Heroes Of Akasha -IC-

[ArlEammon]

Alareft, the Master of the gods stood in the hallowed halls of Arcadia, brooding for a moment. He remembered the millenia of his life, which spanned long ago. Whatever was racing through his mind man may never know, but one thing man knows is his innate divine inferiority to the gods, the spirits and dragons. However, Alareft was not a god that basked in his strength while others suffered, although it may have seemed to be so.

The Garden of Arcadia was in an alternate plane, accessible across the sea from the rest of the world. It was here that Alareft seemed far more cold, distant and uncaring. No Hallowed Halls of Arcadia stood. The people did not have plenty, the people did not have feasts every night. The people grew old, died, had hard lives. Sometimes these lives were worth living, and were greatly celebrated. Others lived lives of evil and oppression.

Yet throughout the world was a harsh reality. The strong outlived the weak. Sometimes, most often, after all, the weak hardly lived at all. Occasionaly a kind ruler rose among the people throughout the nations, and their governors were wise. The people lived in happy, yet hard lives, and even less occasionally, life may have grown easy and almost leisurely. Such an occasion had not risen among the commoners of the world outside Arcadia for over many centuries.

Civilization was sparse, and outside a few lucky protected kingdoms, they lived in constant hardship, in terror of not just the wilds and the animals, but also of disease, and even worse, the evil of other mortals.

Yet, the children of Alareft lived in relative ease. They had lived from years to centuries with Alareft as their direct Father. Alareft would not let his children go unpriviledged. Yet there came something unbidden to this world within the world. Arcadia was now covered with a shadow of deepest fathoms, from which no mortal kin could comprehend. The echoes of terror, and the voices of the slain would fall on the Garden of Paradise, and speak through the mouth of Alareft.

Alareft has given a decree. The Children of Alareft have one day to report to the Hallowed Halls. Alareft has given no clue as to what he has to say to his offspring.

[chrisrawr]

Ameliora fidgeted in her home, unable to concentrate on her work because of her Father's decree. It bothered her deeply, like an itch just out of reach, when she couldn't figure something out - her siblings would often shroud some elusive fact or hide a new working she'd been studying to irk and delay her (in good tempered godly humour, of course), but this block felt more.

Around the house, a veritable blizzard of little contraptions were rolling, hovering, walking, swinging, and using pretty much any other form of transportation you could think of in a constant parade around Ameliora. Nothing she was doing was normal, but they all wanted to help. Absently, she swatted away a flying hairbrush and shoved a shoe-shiner out of the way with her foot - thought better of it, and had her boots polished while she thought; of course she wanted to look impressive for Father and in front of the others - maybe a cape... and her best gogglescope as well, the one with the beam projector...

Gladdened by their creator's return to purpose, the twirling, clanking machines busied themselves preparing Ameliora for her pantheonic visit.

[Yellow Eyes]

Upon the shore of a desert oasis, a man of middling height and athletic build rested. His skin was tanned and his features were sharp. He bobbed his foot up and down to the tune he hummed. He was dressed in the loose clothes of a traveler, and upon the shore beside him lay an old but sturdy-looking sword-- curved and long. He had spent the last century among the mortals of Arcadia, delighting in their lives and politics and hobbies... but it was time, once more, to wander. What better way to start than to rest for a time at his favorite watering hole?

A few more weeks laying there, and he'd be ready for an adventure.

And then he heard the Call.

"Father..." His smile faded. Father's call was never issued for trivial matters. Tragic.

With a huff of effort, the godling Djinn Samheid ibn-Alareft stood and patted away as much dust as he could from his clothes. His Father rarely cared about his appearance, but one should at least attempt to look nice for the Divine Patriarch.

"Right then," he said with a stretch. There was a sudden burst of dust and sand from the ground where he stood, and he was gone. He dashed with inhuman speed across the desert towards the source of the Call.

Only a day to return to the Hallowed Halls?

Challenge accepted.

[al'Lan Mandrag]

Allaren sat in the Fluted Tower, his preferred abode even before he'd left, and now on his return found its beauty a source of comfort to him. His father's actions had become mysterious in recent times, and this call to meet together was more than passing strange.

He rose from his position gazing out on the Garden and headed towards the halls, his red and gold embroidered ensemble billowing around him. His confidence had been knocked, he allowed, but this might be an opportunity to redeem himself in his father's eyes; well, he wasn't sure if his actions in Akasha had been a failure or not...

[Bobb]

A summons by Father. This often meant instruction. It occasionally meant guidance. Zarasa decided he was glad for it.

[Rarkasha]

Antera is in a scrying room, not too far from the Hallowed halls. One pair of arms held up Antera's chin by the viewing pool, while another held the scrying device steady. A third pair was playing with a length of string, turning it into a cat's cradle. While Antera gazes intently at the pool, a lion spirit walks into the room. The huge body of the lion barely fits into the room, but the footfalls of the lion make no noise. It's voice, however, is a deep rumble resonates through the room.

"Miss Antera, it is time. Your father calls for you," says the lion. Antera jerks her head back in surprise, one pair of arms now tangled in her cat's cradle.

"Really Tefaris, you should announce yourself before entering. One day you'll get into trouble doing that," says Antera, rising while using her other hands to untangle her string.

"Hmm... today feels promising. No doubt the others are already on their way... I think I'll take my time though."

[Systole]

Vaya'zul sat alone in front of a game of shent in one of the gardens. Idly she moved a piece and studied the board. Suddenly, the red haze of frustration she always felt was too much. A gauntleted hand sent the pieces flying, but that was not enough. Tearing the granite table from the ground, she smashed the exquiste stone workmanship into the flagstones, again and again and again until it was little more than pebbles.

She stood there fuming, unfulfilled by the destruction of the shent table, but knowing that further vandalism would do nothing to quell the rage inside her. Her fists clenched and unclenched, and she breathed slowly and angrily.

Quietly, the wind stirred in the garden, whispering her father's Call to her.

A summons. Yes.

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[Ull]

Hval flipped an ace of the top of the deck and smiled. a rich lord had challenged him believing he could beat a god of luck. Hval looked at the mans money smiled wickedly took twice the amount he was supposed, and took of running down the corridor any guard caught in his way only caught a knife that pined him to the wall. he looked back at the flustered lord and smiled one last time before darting away.

a summons , all the gods will be their oh this should be fun he thought mischievously.
Then again this could be something serious aaa well i'll make it fun

[ArlEammon]

Alareft
And so Alareft waited for the return of his children. Hours had passed as he waited. His visage was strange. He was adorned with armor, and a possessor of his great sword, Sky Render, and his armor and helm. He adorned his armor with his royal cloak. Alareft waited for the return of his children, the family of Alareft, with anxiousness. An extremely disconcerting emotion for those who would see his face. For Alareft to be anxious or unknowing would be something of a new thing.

[al'Lan Mandrag]

Where Allaren had always considered his siblings only petty aspects of divinty, his father had always seemed above that: strong and immutable, a true God. Yet this anxiety that weighed plain upon him shattered that illusion and left Allaren feeling troubled.

Despite all this he could not fault his father's immaculate presentation, his eyes noting both the exquisite armour and marvellous blade. That is what true god should possess.

He waited patiently for the rest to assemble and for his father to speak.

[Systole]

Second to enter was Vaya'zul, her gauntleted hands still dusty with ground stone. With no more than the faintest sound of metal on metal she entered, then knelt, bowed her head in deference to her father, and rose again to her feet. There she stood, her face invisible in the shadows of her helmet, waiting quietly for her father to speak.

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[whoiam]

When the summons arrived, Basiwiw had been in the gardens. Only recently returned from across the sea, she was almost a stranger in Arcadia. Or she felt that way, anyway - her family could well have remembered her (there was nothing wrong with their memories, after all), but she'd forgotten so much in her time away that she was only getting these odd flashes of... familiarity...

She had found it a little painful to admit that the humans had been right - she was not naturally a Wolf. Judging by the siblings she'd seen on her return, she wasn't even a natural quadruped. Unfortunately there were parts of her mind that still insisted she was. Which was why her attempt at walking to her Father's side was... somewhat comical. She'd learned how bipeds walk. The problem was she kept on forgetting she was one...

Thankfully she was alone as she made her graceless journey into the halls. Deep in the darkest sections of her mind was an instinct that suggested her siblings weren't the best group to show weakness to, so she was glad she did not have an audience to watch her progress. Until she realised that Allaren and Vaya'zul had reached their Father before she had.

Pausing a moment to compose herself, Basiwiw advanced up to her brother's side. She was moving slowly, stiffly, as befitted someone concentrating very hard to stifle the instinct to drop to all fours and sniff her siblings in greeting.

"How many others are coming?" the quiet question was directed to Allaren once she'd reached him. She had little desire to interrupt their father, and whatever sterling qualities Vaya'zul may have had, a friendly and approachable appearance was notably lacking from the list. So any questions she had were going to Allaren more or less by default.

[Yellow Eyes]

A whoosh came from the heights of the Hall- a figure blurred through one of the highest windows, trailing a faint cloud of dust behind it. It thudded into the ground near the center of the enormous room, kneeling before Alareft.

When his clothes settled and the dust around him dispersed, Djinn Samheid lifted his eyes too the Divine Patriarch.

"Father." He stood and threw his arms out to the side, and a grin replaced his look of solemnity. "This time, I'm the first to arrive! It's been..."

He felt the twinge at the back of his skull, and his smile faded. There were others here. He turned around to see who had arrived before him.

"Tch," he said with a look of casual disappointment. "Damn."

A moment passed and the disappointment faded; he threw his arms out again and ran forward to embrace Allaren and Basiwiw around the neck, keeping a watchful eye on Vaya'zul.

"Brother and Sisters, it has been too long! I've missed all of you! Yes, even you," he said to Vaya'zul. He released them from his affectionate grasp and backed off a bit. "What have you been up to?"

[al'Lan Mandrag]

Allaren's trepidation seemed matched in his canine sibling, and he felt at ease quietly responding: "I assume that everyone was summoned, but I am only newly returned here myself. I believe that there ought to be eight of us." The fiery display drew his attention, and a look of amused faux-resignation crossed his face.
He mockingly raised an eyebrow and quipped: "And that makes four..."

[chrisrawr]

Overhead, the "FWUMP FWUMP FWUMP" of a dragon-thopter signaled the arrival of Ameliora, a quartet of giant, gossamer wings slapping the air to stay aloft.

Two glinting centipedes slither down, lock mandibles to ground, and bear Ameliora from the thopter in a sinuous passing of legs.

"Mental note," she says, and a pair of small, hovering hands holding quill and parchment begin denoting, "Elepedes much less comfortable than predicted, schedule Slidesnake testing for next in elevatory queue."


Turning on the gathered, her demeanor brightens considerably, the sight her siblings and father pulling her into a much less strictly formal mindset.

"Um... Hi!"

[Systole]

Vaya'zul inclines her head slightly to Djinn Samheid at his greeting. The gesture is carefully neutral, but an involuntary flicker of attention toward Alareft reveals that the unfinished duel -- and Father's intervention -- is still very much in her thoughts.

