set to work on his grand gesture of equal forgiveness and romance. To the south of his dragon-things burgeoning empire, he pulled a great mantle of iron from the depths of the world. With the precision of the world’s greatest craftsmen, he shaped it and formed it until it uncannily resembled the great mountain on Exitium that the Lord of Destruction once fought the madgod over. Though it was definitely smaller than the original, its size was nothing to sniff at--being as it could be seen from hundreds of miles away rising from the ground in a crescendo of super-heated rock and flowing magma.


XOnQjA2.jpg

 

At the very top of the new mountain was an enormous monument to commemorate the love they might possibly share. It was a statue depicting an idealised version of Exitius, standing tall and stern. And sensually wrapped around his body was an image of the formless mass of Ixthalizzum, but this rendition of the madgod wore a mask that resembled the Venandi ‘Rhea’ Exitius liked so much. 
Ixthalizzum screamed in joy at his own thoughtfulness, before moving on to his next paramour...

 

Wol-Kot. What did Wol-Kot like? He liked darkness, secrets, pyramids, darkness, dreams, souls, darkness, nightmares, and darkness. It was almost as if inspiration struck him like a brick. After a short moment of deciphering the confusing language of his “Soggy-Korgath,” he threw his essence towards the desert continent. 

He dove into the sandy dunes within viewing distance of the newish manse of Sylvaniel, and pushed down until he found what he sought--obsidian; the darkest substance he could imagine within the marble world. He pulled as much of it together as he could, and flung it up to the surface in its super-heated and smoking form causing much of the surrounding desert sand to be rendered glass by the act. Finally, he threw the obsidian, more sand, and his love into a great mixture, and moulded it together until it took the form of a pyramid.

 

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An upside-down pyramid, yes, but it was close enough. The deciphered writing of Wol-Kot were inscribed all across its surface with the barest of literacy. Much like Wol-Kot’s own temple, it was a history of the world but from the madgod’s perspective, interspersed with repulsive, sappy overtures of love toward the Dreaming God. Or the “dreamy” God as Ixthalizzum preferred to write. He bade that Wol-Kot should give permission for the madgod to enter his dreams this time, and together they would make “more than just the worms, if you catch my drift.” He didn’t really have access to souls, but he abducted a few Myrdians and splattered them on the pyramid’s base. That was probably what he would like.
Squibbling with pride at his artistry and scripture, he smiled gleefully at the prospect of his third not-yet-willing suitor...

 

Yngbald. Intelligent. Wise. Liked trees. Put all that magic in the world. He liked big trees and magic. This one would be a cinch! Throwing himself into the northern forests, he took a solid ten minutes studying the Adamentine Tree before getting intensely bored. He gave a nearby forest Nyrnen a phobia of grass out of frustration, but he had a fair idea of how the runic script worked. If not, well, nothing a bit of chaos couldn’t fix! 

He tossed himself from Adamentine Tree, and gathered together a square mile’s worth of foliage. He would need a very big tree if he were to impress the nerdy Yngbald, and this would be the biggest tree of all! The horrifying flora twisted, warped, and cracked until it was 100 feet high. An oak of disturbing proportions and a weight no natural tree could hold, Ixthalizzum carved his partially understood runic script into its trunk, and infused it with the magics of the Orb of Chaos to make up any deficits in his scribbling. Suddenly, a maw appeared on the tree, and a shrill scream erupted from it.

 

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It screeched out the names of runes that tapped into the Orb of Chaos. Were any mortal to utilise them, they would instantly explode, leaving a pile of gory viscera in the shape of a cartoony heart. How could one not find such a thing impressive? Surely the Lord of Magic would appreciate such a complicated and nuanced gesture. 

 

 

The madgod stepped away from his creations, exhausted yet satisfied. This was merely the beginning, but eventually he would have his love returned from between one to three gods this era. After all, how could they resist his infinite charm?

