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[RP] Dawn of Divinity


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THE SECOND AGE – The World and Its Becoming

Turn 12

Spoiler

 


The divines knew that soon the Great Sleep would overtake them again, that Ao was calling them home. It was now that plans would be put into place for the future. And so, in the final millenium of the Second Age, the age of emerging peoples, of great men and women, of the rise of nations, their came a time of blood and battle. It was an era of bloodshed and darkness, an era of crusaders fighting with the power of the gods themselves behind them. It was a time of blackest infamy and boundless heroism.

 


 

Spoiler

 

 

The Venandi and Cardans fight a bitter war that lasts generations. Mortal generations at least. For many years the frontier forts of the Carda faithful hold the line against roving warpacks, stopping all but small flying raider groups swooping northward at speed. Large groups of warriors are soon met with guerilla action and traps long before they threaten the forts, but once there their weakened numbers find themselves hard pressed to take the new bastions following the withering assault of Cardan warriors and airborne Pati guardians. That was, until the reforms of God-King Archon I, who would become known as The Great.

 

Tempering his own battlefield experience with the ordered visions of destruction gifted unto him from his divine sire, Archon embarked on a campaign of wide reaching changes in the Venandi military. The warpacks, once based on a expedition, the charisma of their leaders, or even tribal associations, were replaced with a system of permanent legions. Feral warriors became disciplined and ruthless soldiers, swift moving cohorts supported by magical support from Kin warmages and hammer-blow strikes from dragon riders. The long decades of peace that preceeded the first use of these deadly armies in battle against Carda were regarded by Kaha’s faithful as a blessing, but soon were recognised as the calm before the storm. Even the stalwart defenders of the frontier forts, and the guerillas, found themselves driven to breaking point by the inexorable advance of Archon’s new legions. Fort after fort fell, breaking open a line in the defenses that allowed more disorganised raiders to plunge north into the Cardan heartland.

 

It was only the rise of Mamo, Kaha’s new champion, that stopped the total steamrolling of Carda. When the first dragon riders swooped over the mighty walls, intent on planting Archon’s flag atop the Ziggurat, they were struck down before either beast or Venandi could step foot on the holy isle. Arcing javelins of blood magic flew upward, punching remorselessly through both armour and hide. The humble curate became a great hero of the people. Driving back the legions from the southern walls, and holding them at the last line of forts between Carda and the ever growing borders of Archon’s kingdom. Such was the strength of Mamo’s power, the investment of divine energy in one being, rather than a dynasty, that he slew one of the Venandi God-Touched when she approached on the field of battle. Lady Markarra was split in twain by a bolt of blood, the shrieking release of divine power from the act – god magic vs god magic – shocked both invader and defender, putting Marakarra’s legion to rout. Even the court of Archon heard of Mamo’s deeds; the holy warrior, whose powers were akin to those the Tyrannid Dynasty and perhaps greater, even now praised by the Cardan faithful as a living saint.

 

For many long centuries has this war been fought, and remains at a stalemate. The blood continues to flow, the souls flowing unabated to the realm of Kaha. For now.

 


 

Spoiler

 

 

By the will of Wol-Kot, a great change comes to the flow of souls in the universe. By design, a mortal’s everliving essence, the soul ichor, transmutes the dead into the Ruby Lady’s self-declared afterlife. Such was a grand paradigm of the world-sphere. No longer. A maw of yearning hunger now extends into the empyrean from Soth-Kogarth, ensnaring all whose souls are not totally intact into the ownership of the Great Dreamer. All blood-magi, users of their own soul-essence and that of others, and by a cruel twist of irony, all pure-born Pati are whisked into the hands of Wol-Kot upon death. Some would call this fate denying a glorious and restful afterlife in the care of Kaha-Na-Buhu. Others would simply call it the souls going from one capricious god to another. What fate Wol-Kot has in mind for these souls is unclear, but those dreaming deeply enough to enter Soth-Kogarth in their sleep see the fresh flow of souls into the great dark maw, and all those whose souls are not intact feel the pull in the waking world as well.

 

This new pull on the souls of the ichor-defficient was not alone in Wol-Kot’s changes to the afterlife, for he brought into being the Soul Stone. This baleful artifact circumvents the natural order of things and redirects the souls of the dead within its influence toward the great maw in Soth-Kogarth, even those of the fully ensouled. With this came a decree to his favoured servant Sylvaniel, to spread the Stone’s radius of power through construction of basalt pillars consecrated with blood magic. This coincided in a shift in belief of Sylvaniel’s cult. Long had they known the power of dreams and the grand reality beyond the waking world created by Wol-Kot at the dawn of time, its potential and power. Though still nominally focused on self-empowerment, Sylvaniel directed her dreaming followers to repay the creator of the dreamscape by allowing him their souls upon death – for surely the Great Dream can only be deeper and more vivid in an eternity in the embrace of Wol-Kot? The influence of the cult grows from worm-cast to worm-cast, with belief in both Wol-Kot and Sylvaniel, their “Waking Prophet”, spreading throughout the Great Desert. By the speed of her Kyrkal followers, her influence is spread to many kindreds of the deep. Dreamer cults can soon be founded in many settlements of the oceans, as well as enclaves within the worm-casts of the Great Desert. From her millenium of studies, Sylvaniel was indeed one of the finest mages in the world-sphere, and knew well the incantations needed to create the pillars needed to expand the Soul Stone’s power. Placed in a patient and deliberate manner, the soul stone’s catchment area for the souls of all living things grew beyond its original confines. ((2 hex radius from start position)).

 

With her self-centered religion spreading steadily, Sylvaniel turned her mind to other projects. Those of her own, and not of her patron. The Desert was a fine location to begin, but all too constricting. Kyrkal made fine pupils and gifted citizens of her half-submerged enclave, but could not settle further inland due to the horribly arid nature of that continent. Worms were by nature deeply attuned to dreaming, but their conservative, ponderous nature and the very fact that each one was several hundred metres long made the construction of more “traditional” civilisation perplexing. The Cult could remain here, and could grow on its own. The Soul Stone’s influence could be slowly spread across the continent, for the Worms did not mind that fate, and her faith was growing in the depths of the seas – soon pillars could be constructed to take the souls of Kyrkal colonies there. But this was too... constricting for Sylvaniel. It had been over 1500 years since she had seen another of her kind, and desired to spread her influence to the Nyren. She knew that Adamant would know of her, and their own powers of magic may be a threat to her... no, she could not seize her homeland as her own. For now. Instead her gaze turned far to the south, to the forested lands of the former god Do-rah. Though she knew not of the civilisation of Iranoch that had arisen there, she knew that the land was far from the politicking of the gods and mortals, a land she could take as her own if she wished. She made preparations to abandon her enclave to its established priesthood and dreamer cultists, and assume dominion of a nation.

 


 

Spoiler

 

 

Sylvaniel was correct in her assumptions that the Adamantine Magi were aware of her. Their scrying was based on the over-growing runic history of the world written in the walls of the Great Tree, though often the text was arcane and dense with meaning and hidden depths. It did not allow omniscience, but it did allow a broad knowledge of world events as they unfolded. Soon the signs and portents were made clear by the arrival of dreamer cult missionaries. They were not turned away, as no god was forbidden in Adamant. Many were the shamanic orders and priesthoods, with Wol-Kot’s followers among the more numerous, for the dreaming realm was of great scholarly and spiritual interest to great swathes of adamantine society. But the suspicions of the Mage State were piqued by the sudden emergence of the maw in Soth Kogarth, and the distant magical signal of the newly formed Soul Stone. The Magi became wary of a divine power play in the making. This issue, as with many, was brought to the attention of Areon Brightsteel, the Librarian of Adamant. This great mage had grown in power by orders of magnitude since the beginning of his divine tenure, his already prodigious magic bolstered by the divine power bestowed by Yngbald. He had become the de facto leader of the civilisation, and was party to all discussions of diplomacy and arcane occurences.

