LoC: Answered Prayers. [IC]

[mystic1110]

The town lies at the dust-stranded edge of some often ignored or forgotten country. There are of course some who would be offended that the name doesn’t immediately jump to the tip of the tongue or to the point of a pen, but it doesn’t. Regardless it doesn’t matter. In the mornings its skies are radiant with clouds like the plumage of a bird ever-rising, and in the evenings the stars scatter light across skies stitched and unstitched by the comings and goings of fireflies. Its walls are made of stone the color of un-dyed silk, and its streets bloom with electric lights, small solemn symphonies, and the occasional friendly verbal duel. It is a quiet place – a place where a stranger is not only a rarity, but unheard of. However, this night there were two such strangers – and the air was pensive.

The bar of the town was called something trite and cliché, the outside vaguely reminiscent of a church; inside it was warm and welcoming, but the uncomfortable feeling that this used to be a church remained. It was if someone replaced the pews with stools and replaced the stained glass windows with regular boring clear panes. The wooden seats had well etched grooves, for each chair remembered the usual patron who has sat upon it for years upon years, the bar like the town was a creature of habit; yet now they were empty. Instead the bar was only populated by three people; the bartender and the two strangers. The barkeep nervously stood still, unsure of how to comport himself, he nervously cleaned the brandy glass he was holding. The two strangers sat right next to each other, looking so stereotypically western that it was hard not to look for hidden cameras. They were silent.

Finally, after a stretch of only a couple minutes the pensive air was broken with a drink order, “Vodka, neat, for both of us.” The speaker was the man on the bartenders left, old; the lines on his face were engraved as if into stone. He wore tortoise colored horn rimmed glasses, which oddly complemented his grey eyebrows and grey whiskers. His eyes were green, like shamrocks or the shallow sea. A moment passes; the bartender pours the drinks and slides them to the customers. The man on the right, slightly younger, picked up the offered drink and without hesitation threw its contents down his throat without even so much as a toast. The older man followed suit after a quiet minute.

The old man sighed, and shifted in his seat, and then looked at the younger man, “She’s come? You’ve seen her?”

The younger man, placed the empty glass on the table, and looked into the old man’s green eyes. There was something off about him, his edges were too sharp, his hair was too black, his eyes . . . were also green, but they were green like the forest, dark and fey, too green. They were heavy wild eyes. He looked grim, but then he smiled, almost as if he was apologizing; “Your prayers have been answered.” Then the silence returned, and once again the town at dust-stranded edge of that country was forgotten, the moss that grew in its corners spread out just a little bit more.

[Mynxae]

New York

A woman known only as Elizabeth stood atop the lookout on the top of the Empire State Building. She looked out upon the city and a series of words came to her lips with a sudden thought.

"This city of mortals, with hopes and with dreams,
They shan't stand long against me,
I'll much enjoy their terrified screams,
So this world will know of my entry"

She whispered this under her breath, letting it seep into the unconscious minds of all the people in the city. As she saw it beginning to take effect, she frowned slightly as she scribbled the poem down on her clipboard. "I think I'll have to save that one for later" she thought.

Start AP: 15.

Curse AP1: Elizabeth cursed all of the humans in New York to have to have her poem haunt them consistently in the back of their mind until they find Elizabeth and pledge servitude to her.

End AP: 14.

[Fremen]

It was a small monastery, by most accounts, but it had a rich history that stretched back almost to the reign of Charlemagne himself, and it still stood strong - a testament to the care taken by its inhabitants over the centuries. The monks who dwelt there and called it home rose this morning as they did every other, anointing themselves as per the holy prescriptions, and dressing modestly for their morning prayers. They prayed, and sang, and ate together, before going about their daily business.

Some tended to the few animals kept at the monastery, whilst others mended cloth, or saw to the cleaning of the stone rooms. A few were tasked to keep vigil over the holy books, to ensure that any damage they suffered from moisture or carelessness was addressed, and that the tomes were transported and stored in such a way to minimize any possible damage to them. This could often be a difficult task, given that many of the monks would wish to handle the books without warning, for one reason or another, and the caretakers had no right to deny them.

On this day one monk of no particular standing approached the book keepers with just such an intent, his manner humble and his request made appropriately. The librarians saw no reason to refuse the young monk, and so provided him with one of their holy works. The monk retreated to one of the tables in the monastery's common room, and sought to address his question of faith.

It was not long before he returned, concern and worry on his face, unsure of how to bring his problem before the librarians, but knowing he must. To the book keepers' credit, they did not panic, but quickly set the tome in question aside, to be seen to, and brought forth another for the acolyte. Just to be certain, they opened it before they handed it over. This time, they did cry out in panic.

Quickly the monks turned to their collection of holy books, each an artifact written by the hands of monks who had (some long ago) dwelt in this very monastery. Each book was the same, which was as it should be, for each was a double of the others, meticulously hand copied from one to another. Yet what was written was not as it should be. The words were in the hands' of their proper creators, the pages wrinkled where they had always been, but what had been written was something that no monk there had seen before.

The blessed father of the monastery was sought out quickly, and the elderly man was shown the evidence. Murmurs began to spread through the order, and the question began to surface: was it miracle, or was it corruption?

The blessed father had one of the more durable copies bound in paper and string, and sent two of his younger acolytes down to the nearby town. They were given instructions and some small money - the package was to be mailed to Rome, and with it, a hastily written note from the father explaining what little he knew. To evaluate and understand such a thing was beyond his scope, and so he appealed to the highest source he could.


*****

The book arrived in Rome, taken to the Holy City and accepted by a well-dressed servant of the Church. Unlike the monks of the monastery, his attire was not humble, but rather a fine suit that lended him a look of credibility and professionalism that worked far better in this modern age than the traditional robes of old. He quickly brought the package through the various layers of security, into the sanctum of the highest leaders of their venerable order.

In a large, oval room sat no less than two dozen men, ranking members of the clergy (by their ostentatious but traditional attire), while at the head of the table was the Patrician of the Church, his face betraying the worry that vexed him as the others argued. The man in the suit entered with appropriate deference to those present, and brought the package to the patrician's side. It was quickly opened, and the note within read, before the book itself was cracked open.

Another book was brought forth, this one being of obviously ancient and sacred value, for it was bound in golden cloth, and was clearly centuries old. The two books were opened next to one another, and the words within compared. The men argued, while the Patrician simply looked on. At length he waved close one of his aides who hurried to his side. "Where did this one come from," he asked softly, his elderly hand waving towards the book that had been sent to them.

"From Great Britain, Holy One," answered the man, reading the return address which lay on the floor amidst the discarded wrapping.

"Great Britain..." muttered the Patrician, absently waving the man away. He looked at the massive table around which the Church's most senior leaders were arrayed and, more importantly, at the letters which were spread across it. Each told the same worried tale: the holy books were not as they were only the night before. There were hundreds of them, from Brazil, Cuba, Egypt, China, Germany, Mexico, Peru, Kenya, Morocco, Spain, Japan, and almost every other country the world over. If this was true, then there not a book in the Church's hold that had remained unchanged.

Eventually he turned his attentions to the others assembled before him, "Well?"

The other quieted down, each looking somewhat lost in the chaos that had been brought before them. One spoke, "They are the same, Holy Father, word for word. Even in the Tome of Saint Robert!" There was a hint of panic in his voice.

The Patrician gestured to the letters that stretched out before him, "Everywhere?"

The others nodded. Another spoke, "I have tried to call all the churches in my diocese - all are the same. They ask... what are we to do?"

Yet another, "Is this some miracle, or has the Great Enemy come?" He received many barbed looks, but none spoke against him.

The Patrician sat for a while, just thinking. Never before had the Church faced such a crisis of faith.

While he thought, another aide burst into the room, with little deference to the assembled gathering, he brought a letter to the Patrician directly. It was a simple paper, written in Latin, as was tradition, but its script was hurried. The Patrician recognized the handwriting, it belonged to one of his more prominent servants. It contained a phone number, a time, and a brief recount of a telephone conversation. He read it carefully, and then looked up, his eyes meeting the silent gaze of the others.

"It is from Mecca," he said. "We are not alone."

Stunned silence answered him. One ventured, hesitantly, "Are... are they the... same?"

The Patrician re-read the letter. "We do not yet know. The local mosques have been asked to bring here a copy of their sacred writings, to be compared to our own. They remain in Arabic, but they have offered to provide a translator."

"And," asked the first speaker, "if they are the same?"

The Patrician was careful in his response, "Then we must look to the other faiths, to see what has happened to them."

The speaker pressed on, "And if they are the same?"

"Is they are the same," said the venerable Patrician. "Then this is indeed a miracle."

The room erupted into discussion.

Starting AP: 15

Bless (1): The holy books of all religions have been altered to bear the same message (although in their original languages) - the word of Cabal.

Remaining AP: 14

[mystic1110]

The city air had the bite of winter but the sun disagreed. Bright and yellow it shone in the sky like it was painted onto a pale blue sky. The pallid pastel purple colored clouds that framed the portrait that hung over the city only lent credibility to the notion that this was all a fantasy. It was supposedly night, but then again this was St. Petersburg – and the beauty of its white nights was part of literature and myth itself. A woman in a pitch black minx fur coat jacket walked along the granite embankments and stone bridges that lined the Neva River. Her skin was white as snow, or perhaps it was the contrast provided by the midnight dark clothes she wore – her lipstick redder than blood, her eyes – forest green, wild and fey, full of inhuman mirth and cruelties. She smoked a decidedly non-Russian cigarette, a Lucky Strike, the smoke drifting along the bright winter night in a lazy meandering tail.

It was strange times the world was living in, the newspapers proudly displayed headlines from the Vatican and Moscow, the seat of the Russian Orthodox Church – words like Miracle and End of Times were written in gigantic bold letters. Other stories, talked about the sudden increase in violence and interest in poetry in New York, some even said that the riots by Rockefeller Center had to do with proper use of iambic pentameter. The wandering woman had sat on a bench near the river reading a purchased magazine when a man sat down beside her, even though every other bench was empty. She took a break from her woolgathering and looked up at him.

He wore fine suit; Tom Ford to be exact, plaid grey with a black tie, dotted with white polka dots, tied in a full Windsor. Silk white pocket square and dark aviator glasses – name brand of course. He was clearly not Russian, at least not full Russian; he was at least half Indian. He motioned with his leather glove covered hands making the universal plea for a cigarette. The woman, nonplused, handed him a Lucky Strike. He gingerly placed it against his lips and took a deep drag on it – and then exhaled. The smoke looked like thick vines of ivy, extending out of his mouth. The woman frowned and spoke “You read the papers?”

The man said nothing, and then stubbornly flicked away the half-finished smoke, when it hit the ground a couple of sparks angrily fluttered about and then died in the cold. He sighed and placed one of his leather glove covered hands to his temple and then snatched away his black sunglasses revealing his eyes – mysterious, a riddle wrapped in a pupil, green like the deep forest. He finally replied “I have.”

The woman simply nodded, and then asked “And the court?”

The man snapped “Will do nothing.”

The woman hesitated, almost as if waiting for an apology, but when none was forthcoming, she simple slouched back onto the bench. The man put his sunglasses back on and stood up, he walked to where the fallen cigarette laid on the pavement and picked it up. He slowly walked over to the trash and deposited the butt. And then he left, without a word. The woman watched him go and pulled the fur coat on a little tighter, the night had gotten colder. And then, she too, after some time got up and walked away.

Underneath the bench the moss was growing.


15 AP.

1 Alter Existing Race: Humans --> The Fair Folk. First fairy tale that the Cage astride the Beast brought to life are the Fair Folk. I will be exploring them as time goes on. There are very few of them, there only distinguishing features are their wild dark green eyes other than that, some Fey exist all over the world as any Race, of any race and age. To become a Fey a human would have to have seen Fraulim, each Fey had met her, was given their true fae name and and was transformed into one of the Fair Folk. Fey don't age, they are immortal in that regard, but they can be killed, but only by their folk lore weaknesses - Iron (It burns them, but being immortal if they are really angry it's merely an inconvenience), knowledge of their true name (Frualim given name) gives you power over them, can't come into a Home without being invited, they cannot lie, any contract they sign they cannot break. Unlike some myths they aren't distracted with human music nor are they creatively sterile. They are basically still human - unlike fairies from myths they don't have blue and orange morality. Additionally The Fair Folk are MUCH stronger and faster than humans - a rough comparison would an Agent from the Matrix (although not that ridiculous, more like Morpheus from the first movie)

AP left: 14

[Mynxae]

New York

As gangs of poets battled with their words and later their makeshift weaponry, an evil grin appeared on Elizabeth's face as she watched from the Empire State Building. She scribbled something down on her clipboard, erased a few words and put new ones in their place. "Eureka! My new masterpiece!" she yelled in triumph.

"The women shall all despair without their fine wares,
The men shall lack their abundant muscle,
The children shall have frightening nightmares,
As I cackle and eat some caramel".

She recited, the words flowing out of her mouth as they glowed with power and flew off to do her bidding. She smiled as a caramel sundae appeared in her hand as a spoon appeared in the other. She tucked into it quite splendidly. "Gosh I love caramel so much!" she thought happily.

Start AP: 14.

Curse AP1: New York is cursed that all the women's clothing will have turned to hideous shades of orange and fluorescent pinks, the men shall all turn into scrawny stick-like figures and the children shall suffer from nightmares the likes that the world has never seen.

End AP: 13.

[Draken]

The ISS On-board Diary of Alexei Nikov

January 16th, 2013.
I have seen a ghostly visage through the Cupola this morning, it was hazy but looked like a man, maybe this is a sign that it is time to return."

January 17, 2013.
I have seen it again, not quite as indistinct anymore, I could make out the outline of shoulderpads and a robe, as well as long, stripped sleeves. Jacqueline thinks the stress is catching up with me.

January 18, 2013.
She saw it too. Those weren't sleeves, they were chains. And it wasn't a robe, but a number of tail of bandages. This is almost like an american horror movie, one of the stupid ones, full of plot holes and dumb protagonists.

January 19, 2013.
Not chains, not bandages. Luckly not a horror movie either, I guess. It is just standing out there, its shoulders are some big hardback books, its body is made of scrolls and pieces of paper, with something written in then, I can't read it, he is a bit far and they move around, the arms are some black things floating in long lines, there are plenty of them, following with the theme, I guess they are words.

Tanaka said that the thing's head is made of prayer strips, he thinks it is a god and he is preparing a ritual to talk to it. This is stupid.

It isn't stupid.

Alexei nervously looks out the window, and surely enough, the figure has turned towards him, the mess of talismans mimics the shape of a head but it doesn't bother with a face.

He watches it stretch a black tendril towards the glass, and sure enough those are words but he doesn't know the languages, they stretch through and across the walls, until they reach a computer, and then all computers in the station turn on, a black background with green letters on it.

"There are others like me down there, being pointlessly mysterious and secretive. I dislike the notion."

The astronauts gather at the Cupola, watching the figure nervously, waiting for the words to continue.

"This is an outrage. One of them just did away with the variety of countless religious texts. Another... Urgh, this is so awful."

Nervosism turns to confusion, pretty much.

"I should not ramble in this medium. No matter. Contact your nations on the planet. I will make this simple and direct, and you will not question nor doubt."

"I am Mereon. I am a god, with the powers you might expect from such a title. I am not the only one."

Tanaka was right, it seens. One of the astronauts shouts at the screen.

"Why here? Why us?"

"..."
"There is no reason in specific. I appeared in this area, nothing more. Perhaps some of your prayers were answered by me, and my presence is but serendipity."

"Now do as you were told."

