MALUKOR

This night, you do not dream as usual. You watch yourself rise and leave a room for a final time. You chase your back around corners, between your intersecting crowds. A coin finds you. A Nephilim. An Aengul of Justice. A Canonist Priest, who looks to you with devotional worship. You listen, and listen to your listening. Most people are oblivious, but some see you with different eyes; a black-haired elf screams and screams, and a blind dwarven beggar grasps your knee, blubbering. You gaze out the window upon the burning city below. You can see a murdered Queen, the sorrow of a green-eyed War-Priest, a thousand soldiers march into coastal battle. Sometimes you just watch yourself look out the window. You hear the words: "Entili matoi jesil irhaila mi..." You hear a spider skitter across the floorboards. You almost step on it a million-million times - again and again and again and again and again... You wake, and dress yourself at the rack. You see him leave the room for the final time. You do not prepare so much as wait whilst the world grows ripe for ending. A demon accosts you, and you find yourself fascinated by the red skin that grasps your face and burns your skull catches your eye. He turns, as you slump to the floor - you see yourself look to your next victim. You see the end of man, and you see the end of nations. You see thousands and thousands of corpses in great piles - you see armour melting in the burning fires, and you see the breaking of the last Lorraine. You hear the earth roar and shake.. A robin finds you, and the vision ends.

REPORT II [!] It is unclear how, but this report has been leaked again. Perhaps the ferrymen are to blame somehow? O' Peddlers, many be Our days. It is as you all predicted. Any sort of lasting peace between man and Darkspawn is unattainable. I confess to not having tried particularly hard in establishing this, but I think that justified; there is no possibility of any sort of conciliation between the pair. According to [REDACTED], man and Darkspawn both believe they must win or the other will exterminate them (this is true). Some elves, it seems, do entertain the presence of Darkspawn as a sort of mental and philosophical exercise or due to their being family members or close friends, but this author has observed that such cases often end up joining anyways. Therefore, with both sides viewing the matter as entirely existential, more information must be attained before any decision. Through the infiltration of [REDACTED], our brother [REDACTED] learned of the existence of a being named Gashadakuro. (There are also extensive missives written about this creature). He seems to be the leader of the undead legions, utilizing magic similar to your own to create legions of undead that inevitably break against the hard walls of man. However, he has achieved a select few victories; recently, he kidnapped the leader of a village of samurai and mutilated him. He has also apparently corrupted a 'dragon' (what you would call a fire wyrm) and stolen it from the Azdrazi (a dragon cult, though seemingly without any dragons). He is a walking skeleton, and can apparently be killed if his heart is destroyed - the catch being, of course, that it isn't in his breast and could be literally anywhere. This is what I believe some of you would refer to as '******* unfair'. Already, brother [REDACTED] and sister [REDACTED] have infiltrated various Darkspawn cults. So far, nothing is suspected, and nothing will be. They are good liars, and though they will surely go to hell, we will go to heaven - and in time, so will they too. You asked me for a foe for you all to focus on, and I must sadly tell you that as things stand, we are in no position to go challenging anyone. That will hopefully change in time, but that requires, well, time. Finish building the Tower and the Wall. Aevos is an unfamiliar land, and its peoples and deities tax my patience. (save the samurai. They have proved to be quite pleasant company). I long for the lone pines of MALUKOR, for the glorious sands snows. Continue producing Korr. It is just a suspicion, but I believe that we will soon have need of them. And my suspicions are almost entirely correct almost all of the time, are they not? Oh - and Dalmur has disgraced himself. Do not speak his name again, lest your tongue fall out.