Vaya'zul's attention is claimed by the arrival of Ameliora, and the armored goddess watches the dragon-thopter and the elepedes with an intense, predatory fascination.

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[Yellow Eyes]

Samheid smiled back at Vaya'zul- the only betrayal of his inner thoughts being the casual placement of his hand on the hilt of the saber at his hip.

"One day, dear Sister, one day."

He glanced aside at Allaren. "Admit it, Brother, I make life so much more fun. By the way, I have an idea- a statue of me! Have you ever worked with electrum before?"

His attention was suddenly drawn to the FWUMP FWUMP FWUMP.

"AHA! YOU!" Samheid pointed a finger at Ameliora and her contraption. The gesture somehow managed to convey greeting, affection, and accusation all at once. "You are ENTIRELY too small to be fiddling with things like that!"

[chrisrawr]

A warm smile crosses Ameliora's face, "Be glad of my size, 'Jinn, or I'd rejoinder with an echo!" Removing her flight goggles, she joins the gathering group, sidling up beside him.

[Rarkasha]

Antera arrived, wearing a long white and yellow dress almost touching the ground. Her extra pairs of arms are folded over a large yellow sash tied around her waist. She looks relaxed, although as she walks into the Halls and sees Alareft, her expression changes slightly. Anyone paying close enough attention can see her quickly cycle from pity, then anger, then sadness. It lasts for a fraction of a second before she puts on a friendly expression and turns to her siblings.

"Brothers and sisters, I am glad to see you all in good health." says Antera, looking between them. Her attention was drawn to the thin red line placed between Samheid and Vaya'zul. She couldn't read the bonds of fellow deities, but it was clear that they had a score they both wished to settle. Being fond of all her siblings in her own way, she pondered whether or not she should interfere. Putting those thoughts aside for now, she walked over to Basiwiw and Allaren. As usual, she was hard to notice until she got close and spoke up.

"Basiwiw, it is good to see you in person. How are you adjusting to your new life?" Antera said, bowing slightly to her in greeting. Antera had only seen Basiwiw, and as someone who normally kept close tabs on her family, she was interested in catching up.

[Yellow Eyes]

Samheid scuffed Little Sister's hair with a grin, knowing full well she had taken time to brush it. If she weren't a mad little genius, he might have mistaken her for a prim and proper lady.

He turned to face the newly arrived Antera. He nodded in greeting; he'd had little interaction with her in recent decades, and hoped to catch up.

It was not until she had approached Basiwiw that he remembered that his wolf headed sister had been gone for some time- and that she used to have the whole form of a wolf, not just the noggin bits.

"Wh-what?" A look of shock spread over Samheid's face, unusual to those who knew him. His finger pointed again in wonder. "What's all that about then? Basiwiw, what did you do?"

[al'Lan Mandrag]

Samheid's arrogance was astounding, well only in that it rivalled Allaren's own. "Perhaps you should do something truly inspirational first, then I'll consider immortalizing you." Allaren responded, though a grin took the edge from his words.

Nearly everyone was here, now, only the more elusive still remained, and it stood to reason that they would test their father's patience as long as they could.

He turned and listened to the conversation happening beside him, but drew out a small, worked silver broach in the form of a phoenix. He concenrated on it and it began to glow from heat and his nimble fingers ran over it, shaping it and fixing the colours of fire to the simulacrum.

[whoiam]

Basiwiw's instincts mandated three replies to Samheid's affectionate greeting. The first a bark, half in surprise and half in warning. The second, shying away from the mad beast going for her throat. The third, emergency sniffing to try and recognise the attacker.

Basiwiw's experience of non-wolf cultures suggested that hugs were harmless and no-one would appreciate her barking into their ear.

She stopped the bark before she could give it voice, and she stopped the flinch before it could result in her headbutting her brother. But she didn't catch the sniffs in time.

Still, for those who remembered her before she went out into the mortal world, that was probably an expected part of the reunion.

The downside of this is that she could not sniff and speak simultaneously - and so the arrival of Ameliora and Antera signalled that she had missed her immediate chance to reply. Instead she waited until the next lull in the stream of greetings, composed herself, and began to speak.

To Samheid, she answered "I have been living with Mortals, Brother. Since our visits to the mortal world can be many generations apart from their perspective, few of them know what we really look like. So they do stylised representations of us. They aren't intended to be accurate to our appearance so much as accurate to what they consider us to embody. This body is how one of the groups I stayed with envisaged me - the "Mother of Wild Animals", I think they called me. They assured me they meant that I cared for the beasts, not that I was literally their mother.

Still, in that culture at least, this body is what people had come to expect of me. So I obliged them."

She left out the part about the change being entirely involuntary and her having no idea how to change back. That was something she could discuss with Alareft privately later.

"Is that perhaps why you want a statue of yourself, brother? So the mortals can remember your true form however infrequently you visit them? If so, I think you may need many more than just the one... Even the petty Kings seeking only to be remembered by their own descendants would plaster entire cities with their statues. It was almost amusing to watch them being pulled down again a generation later to make space for their children's vanity so lovingly rendered in stone..."

Antera was the second person to inquire after her, so once Basiwiw was done with Samheid she moved on to her sister.

"In truth, I still think it feels wrong walking on only two paws. I honestly don't know why so many of you went with the four-limb two-paw body type. I can see the advantage of having arms, it's just a question of why you would want to lose the speed and stability you get from quadrupedal motion."

Because it was better to criticise the body type than to admit you simply weren't very good at wearing it. After all, she had her pride to maintain...

[Bobb]

Covered in a hoodless grey cloak, Zarasa made his way into the audience chamber.

He was shocked at the countenance of Father. There would be little counsel today. Father had instructions on his mind, of this he was certain.

[ArlEammon]

The countenance changes from the look of dismal anxiety and worry to a countenance of warmness. Now that he sees everyone is there. He looked to Zarasa, to Basiwiw, to Samheid and the others and smiled, retaining more of his sanity. In the Hallowed Halls of Alareft, he smiled. "Eat. . ." He commanded warmly, as a father tells his children to dine. The chair in each sitting place resembled whatever the deity it was made for liked to sit in the most, with different decorations and carvings.

Shrimp, elk, deer, pork, vegetables and other delicacies and sumptious fair covered the grand dining table, which seemed to stretch on forever. Conspiciously, some of the chairs were empty, but enough of the children were here for his proclamation to begin. Alareft sat of course at the head of the table.

"Today, I bring both happy and dire news. It seems that my powers have severely waned outside the Garden of Arcadia. Preists are few and far inbetween, with their powers at their weakest than they have ever been. Devotion is barely present, and the people are overcome with hardship. In addition, it seemed that my powers over the Void hanging overhead have weakened as much, though still I am far stronger than necessary to maintain it's care-taking. It also seems that there are . . . further problems that require my attention.""However, it seems that what some of you have wanted for so long is now no longer capable of being postponed for long. I'm afraid that soon, you must all disembark from Arcadia to the outside world." He let that sink in for a moment. "You know, it's not as if you can return any time soon. Unfortunately, Arcadia has it's own secrets that are now coming apart at the seams. The problem, you all see, is that Arcadia is becoming like the Outside World. There may come a time quite soon that Arcadia becomes a savage land bereft of it's splendor."
Finally, he said the final, most disturbing piece of news. "And as far as I know, there is nothing I can do to stop it."

[Systole]

Vaya'zul sits but does not eat, instead remaining stiff and upright, while focusing intently on Alareft. She leans back slightly as he pronounces that she and her siblings must leave, and there is a sense of satisfaction -- possibly even barely restrained exuberance -- in her bearing. Her fists clench in anticipation, and she exhales in a way that sounds almost like a purr. To be out of this cage called Arcadia...

When Alareft says that his power is waning, she leans forward, giving the elder god the same attention she gave Ameliora's dragon-thopter.

Father is weakening. Yes.

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[Ull]

Hval ran into the speech half way through it, he smiled and laughed quietly. walking over to the side as discretely as possible he smiled at his father.today he was uncharacteristic attentive and respective to his father. however, he did keep glancing at Ameliora formulating a new prank right there and then. he would have given each brother and sister a hug ,and stolen there purse, had it not been that Alareft was in a middle of a speech. But instead he just glanced at each one and nodded, giving a big smile to Djinn

[Yellow Eyes]

Samheid nodded knowingly as his sister spoke of her transformation. I have no idea what she's talking about, he thought.

His attention shifted to Father as he spoke of food. He dashed to his own seat with a grin; it was a large throne of limestone, once a magnificent work of art but now eroded in places by the sands of time. Still visible are thousands of tiny etchings in a swirling script, carved all over the throne's surface, detailing ancient cultures and epic tales and still inlaid with white gold in the places least worn.

The godling jumped over the armrest and landed in a laid back position, on a crimson cushion with golden lining. He threw his legs over the armrest and laid across the throne and began to eat like a monster- pork by the pig and beef by the cow, mostly. He had only just realized that the last couple of weeks laying at the oasis had been without food.

He listened as he ate, making the appropriate facial expressions as he shoveled down the feast. He noticed Hval enter late, as usual, and returned his grin as best he could. It was not until Father mentioned that the lot of them would have to leave Arcadia that he slowed, bit by bit.

We've never been able to leave this place, he pondered. What does he expect us to do?

And then he realized that they were leaving. Leaving.

As beautiful as Arcadia was, Djinn Samheid, in the last two or three centuries, had come to think of it as a gilded cage. He had explored every nook and cranny of its landscapes and meddled in all sorts of plots and shenanigans, and had grown weary of its safety and predictability.

Father was telling them that they were to enter a massive world- unknown and filled with remarkable dangers.

His heart was suddenly beating very fast.

He rose from his seat in the blink of an eye and knocked over his drink, juice of a rich blend of fruits, and spoke.

"When do we leave?" He spoke a little more loudly than he had intended, and he could not mask the excitement in his voice. He looked around quickly in a vaguely apologetic manner, sat in an attentive position, and focused his gaze intently on Father.

[al'Lan Mandrag]

Allaren sat in his spindly wrought silver throne encrusted with rubies. He had never been close to his father, seeing him as unknowable and aloof. But this admission of weakness shocked Allaren deeply.

He sat in silence as the others moved about him and questioned his father. He himself had journeyed to the outer world before, and it had not been pleasant or adventurous and he still remembered some of the darker events that had transpired there...

but he was stronger now, not a victim. His divinity was near, he could feel it and he understood that each of them would have to restore the faith of humanity in the Gods.

[chrisrawr]

Ameliora nods as the rest of her kin speak, weighing their points and the words of her sire.

Her father's announcement holds true with her observations - The shapes lurking beyond and behind the starry sky grow more visible by the year, the fog along the coast grows thicker, even the deep ones of the oceans stir in their slumber.

Turning her thoughts to practical matters, she quips, "Father, you may have a weakening power in the outer realms, but what of us? I've had but one disciple, and he dead at that. Little protection there'll be outside ourselves, and I doubt we've the mind to stick together - useful as that would be. Are we to be enarmoured for this harrowing?"