The impromptu heralds of the Living Codex contact the planetary bases, telling them to focus all telescopes on the station and see the unbelievable.

And then, after the message is sent, a footnote appears.

"It is perfectly believable.
It is merely unexpected."

The high echelons of numerous governments go into overdrive at the notice, what is this creature that calls itself god, and how dangerous is it? And are there truly more like it?

They must be prepared. A meeting of the UN must be called urgently for Mereon, Whose Writings Usher Truth to speak to the world.

Wait, what was that last one? Who sent that memo out?

"I did."

"If it has not been made clear yet, I am in control of all mechanisms of communication, encryption is meaningless, all language is my domain. It is part of my purview."

Hmm... Well...

OOC:

Mereon is going to take part in my narrative, not once in this post did he speak, because he is in space, and speaking would have been pointless, he is always sending everything through messages, and his messages might also end up being part of the narrator's lines.

Because I'm crazy like that.

[Hank McBadass]

Berkeley, California

It was late – probably too late to get anything done in all honesty – but Ramos was close. All there was to do was to use the ole guess and check. It was appropriate for what he was looking for. “Dave,” Ramos said to his assistant, a Ph.D. candidate that who had the misfortune of being assigned to help his research rather than teach undergrads, “will you get us some coffee? It’s going to be a late night.”

Dave walked out. Ramos played with some more variables on the computer and let out a chuckle. He knew Dave didn’t want to be here – the kid had a brand new girl he’d rather be spending his nights with; no one could blame him for that. Ramos on the other hand was happy to be away from home. He dreaded having to listen to his nagging wife and ungrateful children bitch about this and that and how all he ever did was work. Hell, they ought to be happy he worked so much because otherwise he’d be out of there. Ramos was relatively sure some young blond could help him spend his money just as well. But whatever, he wasn’t that worried about it.

Another non-starter. Ramos tweaked a few more variables. It was possible he was on a wild goose chase – most of his colleges thought so. A theory of everything? Stupid, overreaching, too extreme – yeah, he knew that but there was something calling him toward it. Already he had gotten closer than anyone thought possible without any real, clear vision. He was just kind of winging it.

Ramos looked again at the equation. WAIT! This might be it. Ramos put it in place with the rest of his model and studied it. It looked right. It all came together! He sat taking it in.

Slowly, the realization of the magnitude of his discovery dawned on him. Ramos body shook his head started spinning at the implications. “My God” he thought. It was impossible, but the math checked out. His head spun faster; his vision blurred. The spinning became a pounding, harder and harder and harder. Ramos retched from anxiety. This was not the world that he knew. Ramos felt himself waiver on the edge of consciousness. His model was correct though, it was so obvious now!

Then it happened: The birth of a god! From nothingness, the smallest of subatomic particles sprang into existence from an idea. It doubled, and doubled again, ten trillion times, rearranging itself. From within Ramos’s frontal lobe she sprang, expanding outward in an explosion of blood and gray matter.

Among the gore stood glory incarnate. “Yay, at last!” The goddess let out a laugh and inspected the set up. “I must say, I’m surprised this worked.” Her eyes fell on the model. “Oh, my! How beautiful! Hmmmm. But I guess we don’t want to announce ourselves juuust yet though.” She started to erase the professor’s work when to door opened.

Dave stood in the door mouth agape and dropped the coffee he was carrying. The front of Ramos’ head was gone and bits of bone, brain, and vomit were scattered across the desk. Standing in front of the monitor was a woman, completely naked. Perfect. She was beautiful, more beautiful than Dave thought was possible. He was in a trance, forgetting completely about Ramos.

The goddess turned. “Oh! Hi, hon. I was hoping to be gone before you got here.” Her red locks bounced as she turned back to the computer. Her voice was even more beautiful than her looks, if such a thing were possible. “What … who are you?” he asked.

“This must look strange, haha. Does this explain it?” She turned the monitor to him.

“What? Never mind that. What the hell happened here? Jesus Christ.”

“Haha, Jesus Christ – hardly. You poor silly thing. Fine, let me show you.” She walked over to Dave, glided is more like it, put a hand on his chest and the other behind his head. Smiling, she peered into his eyes. Dave saw it: chaos, the unknown, the unknowable. Her hazel eyes, flecked with amber, were the color of insanity. Time stood still as his mind came to comprehend exactly what she was.

Dave felt himself being calmed. It was true, he was in the presence of a goddess that sprang out of his dissertation adviser's head as the result of their research, he should be freaking out, but he wasn’t. He looked at Ramos’s body again.

“Well, I’ll be off then.” The goddess said. “Thanks for helping to establish me!” she said beaming, still holding Dave’s head.

“Wait, can’t you save him? Please.” Dave pleaded.

“I could, but I won’t of course. Stop being so silly” the goddess said, amused.

“He birthed you! He brought you into the world. He doesn’t deserve to die like this. ”

The goddess’s face became serious. After several seconds that felt like hours to Dave, she squinted her eyes and responded in a low, raspy voice. “Deserve’s got nothing to do with it.” Her face cracked. “Now, I can’t leave you here – the police will never believe you and I don’t want my first prophet to be some raving lunatic convict. I know!” She stood on her toes and softly touched her lips to his. Dave felt his grip on consciousness slipped and along with it all the memory of the event. When the police arrived, Dave was still lying face down in the pooled blood of Professor Ramos.



I just wanted to incorporate this in some way: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dpDkYZWeeVg

[Elemental]

A man of European descent walked down a street in Sana'a, his eyes shielded from the brightness of the Arabian sun by sunglasses and a wide-brimmed hat. Despite the heat, he wore a black cloak, silver embroidery glinting in the brightness.
The air was tense. Some unsavoury character had erased millennia of history and philosophy to replace the holy books of the world with his or her manifesto. The man had glanced at an altered copy of the Quran and he didn't particularly care for what it had been replaced with. Violence could erupt at any moment and he didn't particularly desire to be surrounded by it.

Two steps later and he was in another, more modern city on the other side of the world, hat and sunglasses exchanged for coat and scarf. Perhaps New York was not the best place to go to avoid violence. Apparently the violence was the result of some poorly spoken poetry... The man tried not to judge, but these rhymes had resulted in some hideous fashion choices on the part of the populace.
Still, he had to be here. This was the site of the greatest library not directly under the thumb of a world power. On this day, it was deserted and he had the whole building to himself. But the question remained... Should he salvage its collection or simply duplicate it? Salvaging it would be quicker and more satisfying, but by duplication, there was always the chance that someone would regain their sanity and be able to use the knowledge within.
Duplication it would have to be...

[The Succubus]

The Wanderer

The wind hissed softly across the open desert, its touch upon the sand as light as a lover's caress.

His return to the world was not heralded by mighty storms or acts of destruction and chaos, for this is not the way of the desert. Deserts creep. Little by little and year upon year they eat at their surroundings, turning fertile soil into barren rock and grains.

As the man walked, he sent his mind wandering across the vast realms of man. Much had changed from the primative wooden huts and cloth tents of his past. Glass and steel skyscrapers clawed up towards the stars, a testament to man's insatiable lust for power and a momument to his arrogance.

The nature of the beast had not changed and he smiled to himself. Greed, cruelty, recklessness - these were tools he could use and they were in abundance. He cast his gaze westwards towards a great city that stood on the borders of his domain. A corrupt and gluttonous city, where greed was not only encouraged but actively worshipped. It would serve as a fine beginning.

He was under no illusion that the realms of men would walk willingly into their eternal twilight; they would fight tooth and nail to keep their ill-gotten world. He reached into his pockets and drew out his revolvers. The early light of dawn shone on the barrels, the metal curiously untouched by the ravages of time. They had a lot of work ahead of them and with chanted whispers, he channelled his will into them. The wood of the hilts changed to bleached bone and grew, spreading across the cylinders and hammers, snaking into the empty chambers of the bullets. When he had finished, he gazed upon his creations and levelled them at a nearby cactus. He squeezed the triggers and the plant exploded into pieces, a deafening roar echoing throughout the valley. Thunder and lightning they bore and Thunder and Lightning their names.

Sliding each of them back into their holsters, Sand set off down a long and empty highway towards Las Vegas. And the desert followed behind him.

Create Relic - Thunder and Lightning (4 AP)

The twin revolvers worn by Sand at all times. Originally of human make, they were found on the body of some long dead drifter many years ago by Sand. The guns are recognisable as revolvers, although the handle of each weapon is encased in a bone-like substance. The guns do not require bullets and when the trigger is pulled, each gun shoots a high intensity explosive force, many times more powerful than a bullet. Sand is proficient with their use and can draw and fire them in the blinking of an eye.

[Phobia]

Zurich, Switzerland

"This woman doesn't have a pulse, we're losing her!" An orderly yelled in German, drawing the attention of several doctors. Minutes earlier an older gentlemen had brought this mysterious young woman claiming he found her unconscious out in the snow. She had been cold to the touch and even though she seemed to warm up quickly her pulse hadn't returned. Two doctors labored over the corpse as quickly as they could speaking back and forth rapidly in both French and German, but it seemed to be no use.

With a sigh the doctor on the left declared a time of death. Tuesday. Twelve thirty two. Another one lost.

"There are strange happenings around the world.. there are more important things. Perhaps we should just go home and try to make sense of this?" The other doctor asked, clapping his colleage on the shoulder.

"It's just.. always a struggle to lose a patient. Even a Jane Doe."

Blip. Blip. Blip.

The monitor beeped once, than again, and continued on more rapidly. The woman opened her eyes suddenly staring at an unfamiliar ceiling with and spoke aloud her first thought.

"Discovery."

"W-what.. what a miracle!" One of the doctors uttered in German while taking a shaky step back.

"I don't believe in miracles." The young woman said in a language all could understand as she popped up from the bed exuberantly. She quickly and carefully removed the wires that had been attached to her and got to her feet, grabbing a nearby doctor's jacket and putting it on as the doctors could only stare on in stunned silence.

"So, where am I?"

-

It was hours later and the woman whom the people around the table now knew as Penelope P. Pepperwhistle was giving a demonstration on how belief must have somehow finally actually manifested itself in the world against all current scientific knowledge. It was once theorized that enough mental energy focused on a light bulb could cause it to come on. Now, it seemed, that theory had been verified.

"And if we find that sheer belief can cause this kind of reaction in the world than who knows what could happen! I'm reminded of the buddhist Tulpa, the image of a monk meditating alone and the varied images that escape from his subconscious. Decidedly non-scientific to be sure, but could that be where these beings, like me, are from? It may require further study."

It hadn't taken Penelope long to convince these scientists she knew what she was talking about. Her recovery from death had been enough to summon some of the local ones who didn't immediately dismiss it. But in Switzerland it was easy to find those with a logical thinking mind. The university she was brought to tried to teach her a thing or two, but now she was the teacher at a class in ETH Zurich. It was funny how these things worked out.

"Fascinating." Penelope continued, jotting down an equation on the white board. "I theorize that these 'god-like beings' are a natural phenomenon that may have occurred before, but perhaps do not last long. Lets have a more in depth study of Greek texts searching for more veritas than myth. Perhaps my existence is simply the universe trying to better understand this curious happenstance. Can anyone solve this equation?"

-

It caused quite a stir in the scientific community to have a literal god in thier midst and more Swiss scientists came to her see, causing a bit of an impromptu science conference. It wasn't very big with only local scientists, but the major science event was only days away and this one was also being televised. It would be broadcast on every science channel before undoubtedly spreading to the internet. The science and press joined together as one to hear what Penelope would say to the world.

"I know you're scared." She started, adjusting her glasses hastily. "New things are often scary. When we're unsure how something works it can appear magical, mysterious and even deadly. Much like cavemen feared thunder and formed the ideas that would become religion, I'm sure you have developed your own reasonings. But, rest assured, there is a scientific explanation for these odd happenings and I, Penelope P. Pepperwhistle, am determined to find it!"

The woman took a large sip of water still on camera and adjusted her notes.

"Science will never lie to you- support us as we search for truth. I encourage all of you scientists out there to attend Switzerland's Annual Science Conference in three days time if you are able. We do do as we've always done and give logic to insanity. If it actually happened, it's natural, and thus must have an explanation even if it seems outlandish at first. Galileo was imprisoned for the outlandish belief that the sun, not the Earth, is at the center of the solar system. What can we come up with?"

"In order to prove myself to my detractors that don't think I have the goods I am presenting my first masterwork at the event. An impossible machine that defies logic and will revolutionize the world! Be there as I prove my divinity scientifically."

"And.." She took a big gulp, now addressing something else entirely. "To those beings that are.. like me.. I ask that you also join me in three days time to discuss our plans for the future. I realize that you may have certain instincts that compel you to follow them. I certainly do. I ask, no, plead with you that you suppress them for now and come to me to discuss what plans the future may hold for all of us, and those not like us. Come simply meet with me for the peace and goodwill of all at the First Council for the Advancement of Sentient Life."

"Thank you, and face forward to discovery!"

AP: 15

Concept 1 AP: Practical Theology. Her first act was to start exploring where she and these other beings came from, establishing an entire field of study about it that will hopefully continue to grow and learn more about these so-called gods.

Form Pantheon 3 AP: The First Council for the Advancement of Sentient Life.
Peneolpe cares deeply for all sentient life, and invites each god that actually shows up to meet with her a free interview and possible place in it. :smallwink:

AP: 11

[Fremen]

The room was filled by the gentle hum of dozens of voices whispering to one another, some eager, some anxious, and all unsure. They wore a myriad of clothing, as was dictated by the tenants of their faith, everything from long silk robes to contemporary suits. Most spoke in English, for it was one language that all of the representatives present spoke (to one degree or another). They sat in a wide room around three long tables, and upon each was spread numerous tomes, scripts, and scrolls they had brought with them.

Eventually one amongst them rose, politely excusing himself from the discussion at his table, and took his place behind a podium arranged at the front of the room. He said nothing, but the room quieted down quickly as the holy men and women took notice of him. When all the room was silent, the man - the Patrician of the Holy City in Rome - cleared his throat and spoke.

"Thank you for coming. I realize that for many of you," he gestured to some of the more elderly amongst the crowd, "the journey was a difficult one, but you all recognize the great importance of what has happened. Only days ago we could all agree on one thing: the need for faith in the heart of man. Today, this has changed by God's own hand."

The murmurs rose again, and the Patrician waited for them to subside before continuing. "We, as men of cloth, have already begun to study the new Word of God," he took a deep breath before continuing. "And that is why we are here. Collosus 3:22 states: 'The temples of man shall become one under the divine revelation, and it will take its place above the thrones of the lay.'"

This time there were no murmurs, but outright shouting as the representatives all cried out - some in support, others against. One voice rose above the others, though it was calm and careful, and did not yell over the din. The speaker was a bald man of Thai descent, his body wrapped in orange robes, and delicate glasses framing his old eyes. He had risen unsteadily to his feet, and, for so small a man, he cut a proud and noble figure, and the others gave pause to their outcries to hear him speak. "The teachings of Buddha have never advocated this. For thousands of years we have sought enlightenment, not power."

The Patrician spoke quickly, before he could be swallowed by the sea of retorts. "Buddha," he said simply. "Not Cabal."

A veritable cacophony rose to meet him. Amongst some, the name of God had long been known. Amongst others, there was no such name. Still others knew of many gods, and rebelled against the notion of such a single one. Amongst the monotheistic faiths, much of the trouble came from the new admission in the Holy Books that spoke of other gods. But, most contentious and central to the new faith was the very first verse of the very first book: 'There are gods, but only Cabal is worthy of worship.'


*****

The woman looked up from her desk, setting down the pile of papers she held in front of her, and addressed the camera.