 

Kaladas Sanguinar, chief among Adamant’s order of Blood Magi brought forward the pressing matter to the Librarian. “The existence of this ‘Soul Stone’ is a concern that MUST be brought to the attention of the Cardans. For now, only blood magi are bound to the dreamer, but should the ancient traitor seek to... “expand” the power of this artifact, I fear for the souls of ALL beings on this sphere. At the very least, Librarian, we must send an expedition to investigate Sylvaniel and her ilk. Kyrkal emissaries stand ready to entreat with the Myrdians for passage through the Folly, with their aid surely passage to the Desert-“

 

Areon spoke calmly but firmly, his simplest words as if law in these matters. “I appreciate the new condition you find yourself in Kaladas... but these are not matters that can be solved by mortal politicking. We are subject to the whims of the divines, and our ability to influence them is frankly non-existent. Sylvaniel’s expanding faction is... concerning, as is this Soul Stone. But such things will take time to solidify, to establish. The worm-lands are a vast distance from our forest, and the Stone’s reach will not engulf the world overnight.” With that the blood mage was dismissed. Words were spoken to an aide, advising the guard to watch for blood mage reprisals against Wol-Kotite organisations and dreamer conclaves. This entire exchange was observed by Astari of Ritherayn, gifted mage acolyte and chosen apprentice of the Librarian. Areon sighed and addressed her as their chamber was vacated by others.

 

“Kaladas and all Blood Magi are facing a spiritual crisis, quite literally, one that I cannot help him with. Sylvaniel is not the cause of that, and neither will crusading against her solve their... condition. Killing her will not change the new fate of those who are half-souled.” Astari still did not speak. Areon finally turned his full attention to her.

 

“Your silence is deafening, apprentice. Speak your mind.”

 

“Master, I am no zealot of the Red Lady, but perhaps we can trust her dominion over the ancestors more than the infernal whisperer in the dark? Wol-Kot subverted one of our own order, stole the Tree’s most sacred relic-“

 

“And in doing so, opened the last puzzle. Granting us access to the Tree in its entirety.”

 

“Surely you can’t suggest that Sylvaniel did us a favour? That Wol-Kot helped us?”

 

“That is exactly what I’m suggesting. The politics of the heavens are not ours to meddle in, or to fully understand, Astari. We are to the gods what motes of dust are in the stream of a fountain. Our motion, our existence, bound to the flow of events set in stone long before we ever joined the stream. We can only hope the water leads us in agreeable directions.”

 

“A rather passive view for the chosen of Yngbald.”

 

“You will realise yourself one day, Astari, that things have a way of working themselves out – with or without our action. We cannot save the world entire, but we can do what we can in the here and now. We can only endure the actions of the gods, whether for good...”  A chill ran down Areon’s spine, a vibration throughout his entire being. Something was coming. “... or for ill.”

 

The air became musty and warm, and a chittering hiss rang in the air for miles around. A squeeling, chittering laugh followed. Few realised its significance in the first seconds, save the Librarian, who felt the accompanying deluge of divine energy as if a hammer had been slammed down upon him. He stumbled and fell, Astari running forward to steady him. “Master! What’s wrong, what is that?” Areon gritted his teeth and looked into his apprentice’s eyes. “Doom.”

 

Outside, the ground cracked and split. Great fissures emerged, spewing forth foul vapours. Citizens of Adamant fled, those who smelled the vapours overcome with boils and coughing blood. Some mages quickly cast protective wards and advanced on the foul cracks, beginning incantations of geomancy to seal them. Those who did so died quickly, as the chittering hordes of the Skatalkin swarmed forth in a horrific tide of fur, tooth and tail. The swarm swept like bubbling waves from the fissures, chasing down fleeing prey and eating anything organic in their path. The survivors fled in panic toward the Tree, the swarm hot on their heels... before it burst into white fire as a runic cordon erupted into life around the great gate of the Tree. Areon Brightsteel’s eyes glowed a similar white hue for a moment after incanting that barrier, surveying the situation in dismay. Astari was in panic, alternating between herding civilians into the Tree and futily casting shimmering streams of magic into the swarming host that gnashed at the barrier runes. “Master, what is happening? Are we under attack, what-“ Areon sighed, and looked upon his young apprentice with sad eyes. “This is a cataclysm. The wrath of a god.” Astari was aghast. “A.. A god?” Areon looked out at the hosts of civilians crossing the barrier that the skatalkin could not, many falling from sickness and wasting disease soon after. “This is the work of Skatal. The god of plagues has returned to the world...” He cringed briefly and beheld a boiling canker erupting on his arm. Moving swiftly, his eyes glowed a deep gold – channeling divine energy to counteract it. The measure worked, branding the boil into submission... but it would not last forever. What was the power of a god-touched against the singular determination of a divine? “Dust in the stream...” Astari watched this in despair. He turned to her, resolute in purpose.

 

“Astari. The puzzles. Break them.” Astari looked at him in horror. He remained steadfast. “All that we have done together has led to this moment. Go now. Your story does not end here, and neither does that of our people.” Astari cast him a last, begging look before steeling herself. She moved through the refugees into the tree and headed to ancient shrines and inscriptions long out of use. It did not take long for Areon’s command to be obeyed.

 

The magical puzzles solved so long ago by the precursors of the Adamantine Magi were locked into place, one by one, sealing the Tree increment by increment, chamber by chamber. Runic seals and wards flashed into being once more, sealing the way for both people, beasts and disease. As the final seal closed on the great gate of the Tree, the most simple of runic locks, Areon turned to face the ravenous horde before him. The beasts swarmed without heed of the sigils searing their flesh and bones apart as they ran across them, their foul blood obscuring them little by little, dulling their power. But that power was no longer needed, as Areon Brightsteel, First of the Librarians, prepared his final incantation. Channeling the power of the divine, and the force of magic that permeated the world, the great wizard chanted and wove eldritch and terrible symbols, power glowing from him blue-hot with the effort. Already the energies he channeled as a conduit had blinded him, evaporating his eyes and searing his veins as he cast his last spell. Slowly the runes of the great tree itself glowed hotter and hotter. The memories of Areon’s days as a teacher flooded back to him as his claws wove the necessary sigils and runes for the undertaking, his blue-robed form floating off the ground in a crackle of energy. Any Act of Creation is an inherent fact of the universe – nothing can rend it from this world. The tower’s sigils began to glow brightly, the wood beginning to singe with the power. Those impatient skatalkin who’d scaled the tree to gnaw on its branches quickly found themselves incinerated. In his whimsy, Ixthalizzum introduced Chaos to Magic – one must be wary, for this force can bring dramatic effects. The wards circling the tower now dulled and flickered, with spare Skatalkin racing at the Librarian, only to be turn asunder now by the nimbus of raw energy flowing from his corruscating form. Remember always, Astari, that with our vast power and knowledge comes the responsibility to use it – to use what we know to serve the world.

 

That last was a remark he had made to his apprentice years before, and it was a message he now transmitted to her mind – a farewell. As the rot of Skatal began to consume his body, the energy gathered within him flooded out toward the Tree. The runes glowed brighter than the Sun, before twisting and contorting in chaotic ways. A vast wave of power surged forth, a mix of magical, chaotic and divine energies, blasting forth in an eye blink from the Tree – consuming all in its path. Areon was obliterated instantly, as was everything crowding the Tree. The wave of magical fire blasted apart vermin, disease cloud, tree, survivor and city. But when the smoke cleared, and a new day dawned... the Tree stood.