[As per its nature, only characters with an application allowing for the scrying of prophecies such as Seer, Vivication, Naztharek and so on can observe the contents of this post IC.] ———«»————————————«»————————————«»——— This vision is less coherent. The world about you seems somewhat fuzzy, and there’s a slight delay between your actions and the sound that follows. You find yourself squatting above a seemingly infinite hole in a stone room. You extend a hand, waving it over the black beneath. You call out, your own voice alarming you for its grating hoarseness - and then again, as it echoes back at you. “Hello?” It doesn’t respond. You don’t actually know something exists down there, but you feel you do. You can feel it watching. You study your hand. You find rotting flesh, mould covering your fingernails and gray skin flaking off your withered, pale hands. You murmur something impossible - a contradiction in reality, something that you, the descendant cannot begin to understand - and your hand repairs itself with a weak golden flicker. The air is cold. The world around you is utterly black, lit only by sputtering blue flames on the walls. You seem to be in some sort of underground structure, ancient murals decorating the walls; a crowned warrior, leading men into a Temple, a great slaughter, an unfathomable blasphemy.. You squeeze your eyes shut. A sharp pain runs through your head. You turn about, looking for an exit, but the stairs leading upwards are barred. The doors are shut. Your gaze drifts back to the hole. It’s oddly inviting. Whatever is watching you is beckoning you. You can almost see the wispy hair, the beckoning finger, the robes, the Absence.. “Are you dreaming again, Prince?” A young voice calls out - stern, and somewhat exasperated. Her. And though you do not know who she is, in that moment, you forget all things save hatred. Some sins can only be answered by the knife. Your hand itches to move, to grasp the hilt of your sword - to avenge your honour! An inexplicable passion moves you, an ancient madness centuries old, a boundless fury that would force you to your feet, to withdraw your sword, to call upon your Divinity.. Were it not for the song. The girl murmurs. The impossible sound fills the air, the transcendent notes, that - at once - makes your hair stand on end, makes your blood run cold, yet acts as a lullaby; acts as all things, as sorrow, hatred, fear, understanding.. You feel yourself swaying. The gaping hole beckons still, though it seems a distant thing. The song, the drowsiness seems to be all there is to the world.. Soft hands draw over your eyes, cutting off all vision. You can feel them pressing against your sockets,, taste small pieces of what were your eyes, smell the blood in the air.. “No more dreaming, GOD.” At once a command. At once a truth. ———«»————————————«»————————————«»———

I say that men must suffer in ways that words cannot retrieve, lest they die. That is the simpler truth. Music ———«»————————————«»————————————«»——— Hail. If you'd like to partake in original cultist RP, engage in secretive espionage, and help create a long-term narrative for the server, add me on Discord at MALUKOR. Equally, if you'd just like to hang around, DM me all the same and I'll let you into the guest section. Thanks. ———«»————————————«»————————————«»———

In distant lands, a Crane took flight.

———«»————————————«»————————————«»——— Hail. If you're a ghost player looking for unique event RP or just someone who wouldn't mind playing an eventline ghost, contact me on Discord at 'malukor'. Alternatively, send me a forum letter. The Discord is below. If you'd just like to wait around until the eventline gets properly going, you can do that too. https://discord.gg/htr5utV6k GOD be. Have a good day. ———«»————————————«»————————————«»———

[As per its nature, only characters with an application allowing for the scrying of prophecies such as Seer, Vivication, Naztharek and so on can observe the contents of this post IC.] Music ———«»————————————«»————————————«»——— Things now, you can feel, have grown dire. ———«»————————————«»————————————«»——— Do you understand what it means to truly Lack? A voice - familiar to those who had witnessed The Crane - spoke into the black. You Aevosians call it Death. I, though, would call it Divinity. The voice spoke nostalgically, as if recalling some favoured dream. It seemed weary. I have learnt much of you, and yet I understand little. How is it that souls walk upon the World beyond Divinity? Why do you exchange your Soul, your afterlife, for Worldly power? Why do you split into a hundred different communities instead of just forming One? Sight is bestowed. You find yourself gazing up at a vast, vast wall, made of an unfamiliar black rock, a canal in the center permitting a river to flow into the mainland. Pinned to the wall are hundreds upon hundreds of human corpses; men, women, and children. None look to be recent - they all show signs of long-lasting rot, and any past bloodstains have long been blown away by the frigid blizzards. They sag in their indignity, their limbs and hands nailed to the wall by their own swords - some, of course, having blown off over the years, leaving a pile of corpses at the bottom of the wall. A Crane picks at the remains, then turns to regard you. But no matter. I will put you to much Holier work than whatever your Church or your Scripture has commanded of you. The corpses.. heave. Something, it seems, is trapped underneath. The Crane gestures to the seething mass with a singular wing. Do you see? ———«»————————————«»————————————«»———