"Good morning. Our headline today: many of the major faiths of the world have announced, as of four o'clock this morning GMT, that there will be a unified church, which, at least for the moment, will simply be called 'The Order of Cabal'. Details have, so far, been kept confidential to the upper echelons of the Order of Cabal, and many former priests and monks here in the United States are expressing concern about their careers."

The woman turned, and another camera picked her up. "In related news, the fiscal crisis that has escalated sharply since the recent violence in New York City has come to an unexpected turn, as a representative from the Order of Cabal announced to reporters only minutes ago that the Order would be paying the debt of all nations who request their aid. So far there has been no official response from any recognized government, but to discuss the issue, we turn to our financial correspondent, Michael Philler. Michael, what is your take on the new situation..."

Starting AP: 14

Form Order (2): The Order of Cabal - an amalgamation of most (but not all) organized religions into a single, Cabal-worshipping body. Details will come in time.

[Draken]

20th January, 2013 - United Nations Conference Hall

"No, no. Change that to fixedsys. It looks more official."

20th January, 2013 - United Nations Conference Hall

"That is much better."

By now, the clerks were used to Mereon's constant notes. He sent one every time someone made a typo or any mistake. What was he, the god of grammar?

"Yes. Among other things."

The dignitaries of the united nations were assembled, but not particularly impressed by this news, some were certifiably outraged, a few were worried about the possibility of religious violence against the conference.

Most were bored and sure this was a hoax of global proportions.

The translators were fidgeting by the sides of the main stage while the brazilian president opened the asembly, as tradition dictates.

Mereon had done something and they didn't have anything to do. The president could be understood perfectly by all of those present. Swiftly enough, he was given the stand. The faceless god stood there silently, and then all phones started to ring, and the screen behind him changed to show his face. Some of those phones were off when it began.

Unknown to the dignitaries at the time, Mereon did the same to every communication apparatus across the globe. Some people were about to miss their usual programs, but that didn't really compare to the blackboards writing themselves.

"Humanity, and others."

"I am Mereon, and although unrelated to any of your extant or deceased religions, I am a god."

"Structuraly speaking, I am a deity of a polytheistic structure, my purviews are limited, but my powers are not limited thus, these portfolios merely paint my primary interests, although in a manner most unlike what you would be prone to believing at first glance."

There was a murmur in the session, why was that man talking like that?

"I felt it appropriate to make a demonstration of my powers without resorting to natural disasters."

How thoughtful.

"Returning to the point. I am not alone, although perhaps I am solitary for the time being. There are other gods whose existances begin as we speak or have begun previously, they have begun laying their mark upon this world. There is nothing you can do about that but find those who would be most beneficial to you and..."

Mereon is shot in the face and falls back, there is screaming among the gathered dignitaries.

His arms spread across the walls, a million sigils spell a single world in every language ever conceived, many long lost. The lost tongue of ancient Babel, understandable by all human minds but not speakable by any human tongues, spells the word in great symbols right behind the stage.


Wrath.

The sniper cannot be seen, but that is for the best, for he now bleeds his sins and chokes on his blasphemies as ink swells within his lungs and heart. His death is slow and agonizing and it is not televised, he will not be remembered or glorified, for his name is struck from records across the globe.

Mereon rises again, and the word changes behind him, and all around as well.


Silence.

There is silence, unnatural and sudden. A translator looks at the wall behind them, the bullet is in there, another looks at Mereon, and sees the ripped strips and the hollow within them, moments before they are repaired.

"I recommend that such never be attempted against my similars in the future. At least in my case, this form is but a convenience for the purpose of communication."

Similars, not kind, not brethren. Similars.

"To the masses watching or listening to this broadcast, I recommend that you do not change your daily affairs over this matter, not until a god directly interferes with your daily lives, that is. Then hope for his beneficence or flee from his malefices. But expect this world to change, for better or worse, I cannot say, I am not omniscient. None of us are, most likely."

"I am open for questions. If you are not among those present in this room, write them down. I will know of them."

...
What are you god of?
...

"My purviews are Regulaments and Language."

...
Are you the god of grammar then?
...

"No, not grammar exclusively or explicitly. All regulaments, all aspects of language."

...
Are you a man or a woman?
...

"My gender is an abstraction, I use male pronouns for the sake of simplicity. Feel free to use feminine ones if you feel like. Others may have definite genders and be closer to humanity in appearance if not in outlook."

...
Is The God among you?
...

"I do not feel such a presence. I am led to presume that one does not exist, I believe the one who rewrote your texts desires his station, however."

...
What can you do? Do you have magic? Can you give us magic?
...

"There is nearly nothing outside my capabilities, but creation is considerably easier than destruction, for me. I have powers that may qualify as a form of functional magic (http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/FunctionalMagic) and I will share it with those who would follow me."

...
How did you link to TvTropes on the whiteboard? Actually forget that, the answer will probably be 'God', why did you do that?
...

"The answer is indeed, 'god', but not capitalized. I did it for the sake of simplicity, it holds a decent enough explanation. Expect more of that from me."

The inane questions from across the world continue. Mereon appears to prefer answering these inane questions publically, but a number of other questions go silently answered solely to the eyes of those who ask them.

15 Ap enter.

5 AP: Create Legendary Concept: Word Magic.
Centered, at its most basic level, on the idea of Words of Power, this form of magic is Mereon's first gift to the world at large.

10 AP leave.

[mystic1110]

Croix-des-Bouquets resonates with the sounds of clanging and banging of the mallets and chisels in the process of transforming raw metal into stunning, and often haunting, iron sculptures. Among the din, the sounds of ornamental chains beating gently against bronze bars is lost and easily ignored. Croix-des-Bouquets is an unlucky city, earthquakes after earthquakes, broken and flooded, it is the home of the refugee. The city was consumed by billowing white tents and rubble; the ancestral forges still alight, causing the occasional fire – which was quickly put out, being after all an occasional affair. Nature had already started to reclaim the city, vines completely shrouded the fallen buildings and the erosion was eating away the foundations.

A man wearing a brightly colored, almost garish, blue and yellow short sleeve shirt and khaki colored cotton trousers walked down the row of tents. In contrast to the rest of his attire he wore expensive dark brown oxfords, sockless. He left footprints in the mud as he walked, the immaculate shoes were covered with grime, but he paid it no mind as he entered a tent at the very end of the refugee encampment. He bent down as he entered, the dark interior of the tent greeting him like a mother welcoming a lost babe. He smiled as he sat down, cross legged, on the swept, neat dirt floor. The tent’s other inhabitant has a black woman covered in the traditional white dress of the Mambo.

The Mambo looked up at the man as he entered, awoken from her reverie. The tent itself was devoid of paraphernalia, it was just a white tent – with a dimmed electric light hanging from the roof. The Mambo smiled, toothlessly and gave a brisk short laugh, “Not often that a Loa walks in here of his own volition.” She raised her wrinkly old hand to her forehead and rubbed her temples with worry.

The man smiled in return; it is appropriate to mention he was wearing cheap Ray Ban knockoff sunglasses; it is also appropriate to mention that they were white, which clashed terribly with his black skin and bright clothing. It is appropriate to mention all this, because the man took the sunglasses off his face and looked at the woman with eyes green like the primordial forest, green like utopia and green like the Garden of Eden would have dared to be. The man laughed, “I am no Loa, Madame Mambo.”

The woman frowned immediately, and harshly asked “Are you an agent of language?”

“No”

“Then. . .”

“Would you like to meet her, Madame Mambo?”

“Who?”

The man smiled and placed his sunglasses back on, he slouched on the dirt floor, “Language – how appropriate, many are the new gods of language. No, she is older, much older than Language. She is how the world was and how the world will be. No. She is how the world ought to be and should have been. She is movement and stillness.”

The old priestess trembled slightly at the words and repeated “Who?”

The man looked at her apologetically and then held out his hand and caressed her weathered face “That’s part of the test Madame Mambo.” Just then the wind carried into the tent the sounds of paws upon earth, thin chains upon flesh and bronze. An orange hibiscus springs slowly and methodically from the well packed earth. No hibiscus seed ever laid there - neither did the moss that gently surrounded the budding flower.

[THEChanger]

A forest in northern Colorado.

It was a small community. They had left in the 60s, choosing to sperate themselves from the larger community. Self-sufficient, and happy, they'd survived outside the rule of American law, laying low and not drawing attention to themselves. Their life wasn't easy, but good. They grew their own food, wove their own clothes, built their own homes. A small gas generator was used when electricity was needed, and that gas was one of two things they had brought with them from the outside. But the generator had not been run in many years.

In a tent on a nearby hill, a man sat in meditation. Pipe smoking, his mind wandered the sky, feeling the eddies and flows of divine power. He had spent the past fourty odd years preparing for the times which were coming-a vision, provided by his medicines, had prompted the journey. And then, his eyes snapped open.

He could see it. Finally, he could see it. The flowing colors of the world, the points of light where spirits dwelt, the sheer power of the universe. He had removed the barriers seperating him from everything else. Everything was one. One was everything. Seperation was an illusion, man. And then, everything spoke to itself seperated.

"Well done, little brother. You have found me at last. I've been waiting."

"You...what can I call you?"

"Call me whatever you like. Names aren't as important as people seem to think they are."

"What should I call...us?"

Everything smiled. "You're getting it, little brother, you're getting it. Let's see. You guys are hippies, right? Not surprising you found me first. Those Tibetans were always a little uptight. I think for our purposes, we'll go with something loose. Peacetrip Flowerdancer sound good to you?"

"Yeah. I like it."

"Cool, little brother. Now, I need to ask you a favor. Cause, y'see, I need a body. People tend to react better when what they're talking to isn't Everything."

"You need mine."

Everything nodded, sadly. "Believe me little brother, if I could find another way, I would. And in the end, it's your choice."

"There's no choice. They need us. The world needs us."

"No man. There's always a choice. Basic way things work, alright? So it needs to be your choice."

The man on the hill thought long and hard. He had prepared his entire adult life to find this, to find Enlightenment. And now, it wanted him to surrender his body. He had always thought it would be easy, but now that he actually had to make the choice....

The man on the hill walked down to the small town. It had been a long time since he had come down from his tent, and the cloud of smoke around him was incredibly odd. The people of the town kept a distance, and watched as the man on the hill entered the town hall, and the whir of the generator could be heard. The town hall contained the only other thing they had brought with them-an old television set.

"....many of the major faiths of the world have announced, as of four o'clock this morning GMT, that there will be a unified church, which, at least for the moment, will simply be called 'The Order of Cabal'...."

"...But expect this world to change, for better or worse, I cannot say, I am not omniscient. None of us are, most likely..."

"...Come simply meet with me for the peace and goodwill of all at the First Council for the Advancement of Sentient Life."

Eventually, satisfied with all he had seen, the man on the hill shut off the generator, and emerged from the town hall, to find the entire town gathered around the door. Staring at the beginings of his flock, Everything smiled. "Little siblings. My name is Peacetrip Flowerdancer. The man you knew as the man on the hill has graciously lent me use of his body. The best word for what I am, unfortunately, would be deity. I am not alone. Others are coming. They will try to tell you that change is inevitable. They will try to tell you that their truth is the only truth. They will try to tell you they are worthy of worship. But I am here to tell you that they are wrong. You always have a choice. You are always free to decide what you believe. And if you choose to follow one of them, then good for you. Do so with my blessing. But make it your choice. Only you can decide what is worthy of your worship. And if you choose to follow me, well, then I will do my best to do right by you."

Peacetrip began to walk out of the town, when a young girl stopped him. "But where are you going?" The newly formed god smiled. "Me? I'm going to Switzerland. I hear it's nice this time of year." And with that, he walked to the edge of town, and disappeared in a puff of smoke.

[bryn0528]

"You take a baby and you bring it up in darkness, letting it see no one, touch no one, and you feed it well as the years pass, feed it better than any of the village's other children, and then, five winters on, when the night is at its longest, you drag the terrified child out of its hut and into the circle of bonfires, and you pierce it with blades of iron and of bronze. Then you smoke the small body over charcoal fires until it is properly dried, and you wrap it in furs and carry it with you from encampment to encampment, deep in the Black Forest, sacrificing animals and small children to it, making it the luck of the tribe. When, eventually, the thing falls apart from age, you place its fragile bones in a box, and you worship the box; until the one day the bones are scattered and forgotten and the tribes who worshiped the child-god of the box are long gone; and the child-god, the luck of the village, will be barely remembered, save as a ghost or a brownie: a kobold." --Neil Gaiman, "American Gods"



The idea was absurd, practically science-fiction. Poorly written, at that. But here they were, extracting samples of DNA from a specimen probably three-thousand years old. The carbon dating said it was nearly six times that old. "Impossible," it was described, but here they were, fertilizing eggs with DNA stripped from bone fragments found in Germany's Black Forest. It had been a nightmare clearing the fragile samples through customs and smuggled into the labs of H&A Pharmaceuticals. But their benefactor was paying well, and this is what he asked for.

Most of the embryos did not take. This was the usual case. Of the surviving cells, they froze all but one. This one was allowed to develop, but died in the test tubes. They unfroze another sample, and this time planted the zygote into a mother's womb. Nine months later she gave birth to a boy. "Impossible."

He grew up fairly normal, they suspected. There were certain legality issues surrounding ownership, so H&A kept it a private affair. The "mother" of the child was awarded a large sum of money for her efforts, and the boy was raised hidden from the world.

It became apparent, after a while, that the child was perhaps not normal. Anthony Braeks, the president and CEO of H&A, took a special interest in the child. His wife passed away in childbirth, and he took to raising the child as his own son.



Drops of sweat pricked the back of her neck, the edges of her forehead, the crease where her thighs touched one another. She sat before a young man, barely her own age by all rights. The sickly-sweet air of the air-conditioner hummed, even though it was quite well into winter. The man before her did not seem to particularly notice, but the chill set about a sickening in her bowels. Still, she sweated and shifted uncomfortably.

An hour earlier, he selected her from the crowd of misfits. She had been confused at first, but his gentle voice explained things in a manner so calm and smooth, she would have drank the nectar from his very breath. But now he wasn't talking and she began to grow nervous once more.

This was a mistake to come here, to his private office, she realized in retrospect. She knew nothing about this man, he had money and power and could make her disappear in a heart beat if he decided to hurt her in anyway or God forbid. It wasn't even her idea that she come here and sell her body--"Look, hon. I know you're a little down and out. But I got some friends and they swear by it, you can make some good money drug testing."
"You mean, like, selling my piss to some ess-oh-bee so he can pass a job screening or whatever? You know I smoke hash now and again, I don't think they want my piss."
"Well, they made that legal now, didn't they? Some employer's got a be a real hard ass, they make weed legal and don't 'spect no one to go out and smoke it once a blue moon. But that's not what I meant, go to one of them drug companies, the legal kind and not just street. They go out, round up some willing participants to try some new kind of pill they whipped up in their labs. Just give 'em a couple pills, ask 'em how it feels and give you two hundred cash."

She started to feel nervous around just how many people came. She was sure some were homeless, and she did not want them to touch her. She became increasingly paranoid that her being here was utterly wrong. What would her mother think? She needed to pay the bills. She suspected she might have a disease, nothing like AIDS or HIV, but maybe gonerea or syphillis. She had been too scared to go to a clinic and do anything about it. Would they detect it here, as part of the screening? Would someone be able to smell it on her, and throw her out, that there were laws against this sort of thing?

"Are you Indian, miss?" He asked, after several moments, in a voice like velvet. He was very beautiful, in a way that no human had a right to be. She found herself staring at him for much longer than she really have ought. He did not seem to mind--in fact, he almost enjoyed the attention.