 

Spoiler

 

 

As a fundamental fact of reality, created in the First Age by a God, the Tree could not be harmed by any force – mortal or immortal. Areon’s sacrifice had scoured clean the immediate area of the tree, the entire region covered by Skatal’s plague – but those who had sought shelter within had been spared. It would be years before the Adamantine Tree opened again, its locks undone from the inside. When they did open, it was Astari – the Second Librarian – who stepped forth onto the now barren land. The explosion had left a gaping hole in the forest, the land uninhabitable. The nascent city of Adamant was gone, but many of its people had survived. It now fell to the Magi, and those others who remained, to rebuilt. Kneeling briefly at the site of her master’s sacrifice, Astari took her long claws and scratched runes into the blasted rock. The runes glowed and floated skyward, coalescing into the form of Areon – his hands beckoning those who sought knowledge and the sanctuary of the Tree. This magical memorial would stand for all time, in memory of a man who defied the judgement of a God. Astari looked back, and saw others emerge – they were daunted, fearful, but determined to rebuild. It would take centuries to reclaim the blasted land, and many pockets of Skatal’s diseases would emerge to cause small outbreaks. But as the golems tilled the land, and rebuilt shattered walls and dwellings, life would return to the battered nation of Adamant. And it would have its Librarians to guide it.

 


 

Spoiler

 

 

On a more light-hearted note, come the amorous efforts of the mad-god. Truly INSPIRED by his favourite brother Exitius’ “novel” method of creating God-Touched, whimsical Ixthalizzum embarks on a campaign of romance and seduction aimed at his fellow divines, positively broody with the possibility of procreating as mortals do with his godly siblings – a goal that may be a metaphysical impossibility. But who cares about such things! What matters is, that he/she/it/them is trying! Perhaps love CAN conquer all? To this extremely questionable end, Ixthalizzum spends her accumulated power in the creation of a number of “gifts” that are SURE to woo some of the other godlings.

 

The gift for Exitius, an extremely tall mountain of pure iron, capped with an image of carnality that may be described as “completely tasteless” – a mass of tentacles wearing his beloved Venandi bride’s head humping Exitius – was nevertheless somewhat of an attraction to the local outposts of the Venandi Kingdom. For many years it was considered off limits due to its sudden appearance, but the depiction of Exitius and “Rhea” was soon viewed as a sight of pilgrimage – surely this mountain was created by Exitius himself to honour the lineage of Tyrannos! Mining efforts also take place in its foothills – seeing as “Iron Abs Peak” is essentially a giant source of refined metal. For generations to come, Venandi warriors would march to war wearing vestments forged from the mountain’s bounty, bearing stylised insignia emulating the “divine coupling” pictured on the peak.

 

The Pyramid of True Feelings unceremoniously materialises right next to the somewhat more dour black pyramid intended as the seat of the Soul Stone and the throne of Sylvaniel. She is most alarmed by the depraved ravings, clearly recognising it as a work of the mad-god from her millenium of studies. She decides to leave it for Wol-Kot to deal with, going back to her work. Some of the Worms who emerge nearby are certainly interested, however. Having heard of their creation from Sylvaniel, they are most intrigued to view the works of their other “parent”.

 

Following the “romantic” explosions of several investigating scholars and hedge-wizards, the Screaming Oak is swiftly quarantined to magic users by the Adamantine Mages. Not to mention the fatal consequences of using the runes mentioned in the screaming, the Oak is decidedly offputting for local tribes, and many move away. Were house prices a thing in the Great Forest, they would certainly be tanking in the region of the Screaming Oak.

 

 


 

Spoiler

 

 

Ravajaniin are a thing! We now have WHITE birdmen. This probably amuses Ixthalizzum.

((Sorry Hyperion. Will update this later with more stuff.))

 

 


 

 

The Gods feel a great change coming. The time of sleep is nigh. One final turn of the wheel remains to set plans in place, or create now what will be difficult to create in future.

 

LAST TURN BEFORE TIME JUMP TRANSITION TO THE THIRD AGE.

 

 


 

Minor Occurences:

 

 

I’ll make some up later.

 

 


 

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 – 9+1

Lavrat-es – 5

Vyrnen – 9+1

Skatal – 6+1

Yngbald – 11+3

Ixthalizzum – 5+2

Exitius – 3+3

Kaha-Nu-Buhu – 9+1

Bruk – ARTIFACTED

Do-rah – ARTIFACTED

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”Come to my embrace, O mortals,

Make right what the gods have made wrong.

Drink deep of my wisdom and strength,

For lonely is your path, and long.”

-The Eleventh Column

 

At last, Sylvaniel’s ambition spurs her to achievements worthy of her vast ability. The Nightweaver gazes approvingly at his servant. She knows the nature of the universe better than anyone, and he can think of no one capable of standing up to her. Though they do not directly speak often since her return to the surface, she can feel his presence when she sleeps, and understands his approval. Soon, of course, Wol-Kot and all the other gods will once more go dormant. If she is still alive when he wakes, he may have another gift for her.

 

For now though, the dreamer rests. Almost.

 

 

 

Perhaps it is an aftershock of his massive activity in recent times. Perhaps he is simply amusing himself. But in a shallow cavern of the Underpath, there is a strange taste to the water. Some of the insects there drink it, and grow larger than before....much larger. Over time, some get to be well over twice the height of the average Nyrnen, and it is only then that one lays a large silk-wrapped egg.

 

For months the egg sits in place, dormant and slowly growing. But at last, a pincer cuts its way out from the inside, and then another. And from the egg emerges a giant ant-like creature, and she cries out to the cavern, christening herself Xunkiira, First Queen of the Khepri.

 

Image result for formians

 

Within moments she finds food, snatching a giant beetle in mantis-like claws. Within hours, she has laid not only her first egg, but her first five. Within days, the eggs begin to hatch, spawning mindless drones enslaved to her will. Within weeks, they swarm over the caverns, carving new burrows to house hundreds of eggs, hauling back prey to feed the brood. Their rate of growth seems only to be increasing with the resources available, and seems unstoppable until at the end of the year Xunkiira lays an egg too large to be one of the usual drones.

 

When it hatches it becomes clear what has happened, for the newborn emerges fully aware and names herself Kerkhakrexik. At first, the two queens get along, each curious about the other. But there is something instinctual in both to prevent the friendship from lasting. Soon enough, the new queen and her children begin to challenge the old. She covets her mother’s space, her resources, her hive, and the two attack each other viciously, their minions spilling each other’s blood in a useless, petty war. At last, the younger queen retreats into exile, forming a new hive some distance away where she can live in peace....until one of them runs out of room to expand. Yet Kerkhakrexik, too, soon lays a queen egg, and the cycle repeats.

 

And below it all, the dreaming god chuckles.

 

----------

 

The Khepri are a race of few minds and many bodies. Like anything which has felt the touch of Wol-Kot, the sentient queens are born with a strong affinity for the dream dimension, and it is through that link that they are able to communicate with their mindless children. Though each queen is physically formidable, the metabolic demands of producing hundreds of eggs mean that they generally remain sedentary, sending their drones to gather resources. Resources are usually the limiting factor in their expansion, for the Khepri are extraordinarily rapid breeders. Even so, the reality of exponential growth would soon see them cover the earth, were it not for one simple fact: there is more than one queen, and each is instinctively driven to expand even against her sisters.

 

Soon enough, of course, the more ruthless queens learn to kill every queen egg they lay, lest their domain be torn apart upon its hatching. But this comes in tandem with another piece of instinctive knowledge: that each queen can be something more.