The thought of being stranded alone in the mortal realm, amongst barbarians, so far from the comforts she'd toiled so diligently to amass... It frightened her on some deep, animal level.

[ArlEammon]

The Banquet
Alareft looked to Samheid and looked sad. "Well, you have at least one week. I would not risk staying any longer than this. Seven days. Seven." He said sadly. "For now, however, we can tell both good and ill of this. If all of you can earn your godhood, or perhaps more, outside Arcadia, then it may be possible to reverse the corruption of my Garden from the outside in." He thinks for a moment. "Do not be afraid. Fear is not the mark of a god." He blinks at that last comment, hoping not to offend any of his children. "For now, you all may, if you wish, begin to tell your other loved ones farewell, and take what you need with you. Beware, however, what you take with you. I have discovered that much of the material usable in Arcadia, is corrupted and ultimately useless outside the Garden."

[Yellow Eyes]

Djinn Samheid's eyes were wide with anticipation. He trembled very, very slightly.

One week, and the whole of Akasha would be open to him. Lands unexplored, people unknown, dangers unconquered... never before had Samheid considered anything under half a decade a lengthy period of time, but now he felt as if there were an age to wait.

He had failed to notice Father's fear and sadness in his excitement, but would have thought little of them even if he had. After all, Father was the Patriarch; he was Power, capital "P". He was the one being that Samheid had ever met that he considered above himself, and he loved him as his creator, mentor and king. Father would never fail.

Did this mean that he had forgiven him for the property damage? For letting his pride get the better of him?

And...

Wait, godhood?

True Apothesis?

"Father," he asked very quietly, "are you saying that we are finally going to have a chance at ascension?"

[whoiam]

"No, Samheid. Father is not saying that we have a chance to ascend that we never had before. He is saying that if we cannot manage it soon, it will be too late.

We could have left before. Made contact with the mortals before. I did, after all. And who here would honestly think me the smartest or the strongest in the family?

We've all lived in Arcadia for anywhere from handfuls of centuries to dozens of millennia. What divine power is there here? Little sparks in each of us, and the giant fountain in Father. If we stay here, the only path to ascension is through cannibalising one another. And if Father's power is already failing, that may not even be enough any more.

But in the mortal world...

If you step into Arcadia, what is it you encounter? A perfectly sculpted landscape. Every tree in its place, every shrub in its place, every animal enjoying its own little section of paradise. And when you come back two centuries later, you will find it exactly the same.

But in the mortal world there's something... else. The capacity to change is part of it. What is swamp one century could be rainforest the next and barren salt pan the century after that. The shape of the land changes as mountains force themselves from the earth, or as rivers of ice or lava scour entire plains clean.

But there's more. Behind the obvious changes, there's a... power. Call it magic if you like, or life, or freedom. Or all three. It's like a compulsion, hitting you at the base of your spine, saying 'Adapt. Change. Grow. There's still so much you haven't achieved yet.'

And I'm not the only one who heard it. Mortal life is driven by it. Everywhere, everywhen, it tries to force its way onwards. Relentless, ruthless, and supremely inventive. Plants and animals constantly adapting to their challenges: the seasons, the environment, each other...

Everything out in the mortal world strives to become more than it currently is, using this force of life to drive itself onwards. And I think... that our most realistic path to godhood is to go out into the real world and to tap into that energy ourselves. I barely scratched its surface, and yet I managed this, " Basiwiw waves at her humanoid body, "- which I could never have managed before I went there. And I wasn't actually trying to ascend. Just to explore. Imagine what we could accomplish if we really put our minds to the task...



I know, Father, that you knew this already. But I think my siblings did not yet know why you would send us to the mortal world to try and avert this catastrophe, instead of having us work on it here. I hope I've helped avert a few of the upcoming questions..."

...or tantrums. I think one or two may bristle at being asked to leave their toys behind...

[Yellow Eyes]

"Fascinating, Sister. Except I knew most of that- hence my excitement. After more than a thousand years with powers meant to be used, paradise can begin to feel like prison." He slumped back in his throne again, his hand at his chin.

"I'm glad, even envious, of the fact that you were able to leave. Some of us, however, were not." He cast a sad and somewhat bitter look at Father.

[al'Lan Mandrag]

Samheid's attitude was beginning to rankle, for Allaren knew the dangers of the outside and though Samheid did not, he still insisted on taking a superior tone. Well he was always the most like me... Allaren thought mockingly.

He rose and pinned the newly coloured phoenix pin to his cloak, pocketing the amethyst that had previously clasped it. "I am ready to leave father. I understand the import of this mission and am already prepared for the outside world." There, let Samheid be jealous, he desn't need to know how little glory there was.

[Rarkasha]

Antera ate quietly, playing with her cats cradle in her lap with her lowest pair of arms. Her face was blank, her eating almost mechanical.

"I think... it is past time, now. I feel terrible now, for staying here all this time, only watching." said Antera, looking down at her lap.

"I've seen a lot go on in the mortal world. Some of it grand, some of it pointless. As my sister says, the mortal world is one of change, while this one is static. I see people go by, their lives transient, quiet, almost meaningless. Their fire, their struggle to survive is much greater than mine." Antera says, placing her string down. An odd smile creeps across her face, a gleam in her eyes shining there that wasn't before.

"Well, I think it's past time. I'll be a part of that world too. In fact, I'll go there, not because I was told, not because I have to, but because that's where that's where my desire lies."

[Yellow Eyes]

Djinn Samheid narrowed his eyes at Allaren. For some reason that Samheid could not fathom, Brother considered his sojourn a punishment. He saw him as something of an equal, but this was one of the differences that kept Samheid from truly understanding him. What would he have given to have the same chance...

When Sister spoke, he smiled again, ever so slightly. She understood part of it, at least. His respect for her rose a bit.

[whoiam]

"I'd finish eating first, " Basiwiw suggested. and if you looked closely, you could see her failing to completely stifle the hints of a smile as she did so. "We won't get a meal like this again until after we've established ourselves. Perhaps not even then. Plus we've got an ocean to cross. Our world and their world intersect a long way away from dry land, and none of us are really aquatic..."

And with that comment, Basiwiw finally started in on the heaping piles'o'meat in front of her...

[Systole]

Vaya'zul slowly and deliberately pushes her chair backwards, with a dissonant scraping noise that reverberates around the eating hall. As the echoes die away, she draws herself upright, and looks to Alareft. There is a whisper of an indrawn breath before Vaya'zul speaks, her grating, breathy voice sounding as if it were emerging from the depths of a dark, forbidding cavern.

"I ... am ready ... now."

http://i1257.photobucket.com/albums/ii513/pnthffr/SPIKE_150.png

[chrisrawr]

Ameliora had been silent, calculating, while her siblings looked for purchase during the upheaval. While her kin ranted and rallied and composed, she sent dozens of orders along her lines of communication, her house packing itself up for expedition, her small mechanical aides preparing for stand-by, or arranging logistics. Outside and overhead, the large thopter that had been her transport wheeled off -- departing for destinations long and far from here, for items hidden or too dangerous to be moved uncautiously.

Exodus. It had been seen as a possibility, however unlikely. The necessity of it had forced her life's work, her creations and experiments, to be modular and transportable, designed from the ground up to break apart and come back together somewhere else. If, as her father had indicated, not everything would work outside these immortal realms, then she would find a solution, or a bunch of them, if she had to.

Everything would go. Everything would come back, and more.

"Room for two more," she says, arms outstretched to either side. The preparation for the coming departure was completed, and one final test had yet to be run..."Grab onto me, tightly. I haven't tested this yet!" When those who wish her company are ready and secured, they disappear in a deafening "POP!"

[Systole]

There is a short moment of consideration on Vaya'zul's part, and then Alareft's ever-armored daughter steps forward. Her cold, gauntleted hand slips into Ameliora's with surprising gentleness. She nods once.

"Yes."

http://i1257.photobucket.com/albums/ii513/pnthffr/SPIKE_150.png

[al'Lan Mandrag]

Ameliora's warning was enough to disabuse Allaren of his curiosity, and he let them vanish.
He glanced towards Alareft, hoping for some sign from their father.

[Yellow Eyes]

Djinn Samheid was torn. On the one hand, he was terrified of the "untested" winged device that looked like it could both explode and eat him, in that order. On the other hand, he couldn't let Vaya'zul be less terrified than him.

Besides, it's not like he had any possessions or loved ones to say goodbye to. Except for the clothes on his back, of course, and his siblings and Father.

"YES." Samheid jumped over the table and onto Ameliora's dragon-whatsit and held on with inhuman strength. "Two things- what are we doing, and what are the chances of this thing exploding and/or eating me?"

[ArlEammon]

Ameliora, I promise nothing will happen to you all as you leave the Garden. Alareft looked sad. They all wanted to leave immediately. His mood appeared dark once more, and he left the great halls for his chambers.

[chrisrawr]

With an equally deafening exclamation, Ameliora, Djinn, and Vaya'Zul appear near the center of a large, round antechamber - around them, a gray-metal curtain, arrayed in a circle, was inscribed with a dizzying number of small crystal trails, scintillating and revolving with the aid of tracks laid out under the floor. An observer would notice the pattern resolve itself into still, parallel lines, a subtle glow still slowly fading. The lines then flip-over, leaving the curtain a tiled monotone.

"I'd hoped we'd end up directly in the center, but we appear to have been translated ever so slightly. I'll admit I've never done this with quite such a mass..." Ameliora prattles on as she hustles out of the ante, into a large wooden foyer where a suite of steaming beverages and reports lay on tables and desks. She grabs a mug of one steaming liquid and throws it against the far wall, gesturing her kin to follow, and then grabs another cup and sips at it while the wall dissolves. Of course, she continues spouting babble at you about your recent near-death experience in-between sips, but you're used to this about her by now.

A smoking, slag-lined hole now open in the previously wooden wall, she steps through into a blue-lit, segmented metallic corridor. The light seems to be ambient, as if the air itself was charged with it. As if anticipating this, Ameliora mollifies your doubts, "Don't worry, it's mostly inert once you breathe it in!" Regardless, the reason for this trip is soon readily apparent - as she manipulates what appears to be a blacksmith's puzzle, a door opens to a room with no floor. Further manipulation of the puzzle brings a floor into focus, and then...

Weapons. Armour. Supplies. Horses. Ostriches? Scores of items and more, exotic and mundane, of every possible make and size and colour. As you observe, small wheeled beings, little more than carts with puppet-arms, each begin to gather and assemble an array of items. Ameliora is checking off items on dozens of lists at once, and at some point, finds the attention and time to invite you both to your pick.

"Careful with anything red or orange. Yellow is fine if you avoid sudden movements. Don't touch anything black. Blue and green are what you'd call "normal". Yes, 'Zul, I can have things painted black for you - but don't touch the things that are already black. Because they'll probably explode, that's why! Yes, that kind of explosion. Exactly like the battle of Menoch. Good."


As you're finalizing your choices, you hear a familiar sound...

...fwump, fwump, Fwump, Fwump, FWUMP, FWUMP, FWUMP!