REPORT I [!] It is unclear why, but this document has somehow been released to the public. Perhaps a malcontent? O' Glorious Broker, many be your days. It is as you suspected. The Girl was telling the truth, and Aevos truly exists. After forty-and-three nights and days of sailing straight from the Black Gate, I landed upon the shores of a nation I would later come to learn is called 'Norland.' The Korr did not survive the journey, and I left their corpses in the boat. Aevos is an abundantly rich place, Broker. There are a vast quantity of nations, cities, peoples, faiths - sorcerers, too. I have been unable to get an exact number, but Aevos possesses at least four times the number of Voidal Mages (An odd science, which extracts power from another realm and dedicates it for Worldly usage) as we do Sorcerers. This does not even count the number of 'Darkspawn' (beings who serve a Demon called 'Iblees'.), whose numbers and whereabouts are unknown. We have lost that advantage, as well as the element of surprise. Upon travelling to a Dwarven nation (Dwarves essentially being short humans, mostly fit for mining and business) I encountered a Prophet. Their Sermon was fairly similar to yours; she had different words for different key parts, but the Faith seemed similar, so I divulged Our Mission to her. She knows of us now, though I do not think this a terrible outcome, as she is an ally. Our secrecy remains kept. There is another matter. In MALUKOR, you are the only remaining God. In Aevos, there are an innumerable quantity; Xan, Azdromoth, Iblees, the Spirits, the Aspects.. the biggest problem is Aeriel. Wheras in MALUKOR the souls of the dead transfer onto the reformation of GOD, in Aevos, they are sucked in vast numbers to feed capricious Demons and minor Deities. If we are to successfully resurrect GOD, then we will need to kill Aeriel, and open a pathway for all dead souls to return to the same goal - the creation of GOD. This is the sum of what I remember. Having suffered this place, I understand the profundity of your concern. To discover that everything we have fought for for millennia was but a prelude for a greater war is outrage enough. But to find that we are not only ignorant, but hilariously outmatched, too? My sorcerous powers fail within Aevos - I fear they only work within the confines of MALUKOR, greatly neutering any possibility of raiding key locations (Palaces, Castles, etcetera.) The Korr do not seem to survive here, either. We are, for now, at a loss. I will write soon if any more developments occur. Until then, GOD be, Broker.

[As per its nature, only characters with an application allowing for the scrying of prophecies such as Seer, Vivication, Naztharek and so on can observe the contents of this post IC.] ———«»————————————«»————————————«»——— The vision began as a familiar feeling, one not observed by the viewer since youth; the sense of falling for the first time; of being moved by the World, not through it.. And somehow, you can tell that the World falls with you. ———«»————————————«»————————————«»——— A timid cough gives you vision. You see an elf knelt before unfamiliar ruins. A crane pecks at the stone in front of it, before turning to regard the elf.. And though it does not speak, you can hear the gentle melody glide through your mind. It reminds you, bizarrely, of golden sunlight - even though the sun remains obscured by snowy clouds. What of the girl ? The elf speaks, unlike the crane. “She.. vanished. I cannot explain it; one moment she was fleeing through the trees, the next she.. There was this song. She did not sing it; it was not sung by a girl, but it was.. It did not fill, Broker. It emptied. One moment she was there, and the next she was not.” The crane regarded the elf, and - once more - intoned. No matter. What was she doing in the Tower ? The elf swallows. Oddly enough, you cannot help but feel sorry for him. “She stole the Tome, Broker.. But she returned it.” What did she do to it ? “She.. our map, Broker. She drew on the map.. Drew the shape of an island called ‘Aevos.’” All was silent. A feeling of dread begins to grow within you. I see. And how many Gods, according to this girl, exist upon the island ? The elf whimpers a little. “According to her.. Fifty-five thousand, three hundred and thir-” The elf was cut short, as the crane hopped to the lip of the stone. Though it was nought but a simple, delicate-looking creature, it bore the imitation of something immense, as if a leviathan moved, the very air rippling in waves. Light bled from its eyes. HOW Roars through your mind. I HATE The elf sobs, as you thrash and flail against your captivity. But nothingness is your prison, and what cannot be grasped cannot be broken. THIS WORLD. Its eyes suddenly flickered, and the twin stars snapped to gaze upon you. The crane laughed. SHOW ME, GOD.. Terror.. stoked to such extremity that it becomes agony. SHOW ME YOUR TRUE FACE. An ancient madness smothers you, bearing you into the blissful future.. ———«»————————————«»————————————«»——— Magic binds your soul to unfamiliar paths. You feel wind blow across your face. You raise coarse, rough fingers to tread through your eyes - and realize you have none. So how can you see? You are seated upon a rocking, spruce sailboat. In the far distance, a great storm rumbles. Overhead, the Cloud Temple looms.. And beyond that, you see a coast. The Aevosian coast. Suddenly, your vision spasms, and instead, you find yourself gazing at the figure who you previously saw parlay with the ‘crane’. He is enrobed in soft green, blind gaze centered directly upon you; and though you are filled with a deep, primal foreboding, you find yourself unable to wrench your gaze away. He speaks. Not with one voice, but two. “This is our Argument to you. The isolated nature of your island speaks to your Holiness; your Divinity..” His gaze drops, and sweeps out across the island. He speaks again. “But you would deny this, instead choosing to split into multiple faiths, to make worship of capricious Demons and Lesser Gods…” He shrugged. “Maybe you simply do not know the Truth. Certainly, I did not know it all those years ago; when I was but a Man, unknowing of my own Divinity.. Of my blessed nature.” He pushed back his cowl, revealing elven ears. “But I was disabused of my naivety, and I am all the gladder for it. I have given my soul to save GOD; would you not do the same? Probably not. Perhaps the more noble amongst you.. ‘Aevosians’.” A growing feeling of rot begins to spread within your gut. You feel diseased. “Your unwitting trespasses, at any rate, are at an end. You will have no more.. Dreams." He spoke for lack of a better word. A wan smile. “Indeed, they are soon to become real.” ———«»————————————«»————————————«»——— ((This is the final vision. From here on out, things will progress irply.))