 

Indeed, a newborn queen is merely the first stage of the Khepri life cycle. Should a hive grow large enough, with enough resources stored, its queen can enter an intensely-demanding metamorphosis. Though still in contact with her drones, she will be unable to produce more, locked away inside a cocoon and fed pre-digested food by her children. After lying dormant for one to two years, she emerges larger and deadlier than before. More importantly, a second-stage queen is both exceptionally long-lived and more psionically potent. If she is able to capture another queen alive, (or birth one), she will be able to compel its loyalty, rendering an unruly rival into an unquestioning vassal. Thus a hive may include many queens, though only one is truly in charge.

 

But there is a third stage, one which is significantly more difficult to reach. A second-stage queen of a truly massive hive can enter metamorphosis again. If she were to do so, the ripples across Wol-Kot’s dimension would quickly make it known to all other queens, and the immense metabolic needs of the metamorphosis would make compelling the loyalty of any other queens impossible. Almost certainly, the combined might of the Khepri queens would be put to work putting a stop to it, and well it should: at the third stage, after ten years of metamorphosis, a queen’s reach would stretch across the world-sphere, and all her sisters would find themselves instantly subordinated under her will. May the other races pray this never happens, for the emergence of a third-stage queen would see the Khepri become a plague on the world, an unstoppable, unified swarm controlled by a deathless single consciousness.

 

For now though, they rapidly expand and bicker among themselves. There is nothing to fear here.

 


 

[CREATE RACE: 10 AP] – Wol-Kot creates the insectoid Khepri, in a hex somewhere near Lavrat-Es’ continent.

 

[0 AP SAVED]

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

Spoiler

 

Image result for great horned rat


Anger, excitement, all would be an understatement for the rush of emotions that Skatal had felt, or rather, pure emotion that the Rat-God had felt. Was he the fool, to strike at something that could not be destroyed? Yet, he was able to claim the lives of many. But the tenacious creatures they are, they survived. They trudged past the raw power Skatal had thrown at them. Underneath his utter rage, was something new for Skatal. 

 

Excitement.

 

A reason for existence. Skatal would not have existed out of need, for suffering. Populations must be quelled, whether it be packs of animals or villages. The cataclysm was no failure. This was no desire, but rather, need. This would be delusion to the mortal populations, surely, but to the mind of Skatal, it was meant to be. His mind raced, slowly narrowing down on his next action. In these moments, he could find small relation with his, disgusting, brother, Ixthalizzum. And perhaps he felt a tinge of gratefulness for whatever God, although he could not remember, created the Nyrnen. This, was, most definitely, a test. Not a fit, no, not at all. Or so he thought to himself.

 

“I am so smart-smart, thinking this... No need for me to dirty myself...” He snickered in his irony, watching the world and its inhabitants. The constant battles between two of the major races had brought him joy to no end. He observed, scheming, plotting. “War! How delightful. I should not worry myself with silly trees, nor whole cities. It is in war, does the plague shine through! And with a mix of this, and that...” Skatal worked on a strange object, its shape changing upon the inconsistent whims of its creator. However, it slowly began to take a stable shape, taking the form of a banner. The cloth was a sickly green, subtly and slowly changing its shade. On the banner, only the crude drawing of a grey rat served as its heraldry. It had a pole of rotting, dead, wood, one formed from the imagination of Skatal rather than from an actual species of tree. The tip of the staff was a slightly bent metal spear-point, rusted and corroded. Despite its appearance, any new damage to it would slowly be repaired, as if it was living itself. 

 

All who touched the Banner would no longer suffer symptoms of any disease. No longer would a disease cause pain, or even death. But, those who did touch the Banner, would begin to become mutated and obtain the ability to resist rot slower. Boils, both large and small, would appear on their skin, being one of the most common. In Skatal’s grace, their skin and flesh would elongate to create a sort of tentacles, and even new limbs. It was entirely possible for there to be new organs created, as was the Plague God’s intention. One victim could suffer from eyes appearing over their body, while another loses their arm to form another head. Each would be different from the last. It was his image of perfection. In due part to the ability of resisting rot, those affected would also lose their sanity at a much slower rate, although their fate could affect that. This banner, crafted by the devious Skatal, emerged from the void, onto one of the many battlefields between the Venandi and Cardans, atop a mound of corpses. Skatal grinned as far as a rat could, and being a God, he grinned as far as he wanted to. “Oh, they will appreciate this!” He spoke to himself, gleefully. Around it, flies and maggots squirmed around, almost in reverence of the artifact. This would be his mark on the world this age. This would be the Icon of Skatal.

 

[6 AP (Create Artifact)] – Icon of Skatal: A damaged banner made from Skatal’s own being, thusly repairing damage taken, yet retaining its original appearance. Those who touch it are not affected by the symptoms of diseases (but still carry it, and can spread it), as well as have a strong resistance to rotting, thus increasing lifespan. However, over time, their bodies will begin to mutate in various, grotesque ways. It is placed in one of the battlefields had by the Venandi and Cardans.

 

[AP Remaining] – 1

 

((too lazy to color this shiz)

 

 

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Lavrat-es

The Axis of Heaven | Fate with Form

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Despite her sleep, or perhaps because of it, Lavrat-es found herself weakened. She gazed with horror upon the grotesque creations of her siblings, stared long and hard at the death, the incongruous masses that lived such random lives. She could not affect it as she once could, but their creations sparked too her own imagination.

 

Compared to the vicious Venandi or the bipedal flightless Ravaniin, hers would be much more...tame. They would not be blessed with true flight like the monstrous Pati, the underground capabilities of the Khepri. They would not be the oldest, nor the most powerful, but they would be filled with determination. The Yi Kieren, Lavrat-es’ intended race of champions, is born.

 

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Some say the Yi Kieren live a thousand lives. Others believe them unkillable. In reality, the ornate suits of armor they are seemingly born in are a host to something similar to their Goddess’ orblike, creature-spawning renditions of the Gods – rather than rebirth, it is more appropriate to say they are replaced. Their souls move on, while replacements are spawned in their stead. The oldest of the Yi Kieren ‘Armaments’ thus become legend, and their spawn, birthed once every two decades should a suit be bathed in blood, inherit such will. While the suits are nigh indestructible, the beings within them are not – bags of flesh and meat in comparison to the other races of the World-Sphere, and the kinks in their armor can be repeatably abused. Their armor never rusts, though it must be made clear that while some are ‘reborn’ within a day, the majority take many years. In any case, one day, an eternal champion shall be born – it is their Goddess’ will. Lavrat-es falls asleep in eager anticipation.

 

[10 AP] – A race is created, of hulking metal-wearing humanoids, ‘reborn’ constantly over the millennia. Their first generations are born in the hexes directly south of the Tower.

 

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Yngbald, lord of magic and progress

As Yngbald observed the proceedings surrounding his tree he could not help but let a tear drop. The tear represented many things, joy, anger, sadness, anguish. But most of all it represented pride. He felt himself grow proud as he saw Areon defeat the Skatalin. Sacrificing himself so that his people may survive. Even defying a god. Truly there was no great hero in the mortal realm. Yngbald could not help but compliment Areon.

 

Moment before Areon got evaporated by his own spell he was in a white room. Frozen in time, inside of it he could see the man who had set him upon this journey. Areon could not move or speak, he could only look, yet he felt no pain any longer. As if he was frozen in time.  The hood of Yngbald now off and he had the body in the form of a Nyren this time. His eyes were filled with pride, both his ‘real’ eye and the orb of magic in the other one. Yngbald said few words but each was filled with truthfulness. “Areon. I am so proud of you. When I bestowed upon you the role of librarian I could not have expected this.

 

Yngbald gave the not-mortal a smile. “I shall make sure that your sacrifice will not be in vain. The nation of Adamant will survive and thrive, and your sacrifice will not be forgotten. May you get ultimate rest in the aftelife my friend.” The sigh of Yngbald then dissapeared and with it Areon returned to the real world. Only for less than a second during which he felt a brief flash of pain before nothing.