 

 

[4AP Iron Abs Peak, a courtship gift for Exitius]

[4AP The Pyramid of True Feelings, a courtship gift for Wol-Kot]

[4AP The Screaming Oak, a courtship gift for Yngbald]

[1AP left over]

 

Edited by Catostrophy
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Lavrat-es

The Axis of Heaven | Fate with Form

Tf2gWbR.png

 

Upon the Opal Tower sat the Axis of Heaven, a divine artifact of great power – and one no mortal would see. For millennia, the great Guardians defended her Opal Tower, and for millennia she rested. Then a great, shining light burst forth, enough that the few scattered Nyren on her continent’s outer reaches and Kyrkal below its shore’s depths would see its flash, and the Axis awakened. Threads shot towards the ten Visages, tapped momentarily into their primordial powers, then returned to their origin point, the gateway to the World Throne.

 

Then the light disappeared, and the Sanctum was again silent.

 

[6 AP Saved.]

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EXITIUS, LORD OF DRAGONS

Time twisted and turned, always turning, never ceasing. The Creator and the Concept had long been forgotten to the minds of mortals, and even Gods had pushed ponderings about time to the back of their heads, always there but rarely mentioned. But time flowed onwards, changing the lives of the mortals and warping the great canvas that was the World-Sphere, always effected by the games played by the Divines, a constant chess board of moves and counter-moves, actions born from planning or born from vitriol and spite. Occasionally even born from a strange form of incestuous infatuation. For endless millenia, violence and innovation, debauchery and charity, life and death had reigned supreme over the World-Sphere, arguably beyond the actions even of the few all powerful beings of divinity. The world had settled into a pattern – perhaps that had been the intention of Ao, eons ago, for now even the Gods playing their games were a part of this great game of creation.

 

But such games were tiring, and the Lord of Dragons was weary, desirous not of more world altering action, but of rest. And yet, his ears were never closed. Powerful muscles rippled beneath his scales, as Exitius idly sailed across the world he had helped to build. The Mountains of Madness, near the chasm of Ixthalizzum, called to him – his home since the Destruction of the Great Mountain on Exitium, and the planting of his Venandi creations upon the Great Continent. There was a cave, in those mountains, where he would lay his weary head and rest for a few centuries, until plots called his attention once more. For now, his son Tyrannos had work to do, to unite the tribes and to fulfill his destiny. At least, that had been the intention of the Dragon God, until the cries of a dying dragon drew his eyes and his will towards her.

 

She lay bleeding, her organs torn and ripped from the sheer effort of her exertions. Exitius peered into her nest, hoarse breath expelled from his nose as he sniffed the air, surprising himself with what he discovered. For her part, the she-dragon vainly struggled, desperately trying to haul herself to her feet to defend the very thing that had killed her – her eggs. For a long moment, Exitius simply admired her courage and her love, and considered saving the Mother but her soul already lay in the grasp of the Lion Vu’u, and it was not proper to interfere in such matters. Instead, the Lord of the Great Serpents offered comfort. ”Pass in peace, my child, for your eggs will know no harm so long as I protect them.”  Surprised, the mother-dragon considered her Lord for the brief seconds remaining in her life, before passing to the realm of Kaha-na-Buhu.

 

It fell now to the God of Destruction to indulge in the principals of Ixthalizzum. The irony of a God of Death adopting a nest of dragon eggs was somewhat overwhelming, even to Exitius himself. Examining the eggs brought more surprise – most nests only had one to three eggs, and the Mother-Dragon had laid a huge brood. Scale slithered over scale as Exitius coiled himself to gawk and to ponder. A brood of ten eggs. Ten gods had laid the foundations of this world, and surely this must be a consequence of the ever fluctuating threads that made the World-Sphere spin. This was a brood deserving not only protection and survival, but also blessings.

 

Centuries would pass in this cave, as the Lord of Dragons (and now apparently the God of Adoption) raised his brood. The hatchlings, basking daily in the divine power of a god quickly showed attributes somewhat different to typical dragon young. They quickly proved themselves faster, stronger and far more intelligent than their fellows. Exitius watched their growth with not just the interest of a curious god, but also the interest of a fond father. Each year showed the little dragon hatchlings grow at thrice the rate of a normal dragon, until it became time to cast them from the Nest.