[As per its nature, only characters with an application allowing for the scrying of prophecies such as Seer, Vivication, Naztharek and so on can observe the contents of this post IC.] ———«»————————————«»————————————«»——— O GOD, ESCAPE YOUR MANY PRISONS The voice blasts through your mind, and your slumber is wrenched - violently so, forcefully dragged to reside within a closed, glass, cubic structure. It sits within a shelf in a Tower, overlooking a vast forest. Various books lie scattered about, papers stacked high on a wooden, spruce desk, where an elf, enrobed in soft green, lies asleep. Eventually , he rises, and briefly looks at you. You do not know what you look like in this dream, but in his eyes, a brilliant, golden ball of light is reflected.. He turns away, and slams the door shut behind him. ———«»————————————«»————————————«»——— You reside there for several hours. During this extensive wait, you note a few things; how in the window, you can see smoke rising in the distance - likely a fire of some sort.. How, whenever you look to a locked chest in the left corner of the room, whispers begin to fill your mind of promised glory.. And how when about two hours pass, a young woman with short curly black hair enters the room, picks up a book, and leaves. ———«»————————————«»————————————«»——— Eventually, the elf returns. He throws a red scarf into the corner of the room, and exhales a mighty sigh. He stands still in the center of the room for about five minutes, then walks over to your glass cage, kneels, and prays. “Dear GOD, you who are me and all..” A lurching in your stomach. “Erase all impurities in this world. Escape your many prisons..” You begin to feel sick. “And show me where the rest of You remain, so I might give you the key-” You hear a cry of unexpected revelation, and all fades to black. ———«»————————————«»————————————«»———

[As per its nature, only characters with an application allowing for the scrying of prophecies such as Seer, Vivication, Naztharek and so on can observe the contents of this post IC.] ———«»————————————«»————————————«»——— Amidst your slumber, a dream claims your mind.. You find yourself pushing a wooden cart through bloodied snow, ravens and vultures fleeing into the frigid winds before you. Ahead lies a battlefield, littered with Human and Inhuman corpses, though few of the latter are found. Many of the loping beasts still wander, feasting indiscriminately on the dead. The lands before you, you begin to note, are not of Almaris - nor Failor, nor any other land known by Descendant-kind. It is not obvious, but it can be told in the way the stars are misaligned in the sky, in the way that the fresh smell of foreign trees obscure the sickening stench of viscera, in the way that the beasts before you are unfamiliar, and how the mountains in the distance are covered with vast stone ruins.. A sigh of nostalgia. How simple things were then. You push your way onto the field. Though the monstrosities spare you a glance, they make no attempt to attack, nor hinder you or your cart. In fact, they seem.. subservient, soon scampering away from your path. The irony brings a rare smile to your face, though you know not why. You stop before a particularly large warrior, head smashed into a bloodied mess. His hammer lies beside him, dented and chipped. Worthy soul. You balance the cart to a halt, and open the lid, gazing into an endless void, an unnatural absence.. You grunt, hoisting the man by his arms, heaving and lifting; unnatural strength giving you the power to lift him over your head, and drop him into the cart, his corpse soon falling into Nothing. You murmur a solemn, fanatical prayer. Grim work, you cannot resist thinking. But someone must do it. ———«»————————————«»————————————«»———