"From India?" She sounded stupid, she realized.

"No, from here. From America." She shook her head.

"No, sir. My family, we're... I'm Muslim. My father is from Sudan, my mother from Egypt." He flicked idly through papers.

"Have you read the Qu'ran recently?"

"Excuse me?" He repeated himself, and she shook her head again. "I... I don't really practice Islam anymore. I haven't talked to my father in years, he was always the one who really pushed it on us kids, you know?"

"Indeed." He licked his lips, involuntarily, and she shuddered. He was very beautiful, and there was no better way to put it, honestly. His perfectly slicked back hair shone darkly, like the feathers of a raven. His china-white skin was smoother than a river stone. His eyes sat like two deep wells of still water, so impossibly dark blue as to be black. She could not distinguish iris from pupil. His cherry lips sat full and framed a perfect display of neat teeth. His eye-teeth looked very sharp. The way he stared at her made her feel uncomfortable but also excited. She could smell his musk in the room, wild and perverse. When he licked his lips a second time, she swore it was for the taste of the sweat which threatened to trickle down her thighs.



"It is an unexpected reaction."

"Only nine test subjects did not appear to undergo any harm during drug treatment. Blood test analysis has revealed that compound w-8 has successfully paired with available red blood cells and appears to be regenerating normally, as expected."

"Of the remaining subjects, more than 80% are now deceased. The exact cause of death is uncertain, but appears to be due to internal hemoragging. The remaining percentage have experienced mutation on the cellular level. It is to say, impossible. Normally when cells experience mutation, it becomes cancer or tumors, and not a physiological change as the subjects have experienced. Their morphology has become that of something not quite human anymore. They appear to take on lupine qualities and have been contained. There is currently debate as to what to do with the, for lack of better term, infected subjects."

Titenwulf's AP = 9. (15) - (5; Create Fabled Life, Witches) - (1; Alter Race; Humans to Werewolves).

[Elemental]

The New York Public Library, Main Branch - Tuesday the twenty-second

It was dark that night in the deserted halls of the library. Deserted save for three individuals in the dark of the Reading Room, the only light from the street outside and from a lamp fuelled by burning strips of paper. A fragment of an illuminated letter could be seen slowly being consumed by fire. It was a C. The figures sat at a table, two on one side, and the third on the other.
The two figures were both nuns, one was an elderly and she was speaking softly, reciting the last verses of the Book of Revelation. Though her voice was soft and there were tears in her eyes, she spoke clearly and with conviction. She was blind, her eyesight long since having failed her. The other was younger, but only by five or six years. Though she was silent, her feeling of dread was clear.
The other figure was a young man, his hair prematurely turning silver grey. He wrote what the elderly sister said on sheets of vellum with a golden fountain pen, a large stack of completed sheets sat to the right of him, each checked by the younger nun before being added to the pile. As he wrote, he decorated the margin of the page with simple illuminations in plain black, but still he kept up.
Eventually the elderly nun came to the end and the man handed the final sheet to her companion.
"Your memory is very good Sister."
"But will it be enough?"
"No. Cabal will not stop until all worship him and only him. But perhaps if the true words survive, those who make it through this will have something to guide them away from the darkness."
The other nun who had been silently checking the last page at last spoke up.
"You have hope Mr. Tomes. We have done all we can, but how can we be certain that this demon will not corrupt this book as well?"
"He'll have to fight me. And like all like him, he is a coward."
The man added another strip of paper to the lamp causing it to flare momentarily and revealing thousands upon thousands of stacks of sheets of paper.
"Remain here with me for the night. I dare not abandon my work and I cannot allow you to return to the convent with the streets the way they are."
"We'll take our chances."
"That is your choice. Please be safe."
The man stood and watched silently as the two nuns stood up to leave, the slightly younger sister guiding her blind companion. They would be safe. He made sure of it, though making certain of it distracted him from his work.
He sighed. Even for one divine as himself, copying the entire Library by hand was tiring. He hadn't even come up with a proper name for himself.
There must be a faster way to do this.

Some distance down Fifth Avenue, a pair of madmen prepared to ambush the two nuns, but their hearts froze and the sanity taken from was briefly restored. The nuns passed unharmed and unaware of the danger they had been in.

Meanwhile, back at the library, the man was gone, replaced by a large lion, its fur purple and its mane crackling with latent energy. It would have to do something about that.
Perhaps the two problems shared a solution?
He'd decide after he did that thing in Switzerland he had been so kindly invited to. He curled up and fell into a light doze before his work.

[mystic1110]

The mountain air is misty and humid to an uncomfortable degree; the dense fog that existed here, hung heavy right below the canopy line. Walking through the mountain was like walking through a painting of grey and green. Even those two primary colors blended together and often became indistinguishable. Your sense of self slowly eroded as you breathed in the fog – at least that’s what the woman wearing a custom made camo jacket thought. The jacket was a work of art; it featured unprecedented depth, unequalled detail and elements with remarkable contrast. That’s what the brochure said when she bought it.

Each element – leaves, limbs, acorns and branches – was selected to create unmatched realism and contrast to break up a hunter’s silhouette. Then they were placed over multiple layers of actual images from the woods to create a multi-dimensional depth of field unlike any camouflage ever created. It was useless. Here the camo jacket made her stand out like a red Ferrari in Antarctica. It wasn’t that the elements incorporated in her jacket didn’t exist here – just that this forest was . . . grey. The fog blended the colors of the trees into a smear of pastel.

She was wondering why she trekked all the way here, here being the Motuo county of China, or Tibet – the distinction was confusing to her, also she didn’t care. Motuo remains one of the few places in Asia still untouched by the modern world; all human installations there have been reclaimed by nature, over and over again – almost as if Motuo is nature’s version of the Alamo. But just like the Alamo, given time it too will fall, the woman thought.

Just getting to Motuo is a Herculean task; travelers must follow a grueling overland route through frozen parts of the Himalayas before crossing into the county by way of a swaying, rickety, rope bridge spanning the length of two football fields. Just remembering that bridge made her throw up – or at least dry heave – she didn’t eat in a while. Why did she come here again? Something the old man in France told her – something about the gods coming back.

That much was true, she read the news on the plane to China, but why was she searching for this particular god. Wouldn’t it reveal itself just like the others? Maybe . . . but the lure of an exclusive interview ate away at the marrow in her bones. If she found this reclusive god before it revealed itself and found out its motivations . . . this was a new age, why interview dictators and presidents when she can have an op-ed piece on a god!

And so the intrepid journalist found herself in ill-fitting camo, surrounded by indistinguishable grey-greenness of the Motuo County, when she heard the faint tinkling of delicate chains upon bronze, and the panting of a fox. She looked around wildly, and began to see shapes past the fog and leaves – people. A black woman wearing white, an Indian man wearing a fine suit, a Russian woman wearing black fur, a black man wearing a blue and yellow t-shirt, an old man with tortoise shell glasses, a young man with eyes – emerald green that shone like faint beacons even among the over bearing greenness of the place itself; many more, almost a hundred people of all makes; and her in the middle of it all.

A man walked out of the assembled eclectic group – how was the woman in fur not hot in this humid air – wait, this man was naked. He was white, but his skin was a pleasant olive, his eyes were like all of their eyes, wild green, inhuman and beautiful. He was hairless, his member was not circumcised, and . . . she blushed and looked away. The people in the trees laughed, the man laughed, and then he motioned for silence, that came and went as people stopped laughing at their own accord – he frowned at his lack of authority, but then he gently spoke to her “Welcome soon to be sister, welcome.”

She trembled, sweat coming out of literally every pore – how was the woman in fur not hot in this humid air – and looked back at the naked man trying not to look at his penis, she responded by asking “Are you the God?”

Silence.

The man said nothing, except raise his hand to point behind her. She turned around quickly and saw: a slender fox, fur dark and sleek, so sleek that it seemed to pass through the fog as if it owned the air itself. On the black fox, or was it a deep purple, a large metal cage, layered and ornate was tied. The cage was made of bronze and seemed to be old and rusted, various delicate chains hung from the top, and they draped down the bars of the cage. The cage was filled with what appeared to be spider webs and cocoons – so that it seemed as if the cage itself filled with white clouds.

The Fox spoke answering her unanswered question, with a voice like the rushing wind, the rustling leaves, the moving brook:

“Yes.”

Just then the journalist noticed that the entire forest floor was covered with moss.

[Mynxae]

New York, Empire State Building

Elizabeth looked down below at the chaos she had wrought and revelled in it, but alas, perhaps she could have been more subtle, as now the whole world over knew that something was amiss in New York. Just as she was trying to think of a way to conquer the pitiful country through guile and intrigue, she sensed a presence a few streets away. One that disrupted her chaos. So she stormed off of the top of the Empire State Building in a huff, walking out from the open air and falling to the street, where she strode through the streets until she reached the Library of New York.

New York, Public Library Main Branch

As she walked into the building, the presence grew stronger as she saw what appeared to be an odd looking lion curled up in the reading room that prevented any of the chaotic mortals from breaking in and wreaking havoc. "Mr Lion, what is your purpose here?" she said quite angrily. "You're ruining my glorious chaos here!"

New York, The Statue of Liberty

A shard of Elizabeth suddenly appeared atop the crown of the Statue of Liberty, preparing to make an address to the city as she now saw the havoc that had been wreaked from a different point of view. She groaned audibly as she saw the destruction. "Ugh. This won't be good for publicity" she sighed. She cleared her throat as she began to make her address to the city, but first she cut off all electronic communication with a wave of her hand to stop this getting to the press.

"Dear citizens of New York, you may have noticed that something has been invading your subconscious as of late. And the whole, women wearing hideous colours, men being robbed of their muscle and the children screaming throughout the night. I merely needed that to persuade you to follow me. If you wish to be cured of the ailments I have put upon you, then join me. If not, then you shall surely perish" she said, an ominous note in her voice. "I am Elizabeth, Madam of Rhyme. Join me, and I shall help you free yourself from your average workaday lives and give you powers that the world has never seen! Join me, and you shall be granted the ultimate freedom to do whatever you so wish!" she shouted with reverence to her cause. "Join me in Times Square if you wish to be free! If you do not, you shall be trod on like insignificant ants if you wish to sabotage my plans!" she yelled with a secret joy at chaos.

Start AP: 13.

Curse AP1: Elizabeth cursed New York for there to be no electronic communication in or out of the city unless she permits it.

End AP: 12.

[Draken]

January 22, 2013 - Tuesday.

"Ho ho ho. This formality just makes me tingle all over the diphthongs."

Ahem...

The media was abuzz, at the third divine announcement. This one was quite different from the others, that is for sure. First came the inhuman herald, who was quite receptive of the media... Who were adequately taught how to properly deal with divinity... specially divinity that may as well be their new Patron Lord, at that, as Mereon showed deadly proficience at countering the first few attacks against his claims, often by appearing on the spot and digging up some dirt on the guilty parties in national - if not global - view.

Turning off the cameras proved useless against his counterstrikes too.

The second announcement was just as noteworthy, despite the fact that no god appeared on it, the noteworthyness of it came from what that god did, namely, fuse the core of dozens of religions worldwide.

Mereon was asked for an opinion, of course, and his not so cryptic answer was.

"The dressing will change a bit, but if you dig into it you will see just more of what you have seen for centuries. I will have to meet him before giving you anything else, but from his scripture, I know what to expect."

And then came the third announcement, another deity, a goddess, one in human form. Kind of cute too, in a dorky way. Mereon confirmed her nature to those who thought it might be an attention-grabbing hoax or some joke from some more hard-assed skeptic communities. She just looked so human, after all.

"She is a bit closer to human concepts than I am. Her main purview appears to be a way of thinking."

And of course, he was asked if he would attend the call.

"Of course I will.

A different matter.

"Ahem."

A different matter.

Spreading across the internet like wildfire was a document put in by Mereon, a monster of a file teaching the most basic mechanisms of Word Magic, avaiable in every language. A matter of need, indeed, because the very basic of the magic involved learning a second language. A barely speakable language, at that.

But the first Speakers were appearing, their shouts, chants and whispers were weak, that is for sure, but the magic was spreading, that is for sure. Grammarians, writters and jurists were the most keen on this art, specially those who took Mereon as their patron and began a loose cult. They even asked for a scripture, and received a rather cryptic one.

"You are philosophers, are you not? I appreciate philosophy."

And three days until the meeting... That would surely be something.

10 AP in

3 AP: Create Magical Concept: Speakers - Speakers are the trained users of Word Magic, they have the power to declare their will upon the world.

2 AP: Create Organization: The Cult of Mereon, also known as The Cult of Language, and pretty much a name in every tongue. A small and widespread group, including a vast number of Speakers... Compared to the overall numbers of Speakers, that is.

[Elemental]

New York Public Library - Main Branch

The lion opened one eye and looked up at the intruder. He closed it again before speaking.
"Chaos is counter productive, Madame Elizabeth."
He seemed to continue dozing, but he continued to speak.
"Curb your anger, you disturb my rest and I have much important work to do."
Perhaps the lion was goading her into an attack, but it was impossible to tell for certain.

[Mynxae]

New York Public Library - Main Branch

The lion opened one eye and looked up at the intruder. He closed it again before speaking.
"Chaos is counter productive, Madame Elizabeth."
He seemed to continue dozing, but he continued to speak.
"Curb your anger, you disturb my rest and I have much important work to do."
Perhaps the lion was goading her into an attack, but it was impossible to tell for certain.

New York, Public Library Main Branch

"Counter-productive to what goals exactly?" she mused, bringing out her clipboard and scribbling on it.

[Hank McBadass]

Travels of a Goddess

Las Vegas, Nevada, USA

A veritable crowd had gathered at table 26 and people were pouring from the Strip. $20 million in less than an hour – that’s how much money the casino had lost, $10 million of that was to the lady in green. The call came from the command center: shut down gaming operations. Winston called the pit boss. This was wild. He had heard stories about casinos falling below its profit threshold during a hot streak before but nothing like this.

Winston sat watching the lady in green stand up from the table. She looked right into the camera and gave a wink.



New York, New York, USA

COCAINE!!!! A straw and a line of powder was followed by Terrill’s ascension to godhood. He had forgot how good this felt!

Sitting at his desk, Terrill did what he did. Gods appearing, chaos reigning in the streets, the world religions joining together. Whatever, there was always money to be made and he was going to make it. The big alcohol companies, guns, munitions, medical supplies, all of these were going to be in short supply. The market was in a mess right now but that was ok: he was selling seconds after he bought. The discount pistol manufactures simply didn’t have enough volume to really fluctuate meaningfully so he cleared the market. He’d get the major owners on the phone later and see about putting together the controlling shares. Bland Oil also looked appealing for some reason. He look another line. Srew it, why not?

On the street so many feet below, something caught his eye. A walking emerald stuck out of the crowd. Weird how he could see it from all the way up here.



Chihuahua Desert, Chihuahua, Mexico

Carlos stood over Miguel Perez and put two bullets in his head. He had been told to recon until reinforcements arrived in a few days but the chance was too good to pass up. For whatever reason, Miguel had sent most of his soldiers away. Cars had been traveling up the dusty road all day. Whatever was going, it was big.

It was better this way, really. Los Zetas wanted this one to look like an inside job and send the Sinola Cartel back into civil war. The actual deed had been much easier than expected. Miguel and some of his men were having some kind of freaking theological discussion and didn’t even turn around when he kicked the door in. Sure killing a man is never easy --even Carlos had to fight back nerves before an assassination -- but when the bosses told him he was killing Miguel, Carlos was pretty sure it was supposed to be a suicide mission, punishment for dropping the load of cocaine last month.