 

 

 

 

About a year after the Nyren  left the tree a flash of blue appeared amongst the gathered crowd. Showing the Avatar of Yngbald Ahriman. The nyrenoid sorcerer still being identical to his first appearance. He spoke to the (mostly) awed group of Nyren. “Greeting Nyren of the nation of Adamant. You have suffered much from the divines these last few years. With a less than favorable tree appearing in the surroundings and feeling the touch of Skatal. However, you were saved by one man.” Ahriman then glanced at the quickly approaching female Nyren. Who was holding the staff and walking with regality in her tread. As befitting of the Librarian. “Areon Brightsteel sacrificed himself so you could live. Showing immense bravery and self-sacrifice. Proving the Nyren truly worthy of Yngbald’s blessing.

 

As the Nyrenoid sorcerer stared at Astari the Librarian she dissapeared in a flash of blue light. Only dissapearing for the duration of a second before the eyes of the mortal. However for the Librarian it was much longer. And then the second Librarian was faced with the sight of Yngbald. Staring right at her with stern but wise eyes. “You are the succesor of Areon. Charged with the responsibility of rebuilding Adamant. As such as a passing gift I will bless you and your race to be more attuned to magic. Allowing the nation of Adamant to rebuilt safely. To remain strong from outside threats.” Astari tried to speak but was unable to do so. Unsure if this was due to divine intervention or just awe in being in the presence of a god. 

Back when she had been under the teaching of Areon she had sometimes felt small. But before Yngbald she felt as if she was an ant. An ant which was admired but still an ant. She could not help but be frozen by all of the raw power before her. Yngbald then suddenly spoke again.

Power does not define a person. It is what we do with it. Even the weakest mortal might be greater than a god. For wisdom trumps over all. And we are all equally powerless under the gaze of him the allfather.” Yngbald then gave a ruefull smile. “Now return to your people Astari. Share with them knowledge and make Areon smile from the afterlife. Be a Librarian.” 

Astari was about to be asked what knowledge until she was suddenly hit by a vision before her.

 

She saw herself, drawing a ritual circle. She saw herself drawing shapes, imbuing magic and chanting incantations as a group of Nyren stood inside of a runic circle. Then as the incanctation finished she saw the eyes of the Nyren growing glazed. Then after about 10 seconds they returned. Nine of the ten now had bright blue eyes. With a reflection of true magic shining out of them. But one person was twisted, his flesh distorted and he was shouting in anguish.

 

Then she got another piece of knowledge branded into her head. Her putting a large white cloth filled with runic symbols over a group of five Nyren. Whilst again speaking incantations that filled her mind. Then for 5 seconds the cloth grew brighter, growing to a tenth of the sun’s brightness. Whilst Astari was not blinded the ones inside of the cloth were. She pulled off the cloak and saw the former Nyren. They were almost identical but different to normal Nyren. They had grey eyes, blinded by the light of Areon’s sacrifice. And somehow they seemed purer.

 

Then in a flash Astari returned to the world sphere. Now surrounded by a crowd of Nyren. With Ahriman smiling down upon her with a cocky smile. Astari opened her mouth before closing it again, then she hit Ahriman in the face, mask something saying. “DON’T TELEPORT ME OF AGAIN OR I WILL SEND YOU BACK TO BEING A PART OF UNSHAPED DIVINE POWER !!!!!

This was the second time a mortal defied a god.

From the sky Yngbald couldnot help but think. ‘She really is your succesor Areon.’


AP income:

Rolls: 11ap

Other: 3ap

Total ap: 14ap

AP spendage:

Creating subrace (5ap): Brightseers

Brightseers are a sub-race of Nyren. Created by a ritual by a process known only to the Librarian (at least for now). These Nyren will see the sacrifice of Aeron and the sight of the Skatalin. By the sacrifice their eyes will be forever closed and forever opened at the same time. These once-Nyren will be no longer have physical sight but will be able to see the flow magic and the touches of disease and Skatal’s influence. 
The Brightseers will be different from Nyren in that they seem ’purer’. As well as having a great affinity for healing magic, whilst giving up the possibility of using any other type of magic. Whilst also having a great immunity to diseases. However, these Brightseers will not be able to procreate and in return be able to heal the wounded, destroy diseases and aid plagued areas. With them starting to purge the influence of Skatal around the Adamantine tree.

 

Creating Subrace (5ap): The Chosen

The Chosen are a subrace which are all but Nyren in two things. One, they have bright blue eyes, reflecting the realm of magic. And two they are much more gifted towards magic. Now being around the same level of magical potential as the Kin of exitius. These Chosen will be created in a process similair to the one of the Brightseers. One done by the Librarian. 

However, this ritual provides dangers. For to become Chosen a Nyren will need to peer into the true realm of magic for ten seconds. During which their bodies will be influenced by magic. Only those of strong will will sucesfully do the ritual. For they will have the willpower to use and be influenced by magic whilst still being able to maintain their form. The weak willed however, they will not be able to maintain their form and be twisted. Their form more often than not coming into contact with Chaotic magic. This will inevitably result in, mutations. These will be either a physical mutation. Ranging from an extra arm or some organs being twisted around/becoming a flesh abomination or it will be mental. Making them have certain mental disorders or becoming absolutely batshit crazy. Or perfectly sane if you were one of Ixthalizzum’s creations.
The problem is, these beings will also be touched by magic. So they might go out with a bang.

However this will only happen to the weak willed. So be sure if you undergo the ritual.

Luckily they can at least procreate.

 

Command Avatar (4ap): Agriculture

Seeing that the Nyren need to replenish their numbers. And that they have Golems to do the manual tasks Yngbald, through Ahriman gifts the Nyren with a better ability to produce food. These vary between being technological in nature, magical or both. With Ahriman teaching the forest Nyren things like crop rotation, what plants best to use, their ideal growth circumstances, how to make food ‘mutate’ into different strain. BUt also teaching them how to use magic to acclerate the growing process, how to use magic to make seeds more fertile etc.

 

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The ground, once good, dry soil, was so soaked with blood that it had turned into a veritable quagmire. So fouled was this land, the smell of the soul-ichor made even the Pati ill. Exitius could feel the spot, that unlucky place Marakarra had fallen, hewn in two by blood magicks beyond the ken of even the greatest the Kin Warmages. Divine magic had splintered divine magic here, and that distasteful residue lingered in the air, as the Lord of Dragons surveyed the lines of forts in front of him, considering the conundrum presented by that creature known as Mamo, he who dared to stand against the divine will of Exitius, he who dared to tend apart the scale and flesh of the God of Destruction's dragons, his most sacred imagery.

 

The God felt little in the way of anger, simply a strange kind of curiosity. Clearly he must be a human of great will, to so use the gifts of Kaha-nu-Buhu. Still, he stood in the way of the great Venandi Legions, chiefest means of his amusement, and that would never do. Pondering the issue further, an idea came upon Exitius, and the Lord of Chaos soon found himself in the centre of the Royal Court of Archon, as god-touched nobility, guards and courtiers alike scrambled for weapons and arms to use against the great black Venandi now in their midst, coiled with vibrant red tattoos. Of them all, only Archon recognised his grandfather, and with an impatient gesture, the aging God-King quietened his court, as he fell to his knees in submission.