 

And cast they were, sent by their regretful father into the wider world, with greater gifts than even the strongest of dragons. They were blessed, not just with greater strength and size, but also great speed and intelligence near that of a sentient race, with a natural affinity for the cruder and more elemental forms of magic. They grew thrice the size of other dragons, but the power with which they had been bathed had created negative effects. All dragons were ageless, but typically were not fast breeders. These few children of Exitius would never have eggs of their own, and they would feel great blood thirst and treasure lust, prompting them to raid and slaughter as they willed it. They would, over time, come to have names outwith the thoughts of their fellow dragonkind, known to mortals as MorriganArawnBanba CathaCamalusGywnwasEponaMyrrdinTaranusFianna and the greatest of their number, Dagda, known collectively as the Great Dragons.

 

For these many decades and centuries, Exitius had rested himself, enthralled at the prospect of raising his young hatchlings, but now the God uncoiled himself and left his nest, to continue his plotting anew. Long centuries had gone by, and long had his dear son, Tyrannos, been dead. His grandson, Archon I - who history would come to know as Archon the Great - would experience the full benefit of his favour. 

 

It was late in the night, when the Lord of Dragons appeared before his offspring, cast in the fur of Venandi, rather than the scale of dragon. Archon, for his part, woke swiftly to gawk at the intruder, who seemed nearly to burst with magical power. “You are my flesh and my blood.” a voice thundered through the mind of the young God-King. ”For this, you shall receive my divine favour.”  the voice was followed by a violent flash, that exploded across the eyes and mind of the God-Touched, rendering him near unconscious. ”You may use this gift as you see fit, Child, but know that i crave some form of amusement for my troubles. I suggest you experiment with my generosity on your nearest neighbours – in Carda.” And then, as if it had never happened, Exitius was gone and Archon I was left alone to ponder what he had been given.

 

ACTIONS

-Exitius adopts and raises a young brood of orphaned dragons. Growing up bathed in his divine power, however, changes them. These dragons, known as the Great Dragons, become God-touched with an unusual thirst for blood and treasure. They possess great power, but cannot have hatchlings of their own. Bitter and violent, as well as extremely intelligent and dangerous, these dragons cannot be tamed, and it will be a brave mortal that attempts to slay them. 8 AP to make god-touched.

 

-Exitius grants to his Great Grandson, Archon I of the Venandi, and the Venandi in general, a great inspiration and talent for military organisation. Archon will lay the groundwork for incredible military systems and organistions over the course of his reign, revolving around what will become known as the Venandi Phalanx. 4 AP for gift of technology.

 

-Exitius instructs the King of the Venandi, Archon I, to make full use of his gift, going so far as to suggest he launch a true invasion of Carda. 1 AP for influence god-touched.

 

2 AP

Edited by The_Mad_Skylord
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Skatal, Bringer of Famine, Lord of Plague

Spoiler

 

 

Image result for great horned rat

 

The amulet of the Pariah began to shake. Its form twisted and bubbled chaotically, only stopping for a brief moment of respite. Then, it cracked, the putrid energies of Skatal bursting forth until the amulet was no more. In its place, a shapeless being, infront of the Nyrnen that once held onto the artifacted form of Skatal. It floated aimlessly, forgetting its purpose until it manifested into a large rat, yet only the size of a house cat. As Skatal took shape, the air was struck with piercing cackle and choking. Soon, the small, infested village of the Nyrnen, would be overrun by skatalkin as they came to the heed of their master. On the former holder of Skatal, its skin began to pustulate until the boils began to pop in a shower of blood. 

 

Skatal looked over the land he once originally plagued. Much had changed. “Too much-much...” The rat-god would chitter bitterly. Thus looking over the world, he looked at it with glee and disgust. How insolent... Skatal thought, of the tribes and cities that had sprung up on the world plane. But this was an opportunity. He must make his presence known to the mortals of this world. 