[al'Lan Mandrag]

Allaren watched his father leave, and felt hollow in side: not sad no, he had lost his compassion for his father, since although he understood the rational behind Alareft's action, he still could not condone it.

He stood up: he knew this would be a long journey, but he glanced at the flaming phoenix pin in his hand: knew this would come in handy...

He strode to the window Ameliora had entered from and cast the pin through it, only to see the flames take life and spread out from it, the bird enlarging and taking on a form of life. The flaming bird circled twice, before returning to Allaren. As it neared the window again Allaren turned to his siblings and with a mock salute and capricious grin laughed: "Farewell, brothers, sisters. See you on the other side." He then daringly leapt through the window onto the phoenix's back crouched low for balance as it soared away.
The journey would be long, but despite his earlier dour thoughts he'd found himself gripped by the excitement of adventure...

[Systole]

A cold fury fills Vaya'zul as she sees her father's expression, and her grip on Ameliora's hand become painful. "You are ... surprised I wish ... to leave? You should ... not be, father. You--"

POP. Vaya'zul, Amerilora, and Djinn Samheid appear elsewhere. "--caged me." Vaya'zul growls softly, her response to Alareft cut short.

"There is ... nothing ... I want, sister. Except to ... be free of ... this place ..." she trails off, her attention suddenly taken by a black mechanical stallion with fiery eyes, crafted with spikes and curves that match her own armor. Ignoring Ameliora's suggestion that the black creations should not be touched, she walks up to it and lays a hand on the creature's nose. It whickers softly at her touch, a ragged sound of steel grinding on steel. She walks to its side and swings expertly up into the saddle. The beast rears back, its black metal hooves striking sparks from the floor. Vaya'zul makes a breathy, wheezing sound that you eventually realize is laughter. It is the first time you have ever heard it.

"Him. I will ... take him. Yes."

http://i1257.photobucket.com/albums/ii513/pnthffr/SPIKE_150.png

[al'Lan Mandrag]

Allaren's quest:
Allaren landed in ‘Aeoul’ full of eagerness and curiosity. His visit here before had been brief and dangerous, so he was determined to make this visit more successful. He was a god and his father had all but stated that they must Ascend or fail. Allaren was certain that he would achieve the former.

His flight had been long and laborious, and had taken him to the shores of the North-eastern continent. He called to his phoenix mount and it froze, shrinking back into the brooch from which it had formed and floating to his outstretched palm. He clasped it and stuck it to his half-cloak, before leisurely wandering towards the nearest signs of civilisation.

Even from the shore it was clear that three was a city ahead of him, it sprawled haphazardly almost to the coast, but no building rose above the two-storey homes to mark out a leader, nor was there a centre of architectural beauty. In fact Allaren was forced to stop in roughly the centre of the sprawl, by the sheer lack of anything to guide him.

Burying his pride he spoke to the commoners who surrounded him and followed in the wake of his beauty and rich clothes. He asked an old, greying matron, “What name does this place bear? And who are you that inhabit it? I have come across the seas to be a hero in these dark times, and would speak to those who lead you.” The woman named herself Marissa, but denied that her city had name or leaders. “This is a shanty town where we trade and live together for protection from the Rundals. Barbarian men who prey on our hard work.” Allaren felt a hint of pity for these folk who had neither identity nor hope, but thought this a task better suited to his warlike brethren, or maybe Hval of Samheid: surely they would revel in tricking those barbarian folk. He had hoped for a population of craftsmen and artisans, but these were the sorry folk he found.

He attempted to continue his journey, but found the old lady barring his way: “Hero you said, and hero you must be. My son is a smith and can make you a sword, but I will not let you swan off and leave us in this state: your words gave us hope, I will not let you take it away from us.” Allaren was astounded, his first foe should have been a monstrous drake, not a filthy hag.

The crowd pressed in on him, and he was awfully reminded of a similar group pressing him on every side, his power exhausted… He shut the memory away and raised his arms, turning on his heavenly charm. He grinned and waved at the crowd. “Of course I’ll aid you, and further more, I will raise a true city for you so you need never fear the depredations of raiders again.” Well, whilst he was promising something he couldn’t deliver on, why not go all the way, he mused wryly.

He followed Marissa to her home where her son, Domnick worked at the forge, his hard arms straining as he beat at a white hot blade. The Blade began to gain colour and shift into a reddish colouring and Domnick dramatically thrust it into a nearby bucket releasing a cloud of steam. His mother approached and informed him of her plan for Allaren, whilst he looked on. Domnick looked at Allaren, eyeing his slender physique, as though doubting he could be a hero. This elicited a grin from the god and he approached the forge. “Allow me to help. I have a fair talent at smithing as well.” The blacksmith seemed reluctant, but Allaren’s charm won him over, and he relented, passing the hammer to the god.

The hammer spun and whirled in his hands, and the crowd oohed and aahed appreciatively. Allaren drew the sword from the bucket and without even placing it near the flames it began to glow white hot. He struck it deftly, folding and refolding the metal, using both his physical strikes which rang through the streets and drew more onlookers to the square, and his magic which swirled around the blade, entrancing all of those gathered.

He worked for hours, and the crowd began to diminish, only Marissa and her son remaining for the whole time. He thought it would be perfect after only a few hours, but realised he hadn’t accounted for the different consistencies that this mortal iron possessed, and had to redo the whole thing (though a careful illusion and distracting play of lights ensured that none saw). He began to grow weary, but knew he would not leave his work till it was finished, and forced himself to endure this limited privation and funnelled the last of his strength into the blade before him.

The sun rose in the east and fell on the weary Allaren stepping back from the hand-and-a-half blade that rested on the anvil. It was an unearthly silver, glinting with a light of it’s own, and reflecting the newly risen sun’s rays oddly. Marissa welcomed him to her home and there he slumped, gracefully. At noon he rose once more, refreshed and pulled three bangles from his wrist: men did not respect jewellery, but everyone could respect the beauty of a sword. He threw them towards the weapon and each turned molten before encasing the previously Spartan hilt, and coalescing into a golden handle, inset with glittering sapphires.

He picked up the sword and it shone with a golden light. The crowd had begun to return and Allaren leapt up on the anvil to address them. “I name this sword Dawn Bringer, and it shall bring light to you in your darkness. Rise with me and we shall end your oppression.” He felt it was all a little melodramatic, but given the entrance’s of some of his siblings, he didn’t doubt they would be going for it with equal zeal.

The crowd cheered and Allaren crowd inwardly. He jumped from the anvil at the same time as he cast his phoenix broach forwards, and the crowds cheered appreciatively as their champion soared aloft on fiery mount, with golden sword held aloft. He circled, rising higher and higher, searching out this bandit encampment.

He spotted them on the steppes above, another sprawling crowd, but this time of tents and rough horses, and even rougher looking men. They were about fifteen miles from the town, and had obviously been using this encampment as a base of operations to raid the people of the lowlands. He flew towards them, clearly allowing his approach to be seen, and hoping that his grandeur and would be enough to stay and hasty bowmen.

He settled on an overlooking crag above the camp, and was quickly approached by a rough man, bedecked with rustic trophies. He slipped down, and the phoenix once more returned to it’s immobile state. He faced the chief, with his sword glittering obviously at his waist. “Greetings, I am Allaren, champion of the meek” (apparently…). The chief raised an eyebrow suspiciously, and barked out a question: “And are you trying to protect those peasants down there?”

Hmm, direct, how surprising, Allaren thought, way to avoid stereotypes and all that. Nonetheless he raised both hands and golden light bloomed form them. “Yes, I stand as their champion and saviour. There is no need for fighting though. I can be the patron of all.” Two birds, one stone… Certainly a beautiful solution.

The men glowered at him, and didn’t accept his offer quite as easily as he hoped. “We don’t need a patron, we need food.” The chief replied bluntly. So not really his kind of people Allaren decided, but nonetheless since killing all of them was unfeasible (and not really his style to be honest) winning them over or scaring them away seemed like the best plans. He strolled forwards, and this time used his divine charisma as a blunt weapon to reinforce his words, whilst simultaneously causing the clouds above to thunder and loom threateningly with his magic.

“I offer you one chance. Serve me as a patron of beauty, or fear me as a prince of destruction.” He raised his sword and it became wreathed in flame, flames that danced high and became a pillar of fire reaching up into the sky. The Rundal barbarians fled from him, but he knew his work was not done: he may have cowed them, but unless he came up with a permanent solution they would return to harry his people. He darted down after the men and found them swarming below the crag, surrounded by more riders and many troops on foot. They shouted angrily, until one among them, even grander than the previous chief rode forewards.

The Rundal’s face was contorted with fear and rage, and he spat his loathing at Allaren: “I’m an old man: strike me down. We will fight you to the death, sorcerer and our blades will prove stronger than your dark arts.” The hatred of the assembled men was near palpable, and Allaren knew he needed to do something to avert this crisis.

”I have shown you my power to destroy, but now I shall show you the benefits of my patronage: I am not one to rule through fear. Stand with me, and you’ll never go hungry again! I am no sorcerer, but a child of Alareft, and I come to you to make my kingdom in this world: would you become the people of Allaren, or will you continue to maraud these plains, even as others are raised to greatness. Hold your answer I will return in three days. Raise no weapon against the people of the lowlands and I will have you as my scions. I will bring you proof of my divinity, and proof that I am worthy of your devotion.”

Again the phoenix rose with Allaren on its back, the crowd left stupefied by his words and promises. Now he only had to make good on them. Something showy, that was for certain, and probably metallic: those tribesmen would value any metal highly since they can’t dig for it, and use if for arms and armour. This problem was more difficult, though, no easy solution presented itself. He idly cloaked himself and his mount so that he didn’t appear to be flying aimlessly. What would his siblings do? Well Vaya’zul would slaughter them all that’s for certain, and Ameliora would probably build some strange contraption, maybe a cage. The idea of a cage intrigued Allaren, especially one made of rare metals, that would be impressive, but not enough. What would Antera do? He wondered, his aloof, and though he wouldn’t ever say it, impressive sibling, she’d look for relationships surely, but there is no good relationship here between these two sides…

He circled above then suddenly sat bolt upright on his mount: the illusion he had used to shield him from view was not the only magical force he could sense. His various acts, especially the still burning pillar of fire, had been too strong till now, but even he concentrated hard he could pick out a tangled web of magic that spread around the steps, but led away. Perhaps there is a reason they fear magic afterall… Allaren mused. He urged his mount onwards, and they swept low over the land following the line north east even further. They reached the sea and still continued, sensing the residue of various enchantments layed along the way. The island he arrived at was beautiful, chill but not snowy, just crisp enough for every detail to pulse vibrantly.

The trail led to a small tower carved into the side of a hill, and Allaren approached, dropping to the ground a few hundred metres away and returning his mount to its metal form. He strolled towards the tower, visible again, and pushed the small oak door open. The place was dark, but neither a place of beauty or of squalor. He searched the rooms, but found no inhabitants until, returning to the bottom floor he found a sliding panel, that once removed, revealed a subterranean passage that glistened with silver ore. He stalked into the bowels of the earth, uneasy with the change from his natural habitat.