Carlos turned the table up and waited for the rest of the men to come running. Two did. Carlos dispatched them. After a minute he stood up to leave. Either they were all dead or had run off he figured. He turned to leave – he could make Laredo by morning if he hurried.

A gunshot rang out. A bullet hit the wall only a few inches away from Carlos. He raised his gun and sighted down the shooter. A young boy stood in the hallway shakily holding a rifle. Carlos figured he must be about 8 or 9 – he guessed anyway, he wasn’t very good at guessing children’s ages. Carlos pulled the trigger. Click.

Carlos’s pistol had jammed. He pulled the slide to recock his gun and clear the chamber. But it was stuck. Carlos fell to the ground before another bullet came from the kid’s gun. There was no need to panic, this kid was probably way more freaked out than he was. Several more shots pounded into the table.

Carlos could have probably waited. Maybe the kid would have run away. Or maybe he would have called reinforcements. Either way, Carlos didn’t wait. On the ground was his salvation. Carlos had never seen it before but he knew what it was: Miguel’s revolver, the last thing countless Sinola would be kingpins before their death with after El Chapo was captured. It was an old school Colt Single Action Army – the infamous Peacemaker from many a western. Rumor had it that it had belonged to some bank robber at one point, a tequila bootlegger before that, and a train saboteur at some point. Carlos reached out and grabbed it.

Carlos pulled back the hammer, kicked the table across the floor at the kid, and pointed the gun. The trigger wasn’t stiff. The kid fell to the ground, dead. There was barely anything left of the kid’s left shoulder; his arm hung by a few strands of skin and muscle. Maybe more like 6. Whatever.

As the Jeep crested the hill, Carlos looked back at the compound. In one of the top windows stood a woman. Carlos shuddered. Hopefully she didn’t get a good look at him – he’d ditch the car in the next town. What he didn’t want was the Sinola’s going after him.




The Mountains Surrounding Dir, Pakistan

“Wait, you mean that fool raid worked?” Amir couldn’t believe it. It was about the dumbest ideas he had ever heard.

“Even the infidels are reacting badly to the powers of shayateen who refuse to bow to the children of Adam. I agree that normally it wouldn’t of worked.”

“It seems that they have planted the seeds of their own destruction then. How many did we get?”

“Three. But apparently it was a depot for the decommission of old warheads.” Wafiq smiled. “There is enough material there for several more if we can figure out how to make it work.”

“Well we have a working model now so who know? Allah be praised! We will drive this false religion from the land”

“We shall. Doubting her was wrong, you know, the lady in green. I’m pretty sure she was an angel of God. We should have listened.”

Amir squinted. “Well maybe. But how are we to know the difference between angels and jinn? Or those that are in submission to god and those rebellious? She surely didn’t make it clear.”

Wafiq didn’t say anything. Strange times, these were indeed.




Houston, Texas, USA

“Look, Miss Luck, you have to understand: the markets are all in flux with that spectacle at that good for nothin’ UN and whatever is going with the churches. Financing such a project like you’re proposin’ just isn’t possible right now even if you are right – and I’m not sayin’ you are.”

“But Roose; can I call you Roose?” Roosevelt Wright tried to interrupt to say no one called him that but the lady in green didn’t stop. “You are right that things are going to hit the fan, I’m quite sure they will and a lot of companies will fail. But those are the companies that sit on the sidelines in the coming weeks. The ones that play it safe. Now your engineers have verified my calculations so what’s the holdup? Do you not trust me?”

“It’s just too risky. Bland Oil has been around for 120 years precisely because we avoided getting involved in such things.”

“Oh come now Roose. I’d never expect you of timidness.” She gave him a smile. His heart fluttered and his face turned red.

“What? Me? Ha well no not me!” Roosevelt stroked his moustache. “Why you think someone like me would grow up out on the bayou and end up where I am now if I was timid?”

“Good, so you’ll do it then!”

“Well, I mean we are a significant player in the pipeline market, I just don’t know if we can pull off an E&P project like this.”

“Hmmmp. I guess you’re not the man I thought you were then.” Her face fell.

“Well no… fine I’ll do it.” What was he doing? Throwing away his company, fortune, and career for a woman like her wasn’t such a big deal – for Christsakes a war was fought over Helen of Troy and she was nothing like this – but to melt like so much butter in her grip. “Ahhh, what the hell. It’s a good idea, I was just trying to see if I could get you to wait on it. I’ll get some plans drawn up and gather financing and call you by the end of the week.”

“Come now, Roose we don’t need any of that.” From somewhere she produced a box of documents. “I’ll finance the project.”

"Wait, miss, you don’t need to do that. I’ve never heard of anyone ever think of looking for oil that deep so it’s not like we're in that much of a hurry. And why didn't you just say so before?”

“We are in quite a hurry, silly. You just don’t realize why yet. And because I had to know what kind of man I was dealing with” She looked out the window over the city. “You take a look at those, and let me know when we’re ready to drill.”



St. Peter’s Basilica, Vatican City

Cardinal-Priest Sales who had called the meeting stood up.

“I asked Our Lady of Good Counsel for her prayers and she came to me! Fantastical, I know, but it happened. She told me that the time was such to act!


There is a time for everything,
and a season for every activity under heaven:
a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot,
a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,
a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,
a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
a time to embrace and a time to refrain,
a time to search and a time to give up,
a time to keep and a time to throw away,
a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,
a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace.

Now is the time to stand firm. The antichrist has come, just as prophesized – should we be weak and submissive, giving in so easily because we know victory is foreclosed to us? Or should we fight and serve Christ’s mission on earth by fighting for the souls of those living?

I say there is only one course: to break away from this false religion that our Pope has endorsed and elect a new Pope, one who has not fallen into sin and heresy. I have been in contact with our fellow servants of Christ , Catholic and not, and they agree: now is the time to mend the divisions of Christ’s earthly body and reunite the family of Abraham.

The first Order of business should be selecting a new leader, someone who will be a true servant of the servants of Christ rather than a slave driver into the jaws of Hell.”

There was a discussion but it was just a formality. The vote was nearly unanimous for Cardinal Priest Sales. There was no formality, no coronation. He took the name John Paul III and lead them in a prayer for wisdom in the trying times.

“Now, for the first manner of business. This is a draft of a letter I think we should send to the Muslim clerics still holding out against the evil one. And this is one to all Christian bishops, priests, ministers, and pastors. And finally one to all Jewish teachers and leaders. What do you think?

The new College of Cardinals and their Anti-Pope went to work.


So this is what happened:

1) People are hearing about the Lady in Green. Presumably there will be some reports of the Las Vegas happening leaking out.

2) Jerry is a managing director of a large investment bank in NYC. Making moves, including investing in Bland Oil.

3) A hero named Carlos is running for the boarder after killing the leader of the Sinaloa Cartel.

4) A terrorist cell in Pakistan got its hands on some nukes.

5) A new Pope is chosen (though some, not convinced in the heresy of Pope Benedict might call him an antipope) and he is in contact with Christian communities around the world as well as the other Abrahamic faiths.

6) Roosevelt Wright, CEO of Bland Oil, is planning some big project based on the advice of some mysterious lady in green.


AP Actions:

1) John Paul III made leader. (-3 AP)

2) Carlos made hero. (-5 AP)

3) Bless Terrorist Cell (-1AP)

15 - 9 = 6 AP remaining

[The Succubus]

New Kid In Town

He had hadn’t slept in two weeks, his face looking haggard and drawn. The door to his office knocked quietly and he shuddered.

“Come in.”

The police commissioner walked in, his face a mirror of the mayor’s own. He had bandages around his waist and upper arm and his movement was impaired with a slight limp.

“You look like ****, John”

“You’re not exactly an oil painting, either,” the mayor replied grimly. “Sit down and bring me up to speed on what’s happened to my city.”

The commissioner collapsed into the chair, rubbing his temples and gathering his thoughts. What the hell hadn’t happened? The mayor handed him a glass of whiskey (there was no ice in it – the electricity had died several days ago) and sat down opposite him.

“It began about a month ago, when that mild sand storm was first reported on Route 95. There must have been something electrical in the storm because I remember that was when my department first started having trouble with their radios. We didn’t read too much into it because it subsided after a few hours.

Then weird things started happening in North Las Vegas. That place has always been a place for what you so quaintly referred to as “the troubled souls of Vegas” in your inaugural speech last September…”

“Yes, yes, the pimps, the drug dealers, the homeless - I get your point,” said the mayor testily. He was in no mood for political correctness.

“Well, the police has always kept half an eye on them and advised the good folks to stay away from that section of the city. For the most part, it’s been relatively peaceful aside from the odd body turning up on the outskirts of the city. It’s usually some punk that figures an attitude and a Glock 17 will win him friends with the big gangs. The point is, what North Vegas has mostly been is stable. The gangs know that violence isn’t good for business and will only disrupt things when we have to get involved.”

The mayor nodded, having had more than a few dealings with the gangs himself. It was a filthy and disgusting business but a man had to know his city. “Something changed.”

“And how. Rumours started circulating that one of the gangs had brought in a shipment from out of town worth millions. There were other stories that a different gang was tooling up with automatic weapons and suddenly the tranquil neighbourhood wasn’t quite so tranquil any more.”

“You’re talking about the warehouse raid, aren’t you?” The mayor phrased it as more of a statement than a question, a gnawing feeling settling into his stomach.

“That would be my guess as to when things really started going loco. The Scorpions decided to make a small time hit on a storage place owned by the Mexicans and found a mountain Colombia’s finest. Word spread like wildfire and suddenly every gang in Vegas wanted a piece of it. The Mexicans went crazy angry and started gunning down other gang members in the goddamn street and before long North Las Vegas turned into a f***ing warzone.”

The mayor turned away briefly and gazed out the window. It was night time but the skyline glowed with hues of orange and yellow from infernos all over the city. There was a flash and a deafening roar as a column of flame soared upwards from McCarran International Airport. Probably a fuel tank, he thought. “Something tells me it didn’t stay confined to North Vegas though,” he muttered.

“You probably know the other half of this story better than I do. While North Vegas was heading to hell in a handbasket, Vegas on the other hand was the party capital of the world were gambling and partying even harder than usual the streets were like Mardi Gras. Turns out someone had been having a pretty good winning streak at some of the big casinos and was literally giving the winnings away to folks. Buying drinks, organising impromptu street parties and generally having a whale of a time. The weird thing was, even the casinos he scored big at couldn’t wait to see him again, because the crowds followed him everywhere.”

“Yet no-one can recall his name or what he looks like.”

“The darnedest thing. You met him yourself a couple of times though – why don’t you tell me what he looked like?”

The mayor frowned. “I can’t recall, to be honest. He looked like a young John Wayne. There was something dark about him as well…” He shook his head, dismissing the vague mental image.

The commissioner continued. “The party spread out further and further from the centre of town until eventually it hit the borders of North Vegas. These gang members suddenly saw all these folks wandering around, loaded with money and drunk as skunks. It was as though a pack of wolves had stumbled upon a huge herd of sheep. Decent folks started getting shot and what was a party atmosphere suddenly turned very nasty.

The casinos suddenly started closing after someone else scored a number of big wins. Some lady in a fancy green dress that could make the card table sing and dance to every tune. The religious folks were suddenly in an uproar because their holy texts were changing before their eyes and inevitably some were seeing it as The Rapture, some saw it as the end of days and were zooming all over the strip preaching at everything and everyone."

The clashes between gangs and folks started small at first, mostly confined to the north. We had all our officers in double shifts and outfitted in riot gear, which only seemed to inflame folks further. Then some loony started whipping people up into a frenzy, screaming that they shouldn’t have to put up with this and that they had a right to defend themselves. Vegas folks were then carrying shotguns, pistols, hell, I even saw an old man carrying around a set of revolvers like he was Clint Eastwood or something. After that...my department was overwhelmed. It was a no mans land out there, folks shooting each other out of fear, or greed or just plain old craziness.”

“No help came.” The mayor’s voice was dead and emotionless.

“We tried to send a message to the military bases out near Phoenix and Los Angeles but then the sand storm came back fiercer than every and blocked the roads south of the city. Nothing could get in or out of Vegas and the electrostatic stuff in the sandstorms blocked our communications. Most folks have fled north along Interstate 15 and taken their chances with the storm.”

The mayor stood silent for a long time and then spoke. “Flagg, take Nadine and your kid and get out of here. Send a message to those folks left to abandon the city. Leave Vegas for the crazy, the dead and the sand.”

AP Expenditure:

1 AP - Curse - Wander around the gangs of North Vegas spreading rumours and planting various illegal objects and weapons.

1 AP - Curse - Whip Las Vegas into a mania and party frenzy! Woooo!

1 AP - Curse - Raise a sandstorm targetting the area of Las Vegas.

??? - Profit!

[bryn0528]

Denver, CO--H&A Headquarters, Accounting
He didn’t watch the news. What use had he for that? But everyone in the office huddled around a television set and shared worried whispers. He frowned a bit. What was this about? He asked.
TAB “Gods, sir.” The man didn’t dare inquire as to how he didn’t already know that much. “They’ve started popping up all over the place, now.” A strange look spread across his face, an awful grin taking root.
TAB A short, plump man with a receding hairline approached Anthony Titenwulf, president and CEO of H&A. “Sir, the fiscal crisis,” he managed to say before sputtering. What was man opened like a flower and took dark wings. “Sir?”
TAB The room goes dark. “Gods? How very amusing. I was a god long before the Romans conquered the tribes of Germany. They sacrificed a child to me in the winter and I brought them the sun.” A faint glimmer of sunlight pierced the shadowy room. “And here you are, worried about fiscal crises. Amusing.”

A small club in Denver, the night earlier.
It was to say that she didn’t dance in a room blue from cigarette smoke. Ten years ago maybe, but a movement for better public health spearheaded the media and suddenly everyone became concerned about lung cancer and air pollution. The room is not blue with cigarette smoke, but she danced regardless.
TAB With such a public outcry for health, you might think he wouldn't be quite so... opulent. Bulges of fat ran beneath his dress shirt. Sweat dabbled his second chin--or was it drool? The way she moved, it was for him--he pawed her another dollar bill.
TAB At three in the morning, when she returns to her dumpy apartment, she gathers her earnings and arranges them into neat little stacks. One hundred and eighty. Hardly even worth the effort. She feels hungry and touches her stomach. No, not there.
TAB She has experienced lust before, as most could expect as much from a normal, healthy adult. She couldn't exactly explain this new hunger which quelled inside her. Of course, she has experienced lust--had her share of drunken one-night stands and a motley assortment of ex-boyfriends, but this was almost an entirely new feeling that spread across her skin and into her blood. It was an urge deep into her bones and reeked of sinister intentions. This was the desire to be worshiped and to be coveted by man.

Research Notes
Mutations seem to stem from an altered isotope in the chemical structure of the compound--it appears that certain genetic dispositions are capable of altering the compound into a toxin. We are synthesizing a new compound which will hopefully not display the same results.

Mutations seem to stem from hormonal fluctuation. It is certain that infected subjects have experienced obvious hair growth and aggressive demeanor. No explanations for nail and tooth growth, preliminary guesses suggest coordinated calcium growths.

[mystic1110]

“Stories are important. People think that stories are shaped by people. In fact, it's the other way round. Stories... have evolved... The strongest have survived, and they have grown fat... Stories etch grooves deep enough for people to follow... A thousand wolves have eaten grandmother; a thousand princesses have been kissed... Stories don't care who takes part in them. All that matters is that the story gets told, that the story repeats,” – the man closed the book, Witches Abroad by Sir Terry Pratchett, with a sad little smile. The good author had no clue how right he was, the man thought as he remembered the grey-green mountains of China, and the pink lips of the latest of the Fair Folk, a young journalist who he last remembered ran naked through the moss and fog, vines entwined in her red hair.