 

“They will learn to fear-fear the plague! No, no, they will fear me! Me-me, and only me, will bring down the bite of Skatal! Cry for me, cry!” 

 

His scornful gaze was turned to the civilization of Nyrnen to the west of his magnificent burrow. He saw with utter hatred how they sought the bigand ugly tree for wisdom. Even how they worshipped his much, much, lesser brother, Vyrnen. “For this, they shall be punished for their existence! Their curses to the Gods will be the last they shall utter! Their kin shall be born into suffering, torment their reality!” Skatal chanted as he looked down upon them. The ground beneath would shake, as an insurmountable tide of Skatalkin burrowed from the ground around the Adamantine Tree. And as they began to climb and gnaw on the tree, a vile stench permeated the air. From the cracks of the ground created by the Skatalkin, a sickly green vapor arose and surrounded the tree, rotting it and all of those around it. Even some of the Skatalkin, would curl up and die on the spot, only to be replaced or eaten by their brethren. Through the chaos, Skatal laughed.

 

[6 AP (Cataclysm)] – The Adamantine Tree and its surrounding area (within that tile) would be struck with a tide of Skatalkin and an airborne disease that would cause living organisms to rot at a significant rate. The Skatalkin would surround and eat anything in its way, while also doubling as disease carriers for fevers and colds. 

 

[Remaining AP] – 0, nada, zilch

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Kaha-Nu-Buhu

The Guiding Light

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  Soon the Ruby Goddess would have an influx of the damned and lost flood into her realm. Those who died in defense of her will would have to live side-by-side with those that killed their brethren in the coming bloodshed. Perhaps these ‘Venandi’ truly weren’t lost to her guidance, but at this moment none of that mattered. The children of Exitius were gathering and soon, whether it was this year or thousands in the future, they would come for her creations.

 

This game was not something she could find palatable. No, she would break it before they ever reached Holy Carda. In battle, there are those who fight with intelligence and those who fight with experience. Truthfully, she found both to be of equal tact, however to fight openly without either was something she found so repulsive that she could not dare to describe.

 

She looked through her ruby hand to be greeted with the face of her Avatar on the World Sphere, were it possible she would have smiled in greeting to her friend. Sure he was bound to her, but he was still as good company as any other. “Vu’u. I’m glad you could come. I have a task for you, good friend. To the south one can find the spawn of the war-hungry Exitius. You will temper the blade of my creations. The Nyren shall prepare their defenses and train in the arts of archery, while the Pati shall be organized as to their strengths; numbers.”

 

Although this would not be all, for Kaha treated her followers like her very children. Carda was her gem to those who suffered in squalor and filth, and she would not allow it to fall so easily. Out of those who devoted themselves to her worship in the Ziggurat, she chose one man. He was no priest or almoner, but instead a simple curate, an assistant. Mamo was his name.

 

To this ordinary man, Kaha gave purpose and unfathomable power. He was no longer bound by his flesh, instead his ichor dissipated from his corpse and materialized into the world. He was to become her holy defender, her motherly protection manifest. If Exitius were to send his dragons to face her, then Kaha would have to provide the dragonslayer in response.

 

[4 AP] – Command Avatar

Vu’u teaches the Pati and Nyren useful military tactics, organizing Pati into large, loosely organized hordes and teaching the Nyren the usefulness of defenses and ranged combat. Uncountable forts are to be commissioned and garrisoned in the areas surrounding Carda by the Nyren, while Pati are instructed to spend the following years to focus on building up their numbers and performing guerrilla drills in the countryside.

[8 AP] – Create God-Touched

Kaha gives untold power to a curate by the name of Mamo. To him she would give javelins of ichor to pierce a dragon’s hide and powers over blood itself to do with as he pleased. He would be her ultimate defender and with him she would give her protection. With this he would be driven by only one purpose, to protect his home and those he loves.

 

4 AP Remaining

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