The passage widened and he came into a huge cavern where the scent of magic was strong. He saw spells working upon the walls and floor, seemingly harvesting the ore and funnelling it into piles at the far end of the cavern. He also spied a small door near the stockpile that was ajar. He crept near silently, and readied himself for a coforntation. As he came within a few paces of the door it sprang open and a shadow leapt out and engulfed him. He felt faint as the dark magic assailed him, but he placed a hand upon his sword and it blazed with light, banishing the shadow.

With light restored he saw a middle aged man standing within, slightly tubby and balding, but he wore marks and sigils that were foreign even to Allaren, who loved the beauty and logic of many languages. The man glowered, but before he could assail Allaren again, the god raised a palm and a golden barrier appeared around him to shield him from the fell arts of his foe. The tattooed man cocked his head, then asked: “How did you come here?” to which Allaren replied deftly: “I followed your trail. You’ve been spying on and controlling the Rundals haven’t you?”

The man barked out a laugh: “Of course, I came to them at first as a shaman, but they cast me out when they knew my true power. They were fine with Jelor their pet shaman, but Anarch the sorcerer was too strong. I could have broken them then and there, but they were more useful as a tool. There old chief Varn is little more than y mouthpiece, and they do exactly as I say. They think they are wolves, but they are little more than sheep.”

Allaren sighed: this man was showing the dark side of humanity that he had seen last time he’d been here. “But why make them attack the lowlanders? It is not to your benefit surely?”

He laughed this time heartily. “Oh, not to mine, but to my lords. Eggrafell, the master of shadows, who dances in the dark places and feeds off of chaos and carnage. He demands war and endless war I shall unleash. This mine here will provide weapons for armies across the globe, and fund wars on every front.”

Allaren’s horror deepened, not only on learning of this fell shadow creature, but also of the extent of this sorcerer’s plans. “Well then Anarch, I’m afraid I shall have to disappoint your dream.” He began to concentrate, and after a pause where nothing seemed to happen, the sorcerer waved his hands and unleashed a jet of dark fire. It battered against Allaren’s shield, but still he wove his magic, trusting to his shield to hold. It did so even against Anarch’s renewed attacks, until with a flourish the pile of silver next to them sprang up, glittering with a fell light, and fell into a silvery mesh which swept down and about Anarch, settling into a silver mesh sphere. He raised his arms and tried once more to unleash his dark powers, but nothing happened. Allaren grinned darkly: “Your powers will not work within that sphere, it is warded. You are done.” And even as he said it he felt the spells around him slowing and falling apart.

He left the sorcerer in his prison and returned to the tower to rest. Night had fallen and he slumbered. When he rose he explored the island, knowing that he still had two more days. It was large enough for his purposes, with a beautiful lake, as well as hills and forests. Returning to the mine, he recast the siphoning spells and once more the silver began to be drawn from the rock. He made sure to cast a gentle healing spell into the prison sphere so that Anarch could not escape by dying, and the began to channel the metal up through the earth and out into the light of day.

Once he was above the ground again he hurried to the thinnest stretch of sea between the two landmasses and drawing all of his power, shaped the silver into an ornate bridge. No stones adorned this structure, but it shone nonetheless with the light of magic, making it strong and sturdy despite it’s spindly design. Silver spars ran all across, swirling and circling the main bridge, giving it an impossible appearance. The work took all the day, and Allaren returned to the tower exhausted: his work was done and he would return to the mainland tomorrow.

The morning came and he rose in fiery flight with the prison sphere in tow and soared above the newly formed bridge. He returned to the steppes to find the people in turmoil, they surrounded the still burning pillar crying out, with their aged leader at the front. Allaren landed, and quickly gathered that once released from Anarch’s enchantment, Varn had revealed the truth of his actions and sent the whole camp into turmoil. Allaren’s return quieted the gathering, and once he revealed the prison sphere the men began to celebrate and call out thanks. Allaren tasked them to make ready to ride and to head north east.

Then he once more went aloft and returned to the lowlander shanty town. There he offered them a new life with security and safety, as well as beauty in their lives for once. Marissa thanked him, but Allaren took her up and flew with her on his mount. As the two peoples packed their things and began to journey across the continent, Allaren spoke to his new disciple of the task that lay ahead: forging two peoples into one, and ruling a land divided by war and hatred. Marissa proved quick, as he knew she would and he soon knew for certain that she would be the new leader of this society.

Once they reached the bridge and the two gatherings had finished marvelling, Allaren spoke to them of a new life, a new age, a new hope, and finally turned to Marissa: “This lady shall be your leader in the years to come, and she will lead you straight and true.” He then held out both hands where a golden glow bloomed: “I offer you the gift of youth, so that you might rule long and true.” Yet she shook her head and stepped back: the next words she spoke were quiet, and only heard by the god before her: “I am content with my age as I am,” she replied, “Maybe I’ll show you there is beauty in age one day.” Her smile held a motherly warmth and Allaren was impressed by her stoicism.

He led them across the bridge and they began to settle upon the new island. They were to be the Maendals, he said, and their city would be Maendar. A new pinnacle of beauty and enlightenment. With the newly drawn silver he reforged the sorcerer’s tower into a beautiful tower, and called it the Silver spire, though it soon became known as Sinner’s Spire, for at its peak, the prison sphere was placed for all to see, with the fallen sorcerer encased within, forcibly heal everyday by Allaren’s magic.

TL;DR
Allaren kicks ass, no just kidding.
He finds a shanty town beset by raiders, who are themselves under an enchantment. He tracks down evil enchanter and does battle, eventually imprisoning him and then wins trust of two civilisations and returns to sorcerer's island to commandeer as own. Also builds cool bridge.

OOC
Not sure if this is what you wanted ie: one long continuous novel like post, or if I've overstepped with what he's done. If it isn't right, just tell me, this is my first God Game, and I don't really know what I'm doing :smalltongue:

[Ull]

beginning of Hvals quest

Hval stared glumly at the room were people had been. As his father walked away he smiled at him, even though he wasn’t looking. Hval took his deck out shuffle it took two cards out one the ace of hearts the other a joker. He throw them at his father with expertise each one hitting him on the back of the head. When Alareft looked behind him Hval was gone.

The cold air bit at Hval's ears mercilessly.
What force, what desire had brought him here. Here to this place were he had been for so long, a place were he had been accepted as a expert at every ones trade. why did he have to come to this place and see this. The wreckage around him showed that a small army had come through there. The mangled bodies showed that no one had lived. He smiled at the bodies a smile that promised revenge. What ever came through here he could not defeat on his one, not even his genius could defeat something that could destroy a battalion of rogues and thieves. He needed help and he was going to find it.



so i am going to try a post by post thing for my character... if i should do a story thing like al'Lan Mandrag then i will.

[Rarkasha]

Antera holds out a hand, as if to reach for Alareft, but cannot seem to find the words to say. She looks down at her hands for a moment before balling them into fists. She then lets out a deep breath, then relaxes and turns back to her remaining siblings.

"I'm sure father will be fine. Once we've done what we can, we'll all return," she says, more to herself than anything,"In any case, Basiwiw, Zarasa, do you have any plans before leaving? I have some farewells to say, myself."

[Yellow Eyes]

Djinn Samheid dashed through the swinging blades, ran across walls hanging over the bottomless pits, deflected the exploding arrows, and cut down the magical guardians.

The only challenges that he had trouble with were those math puzzles. Honestly, who could think of something called "PI" as being anything other than "delicious"?

Once they reached Ameliora's gadget vault, Samheid couldn't keep his jaw from dropping a bit. He didn't really trust technology, especially not when Little Sister was concerned, but he was amazed by the sheer quantity of her inventions. He eyed some swords on the wall, some flying devices, even some boots that looked like they had some of those "rocket" things she had once showed him attatched. He nodded numbly as he listened to her explanations of color-coding.

He noticed Vaya'zul's choice, the warhorse construct, a fierce looking thing that suited her perfectly. His expression became something of a mix of envy and smugness- he doubted he could find anything that suited him so well here, but at least he didn't need to use a mount to move quickly.

And then she laughed. The only time Djinn Samheid had ever heard her make any noise other than raspy speech was when she had roared in defiance during their duel.

He shook his head and continued looking. Something simple and useful, that's what he needed. Something that had minimal odds of exploding in his face.

Eventually, he came to notice a small, strange device. An hourglass; he had seen several in his lifetime, but they were mundane items. What was special about this one? On closer inspection, he noticed that the glass itself was not connected to the brass bases on either end; it was floating freely within. At his touch, the glass flipped; the end filled with sand was now on top, and began to slowly trickle down into the lower chamber. He watched it- sand was a beautiful thing, after all. He was shocked when the last grain fell and he heard a loud chiming coming from the device. It was an alarm, designed to go off once a specified time had passed.

Samheid grinned. As incredible as he was, he still had flaws, and one of the most inconvenient was that he had trouble noticing the passage of time. Such a device would be invaluable.

"This," he said with a hand hovering over the hourglass, "I'll take this. I'm told that time can be fleeting... this will help me keep track of it."

[chrisrawr]

Ameliora glances away from the vortex of check-lists and data-sheets, briefly, as Vaya'zul is claimed by Noir. Her eyes meet Noir's, and Ameliora snorts; "It's your loss!" Noir leads Vaya to the stables. Where they go after, Ameliora has only second-hand accounts from the various sounds heard throughout House. They re-appear shortly before the entourage is ready to leave.

A chime cuts through her reverie; Ameliora looks around, startled completely out of her routine of ordered precision and collected cool. Striding at an almost brisk pace through the racks and rows of gadgets, she finally finds the ringing, and of course, Djinn. Rolling her eyes, she instructs, "At least press the button on the top, I use those to structure my day. You almost had me off to Second Matrix-Adjustment! And the Matricies' Arrays are all packed!" What a disaster that would have been! Who knows what could've been unrealized into the space outside of the antivoid?

As the others gear themselves, Ameliora pulls on a fancy glove, a skull-cap with many lenses, a belt with many pouches, and swaps her boots for comfortable flying shoes.
The glove is a swiss-army-knife, Ameliora style. The fingers are spark-plugs, batteries, lighters, laser pointers, screwdrivers, knives, scalpels, utensils, and blow-torches, markers (i.e. they're all-purpose tools) the palm holds a holo-map and a powerful flashlight. It does require a bit of extra sustenance from the user's end, as it's symbiotic and uses your energy; requires an extra 1/4 sleep on top of whatever's standard, and a similar increase in calorie intake for normal use.

The belt is simply a lot of pouches full of various screws, doodads, and whatsits. The boots are magnetized to the dragon-thopter. The skullcap is binoculars and magnifiers and sunglasses and certain filters for detecting magical auras.

The dragonthopter returns. It's badly wounded, and the centi-ladder is missing...

I have about 3 paths mapped out from here, fairly adaptable to Vaya's and Djinn's respones now. Should be able to get them up at rate of 4-5 posts a day over the weekend so that we can start on turn 1. I'm really, really sorry for the delay everyone!