The man sighed and ran his hand through his curly brown hair, and struggled to remain comfortable in his airplane seat. It was his private jet – but now it seemed foreign to him, after all that had happened. In total there were seventy eight of them, some smartass kid from America realized it was the same number as cards in a Tarot deck. So they each claimed a card as their own – or at least the kid, the Five of Wands, gave them a card for their own. The man was the Seven of Swords – the card that represented the desire to run lone and free, the lone wolf; the card that representing the choice to pursue hidden dishonor. It was terrifying how accurate his name was. All the cards were accurate – the story demanded it.

Seven of Swords looked out the window – that was how he thought of himself now – his human name was interchangeable and unimportant; his real name, the one the Goddess revealed, was too secret and important to casually think about – who knew who might be listening. Some had given their secret name to lovers underneath the trees, not realizing that they weren’t human anymore, they were Fair Folk, creatures of story and they had rules to follow. Names had power. The twenty two who had accumulated the most knowledge of secret names were given the Major Arcana by the Five of Wands. Appropriate.

The man frowned, remembering giving his secret name to the red haired journalist, The Empress, it was amazing how quickly she took to the life of the Fair Folk – how quickly she assumed the power of the wild. He was hers now, from his flesh to his bones to the marrow beneath – and he realized that he would give it gladly. The Major Arcana called themselves the Court, and their word was the new law of the Fair Folk. A loose type of Law, a wild harsh Law. The goddess was not there to guide them – she was movement, she was silence, she was nature and she just was. She was a force, worthy of awe and fear, worthy of worship, but she had no words of wisdom or guidance to dispense, she just did – and the Fair Folk followed her lead.

They each had a nature, and they were compelled to follow it. The Seven of Swords – the card that represented the desire to run lone and free, the lone wolf; the card that representing the choice to pursue hidden dishonor – the man smiled, he rejected the company of the others, and their plans, he was alone, just as he desired and always will desire. Dishonor, he positively grinned right now and licked his lips; Amsterdam was perfect, simply perfect.

And so he slept, for the Fair Folk still had dreams, and he dreamt of the Empress, and growing moss.

14 AP

Create Order {2}: The society of the Fair Folk. There will always be 78 Fair Folk, although they are immortal they can be killed and when one dies, another will take their place much in the same way the originals were chosen - through their inner nature and desire. The society is very loose, but their is a hierarchy. Before the Fair Folk realized the full power of knowing somethings True Name they danced and made love to each other beneath the trees and whispered their true names in the heat of passion and sparks of love. The twenty two who accumulated the most names were the Major Arcana and they rule the others, The Emperor and the Empress rule the Major Arcana, for they know their true names, The Emperor is the only one who know one knows his name. The society is pretty stable, because since someone knows your name, you don't really abuse your power for fear that they eventually discover and trade your name.

The Fair Folk each have a particular nature and through the power of narrative convenience (for Fraulim is the goddess of story and myth) their titles, the Tarot, describes their nature almost perfectly. So a mortal meeting a Fair Folk will be at a big advantage if he finds out the Fair Folks title, and have total control if he finds its true name.

Till then, as stated they are Immortal, and much stronger and faster than humans, to a "Matrix" level degree. But they do have the traditional weaknesses mentioned earlier.

12 AP

[bryn0528]

Ciudad Madero, Mexico
Santería sat on the Costero in the early hours of the morning, and drank from a bottle in a brown paper sack. The drink was a mix of cocao powder, liquor, and blood. She watched the waters of the Gulf of Mexico, and the toxic red sun rising in the distance. A large black wolf stepped over the low break-tide and walked across the surface of the calm waters.
TAB "Goddess," he addressed her in Spanish. She smiled warmly at the beast, in a way that only the drunk could smile. Her teeth were stained with her selected brew. "The time that comes now, is the time to organize." She smiled again and nodded.
TAB "You are not a very wise god, or perhaps you are simply not that observant. I have assembled my covenant, and each pays his tribute to me, as goddess of you." The wolf creature stood, and smiled darkly. It walked away calmly.
TAB "Good that have done as you have been instructed. But for your vanity, you would have this forever. Your end shall come before the beginning, and you will fail to see the new world." Her smile faded, a deep understanding over taking her body. She made to reply to the wolf, but it was already gone.


Somewhere, a few days prior
"Hey, you can let me out of here."
TAB"I don't think that's necessarily wise."
TAB"But it's completely inhumane that we be trapped here. There are laws against this sort of thing. If the authorities were to find out, you could seriously be arrested. But if you let us out, then I can promise that we won't press any charges."
TABThe aide looked nervous. He bit his lip in thought. "Well, I mean. I really shouldn't. You could still be sick, from the compound." The plexiglass door which sealed nine individuals in the padded room clicked open with a swipe from the aide's identification card. He died well before he hit the ground.
TAB"I don't think we're the ones who are sick." He picked up the card, and used it to unlock the cages... no, the kennels of the other subjects. They looked pretty bad.
TAB He walked to the closest, a male of indeterminable age. His facial structure had been mashed up and turned into something unrecognizable. It was as if a bad sculptor attempted to mold his face into something else, but gave up halfway through. His eye-teeth were very sharp, his fingernails practically claws. Dark hair covered his body. Everyone in this second room looked the same. He examined closely the man's eyes, and found them pleading.
TAB "Do not worry, we shall save you." And he sighed with a deep long-held breath, and the man was free.

Titenwulf's AP = 7. (9) - (2; Form Order; The Cults of the Covenant).

So, a little clarification, because I haven't really explained much;
Between his god magic and the science of H&A, Titenwulf created Witches and Werewolves.
Witches have very powerful, innate abilities. There are nine of them, and each of them figures herself (or himself) as a deity in her own right. Witches have a natural kind of magic, that can manifest itself in numerous ways. I will not be making a concept of this, as it is in the very nature of the Witch rather than anything that can be learned or copied (save by a god). Witches might also be capable of learning Word Magic, but none have yet.
Werewolves are tied to Witches. A wolf may not disobey her commands. Werewolves look like normal people (give me a second) most of the time. The Witches have made it so that their second, hideous form is beneath the surface, and only when they call upon the wolf do these individuals transform.
The cults are spread across the world, and consist of small clusters of werewolves following a Witch, who calls herself a goddess. They are gathering others to their ranks.

[mystic1110]

She was standing on a moss-covered cliff head, naked, her unformed breasts pricked with gooseflesh, her face hidden in a broad red mask. A huge, monstrous thing, the mask sits on her head like the prow of a broken, overturned ship, carved over with etched eyes and fins. Yellow reeds and sea-stones hang from its tricorn-points. She was looking at him, but all the staring man could see was the wooden grotesque she wanted him to see instead of her face. She is seven, sparrowy bones and green eyes that are untamed behind the red mask. The man was not remarkable, slightly plump but not fat, white but not pale; the modern day Humbert Humbert, he was naked. It was love at first sight, at last sight, at ever and ever sight – he was drawn to her fay like features, not knowing that she was more fey then he ever bargained for. He fell to his knees and buried his face into her cold neck and together they stood up, hand in hand and walked up the long path out of the churning, honey-colored sea of wheat and into the green pastures that followed.

The walk was not short, but much shorter than it had every right to be. They arrived at their destination, west of Amesbury and north of Salisbury, a flat field with a ruin of gigantic stones that sat in a circle around more fallen granite; Stonehenge. The man did not know what purpose brought the little girl here, but suffice to say without his knowledge that the Fair Folk were creatures of Story, with a capital S. They weren’t human no matter their memories and appearance, they weren’t written language made flesh, they were myths using bones as puppet strings. What the modern day Humbert Humbert did not know, was that a story that is self-aware is a terrifying thing – the usual ending was never assured, for the story never wanted to end.

Stonehenge was the domain of myths; it was the domain of nature – even tourism respected the immediate vicinity keeping a healthy distance from the circle of useless stone. For the stone itself had no meaning, nothing had meaning except what was given to it. And the meaning the thin freckled masked girl breathed through her tiny nostrils was that this place was a domain of the dead. They said that a journey along the Avon to reach Stonehenge was part of a ritual passage from life to death, to celebrate past ancestors and the recently deceased – that was the walk that she led her admirer on, his knowledge of that fact was not important.

And thus on twilight they arrived and to great them was a great fox, sleek with black fur that was so dark that it leached the color and warmth from the air itself – and on top of that fox was a great metal cage, wrought of bronze with thin bars and ornate layers and chains of charms. The cage was filled with white pollen and broken cocoons, the flapping of albino butterfly wings. It was beautiful the man thought as the fey like creature beside him curtsied in lieu of words; he embarrassingly bowed not knowing what to do.

The masked girl took his hand and led him to the fox, who he saw now sat upon the center stone, the narrow stream of light coming from between two standing monoliths narrowly avoiding it. The girl with the red mask of yellow reeds and sea-stones, fins and gills of an ocean Goddess, laid him upon the stone in the warmth of the light. She got on top of him, and he found himself amused that he was not aroused – for she felt cold like the ocean, he could almost taste the salt on her skin – for too him she was no longer human. The fox watched on impassively and in silence. The girl bent over to whisper in his ear, the blond hairs of her untouched youth brushing against his chest; “Like diamonds we are cut with our own dust.”

And with that he felt the blood curdled and boiled from his stomach, his guts spill over like they were trying to escape from the womb that was his ribs. He was bursting, but not screaming, the girl was red, he was red and the fox was black with white butterflies inside its cage. He was bleeding, but his blood/he felt his blood touch the earth as it trickled down the sides of the stone he laid upon/he felt the earth/really truly felt it/and he knew the fox/he knew the girl/he knew the girl more than he ever knew anyone else/and he wept and the tears touched the earth as well and he joined his ancestors that slept beneath Stonehenge/and the story continued.

And the moss began to grow.

12 AP

Form Nexus {2 AP} - Stonehenge: The area 20 miles around Stonehenge is now basically another world - it is Arcadia. All traces of modern society are gone and it is just pastoral untouched fields of grass and moss, trees and clear waters. It is always twilight or dawn in this small area of the world now regardless of time. The people who lived in this area didn't notice the change, part of the magic of the sacrifice made them move out and abandon the area and their homes and never look back. The area is just filled with Noble Dears with great antlers, rabbits and other such animals. In the center at Stonehenge lives one of the Fair Folk and the rumors are that she will resurrect one person in exchange for one life. But they are only rumors. . .

AP 10

[Draken]

"It would be odd for this to come from the narrator, so lets get it out of the way already. I have been receiving a whole lot of prayer... Excuse me, of 'contact calls' from global authorities. It comes with being one of the few names out in the media. Ho ho."

The People's Republic of China - January 24, 2013.

A distinct group of men gathers before the inhuman form of Mereon, in the middle of discussions that Mereon knows he will have a few more times, but he likes talking.

All of this is conveniently translated to english because god of language.

Actually, lets just stick to Mereon's lines and leave the other side of the conversation implied.

...

"I shall refrain from taking sides in secular matters, gentlemen. And I suggest caution with those who will do so, for they shall have no side but their own."

...

"Why yes. I suppose I could provide my blessings upon the mortal people of this world in exchange for proper considerations, religion should never have stopped being but a contract between the mortal and the immortal."

...

"Yes. At its most basic we are vain creatures, we engorge ourselves on praise on awe, it is a delicious vice."

...

"Yes, I concur, humans are creatures of vice as well, and not the right ones, at that."

...

"Transhumanism is a bold proposition, mister chairman. But it is certainly a way to deal with your ideological problems."

...

"Mens sana in corpo sano doesn't have to mean the same if the body is distinctly inhuman."

...

"There are always disadvantages, mister chairman."

...

"Perhaps some form of beastmen."

...

"Correct, a mix of human and animal forms."

...

"Your people will be changed, my methods are beyond reproach. I would ask that those who do not change and their holdings not be counted as part of your nation, that is my price."

"How can we trust you to not double-deal us?"


"Doubt."

Their lack of faith weights down upon the shoulders of the assembled men, as Mereon finds the very implication of his dishonesty to be offensive.

"I am Mereon, Whose Writtings Usher Truth. My Word is Law and not easily broken."

The magic lifts, and with a bow, the assembled men accept Mereon's price.

"This covenant is settled. Now on to my work I go."

With that, Mereon vanishes from the assembly.

Outer atmosphere - Seconds later.

Mereon unfulrs a scroll of his choice, hovering just high enough to not be considered in orbit.

It shows a number of designs, a goatman, a centaur, a minotaur, a tigerman, none are to his liking at the moment. He needs something more... Distant.

He stops on a sketch between man and mantis... But it is a bit too extreme, needs to be toned down, a certain human kinship must be kept, and they certainly need to remain mammals... So Mereon takes a human design, he changes the face, specially the eyes, and adds a little something to the arms, an extra join just beneath the hand, with a useful bladed limb to go with it. Some carapace will go well with it all, and a change in leg structure is in order.

Mereon is happy with the body design, the mind is easy enough to reshape, certain instincts merely need accentuation, others need to be toned back down, some way back down.

Characters fly down all across the world, Mereon has a few things to rewrite, a few codes, a few events, so that the Mantise spread across the world, he turns every chinese, as the will of their representants doubles as the will of the people.

Don't look at me, that is how The Rules work, and Mereon is a god of rules.

Those who don't quite think these are their representants get excluded, by the Mereon's terms, a few territorial claims will have to be dropped, they were expected, when he named them, it is worth the cost. And going back on their words isn't, that is for sure.

And he makes an announcement, of course, can't have panic on the streets, such disorder is just not right, someone could get hurt.

7 AP

1 AP: Alter Race - The Mantise: Mereon has changed the entirety of the chinese people into an actual variant race of humans. Prominent features including angular (nearly triangular) faces with mildly enlarged, faceted eyes, a soft carapace and an extension to the arms, like the distinctive claws of a mantis, entirely separate from the hand, somewhat like a built-in tonfa.

Mantise are quick and tough, and think a bit different form normal humans, they are more... Communal, lets say. It is not as easy for a Mantise to hide his nature as it is for a Fae, but they get the edge on a fistfight, two edges, in fact.

They remain essentially humans and are not invertebrates, interbreeding with common humans is possible and will result in fertile half-breeds that are essentially members of the race of one of the parents, Mereon is going to drive one or two geneticists nuts with that one.

Mereon wants to change more of the peoples of the world in such a fashion, not more mantise, of course, no point in repeating himself that way.

6 ap left.

[Elemental]

New York Public Library - Main Branch

"All those that are worthwhile."
The lion began to snore, dreaming of thousands of libraries being erased by the careless hands of another. Not just libraries, but millions of lives as well. Such negligence... Such heartless evil... Perhaps it was only a dream, but one could never tell until one awoke.
A wind began to blow through the room, sheets of paper being blown around and out of the window leaving only the lion asleep. He opened his eyes and sat looking at Elizabeth.
"You take liberties and seize rights that are not yours to meddle in. For what? A cause that is meaningless. It's very nature demands its own destruction."
He tilted his head slightly and gave a very cat like gaze.
"It intrigues us that you seek your own destruction. Why do you not shun this path and choose another?"
As the lion spoke, its shadow moved and formed into a man dressed in black clothes with silver embroidery, his hair prematurely turning silver. Then with one voice, they both spoke.
"We will trouble you no more this day. Do not attempt to follow us or interfere with us in future.
"Give the city its rest, or you doom yourself to the fate of its citizens."
A flash of blinding light, and they were both gone, the corrupt Gutenberg Bible left to burn on the table.