 

For his part, Exitius quickly signaled the Court to rise - worship was not his primary motivation this day. "Against Carda you have marched, clashing violently with the Children of Kaha, her chosen faithful. Slaughter you have enacted upon her garrisons and her fortresses, butchering the wretched Pati like dogs and earning the pride which I feel for you - and yet you are turned back from that city by nothing short of a curate!" The displeased divine shook his head, while the others could but watch in trepidation. "It is not your fault, of course, that you cannot defeat Mamo, imbued with magicks beyond your ken, magicks that have existed since the first days of this world, when Yngbald filled the Void with that substance. You have done well, but the City still stands, and so long as it stands, the path north for the Venandi lies closed - muster your legions, Archon, and smash the First and Holiest of Cities as you would smash open a nut!"

 

Exitius glared around the room, at faces too afraid to protest. Archon, however, was not the God-King of All Venandi for nothing. "Mamo slew one of my cousins, Grandfather, and routed her army - what use is there in throwing ourselves against those walls again, to be butchered by bolts of ichor?" The God watched his progeny closely, before nodding very slowly. "I will grant your armies two gifts, Archon, as I granted gifts to you at the beginning of your reign, and to Tyrannos himself at the beginning of his."

 

With a flash of blinding light, an altar appeared before the court, set at the bottom of the Royal Dais. Powerful magic frizzled from the rough hewn marble, and there was a strange hum in the air, even as Exitius pulled a strange banner into existence and placed in upon the altar. "The first gift I give you is one of power! Each legion will, from this day carry a standard bearing a my dragon, as proof of your filial piety! Blessed with magical power, these standards shall serve as amplifiers to magic, and any legionary who fights under it will have their power increased drastically.

 

A strange look came over the God then, as scale slowly replaced fur, and his eyes became serpentine and slitted things, colder and crueler than usual. "As for good Mamo, let it suffice to say that he has offered me great insult by slaying that which was not meant to be so easily slaughtered by mortal hands - your brothers and sisters shall feast on his flesh!" Exitius finished with a hiss, before disappearing altogether.

 


 

Actions:

-Create Artefact:

To the Royal Court, Exitius gifts an alter made from stone, basic in appearance, but potent in design. The altar serves as a strange kind of conduit - upon it, Imperial Dragon standards, forged by the hands of Kin mage-smiths and each capped with a different variation of a dragon, are blessed and made into magical items. Specifically, the standards channel the power of the stone, and amplifies the magic of Warmages fighting underneath the standard by a fair proportion. 6 AP

 

-Influence God-touched:

Exitius calls upon the aging King Archon to once again rally his great legions against Carda in a huge campaign to conquer the city. 1 AP.

 

-Influence God-touched:

The Curate Mamo served not only as an obstacle to the Venandi, but as an insult to Exitius himself. He claimed the title of Dragonslayer, and the God of Dragons could feel the bestial fury of his dragons thrumming at the death he had wrought upon them. To this end, he summons his bloodthirsty children, the God-touched Great Dragons, and sics them upon Mamo, instructing the 11 of them to tear the Curate limb from limb, or at least weaken him enough to allow the approaching legions to finish him off. 1 AP

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Kaha-Nu-Buhu

The Guiding Light

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  She knew that Exitius would never stop with but a single attack on her belongings. Nothing would sate him, no deals or exchange could ever possibly slow down his offensive. This was what enraged her, Exitius’ constant and never ending tantrums. The idea that she could possibly have been created by the same ever-present Over-God that had created him was simply baffling to her.

 

Then an idea came to the Ruby Lady.

 

What better way to mock such an eyesore of a sibling, than to belittle the very object of his patronage. If war and bloodshed is something to which her current pest was fond of, then she would present her own vision for warfare. One of primal instincts and natural aptitude. She knew, the art of killing was one that was intended for predators. When she designed the natural cycle, she knew that to shed blood would be to worship her and to consume another soul is to partake in her gifts.

 

She bore the Nacatl into existence in the far-expanses of the southern continent; and there they would hunt, kill, and feed in her name. An eternal hunt perpetrated by the most naturally gifted of her creations, and from her gifts they would take that hunt to every corner of the World-Sphere.

 

[4 AP] – Command Avatar

Vu’u stations himself within the Grand Ziggurat of Carda, tasked only with supplying Mamo with a small amount of his power and with ensuring the city and it’s people remain safe should Mamo fail to protect Carda from potential Venandi offensives. However, Vu’u would only intervene if the Dragonslayer were to meet his end.

[10 AP] – Create Race

The Ruby Lady creates what will likely be her last sentient creation; The Nacatl. These carnivorous creatures would be created to be astoundingly adaptable creations, capable of bearing children perfectly suited to whichever environment they currently inhabit within a single generation. Psychologically, the creatures are often aptly suited to ambush tactics, taking down far larger prey on cunning and guile alone as they stalk the western reaches of the far-southern continent.

 

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Game ended due to GM burnout. Might make another god game at some point, or do something completely different. Thanks for playing everyone, it was fun while it lasted. I know we’ve had a couple of lurkers as well, so I hope you’ve all enjoyed it as much as we have.

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Game resuming on a new thread. Picking up in the Third Age, with a few new players and a few old ones expressing interest. If you are an old player and were unaware of the restart AND are interested in continuing, please PM me your Discord info to be added to the server.

 

We have a couple of new players possibly interested in playing old gods if their original player isn’t returning. If you don’t want to rejoin and are happy for your god to go to a new player, please PM me and say so.

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Spoiler

 

 

THE THIRD AGE

 

So it was that the Gods slept once more. For 5000 years, the World-Sphere has been bereft of their guidance or their interference. Plans put in place for the Great Sleep, so carefully laid, but so easily cast aside by the crushing weight of time. Even a God must yield to entropy, some more than others. Old Gods have faded into memory, and new ones await their time to shape reality.

 

The world they awaken to is familiar, for all that is is the result of their actions, but much has changed in their absence. The World-Sphere is more lived in, quite literally. In 5000 years, the peoples brought into being in the First and Second Ages have spread to all corners of the land and sea, with a spare few reaching the skies. Civilisation is now the norm, though the wild places of the world still carry wonders and horrors for all.

 

To many it is the Great Continent, but to those subjects of the God-King, it is Venandar. A holy war, millenia long, came to its official end when the last of the Great Dragons ripped out the chest of St Mamo the Martyr atop the great ziggurat of Carda – the death throe of a mortally wounded creature. Such is ancient history. Carda now stands as the second city of the Divine Empire of the Venandi, the lionine statues replaced with dragons, the worship of the Ruby Lady supressed in its birthplace. The Empire is prosperous and orderly, with those Nyren who swear fealty to the God-King living comfortable lives. With so many generations after the conquest, this is the majority of them. Millions, Venandi and Nyren, praise the Divine Lineage, though the worship of them has somewhat... eclipsed praise of Exitius. After all, the Gods are silent now... the only Gods here are on the throne.

 

But to say that western Venandar is a secure territory is a falacy. To join the Legions as a strippling whelp is, more than likely to be sent north or south – either is a brutal existence, where one’s only thought is of returning to the heartlands. Though Kaha’s nation fell, her faith did not, not everywhere. In the far north, Legionaries keep to their prayers and hope that the night will not bring down the crazed zealots of the Pati, or the Nyren refugees from old Carda who for generations devoted their entire culture to bloodshed and vengeance. They are called the Redsworn, those who would die for their dead goddess, and kill in such a vicious fashion that most Venandi recruits give up hope of total victory upon seeing their first sacrificed, blood drained comrades tied with their own flayed skin to a red lion banner. In the far south stalk the final curse of the Ruby Lady, the Nacatl. These manhunting creatures are known and feared across the World-Sphere, but are in no greater concentration than the place of their creation. For 5000 years, the Venandi have kept a wall across their southern border, the cities and clans beyond it sporadically reinforced and contacted... but these lands are known to be wild. If the Redsworn were savage, these beasts were worse... and more disconcerting still were the reports of collusion between these lost children of the Ruby Lady. The Empire’s heartlands hold true, however, but these continuous issues have prevented any great conquest of the other power of Venandar...