[Yellow Eyes]

Djinn Samheid wandered from Ameliora's laboratory. He wandered for nearly the full week given to him by Father before he must depart. A excited as he was, this was home. Who knows how long it would be before he returned?

On the last day, he found himself at the site of his creation- a small sandscape near the heart of Arcadia. A strange thought entered his head.

Am I really prepared?

He stood there, feeling the dunes around him as they eroded and built with the wind.

No, he decided.

He drew his saber. It was long and sharp, light and sturdy, but it was not truly of divine make. To truly Ascend, he needed a weapon befitting a god.

He stabbed the sword into the sand and stepped back. He reached out with his will and touched the desert, and the desert answered. Sand and wind and fire came swirling around him, roaring with power and formind a cyclone. It arched into the air and fell upon the blade. The sand melded with the heated metal, and the wind shaped it's nicked and scratched form into something new.

After three hours, the sun had all but set, and the crafting was done. Samheid gripped the hilt and drew the blade from the sand and admired his handywork. Long and pale silver was the blade and gilded bronze was the guard. The hilt was long enough to accomodate two hands. Upon the blade was etched a script that resembled both gusts of sand and billowing flame. The etching was the name of the blade.

"Desert Sirocco," he said in a satisfied voice, "A fine name you've chosen. At last, my friend, you are truly alive."

He turned and left, dashing back across the land towards the nearest ship that would take him to shores unknown.


Artifact: Desert Sirocco

Divine Saber
This blade is strange in it's beauty. Something seems simple and worn about it, but at the same time exquisite and timeless. The bright silver blade is quite long and lightly curved, with etchings along the lower half resembling blowing winds of some sort. The guard is slender and inlaid with gold patterns of unrecognizable script, spiraling from blade to pommel. The hilt is long enough to grip with two hands, should you chose, and wrapped in worn red leather.

The sword is imbued with a number of powerful enchantments. It is immune to any harm that might be inflicted upon it by anything short of divine make, and is sharp enough to cut cleanly through almost anything not similarly crafted. The blade may be wreathed in searing flame hot enough to heat metal to the bending point with but a touch, and a slash through the air projects a blade of razor wind that may cut at great range. The wielder may call forth small but powerful sandstorms at will, so long as there is sand or dust or soil nearby.

The blade is alive in its own way and has a will of its own. Only those who truly follow the ideals of Djinn Samheid ibn-Alareft, the sword's creator, can call on the blade's full power. Those who do not find its abilities weakened to near impotency (the only exception being its invulnerability to harm).

[Rarkasha]

Antera's quest:

Full Version

Antera leaves the great halls, heading for the Silent Garden. A common place to find her, the muted, plain aesthetic to this garden in comparison to the more fantastic parks made it easier for her to stay away from crowds. It had an excellent vista of the Garden of Dancing Lights, too. Climbing the hill that overlooks the Garden of Dancing Lights, Antera smiles as she hears a familiar song.

“Gandharva, your singing is as excellent as ever,” Says Antera, making a short but polite bow to the messenger spirit. The half bird, half man bows politely in return as the lion spirit, Tefaris, walks up to her.

“So then,” says Tefaris, ”how was the meeting with your father?”

Antera explains the current situation and adds “It... could have gone better. But, I feel like a new person now. This along with the incident with Kandata’s Thread made me realize that if I just watch and do nothing, I am no different from the dead.”

Gandharva stops singing and smirks, “Ah, so our princess has decided to leave her castle, then?”

Antera looks at him for a moment, then smiles herself, putting a pair of hands on her hips while another flips her hair out of her face, “ Maybe this princess has grown tired of her castle instead.”

For a split second, Gandharva maintains his composure. But the playful bird-man cannot resist breaking into fits of laughter. As Antera glares at his shaking, hunched over form, he holds out a hand. “Wait, wait wait wait. Heh... I knew it’d be fun to follow you. You really are an interesting woman. Sometimes I wonder how you keep yourself together like that. Well, I guess gods really are different after all. In any case, let’s not waste any time, shall we? I’ve looked up a ritual you should be able to perform that will take you out of here.”

“I see... wait, you want me to leave right now?” says Antera, a look of fear and loneliness creeping over her face. Tefaris breaks his normally proud and formal demeanor and gently nudges her with his forehead.

“Both of us are proud of you. The only thing that binds you is yourself, and we’re glad you understand that. But before these farewells become any harder to bear, you must leave,” says Tefaris.

Antera nods, then turns to Gandharva. “Then... I guess I’m ready.”

Gandharva leads Antera to the edge of the hill, where it overlooks the Garden of Dancing Lights. The view at night is quite breathtaking, with the many colors of the glowing spirits below them spinning and mixing together, like shards of a rainbow melting together. Gandharva waits while Antera follows his instructions and calls upon the power of the ritual. Large butterflies with prismatically colored wings land all over her, covering her body.

“Okay,” says Antera, sounding a little nervous still,” What next?”

Unfortunately, Antera can’t see the wicked grin on Gandharva’s face. “Why, we pray for a safe trip!” he gleefully yells, pushing Antera off the cliff. Antera only has time to let out a short yelp as she falls, before the butterflies fly off her body, which suddenly breaks into many small wisp-like balls that fly off in a swarm. Tefaris watches in amazement but also shakes his head at Gandharva’s antics.

***

Antera struggles to get up, drained as she is. As she lies on the ground, she turns her head to get a better view of her surroundings. White flower petals litter the ground, contrasting heavily with the dark red soil. The sky is a pale orange, despite the sun high in the sky.

“This place... what kind of sky is this?” She mutters, as a dry hot wind blows, scattering the pure white feathers. As swirling white forms spin around her, Antera passes out again.

She awakens sometime later in a small tent, feeling more awake but very... dry. As if the hot air drained her. Sitting up she suddenly notices the imposing figure of a man seated across from her. Despite sitting down he seems almost as tall as she is standing up. His features are difficult to make out otherwise from his cloak and straw hat. She remains composed, staring down this figure in front of her while her mind works furiously. Suddenly, he speaks, an unusually smooth voice for someone with such rough clothing.

“If I may ask, flower lady, who are you?”

“I... I am Antera.”

“And... what are you?”

“A god... eventually...”

“Hrmm... well then, miss Antera, would you join us? This is an auspicious meeting, after all,” he says, waving his hand towards the opening of the tent. People with dark hair dressed in all white pass by occasionally. They are not nearly as tall as the man across from her. A few slow down to look at her, but usually they are chastised by a nearby camp member dressed in white.

“Perhaps... what do you mean ‘auspicious’?” Antera said, rubbing her forehead with one of her hands.

“The Baeguiminjok believe that all meetings are special, in that the chance of two people meeting in the world is so small to begin with. In this case, meeting with a spirit is considered a blessing.” said the man, raising his hat to get a better look at her. Antera regarded him with a calculating look.

“And you?”

“Ah ha, you have me,” he said, raising his hands in mock defeat,” No, I’m just a traveller along for the ride. If you have to call me something, call me Tokumei. As you can see, I’m not one of the Baeguiminjok.”

“Very well... where are the Baeguiminjok headed to?”

“If I said ‘anywhere that isn’t here’ would you get mad? Ahh, well, it is the truth though. The Baeguiminjok have lost their land and most of their people. They flee through this broken valley, looking for a home,” Tokumei said, looking out the flap of the tent. The people in the camp didn’t look like they were fleeing anything. Children still played, men and women sat and chatted in a circle nearby, while couples could be seen here and there holding hands.

“I also have something I must do,” said Antera, finally standing up.

“I imagine a god to be would be busy. This might be rude of me, but I’ll ask anyways: will you leave these people, then?”

Antera looked out at the camp. The sky was an ominous red and brown color. Dark and foreboding, the pure white clothing of the Baeguiminjok stood out. They clothes, Tokumei explained, represented a desire for purity. Even the most poorly dressed were in gray rags, falling apart yet clearly kept as clean as possible. Tokumei explained that Baeguiminjok meant “The White-Clad People,” and that while he used to see many of them wear other clothing before, he believed that the Baeguiminjok wore these clothes on their trip as a symbol of pride.

As they travelled, Antera quickly came to enjoy their company. The Bauguiminjok were very emotional people, relatively peaceful yet full of pride. To them, every place, every moment had another meaning. They were pious for humans with no specific god, fiercely defending their way of life, yet also constantly letting themselves be carried away on flights of emotion. They had their weaknesses, like any human, but they worked as a whole to improve themselves and each other.

As for the Baeguiminjok’s thoughts, they adored Antera. They saw her mercurial personality to be the whimsy of a god. They saw her human form and delicate features the humility of a divine being. They saw her moments of silence and awkwardness and saw a mind constantly at work. Perhaps they saw what they wanted to see. Nevertheless, they were enchanted with Antera’s easygoing personality and perpetual curiosity in their way of life. At times she gave advice like a sage, others she danced wildly (and poorly) in their meagre but lively parties. During the occasional raid by monsters or bandits, she would join the fight immediately. Her six arms and surprising strength made short work of most small time enemies, but during difficult situations she would transform into something fearsome. After each fight the Baeguiminjok would thank her profusely, then gently chide her that as a fledgling divine being, the Baeguiminjok should be protecting her, not the other way around. Each time she bowed politely but only said “But I can no longer bear to watch.”

***

Some time later, Tokumei and Antera are standing on the top of a hill, looking over the area. Having reached the end of the valley, the land around them was still sick. The ground red, and the plants dead or dying. Tokumei spoke of legends of a mighty serpent-behemoth with two hundred heads, dying in a fierce battle with another divine being. The serpent’s blood stained the ground, the venom of his body cursing the land forever. That was one story, at least.

“You’re sure we’re near?” Tokumei said, looking nervous behind his woven hat. Antera had grown to trust him closely, for a mortal. His concern for the Baeguiminjok was well hidden, but no other explanation fit for his presence here. When she brought it up, Tokumei laughed and said, “Among my people, I would be forever immortalized for having such a soft heart.” Having seen seen the demonic strength this man brought to a fight made that statement almost chilling.

“I’m sure,” repeated Antera, holding her string in front of her. At the end, a withered flower twirled, blown in one direction by a non-existent wind,” the divination isn’t perfect like this, but even in death, this flower is linked to life. It points strongly to the south.”

“Then, this is it. We’ll let the leaders know to signal all the other camps tonight,” said Tokumei, lumbering away down the hill back to their camp. Antera watched him leave as night began to fall. The fires of many camps behind them stretched on to the horizon. The sight of bobbing torches from a nearby dance filled Antera with a sharp emotion for a single moment.

“Not as graceful as the Garden of Dancing Lights, isn’t it, Gandharva? But somehow, it means so much more to me. Thank you, my friend. I hope to see you and Tefaris again.”