The King's Library Tower - British Library

The man appeared. He really needed a name for himself and that lion friend of his one of these days...
Anyway... This would be a more difficult task. Unlike New York, this library wasn't abandoned by violent poets, it was still staffed and had hundreds of visitors... Perhaps he could get permission from the Sovereign?


The Void of Space

The lion found itself floating in the interstellar void, surrounded by a cloud of vellum and paper sheets. The space between the stars was both dull and lacking in privacy. Why... In four-point-eight years, telescopes might catch a glimpse of him...

[Hank McBadass]

Las Vegas, Nevada, USA

Vegas itself didn't actually burn, this is the 21st century after all, but the lack of lasting destruction belies the horror of that night. Ordinary people in extraordinary situations can in very unexpected ways. Often this manifests in acts of heroism in the face of unexpected danger. There was precious little of that in Vegas though.


Most people just turned off their minds and in panic. Caution and good sense were thrown to the wind as everyone tried to avoid the carnage. Hundreds were trampled and scores killed on the roads leaving the city.


Those that did think were worse. Rarely do the desperate and those without conscious have as much opportunity as during a panic. And everyone was desperate. What started with gang violence and social unrest quickly devolved into looting and the looting quickly devolved into more. It was as if the moral filters that were socialized into people just disappeared.


It was proper of course. First the government of Las Vegas had faltered and cracked and now the very society and its works followed course. People threw off the shackles that bound them and felt true freedom: the freedom to nothing and everything. As the sandstorm drew in the last fear fell away. There was nothing to lose! None of them would see the next morning anyway. The pure, electric joy in the air was only interrupted by screams of pain.


The Lady sat on the edge of the Bellagio fountains taking in the view. An explosion went off in the distance; a man held a woman down by the throat while his friend violently penetrated her, and continued holding her after she had stopped struggling and trying to breath; a mother found the crushed body of her son back at the exit from the casino; two lovers bolted their door and found peace in each others arms for one last night; a man leapt to his death rather than continue on. This was the world -- a cause, but no reason.


Sinatra's Luck Be a Lady started playing and the fountains danced along. "Miss … can you … help me? I can't find my mommy." A sobbing little girl approached her.


"Your mommy is not here, child. She must be dead. Looking will not help." The goddess responded.


"What? I don't want her to be dead . I want her back. " The child collapsed on the ground in tears.


"Well that wouldn't do much good. She'd probably just die again."


It was quite a shame to have such a beautiful place destroyed. But this was not just some human infection of the mind, it was divine action. The goddess really didn't really think it was worth fighting over. She'd ask about it at this meeting that the nerd had asked about. The Lady stood and began to walk away from the weeping child. The child let out a shout.


The Lady felt resistance, a mortal might have found it to be an immovable resistance but it just slightly threw her off balance. The child was looking up at her.


"I'm not going to let you go too. Mommy taught me magic!" said the girl.


The Lady let out a laugh. "Let me? You obviously don't know what I am, girl." The goddess walked over to her and stared into her eyes. "Let me show you." The Lady let her see the entirety and all the implications. It would drive her insane.


The girl just wiped her eyes. "I don't care. You will help me." She let out a word. The lady felt a slight pressure on her mind. The little tike not only wasn't fazed but was attempting to control her through that ridiculous word-magic. Priceless!


"You know what? I will help you. Take what you want, sweetie." The goddess walked up to the child and gave her a pat on her head. The child was gone. The goddess expanded her awareness to perceive all. "Oh wow! Wonderful!"


Amid the chaos of Vegas a lady in a green dress sang and danced like everything was right in the world, even as doom approached.



I don't think there are any AP actions here. Just interacting with Sand's curse. The girl knows some naming magic but it was on the internet so I think it should be fair game.

Also:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZH21_YzuQ5s

[The Succubus]

Las Vegas: Requiem

The desert wind walks the streets
As skyscrapers stand as a silent vigil
To an empty and desolate world below

Life has fled, leaving grim remains
For the beasts and birds that feast
On joy and hope and love

The sand consumes

The footsteps of doom march north
The tramp of ancient leathers the only sound
Echoing through a tomb of glass and steel

The angels came too late to save them
With all of heaven's armoury and succor
Imprisoned behind a maelstrom of earthern grains

There are none to mourn for the meadow's children
For none will dwell within those thrice cursed walls
Those that fled dream of the man in black
And drop by blessed drop, life slips away

[Hank McBadass]

The Empire Strikes Back


President Obama signed the necessary paperwork. It was the first time since the Civil War that martial law had been declared by the president and not a state, but what was there to do? Vegas had been emptied, New York was in chaos under the heel of some bad poetry god, the bedrock of tradition, religion had been upended d, bring riots across the country. This could quickly get out of control. Society works because we know what to expect. No one did anymore. If things started snowballing, the initial violence would be nothing to the misery that would follow as, people stopped working, supplies ran short, and billions would go without. That is when the real violence would begin.


Of course they should have been better prepared. Four years ago he had met her -- the operative codenamed Yellow Rose, the girl from the future. Every president for the past 25 years had. She wasn't much of an asset at first, her memory didn't extend back far enough. By the time she was, time had killed too much detail to be of much use. But the talk of gods! Intelligence had thought she was speaking of aliens, or some kind of enhanced human.


If only they had been able to control her, maybe hypnotize her? But the story goes no matter how they tried to secure her she always managed to escape. When they posted armed guards, they all ended up dead. When they sealed her under 12 inches of steel, when they opened the cell up, it was empty. Typical of those military boys, really. If they had just made the child like them there wouldn't be a problem. Now they needed her, she was the only one that could help. It wasn't even clear the shooting solutions for the Individually Targeted Tactical Nuclear Devices would be developed in time.


He looked over his speech again. He needed to be perfect -- nothing else would do. Lincoln had his civil war, he had this.


Meanwhile, In Texas


"Senator Williams, was your trip a success?"


A flash of annoyance passed over the senators face before relaxing into a smile. "Please, call me Alice. You know how I hate that position, it is just necessary for what comes ahead. And yes, it was. She's asleep now. I'll wake her later and explain."


"That's great, I'm glad to here it! Hopefully it will all come together so nicely."



"Hopefully." The senator's voice became businesslike. "Anyway, left a report on your desk. See if you can find any discrepancy in that summary and the news reports. I want to make sure I've been keeping up."


"Will do ma'am. Anything else?"


"No that's it. I'm going to meet Roosevelt Wright today about some fool project he wants to hurry past the regulators. I guess he figures I run a tight enough ship that I can scrounge up a quorum even with all the **** going on."


"Ok well I'll see you when you get back." Jack left her office.


Alice gathered her stuff. So much to do and so little time. She looked in the mirror and didn't like her hair so she put it up. Honey blond might look more sophisticated but she was a platinum girl at heart. She wouldn't normally care but a little bird had dropped that Roosevelt was newly single. Looking good never hurt.

Alice focused and let out a phrase . Dream of me. All she wanted to do was to see her mother but two decades of planning and scheming were finally coming to fruition. Her reunion could wait a little longer.



AP: 9 (leftover) + (3 rollover) = 13

-5: Raise Hero -- Alice, The Yellow Rose of Texas

= 8 remaining

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yalc-vvtWFE)

[mystic1110]

The word palimpsest refers to a piece of parchment where something is written, then scratched off, then written upon again. It is a story that is erased and rewritten thousands of times, the same way many lives in a city begin and then wink out in the same places over time. Palimpsests – that was what life and story were, blank pieces of paper fluttering in the wind, stray lines of blotted ink sprayed upon them, and then erased. What is life but a palimpsest?

And what remains of the writing and the life that was erased? Was it erased never to return, was the memory of it, itself erased? Yes, as long as no one remembered, but life and story are not mere figments of ink and parchment – they exist in relation to other lives and stories. And thus in these half-forgotten, half remembered eulogies and retellings, a gigantic black fox walked, and weaved. The fox’s skin was black, or a deep blue that reminded one of ink, on its back was a cage that would have crushed any lesser being, it was bronze with gilded bars, and filled with the remains of curdled milk colored cocoons and white butterflies that glowed with ethereal ephemeral light.

The fox walked, no . . . it strode through a world resembling clotted-cream – so full of palimpsests long since discarded but still recalled that she left ripples in the tales in her wake. It is not true that the dead cannot be folded. Square becomes kite becomes swan; history becomes rumor becomes song. Even the act of remembrance creases the truth. And the black fox with the cage on its back plucked and pruned the knots and the folds, and chose the ones that were the most tangled – those stories and lives that were retold so many times, and with so much faith, that they were no mere rumor – no mere history – they were in more ways more alive than the living.

And thus as these tangles stories rose from the clotted-cream world they had lived in of blotted ink and misshapen sentences – from the world of imaginations, but from the world of history and worship and fond memories, they rose as mortal palimpsests – ghosts. And thus the great black fox with its cage on its back, or the cage with its beast of burden beneath, full of white butterflies and their remains, walked on, and the specters began to walk the earth.

There were few – and rare. Only the most tangled story, the ones that people truly believed and cared about, the ones they retold over and over and not as mere history, but with the hopes that they still walked among them would rise from the curdle milk of rumor. Ghost stories brought to life. . . oh, if only that were true, for they were always alive, this was merely the first time that mortals realized that memory and faith had actual power. It was a terrifying realization.


***

Ceno’s mother knelt in front of her in a simple but shudderingly expensive black yukata with ghostly ultramarine jellyfish trails their tendrils at the hem. Her mother knelt in front of her in a knight's gleaming black armor, the metal curving around her body like skin, a silk standard at her feet with a schematic of their childhood house stitched upon it. Her sword lay across her knee, also black, everything black and beautiful and austere and frightening, as frightening and wonderful as Ceno , thought her mother to be.

Or at least remembered; for her mother was dead. But it had been years, and she told stories of her mother to her children, and they told stories of the great woman to their children – their stories told how she was always watching, always protecting, always vigilant, always judging. And what she would do to intruders, and what she would do to disappointment. It was a family story, one that walked the halls and rose when they awoke. Yet now it actually roamed the estate – the black robes and black sword, somewhat translucent, so that you can see another person’s face through the armor, but only if you stood right next to the apparition.

Ceno, one hundred and nine now reached out to the ghost and the ghost reached out to her, and caressed her forehead, then slowly and apologetically unleashed her katana, black, and raised it up high with the other hand. A mother’s mercy, a mother’s disappointment – Ceno remembered the bitter stories she used to tell. . . and then, she became part of the story, and her head rolled away.

AP 10 + Rollover {4} = 14

Legendary Concept: Ghosts. Ghosts are not the souls of those who are dead - they might think they are, and it might cause them great anguish to realize it, but they are merely living stories, those stories that are retold so many times, over and over and over that they become real. Basically Ghost stories, in any culture - BUT also Saints and historical figures people claim and think walk among us - Elvis and Rasputin for example.

AP 9

[THEChanger]

Zurich, Switzerland

It was a Tuesday when the wind blew in.

It was a strange wind, for that mountainous country. It smelled of sweet oranges, bitter herbs, and the sharp scent of a rushing river. It felt like softest silk, a child's cheek, like a midsummer night. It sounded like a sighing maiden, the gentle creak of a redwood, like a world about to wake. This was the wind that blew through the city of Zurich, as the sun rose. One moment, the wind swirled and blustered. The next, in the middle of the city, stood a man.

He was dressed in no grand clothes. A simple burlap robe, patched with a multitude of odd fabrics. In one hand, a rough walking stick, carved from a willow branch. His hair hung down his back, far below the shoulders, a wavy, deep brown, the color of fertile earth. His head was crowned with a circlet of flowers, and the pipe in his mouth billowed with soft puffs of smoke. The man smiled, and began to wander the city. He knew where he was going. He always knew where he was going. Sometimes it took him a little while to get there, but get there he would.

Today, he was visiting Penelope. The Scientist to his Teacher. Sister P had put out the call, and Everything would answer, sure enough.

No, not Everything anymore. Close, very close, but not quite. He was Peacetrip now, definately Peacetrip Flowerdancer. It was an odd feeling, to not be Everything anymore, but Peacetrip rather liked it. Hopefully he would keep liking it.

"Sister P? Penelope? You out there? I got your message." The wind Peacetrip had arrived with carried his voice. It floated and flitted throughout Zurich, and would be sure to find the Scientist, wherever she was.

Peacetrip just hoped she wasn't asleep.

[Elemental]

The Man abandons his plans in England, the British Library be damned, Timbuktu was of greater significance.
In short; Timbuktu, January 29th

All around the world chaos was springing up, existing chaos exacerbated by previous events. As such, the Man walked the streets of Timbuktu. He had not the time to copy the ancient manuscripts by hand so instead he listened to them. Each one a gentle voice inaudible to those who refused to listen for it. Some of the voices were contorted in screams of anguish, and it was these that he was here for. They were burning, and it pained him that innocent texts should be destroyed because they conflicted with another's agenda.


The Void of Space, 4.8 light years from Earth, give or take a few astronomical units.

In short, Earth was turning to ruin. Numerous gods and entities warred over it and if nothing would be done, human civilisation would be forever destroyed. It was a shame that the gods didn't seek to bring a golden age about, but it was hypocritical for the Lion to think such things as he himself had no such plans. Not even the Man cared that much.
However, preservation was in order. It was a shame that humanity couldn't travel among the stars. The laws of physics prevented them from doing so and altering them could prove... Difficult...

The Lion stretched out with its claws and grabbed at the fabric of space time. Floating aimlessly in the void was rather soporific. He stood on nothing and prepared to walk back to Earth, but alas, one of his claws remained caught without him realising and when he took his first step, the fabric of reality was torn asunder, leaving a gaping hole.
Taken by surprise, the Lion looked around in the vain hopes of finding something to plug the gap before his divine consciousness managed to reassert its control.
Something would have to be made to plug the gap. Perhaps the solution could solve another problem as well.
A new dimension was in order? One with its own laws. That would seal the gap and allow convenient travel among the stars. Plus, it would make a great place to keep all the knowledge that the Man keeps gathering.
Note to self: Find a quicker way of doing that.

As such, the Lion grabbed at the fabric of space time and dove straight into the gap. In four-point-eight years, the skies of Earth would be marked with a blindingly bright light for a few days. Hopefully the gravitational effect wouldn't interfere with any stray comets...
But at least the new dimension was stable. But a bit strange...

Starting AP: 15
Weave Plane: Hyperspace. 5 AP
Hyperspace exists outside of and alongside normal space time, allowing faster than light travel through utilisation of the planes geometry. In essence, the shortest route between any two points in through hyperspace. By navigating through it, one can cut down a journey of several million years into a matter of moments, depending solely on random chance. As such, hyperspace is not suggested for short trips, as it may in fact take longer due to navigational errors exacerbated by the proximity of the start and end points. However, a good rule of thumb is that travelling through hyperspace cuts a journey down to roughly a week per light year depending on layer.

Hyperspace consists of multiple layers, each with a unique danger:
The "uppermost" layer, or the one most readily accessible from normal space time, consists mostly of an endless void, its only features being stars that appear long dead, incredible ancient lumps of degenerate matter that by all logic cannot exist as the Universe itself isn't old enough. An individual in this layer will age according to their "perception" of time. Unfortunately, it plays tricks with a person's mind, so what feels like years can in fact be mere moments. Anyone tasked with the difficulty of navigating this layer should keep in sight at all times an accurate chronometer and refer to it regularly. It is recommended that their heart be somehow silenced so as to not distract them. Passengers and non-essential crew members would be best placed into suspended animation.
The "lower" layers will be described when either the Lion or someone else manages to travel there.