 

Adamant is a nation risen like a phoenix from its ashes. Ruled by the Adamantine Mages, its borders stretch from Venandi territory on the western fringe of the Great Forest, and the Ravaniin eeries in the far north, to the southern and eastern coasts. It is an advanced state, at one with nature and magic, aided by magi-technological golems and the god-touched Librarian. The Mages have expanded their own reach across the entire World-Sphere, accepting not only Nyren into their order but others including Ravaniin, Kyrkal, Myrdians... and on at least two occasions, Worms. Even Venandi have been known to join, though to do so would be to forsake any tie to their former homeland. Such defectors live in fear of the possibility of Venandi-loyal Nyren spies slitting their throats in dark alleys, but this is largely superstition. Largely.

 

Travel in this world is a peculiar thing. Beneath the sea, one can travel easily – provided you have gills. But the Mad Moons and their eratic flight, coupled with the great Chaos Orb floating in the ocean, makes the surface of the water somewhat unreliable to say the least. Sailing along coastlines is possible, but still not without its dangers. And so it was, that the peoples of the world came to travel the treacherous honeycombed caverns of the world for long distance travel. Pioneered by the Worms, who can simply batter safe passages through the masses of horrors in the deeps to create reasonably secure highways underground (like a giant, omnicidal pipe-cleaner), caravans of travellers hike through the deeps or ride the backs of worms to their destinations on other continents. This travel is not without its dangers, as the Thallites and Khepri that occasionally nab “foot traffic” can attest to. It is, however, easier than sailing.

 

How this network began, few can remember, though some of the worms mention in their folklore that such a task was given to them by the “Dreaming Queen”. The mention of the shadowy ruler of the Sylvan Dominions is enough to make many travellers shut up, but rumours persist of those going deeper off the safe highways of the tunnel network and seeing towering black obelisks, and hearing whispers begging them to travel deeper underground. Sylvaniel, known to some as the Witch Queen, is now an ancient being of waning power, bathing in the ambient soul ichor of her Pyramid on the coast of the Great Desert to sustain her ebbing lifeforce. Her servants are legion, and her reach is vast. Though she now rules from her original settlement of acolytes, she is the deathless queen of the land of Iranoch, the greatest of the Sylvan Dominions – which spans the length and breadth of the forested Southern Continent, known to many simply as Sylvan. Her reach spreads deeper underground, as attested by her influence in creating the safe highways that most use. Hidden enclaves are found just off the beaten path of the tunnels, where dreamers can find themselves closer to their deity. These dreamers are born from many peoples and nations, even those unfriendly to Sylvaniel, with cults present within many cities across the world and in subterranean temples miles beneath their feet.

 

Not all are comfortable with the Dreaming Queen’s expansion of the surface world into the Underpaths, least of all her “sisters” as she refers to the Khepri Queens. Their own dominions spread deeper than the superficial highways of the fleshy things, and cover as much of the world. Hives fight each other for dominance, and territory, and petty royal politics. Occasionally, one queen will send her minions boiling forth into the surface world, but such moves are quick to attract attention from her rivals – who swarm the now lightly defended territory of the foe! Some even have cordial relations with the surface world, trading the resources of the deep in exchange for rarities of the world under the sky. But soon, this all may change. A particularly powerful queen of an unusually defensible honeycomb of tunnels has declared herself the Over-Queen. Her intent is clear, and all Khepri monarchs are united in their rage. Should the upstart manage to assert her will across the World-Sphere, all Khepri shall be subjugated... and perhaps all life thereafter.

 

On the strangest continent of the World-Sphere, warped by the reality defying power of Lavrat-es, lies another insular nation. Its people live without fear of ravening beasts, or raiders, or horrors writhing up from the ground to devour them. The Nyren and Kyrkal who live on its coasts and southern grasslands know that they are fortunate, and so gladly pay a morbid tithe when demanded by their stalwart guardians. These are the lands of the Axial Protectorate, warded from threats and sternly controlled by the Yi Kieren. These ordered, inscrutable beings could be mistaken for armoured warriors of any land, or a particularly ornate adamant golem. The truth is stranger, and known only to a few. These children of Lavrat-es guard their lady’s realm against all who threaten it, most often raiders from the sea, or Khepri swarms boiling out of the caverns. This blood fuels their numbers. But blood, still, they demand in covenant from their charges. A holy vow, from the Yi Kieren to their serfs, that only they shall spill the blood of those who live in peace on this continent. Blood is let in ceremony for the armoured ones, in exchange for blood spared from the horror of the world.

 

There are many other kingdoms, principalities, republics, chiefdoms and leagues in the world, too many to name. Those mentioned so far are only those who have seen the greatest impact from the actions of the Gods... but who knows what this Third Age will bring.

 

The Gods awaken, and once more the World-Sphere is their plaything.

 

 


 

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^^ Basic map. Will have edited later to have major cities and vague political boundaries etc.

 

Turn 13

https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1DnPlYtSt1SYmiKreidYMZukyZArH6chWXtdYfYGCvrk/edit?usp=sharing

 

NEW GODS ONLY – First Avatar creation is free for you. This turn only.

 

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From within the deep places of the Shatter Peaks came the first sign of Divinity in five thousand year. Diamond-hard scales scored stone, and ivory white teeth the length of spears parted to allow a huge forked tongue to flicker out, as a single great yellow eye opened and glared through the darkness. Age had not altered the caverns that Exitius had slept within, for little lived among the Shatter Peaks, and even the Under-creatures feared to walk beneath the horrific screaming wind.

 

The Dragon shifted, and began to sweep down the tunnels, coiling and writing through the narrow space, forcing his massive serpentine body through rock, until he reached the outside. Almost immediately, he swept his wings open and allowed that constant screaming wind to power him into the air. The Dragon roared, a sound that pierced all, that thundered across the broad plane of existence and echoed in every house, every hole, tunnel and wood. A shout that rattled windows and doors in their frames for a thousand miles. A shout that declared the return of the God of Destruction.

 

For a long time, Exitius merely soared, examining the world. It amused him no end to see Kaha-Nu-Buhu's final attempt to spite him, a race of beasts that worshipped a Lady who had faded from time. It amused him less to learn the extent of his Children's heresy. Eventually, growing bored of his wandering, Exitius found himself among the Court of the God-King, not as a dragon, but as a huge black Venandi, coiled with scale and red tribal tattoos, red eyes glaring at the courtiers. "So you have forgotten my mercy..." His voice had echoed through that court room. "Two foes you have, Children of Tyrannos, both you have failed to destroy. Should you wish to retain my favour, I look upon you to defeat them." And then he had vanished, to wander once more, bored and idle.

 

Save for an idea, a chance to create such a great orchestra of Chaos, a chance to be truly entertained by this world. With this in mind, he set off for Adamant, cruel intentions abound.

 


Influence God Touched - Aimatiros III, God-King of Venandar, becomes the first God-King in five millennia to receive a command from his Great-Grandfather. It is rather simple - muster the legions and crush the Redsworn and the Nacatl, or risk losing the favour of Exitius. 1 AP

 

Command Avatar - Exitius flies to Adamant, where he uses his powers to force Adamant into a change of foreign policy. They will militarise, and seek to build a Coalition of states against the Venandi God-Kings. 4 AP

 

2 AP remaining 

Edited by The_Mad_Skylord
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Lavrat-es

The Axis of Heaven | Fate with Form

 

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The absence of the Axis of Heaven directly after the birth of her creations had not hindered their growth; the Northern Continent, essentially inaccessible from the promised lands of the Yi Kieran, was bounded constantly by turmoil and conflict, but that had not reached her own lands. The Axial Protectorate found peace and prosperity at an acceptable cost, and had not yet forgotten her – but who could, when a tower of opal that reached to the sky was marked with transcendent language denoting it as hers?