***

Fighting their way past the throngs of crazed slaves, Tokumei and Antera break through to center of the field. The sight of the long, healthy green grass in the clearing did not lift Antera’s spirits. Seeing the carvings into the ground, her mind pieced together a few possible rituals that might use them, none of them good. She was brought back into the moment by the sound of Tokumei, along with four other Baeguiminjok who followed them, yelling as they fought the human cultists arrayed around a huge creature. The spirit, a demon of some type, closed his ritual book and grinned down at Antera as his cultists fought beneath him. Despite the efforts of Tokumei and the rest, they could not pierce his scaly hide. As if shooing a flea, he merely kicks out, killing a man and sending Tokumei flying with a shower of blood.

“What’s this? ” said the demon with a bored expression, “something more powerful than an insect?”

“Don’t look down on insects! And more to the point, stop this right now!” Antera yells, all six fists clenched in anger.

“Oh? And why should I? You are not one of them.”

“Wrong! They are mine, and I am theirs. Our meeting my have been by chance, but even if I leave here, that one moment will have changed me forever from what I could have been.”

The spirit grins, and stomps both feet, dropping his formerly calm posture. Rows of teeth line his mouth, and curved claws are attached to every limb. His voice booms throughout the battlefield, “Then tell me, what are you now!?”

Antera grits her teeth, her form growing taller as if to match the demon in size. Her skin turns to a dark blue, fangs appear from her mouth, and her nails turn black. Her face turns fearsome as it twists into an expression of pure rage. She leaps to the surprised spirit, landing a few blows with her many fists before landing a well placed shot into its chest. As the demon lies on the ground, and the massive form of Antera prepares to stomp him, she yells in return, “I am a god!”

TL;DR summary and explanations:
Thanks to Antera's friends, she lands in a completely random location in the mortal lands. The teleporting ritual exhausts her, and she passes out.

Antera is picked up by an ogre blooded human called Tokumei (anonymous). Tokumei convinces Antera to travel with the Baeguiminjok (White-Clad People). Antera goes with them, and they become attached with her easily as she becomes more sociable and easygoing. Her sorcery and shapeshifting abilities make the trip a little bit easier, although she doesn't have full access their strongest forms yet.

Antera helps divine out the location of an untainted area, and goes there with the Baeguiminjok and Tokumei. They fight a demon who has enslaved/converted humans to his cause. The demon wounds Antera and asks her what she is, same as Tokumei did earlier. She changes her answer from "A god... eventually," to stomping a spirit's face in while yelling "I AM A GOD!."

something something something pierce the heavens...

[ArlEammon]

Antera's quest:

Full Version

Antera leaves the great halls, heading for the Silent Garden. A common place to find her, the muted, plain aesthetic to this garden in comparison to the more fantastic parks made it easier for her to stay away from crowds. It had an excellent vista of the Garden of Dancing Lights, too. Climbing the hill that overlooks the Garden of Dancing Lights, Antera smiles as she hears a familiar song.

“Gandharva, your singing is as excellent as ever,” Says Antera, making a short but polite bow to the messenger spirit. The half bird, half man bows politely in return as the lion spirit, Tefaris, walks up to her.

“So then,” says Tefaris, ”how was the meeting with your father?”

Antera explains the current situation and adds “It... could have gone better. But, I feel like a new person now. This along with the incident with Kandata’s Thread made me realize that if I just watch and do nothing, I am no different from the dead.”

Gandharva stops singing and smirks, “Ah, so our princess has decided to leave her castle, then?”

Antera looks at him for a moment, then smiles herself, putting a pair of hands on her hips while another flips her hair out of her face, “ Maybe this princess has grown tired of her castle instead.”

For a split second, Gandharva maintains his composure. But the playful bird-man cannot resist breaking into fits of laughter. As Antera glares at his shaking, hunched over form, he holds out a hand. “Wait, wait wait wait. Heh... I knew it’d be fun to follow you. You really are an interesting woman. Sometimes I wonder how you keep yourself together like that. Well, I guess gods really are different after all. In any case, let’s not waste any time, shall we? I’ve looked up a ritual you should be able to perform that will take you out of here.”

“I see... wait, you want me to leave right now?” says Antera, a look of fear and loneliness creeping over her face. Tefaris breaks his normally proud and formal demeanor and gently nudges her with his forehead.

“Both of us are proud of you. The only thing that binds you is yourself, and we’re glad you understand that. But before these farewells become any harder to bear, you must leave,” says Tefaris.

Antera nods, then turns to Gandharva. “Then... I guess I’m ready.”

Gandharva leads Antera to the edge of the hill, where it overlooks the Garden of Dancing Lights. The view at night is quite breathtaking, with the many colors of the glowing spirits below them spinning and mixing together, like shards of a rainbow melting together. Gandharva waits while Antera follows his instructions and calls upon the power of the ritual. Large butterflies with prismatically colored wings land all over her, covering her body.

“Okay,” says Antera, sounding a little nervous still,” What next?”

Unfortunately, Antera can’t see the wicked grin on Gandharva’s face. “Why, we pray for a safe trip!” he gleefully yells, pushing Antera off the cliff. Antera only has time to let out a short yelp as she falls, before the butterflies fly off her body, which suddenly breaks into many small wisp-like balls that fly off in a swarm. Tefaris watches in amazement but also shakes his head at Gandharva’s antics.

***

Antera struggles to get up, drained as she is. As she lies on the ground, she turns her head to get a better view of her surroundings. White flower petals litter the ground, contrasting heavily with the dark red soil. The sky is a pale orange, despite the sun high in the sky.

“This place... what kind of sky is this?” She mutters, as a dry hot wind blows, scattering the pure white feathers. As swirling white forms spin around her, Antera passes out again.

She awakens sometime later in a small tent, feeling more awake but very... dry. As if the hot air drained her. Sitting up she suddenly notices the imposing figure of a man seated across from her. Despite sitting down he seems almost as tall as she is standing up. His features are difficult to make out otherwise from his cloak and straw hat. She remains composed, staring down this figure in front of her while her mind works furiously. Suddenly, he speaks, an unusually smooth voice for someone with such rough clothing.

“If I may ask, flower lady, who are you?”

“I... I am Antera.”

“And... what are you?”

“A god... eventually...”

“Hrmm... well then, miss Antera, would you join us? This is an auspicious meeting, after all,” he says, waving his hand towards the opening of the tent. People with dark hair dressed in all white pass by occasionally. They are not nearly as tall as the man across from her. A few slow down to look at her, but usually they are chastised by a nearby camp member dressed in white.

“Perhaps... what do you mean ‘auspicious’?” Antera said, rubbing her forehead with one of her hands.

“The Baeguiminjok believe that all meetings are special, in that the chance of two people meeting in the world is so small to begin with. In this case, meeting with a spirit is considered a blessing.” said the man, raising his hat to get a better look at her. Antera regarded him with a calculating look.

“And you?”

“Ah ha, you have me,” he said, raising his hands in mock defeat,” No, I’m just a traveller along for the ride. If you have to call me something, call me Tokumei. As you can see, I’m not one of the Baeguiminjok.”

“Very well... where are the Baeguiminjok headed to?”

“If I said ‘anywhere that isn’t here’ would you get mad? Ahh, well, it is the truth though. The Baeguiminjok have lost their land and most of their people. They flee through this broken valley, looking for a home,” Tokumei said, looking out the flap of the tent. The people in the camp didn’t look like they were fleeing anything. Children still played, men and women sat and chatted in a circle nearby, while couples could be seen here and there holding hands.

“I also have something I must do,” said Antera, finally standing up.

“I imagine a god to be would be busy. This might be rude of me, but I’ll ask anyways: will you leave these people, then?”

Antera looked out at the camp. The sky was an ominous red and brown color. Dark and foreboding, the pure white clothing of the Baeguiminjok stood out. They clothes, Tokumei explained, represented a desire for purity. Even the most poorly dressed were in gray rags, falling apart yet clearly kept as clean as possible. Tokumei explained that Baeguiminjok meant “The White-Clad People,” and that while he used to see many of them wear other clothing before, he believed that the Baeguiminjok wore these clothes on their trip as a symbol of pride.

As they travelled, Antera quickly came to enjoy their company. The Bauguiminjok were very emotional people, relatively peaceful yet full of pride. To them, every place, every moment had another meaning. They were pious for humans with no specific god, fiercely defending their way of life, yet also constantly letting themselves be carried away on flights of emotion. They had their weaknesses, like any human, but they worked as a whole to improve themselves and each other.

As for the Baeguiminjok’s thoughts, they adored Antera. They saw her mercurial personality to be the whimsy of a god. They saw her human form and delicate features the humility of a divine being. They saw her moments of silence and awkwardness and saw a mind constantly at work. Perhaps they saw what they wanted to see. Nevertheless, they were enchanted with Antera’s easygoing personality and perpetual curiosity in their way of life. At times she gave advice like a sage, others she danced wildly (and poorly) in their meagre but lively parties. During the occasional raid by monsters or bandits, she would join the fight immediately. Her six arms and surprising strength made short work of most small time enemies, but during difficult situations she would transform into something fearsome. After each fight the Baeguiminjok would thank her profusely, then gently chide her that as a fledgling divine being, the Baeguiminjok should be protecting her, not the other way around. Each time she bowed politely but only said “But I can no longer bear to watch.”

***

Some time later, Tokumei and Antera are standing on the top of a hill, looking over the area. Having reached the end of the valley, the land around them was still sick. The ground red, and the plants dead or dying. Tokumei spoke of legends of a mighty serpent-behemoth with two hundred heads, dying in a fierce battle with another divine being. The serpent’s blood stained the ground, the venom of his body cursing the land forever. That was one story, at least.

“You’re sure we’re near?” Tokumei said, looking nervous behind his woven hat. Antera had grown to trust him closely, for a mortal. His concern for the Baeguiminjok was well hidden, but no other explanation fit for his presence here. When she brought it up, Tokumei laughed and said, “Among my people, I would be forever immortalized for having such a soft heart.” Having seen seen the demonic strength this man brought to a fight made that statement almost chilling.

“I’m sure,” repeated Antera, holding her string in front of her. At the end, a withered flower twirled, blown in one direction by a non-existent wind,” the divination isn’t perfect like this, but even in death, this flower is linked to life. It points strongly to the south.”

“Then, this is it. We’ll let the leaders know to signal all the other camps tonight,” said Tokumei, lumbering away down the hill back to their camp. Antera watched him leave as night began to fall. The fires of many camps behind them stretched on to the horizon. The sight of bobbing torches from a nearby dance filled Antera with a sharp emotion for a single moment.

“Not as graceful as the Garden of Dancing Lights, isn’t it, Gandharva? But somehow, it means so much more to me. Thank you, my friend. I hope to see you and Tefaris again.”

***

Fighting their way past the throngs of crazed slaves, Tokumei and Antera break through to center of the field. The sight of the long, healthy green grass in the clearing did not lift Antera’s spirits. Seeing the carvings into the ground, her mind pieced together a few possible rituals that might use them, none of them good. She was brought back into the moment by the sound of Tokumei, along with four other Baeguiminjok who followed them, yelling as they fought the human cultists arrayed around a huge creature. The spirit, a demon of some type, closed his ritual book and grinned down at Antera as his cultists fought beneath him. Despite the efforts of Tokumei and the rest, they could not pierce his scaly hide. As if shooing a flea, he merely kicks out, killing a man and sending Tokumei flying with a shower of blood.

“What’s this? ” said the demon with a bored expression, “something more powerful than an insect?”

“Don’t look down on insects! And more to the point, stop this right now!” Antera yells, all six fists clenched in anger.

“Oh? And why should I? You are not one of them.”

“Wrong! They are mine, and I am theirs. Our meeting my have been by chance, but even if I leave here, that one moment will have changed me forever from what I could have been.”

The spirit grins, and stomps both feet, dropping his formerly calm posture. Rows of teeth line his mouth, and curved claws are attached to every limb. His voice booms throughout the battlefield, “Then tell me, what are you now!?”

Antera grits her teeth, her form growing taller as if to match the demon in size. Her skin turns to a dark blue, fangs appear from her mouth, and her nails turn black. Her face turns fearsome as it twists into an expression of pure rage. She leaps to the surprised spirit, landing a few blows with her many fists before landing a well placed shot into its chest. As the demon lies on the ground, and the massive form of Antera prepares to stomp him, she yells in return, “I am a god!”

TL;DR summary and explanations:
Thanks to Antera's friends, she lands in a completely random location in the mortal lands. The teleporting ritual exhausts her, and she passes out.

Antera is picked up by an ogre blooded human called Tokumei (anonymous). Tokumei convinces Antera to travel with the Baeguiminjok (White-Clad People). Antera goes with them, and they become attached with her easily as she becomes more sociable and easygoing. Her sorcery and shapeshifting abilities make the trip a little bit easier, although she doesn't have full access their strongest forms yet.

Antera helps divine out the location of an untainted area, and goes there with the Baeguiminjok and Tokumei. They fight a demon who has enslaved/converted humans to his cause. The demon wounds Antera and asks her what she is, same as Tokumei did earlier. She changes her answer from "A god... eventually," to stomping a spirit's face in while yelling "I AM A GOD!."

something something something pierce the heavens...

((There's been enough time for everyone to have completed their Quests))
OOC:
I will review everyone's quest and then award their Portfolios and Domains accordingly.

[Yellow Eyes]

Long ass version here.

Djinn Samheid landed on the shores of a desert. Of course.

But this was not like the deserts of Arcadia. Those were brilliant in the sunlight, like dunes of golden dust, softer than the clouds above. The sand here was rough and dull yellow. It was fantastic.

Samheid wandered; Before long, he came across a large tribe of nomads, eking out a living among the sands. They approached him with blades drawn, for they were distrustful of strangers.

"Well," he said to them as the warriors approached, unaware of his identity and his skills, "This is certainly a change of pace."

Samheid spent several weeks among the nomads, first as patient prisoner and then guest. He showed them his power in contests of skill, and the nomads, proud as they were, knelt before him in awe. The godling was made aware of the tribes past; a mere century ago they were the Lai Vannad, a warror clan of a great kingdom that spanned the entirety of the desert. The blue wyrm Ked'lazzik came and usurped the throne and ate the king and his heirs. The dragon demanded loyalty from all cities under his rule, but the Lai Vannad fought back. They could not slay the oppressor, nor could they be entirely destoyed themselves. They left in exile, broken and shamed, and the dragon claimed dominion over both the people in the kingdom and the desert sands themselves.

"That's stupid," said Samheid, "you're stupid. Go take the kingdom back." The tribe was confused. "You don't like wandering, do you? I do, but it's not for everyone. If you want your former glory and if you love your kingdom, go back."

"But what if we die for it?"

"Aren't you supposed to be proud warriors? Act like it."

It did not take long for Djinn Samheid to rouse the once great clan to action. His words and power lit the fires of challenge in their hearts, and within the span of two months they were returning home to free their land. Samheid, intrigued by these desert folk, decided to lend them his aid.

They gathered their splintered clan and came upon the capital as 5,000 men and women armed for war. In Ked'lazzik's reign, it had become a bastion of tyranny and fear. The once beautiful palace had become a fortress of iron and steel, a shield from the encroachment of rival wyrms. The streets were barren; few citizens dared walk them, for they were now infested with callous mercenaries by day and terrible monsters by night.

The newly revived Lai Vannad wept for the city of their fathers.

"Why do you cry?" Samheid was puzzled.

"Our beautiful city, the city of our fathers, is ruined. Even if we take it back, how can we heal it?"

"I dunno. That's your job, not mine."

"Then why do you help us, if not to guide us?"

"I've got a couple of reasons. First, I like your people. You're determined and you have the hearts of warriors. Second, I hate it when people push others around just because they have a punch of swordsmen or because they have claws and can breath fire. But most of all..." Samheid drew his shining blade.

"No one truly rules the desert. No one but the desert itself."

Daybreak the next day, the Lai Vannad and Djinn Samheid fell upon the walls of the capital. The godling single handedly cut through the great portcullis and stepped back. "From here on in, this is your fight. You need to earn your clan's honor back."

The Lai Vannad clashed with the mercenaries of Ked'lazzik. The battle awakened many of the nocturnal monsters that the wyrm let into the city, and it became strained against the nomads. Samheid watched from the rooftops nearby, humming to himself. Dear me, he thought to himself, this doesn't look too good.

As he sat there, some of the blue dragon's minions approached him from across the rooftops. They were warriors, bugbears and men, and the charged at him in frothing fury.

"I wouldn't suggest that." They came regardless. They died quietly, throats slashed in the blink of an eye. Desert Sirocco shone crimson. It was then that the dragon Ked'lazzik appeared.

He roared with terrifying ferocity. Nomad warrior and mercenary alike were cowed by the sound. Samheid stood as the giant dragon left his fortress and flapped his wings. "Perhaps I could offer them a little help... even the odds a little..." He grinned. "Yesss..."

Ked'lazzik soared into the sky with a great woosh, and Samheid dashed across the rooftops. The dragon game roaring once more and prepared to unleash a breath of flame upon minions and foes alike, but was rudely interrupted as a razor sharp blast of wind sliced across his snout. Hot blood welled from it and flew back into the creature's eye.

"GRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!! WHO DARES!!!" The dragon's voice was like mountains crumbling. He turned his fiery gaze to the godling, unaware of his nature, and roared in challenge. "Come then, lizard," said Samheid in a clarion voice, "Show me the might that conquered a kingdom!" The dragon breathed flame at him, but he was too quick; he dodged about the dragons attacks and breath and began landing blows. He jumped higher than any human could and landing increadible blows...

But something was wrong. Samheid noticed that he was not fighting at his peak. He landed several blow on the dragon, both by blade and by wind, but none were devastating. He also noticed that his reflexes were less that optimal; his clothes were even singed by one gout of flame. Am I weakened outside of Arcadia? The godling began to grow a bit concerned for the first time in a long time. So long as the dragon was flying, Samheid could not defeat it ourtight.

As he searched around for an advantage, his eyes lit in mirth. "That could work." He dashed towards the dragon's fortress. "Your fire stinks, dragon! The smell hurts more than the heat ever could!"

Ked'lazzik howled in a primal fury and flew after the pathetic worm as he ran for the safety of the palace. Perhaps other dragons could not break it, but he was Ked'lazzik, the mightiest being in the desert. He would tear it down if he had to, and have his slaves rebuild it.

Samheid dashed through the raised gate ahead of the dragon's flight. When Ked'lazzik arrived, the godling was hidden within.

"YOU ARE BUT A MOUSE TO ME, LITTLE MORSEL. AN IRRITATING MOUSE, TO BE SURE, BUT A RODENT NONE THE LESS. NO MERE HUMAN COULD KILL ME OR HIDE FROM ME..."

As the dragon entered, gloating over the little thing's cowardice, Samheid stood behind the chains that kept the gate open and giggled to himself. Once the tip of the dragon's tail had passed through, he flashed his blade through the chain, and SNICKER SNACK, the gate fell. Truly, this palace had been fortified so well that it had become unbreakable... both from without and within. The dragon was trapped.

He howled and thrashed a bit; though the hall was roomy, Ked'lazzik could not fly or spread his wings, nor could he move about very well. Samheid approached and held his blade out in a duelist's stance.

"I am no mere human, lizard. I am Djinn Samheid ibn-Alareft, son of the Divine Patriarch, and you have made the worst mistake of your young life. A pity." Desert Sirocco flashed again, and the battle began anew.

Now that the dragon could not move about properly, Samheid made nothing but lethal moves. He dodged every claw and breath, every sweep of the tail, and dashed up walls and the dragon's own limbs to score long cuts that bit deep, even through the dragon's hard scales. It was not long before the wyrm fell to the ground, pantin from pain and blood loss. Samheid alighted himself on the dying monster's snout and stared into his eyes. "No one truly rules the desert... one can only live with it."

With that, Desert Sirocco lit with brilliant flame and the godling drove it into Ked'lazzik the Terrible's forehead.

And that was when it happened. Apothesis.

It was not nearly as dramatic as Samheid expected. It was a sudden awareness of the world around him, far greater than what he had ever experienced, and the knowledge that it was his to control. He felt his power swell and his will temper. The wind around him blew hard, and the sun shone through the gate upon him.

He had entered the fortress a godling, and emerged a deity.

The dying cries of the wyrm had bolstered the Lai Vannad and granted them victory. Those monsters and mercenaries who survived fled into the dunes.

The restored warriors approached Djinn Samheid as he walked into the open and they knelt before him; though his appearence had not changed, there was an aura of power about him that demanded respect.

"I am Djinn Samheid ibn-Alareft," he said in a voice all could hear. "I have Ascended to divinity. I am the Wanderer in the Sands, Upon Whom the Sun Shines. Understand my laws: Thou shalt not murder. Thou shalt not enslave. Thou shalt not torment. You shalt not stagnate. Experience life to it's fullest, explore, strive to conquer yourself and your trials. Do these things in your name and mine, and you shall be blessed."

With that, there was a gust of wind and a swirling cloud of sand, and he was gone.

Short ass version here.

Samheid lands on a desert beach and wanders for a bit, meeting a tribe of nomads. These nomads were once a powerful warrior clan who were defeated and had their kingdom conquered by a dragon named Ked'lazzik. Samheid talks them into taking their kingdom back, even if they die for it.

They gather the splintered parts of the clan and approach the capital city, where teh dragon's influence has garnered the attentions of mercenaries and monsters in his service. Eventually the battle breaks out; Samheid helps a bit, but leaves most of the fighting to the nomads, believing that they have to struggle against their foe. Once the blue dragon reveals himself, Samheid decides to kill it, saying "Maybe if I help just a bit more..."

He fights the dragon, but realizes that he is weaker outside of Arcadia, and he can't solo the fight properly while Ked'lazzik flies about. He notices the palace, once beautiful and now fortified against the attacks of rival dragons, all but impenetrable. He realizes that if that fortress is as strong as it looks, perhaps it could keep something in as well as out. He lures the dragon in and traps him, keeping his mobility down and eventually finishing him. Once he lands the killing blow, he becomes a god. The nomads, eventual victors of the battle, and the people of the city kneel before him and he gives them his tenants before vanishing.