 

It was this centerpiece, the Sanctum of Lavrat-es that was the oldest of the World-Sphere’s Avatars, that first marked the Axis of Heaven’s awakening. In that same voice beyond language, those Yi Kieran inhabiting the Axial Protectorate are transmitted from the Sanctum mighty skills meant to further their powers. The Book of Heaven’s Might, less a book and more a god-empowered engraving onto the cores of the Yi Kieran, would bestow upon them individual martial might far beyond that of their prior imaginations, enough to truly destroy those swarms of vile dwellers of the Underpath, or to slay fantastical beasts. Their abilities empowered, it was perhaps her hope that they would in turn take upon themselves the challenges of her Looking Glass.

 

With sufficient satisfaction that her people would rejoice at her awakening, Lavrat-es returns her gaze to the World Throne.

 

[2] – Command Avatar – Bestow Martial Skill

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Yngbald, lord of magic and progress

Rising up from the Adamantium tree, where he had made his rest. Yngbald observed the lands. Rising high into the air, watching the planet from orbit. Observing the actions of the mortals down on the world-sphere. He saw the Divine Empire, the Sylvan Dominions, Adamant etc. He looked through wood and dirt. Through stone and straw. 

He assessed the situation, and thought about what it would do to his plans. And what actions might be appropiate for him. The Underground Highways were certainly an interesting method of travel, as was the Kephri so-called over-queen. Yet he saw no need to interfere. 

He looked at the Great Continent. He looked at the empire of Exitius’s kin, he looked at Adamant and the Redsworn. As he looked he saw matters of great interest. A great potential conflict starting to bloom. Champions on both sides, great armies and great nations. Two powers on one continent, inevitable conflict. Yet as he looked, he saw no need to interfere. Adamant was a nation that had bloomed into a strong and powerful nation. It did not need his help at the moment.

 

Yngbald’s gaze then swiveled to the Yi-Kiren and the Axial Protectorate. A most interesting nations. Especially with the way the Yi-Kiren multiply. This, combined with the relation with their servants, was most fascinating. He suspected one of his old and new brothers might interfere with it, but it was not in his interest. 

 

Then the gaze of Yngbald went to the numerous lesser nations. Those with the potential to become forces in the future, yet were not now. It might be interesting to create new nations, perhaps set up experiments once more. Perhaps he could elevate one civilization amongst one of the lesser continents, yet for now it did not attract his attention. Yngbald had then nearly finished his analysis of the world.

 

Yngbald then looked at the Sylvan Dominions. His eyes gazing at the black pyramid of Wol-Kot. Where Sylvaniel, the ancient traitor was. Confined to the pyramid, every so slowly withering. Only maintained by the power of his brother. Unable to leave the confines of that one building. She was a most intresting god-touched, perhaps the most interesting mortal being of the world-sphere. Yet she had stagnated, for millenia she just stayed on her continent. Creating might nations yes, but every so slowly whilst smaller nations rose and fell. These Dominions were untested as well, mighty as they were. It would be interesting to see if they would stand the test of time. But they were not in his interest to interfere with, as doing so would certainly attract the ire of his brother. Not something he feared, but it would certainly be inconvenient.

 

And thus Yngbald returned to the tree, after having left for several decades, looking upon the world. There he entered it again, and waited. Waiting for his power to increase, as he contemplated the future. As well as wondering what actions his young siblings would engage in. And if he would need to mitigate their actions. As he did so he waited, and waited, and waited.


AP income:

7 ap

AP spendage:

Storing 7ap

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In her palace of basalt, Sylvaniel sat, dreaming.

 

It was often said in the Dominions that the eyes of the queen were everywhere, yet few knew the true extent of her presence. The Sylvan Magistrates, powerful sorcerers bound willingly to her service, roamed the earth dispensing her will. It was through them that the queen spoke, though perhaps more directly than most people would think.

 

Through the eyes of a Venandi, she saw walls of hewn rock, and the corpses of dozens of soldiers. In the cavern, there lay a young Khepri matriarch, backed into a corner and missing several limbs. She would be weak forever, should she live. The edges of her vision swam, warped by displeasure, and she could feel the Magistrate’s body wince.

 

A young Nyrnen saluted, himself nursing a wound. “Lord, the caravan wants to know if we need more time with the prisoner. They’re anxious to get her to the pyramid, before...”

 

”The Queen has no use for the weak. She wishes this one killed.” The magistrate gave no further explanation. ”You will rejoin your unit, commander. Our task is not yet complete.” At her urging, Sylvaniel watched as her Venandi servant approached the wounded queen to finish her off. But she never saw the final blow, for the dream was suddenly different.

 

Forest-Streams-34449.jpg

 

The sun cast dappled light through a canopy of leaves. Gurgling water flowed nearby, and the sounds of wildlife echoed through trees. The vision was flawless, vivid, and she wondered at the strange familiarity of it all for a moment, before she realized – this was the forest of Adamant. Not Adamant as it was now, but as it was ten thousand years ago, before cities were built, before she unlocked the tree and left forever. This was the Adamant of her childhood.

 

”Beloved Sylvaniel.” The voice, too, was familiar, so surprisingly familiar that she would have jerked awake in any normal dream. Instead she turned, and saw the trees fill with mist, saw a single shadowy figure standing just within.

 

”Did you think I would raise you up only to let you fade away?” Wol-Kot enveloped the clearing, his silvery fog obscuring the forest’s beauty. Sylvaniel stepped toward his silhouette, but it simply disappeared, and in another moment the shape was behind her. ”We still have so much to do. The gods have awoken.”

 

The Witch Queen wanted to yell, or cry, or both. Five thousand years, she had sat waiting. For five thousand years she had watched the world for a sign. Now her god expected her to simply speak to him like nothing had happened, like they had parted just yesterday. But she did neither. She looked into the mist, and asked: “What is your wish?”

 

A happy chuckle responded from all around her. “You are strong, Sylvaniel. You do not fade easily. You shall see what I wish for this world, in time.” The mist parted, and she was floating above the World-Sphere, the great continent of Venandar below. ”Kaha-Nu-Buhu is dead. Her slumber shall be without end. Yet her curses linger on the children of Exitius. They are weak, all of them. And you...you are strong.”

 

”Send your servants to the so-called god king, Sylvaniel,” Wol-Kot continued. ”Offer to crush his enemies, if he will but accept you as his friend. Give him power, success, all that he desires. Gain his trust, my queen, until his will is gone entirely and all Venandar lies at our feet.”

 

The idea was appealing, although it was not as if she had not considered it before. ”And what if the pup refuses?” She spoke derisively. The Venandi were skilled warriors, but servile by nature, in her view. Their minds broke in her presence nearly as fast as a Khepri drone.

 

”Then I shall very much enjoy seeing how you smash his empire to pieces. It is about time, wouldn’t you say?” Wol-Kot laughed. ”We shall speak again soon.”

 

And with that, the dream was over. Sylvaniel’s eyes fluttered open onto a cavernous throne room of black stone. And for the first time in millennia, she smiled.

 


 

[Command GT: 1 AP] – Wol-Kot delivers a vision to his chosen after five thousand years of silence. She is to offer the assistance of her vast realm in subjugating the remaining servants of Kaha, but the Venandi god-king must be brought into the fold. Through magical and conventional trickery, Venandar’s new “allies” will transform him into Sylvaniel’s B I T C H. If he refuses friendship or is otherwise incorruptible, she is to use any means at her disposal to bring about the collapse of the Venandi empire.

 

[5 AP stored]

Edited by Zanderaw
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