[The Succubus]

“There are some things humans just know in their bones. One, those small red berries might look mighty tasty on the outside but they’re nothin’ but a world of bellyhurt. Two, a fella stumblin’ around in the dark is certain to meet a sticky end. An’ finally, humans know the stories. From the times of the Greeks, when their gods was out whorin’ and drinkin’ and makin’ merry with us mortal folks. Then there’s the tales from the cold hard north, where big strappin’ fellas wrestled with sea snakes and giants. Even back to the times of old Anansi hisself, humans tell the stories.

“So the tale I’m gonna be sharin’ with you – you’ve heard it before. Feel free to chime in when you know the words. The stars are shinin’ on from a clear sky above a desert, lookin’ down on a man sittin’ beneath a tree. Y’all already know there’s a small campfire beside him, burning bright as summer sunshine. It’s a cozy fire and the man’s lookin’ as comfortable and relaxed as Old Nick after a spell o’ mischief and for much the same reason. Why don’t ya tell me what kind of duds he’s wearin’? He ain’t exactly a city gent, this fella; all decked up in a Sunday suit. Naw, you know he’s lookin’ a little frayed around the edges, like a cowboy lost in time. He seems to be all on his lonesome for now…but we know the tale.

“He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a harmonica. Our scruffy friend also knows the stories; hell, he’s been in more than a few of them hisself. It used to be that the story he’s about to share was once told by a bunch of his kin; full o' blood an' fury an' terror. Mostly they was just to frighten the little 'uns with, no folks truly believed in the devils o' the desert.

“He start’s playin’. It’s a simple enough tune, barely more than notes strung together. If there’s a rhythm, it’s a slow one. ‘cross the campire though, things are pickin’ up a little. A little puff o’ wind carries some dust into the air before settlin’ down again, which is powerful strange when you consider the wind has taken the night off. The song speeds up a little, you feel your feet tappin’ along to it. The wind on the other side o’ him is getting stronger, wiskin’ back an’ forward. The branches on the tree though ain’t movin’ at all. Music fills the air and the man now has some company at his campfire – a small tornado, spinnin’ around in time to the melody. The song begins to slow a little now and the tornado opens a pair of eyes like green cracklin’ thunder. The man doesn’t say a word but continues playin’ his tune. It’s a trick o’ the ears, to be sure, but the notes begin to sound like words on the cusp o’ understanding. His companion seems to be graspin’ it just fine and replies in hisses and whistles.

“The man nods, just once, and his swirlin’ friend sinks beneath the sands. Our scruffy friend settles back down to sleep and the night is calm an’ still once more.

Y’all just know something bad is about to happen, don’t ya.”

*****

The brambles and sharp rocks were slicing her feet to ribbons but still she ran off into the black of the desert, maddened with fear. The soldiers couldn’t stop them and soon the refugee camp had been torn to tatters. Gunfire had passed through empty air until it had struck people fleeing. Some of them had shot back. Soon the camp had been torn about by fear and panic and whatever had come out of the desert.

In the dark, behind the sobbing and terrified woman, the wind was picking up.

Create Sapient Life - Dust Devils (2 AP)

The dust devils are elemental spirits of air, a story from Sand's past given life for the first time. Essentially a living tornado made of wind and sand, they have emerald green eyes and very sharp teeth and claws, made from fragments of rock. They are mischievous to the point of being cruel and take great delight in recklessness behaviour. Greatly weakened by rain and getting wet, a dust devil must dry out completely before being able to move and fight again.

[Draken]

Zurich, Undefined Day.

"Undefined?"

I don't know. Shut it.

A comitive whispers among themselves, men and women of several nations talking in a common dialect, discussing nothing of great import, mostly wether their attire would be better in blue, white or green, and if robes or suits are more fitting for this formal occasion, two of them favor robes, saying that since the great working befell their country, sleeves have become troublesome.

But for now, they merely wait by the sides of the mummy of scripture that is Mereon, who patiently waits for the goddess who called this meeting to present herself.

Of course, he is not doing only that, it would be a waste of time. And a shard of the Vast Speaker hovers at the atmospheric horizon, planning and designing. But most of all, he looks at a burning library in Mali.

And The Man furiously copying all that burned.

His voice came, without static, out of broken machinery.

"You there, deity."

"What is your name?"

[bryn0528]

What is it that brings a person to worship, to pray? His fountain pen flows liquid black lines. He is not language or words, but it is not as if the other he is magic. It is just a tool to employ means. Is it from fear or love that a man or a woman or a child would beg for their life? Would beg and plead for someone else's life? Are we not all just monsters anyway? Out for ourselves and our own interests. If you help someone, is it not because you just get what you want out of it in return? You might go on to argue that the human condition could never be quite so cruel, that we all possess, somewhere deep down, a sense of true compassion. Then why do I have no pity for them? Perhaps it is because I am so much not a human, at least anymore. Maybe I am just a real monster, the thing which lurks and all fear. Is this why I am praised?

Somewhere beneath the earth
Khet is here based on trite cliche, largely. Also, it just happens to be fairly convenient. The tomb is dark and musty, smells of dry dust which aggravates her sinuses. The room is filled with nearly a dozen wolves, laying around bored. Her voice snaps like a bullwhip. "You could at least clean up after yourselves if you haven't anything better to do. It smells like wet dog in here." She maybe didn't mean to sound so harsh, but her nerves wore thin. All the rioting outside in the city didn't make it exactly easy to get her plans done.
TAB Her what? Oh right, plans. She couldn't tell you what exactly provoked her so, or really what she was doing at all. Or what she was planning. But she did know it had to be here. Here was the place. Maybe she would take the city for herself. The country is afire with civil insurrection anyway. She could take the throne... the... parliament? Hell if she knew anything about this country. She grew up in America and didn't know very much of foreign countries at all. So what if her mother had been born here, in this city? Maybe it is why she came back.
TAB But yes, this city shall be hers. They will come to worship her as a living goddess. She smiled absently, running her fingers through her thick, dark hair.

Cairo, Egypt
They move through the city like shadows. It is surprising how something so large could be so quiet. A mass of writhing muscles and dark fur, of tooth and nail and blood boiling in the night.
TAB By dawn, the city is theirs. She sat on the steps of the capitol. The streets are empty of people, filled only with passing papers. The people of the city sit worried, huddled over television sets and radios, waiting for some help to come. But it does not, the city is now hers. She smiled absently.

[Hank McBadass]

Zurich, Switzerland

The divine meeting place was uncomfortably silent. Not that peaceful absence of noise and activity but that artificial silence, full of anxiety and a desire to get things underway. The Lady was not one for uncomfort.

A din was heard down the hall. As it grew louder and louder the silence became a genuine one -- What was that foolishness? Didn't they realize the somberness of the situation? Apparently not.

When the doors flung open the noise had grown to a roar ... and it only came from about 10 people. But the guards who had moved to keep decorum seemed to have a change of heart and joined in.

"Oh Hans, you silly GOOSE!" A lady in a green cocktail dress and and hair the color of dying embers lead them. "Now come on, pour us some more champagne."

Surrounding the lady were 9 of what must have been the most attractive men in the city. Hans was a particularly muscly specimen, as Swiss as they come with bright blonde hair and startling blue eyes. The lady tapped a table and crystal glasses appeared on the table.

"Oh no, not for everyone, just for us, hon." She gave Hans a pat on his hard, firm butt. "If those nerds squared want some they can get it themselves."

The party carried on as the security forces gathered around, taking glasses themselves.

"Kwame, just take one, don't worry, she's not going to stalk you all they way here." She said to another of her entourage. He wasn't quite the opposite of Hans -- he was well muscled and fairly tall -- but was more sleek than massive and a Ghanaian native, plus was playing it much more cool than Hans.

They ended up sitting down at the table and decided to play strip poker. They all knew that the Lady was going to win but none of them really cared. She gave them a few hands out of sport.

Thus the Lady waited for the meeting to commence.



Tampico, Mexico

"Juan better hold up his end of the bargain, or I'll kill him, you, and every other one of you slimy bastards. I'm tired of doing your dirty work for pennies and scraps. "

"Don't you see why he might be a little worried about moving you up the chain, amigo? Now Carlos, we've knocked out the Gulf Cartel stronghold but those bastards that tortured and killed our man are still alive. The job's not done until they are less so."

"**** them. And **** you. First you send me into take care of the Sinolas, then the Gulf Cartel, and now this so called witch? I'm just sayin' -- where's my money? Do you see me with any fancy cars or wearing gold chains? That bastard Juan does though. And so do you."

"Be patient, brother. Why do you think we called you all the way down from Nuevo Laredo? Juan wants you to run Tampico and Medero. That's the only thing that makes sense."

"Or cause I'm the best and he's hoping one day I'll take a bullet so you fat cats can keep all the spoils. Whatever. Am I supposed to take these bums?"

"Yeah, these are your guys."

"Oh. Great. Whatever, lets sack up men -- we've going in and killing this so called witch."

"Wait! I have to get out of here first. I don't want to be around when the Federales come."

"No, I don't suspect you do. Us hard men would have a field day with your pampered ass in jail."

Carlos walked up to the door. The Spanish colonial revival mansion was eerily quiet. The bosses thought that this witch -- what an interesting name for a hitman -- was inside but Carlos wasn't sure. It was a stout door, the wood was a solid 3 inches thick.

Carlos decided to set a charge rather than try to sneak in a window like a common criminal. The police wouldn't come, they'd seen to that. The boss was just being a pansy.

The explosion went off and Carlos entered the house. Time to kill a witch.

[Elemental]

Timbuktu

The Man's memorising of several hundred thousand medieval manuscripts was interrupted by a voice from a damaged radio. He turned to face it, the majority of his intellect still focussed on his task.
"My name is none of your concern. I'd ask your name, but I have a feeling I already know what you are.
"I assume there is some matter of importance you bring to my attention, otherwise, you would not seek to interrupt me."

[Draken]

Timbuktu

"No importance whatsoever. Merely curiosity."

"But why not entertain me, good kinsman? They call me Language and words are my awareness and purview. I could point you to where every one of these texts lingers on, such that all that is lost in these flames has no value other than sentimental or for its origins and craftsmanship. Such things that your copyism will not retain. An ethereal value, indeed."

"But that is minor, kinsman. You could halt this flame, you could take these texts and let the flame feast on chalk and mortar. Why not do so? Why waste good reading time in such a dreadful situation?"

----

Zurich

Mereon's... Priesthood... Whisper among themselves at the arrival of the newest posse. They have no kind words to speak about them, with gaudy being the kindest terminology to employ.

Why the ladies among them entertain the prospects of Speaking a few unkind Words at Miss Fortune's prized Sirs. They would surely...

"No. And cut the puns."

The priests fall silent. The narrator vows to make more puns.

[Elemental]

Timbuktu

"It is a shame that your curiosity may remain unfulfilled."
He thought for a moment.
"True. Each text lives on. But you are the self-proclaimed Lord of Language. I am not. Alas, I am forced to find another way to gather the written word. And indeed, all information."
At Mereon's last comment, he fixed his eyes at the broken radio, somehow managing to lock eyes with him across the distance of space, almost as though it meant nothing to him. Perhaps the Lion's creation of Hyperspace had unforeseen effects?
"The works may yet survive, and I will not deny the inhabitants of this city the chance to save their heritage. The presence of a God in the midst of a war brought about by religious militants may cause more harm than good. Should they desire to regain what is lost, they need merely seek me out."


Hyperspace

The highest layer was relatively benign. To the Lion at least. A mortal would likely wither and die in mere moments, longer if they were lucky. It was probably not the wisest decision to leave the majority of the plane's formation up to the laws of chance of what amounted to a newly formed reality. Still, it was easy enough to navigate once he worked out how.
Gently, or at least he thought it was gently, he prodded at the intraplanar boundaries to access deeper regions of Hyperspace. They proved unyielding, so he pushed harder and harder, until at last, it gave way. In quick successions, the Lion was assaulted by blinding light, inky darkness, twisting threads of brilliant colours, visions of fire and chaos and what sounded like screams of anguish, until at last, he came to an abrupt stop.
And where he came to, there was nothing. Well... Not much... Simply, an expanse of dark wispy clouds that moved in mesmerising patterns. Inexplicably, he found himself drawn forward, and he walked toward a point in the distance.
Here was a place of utter calm. Not even the humble clouds dared approach this spot. It was empty and in its emptiness, it seemed perfect.
Captured in a contemplative trance, the Lion stared into the void that was not a void.

[bryn0528]

Ciudad Madero
Night. Run down storefronts advertising cervezas. Witch. As good a place as any.
TAB Of course Santeria knows about the others and she knows about the wolf. The one who made her a goddess among men. The one who made her subjects unquestionably loyal, who gave them his own image to enact her will. But she finds the display in Egypt undesirable. Already her vanity has cost her life, still living but in constant fear the lobo negro will come for her.
TAB Could a goddess die? She doubted the implications, save from the one who gave her the gift of divinity. For there was no question... she is not a human anymore, something greater and bigger. Vast and infinite, she felt the alien thoughts throughout her mind. Yet still, she sat here huddled in an abandoned mercado.
TAB The sun had barely risen by the time they tore the tiled floors apart to the earth beneath. They dug and dug, deeper into dirt and into the hard rock below. She knew it was here, and she wanted it. Yes, he had told her that much at least.

[Yeshon]

Everything was collapsing. New York City went dark, Vegas had been ripped apart, and the President had declared martial law. The world could have survived two of these tragedies. But, with NYC went the NYSE and the CME group. Without any communication into or out of the city all the records of the exchanges vanished and far too many economies depended on that information. Disaster was not looming it had already struck. The NASDAQ, being an over the counter exchange, still functioned (somewhat), but even it kept most of its information inside the Big Apple. As such, no one really knew who owned (or owed) what to whom. It had become a mass of data, ownership of fundamentally intangible assets driven by speculation and demand for ownership. Neither of those factors were measurable any longer and the world was on the brink of anarchy.

The majority of the American commodity exchanges (being based in Chicago) still functioned but the prices of everything shot up. Far too many people thought it was the end of the world and too many of these commodity owners were willing to charge exorbitant rates for the material wealth they had stored for so long. Not all men were so greedy. But when the price of oil jumped over $600 a barrel, the actions of the few good men no longer mattered. If left unchecked the leaders of the world would see a chance to grab power, with the excuse of protecting their people. They were only human after all, besides what option did they have? Luckily, a guardian deigned to present an alternative.

One day, all the computers of the Chicago Mercantile Exchange received an email many terabytes large. It began thusly,

“See attached the records of the NYSE, CME, and NASDAQ from 1900 to the present. Also took the liberty of including the price fluctuations that occurred during the black out and any contracts that were supposed to take effect during this period of unrest.”

It was a miracle.

Days Prior
Alexi Koslov was dying. He had served the Communist government in the Ukraine as the Secretary of Agriculture. As a secretary he had done his best to make sure his farmers were treated fairly. Did whatever he could to satisfy the idiotic administrators who imposed unrealistic quotas on farms and expected them to be able to grow the same crop on the same ground in the same quantity year after year. Together, with his farmers, he had developed one of the most efficient agricultural systems in the world. Until they became more than a farming cooperative, they became family. When the USSR dissolved he kept the ‘family’ together. They formed a massive farming corporation that made all of them wealthy beyond their wildest dreams.
Alexi worried for them now, now that he was at the end of his life. Alexi saw his reflection in a mirror resting on the ceiling and was surprised how much his vigorous body had deteriorated. His farmers had come to visit him every day, now he wondered if it would be better that they not see him. Here he was far removed from the appearance of gods, he might not have cared even had he known. There was only one question on his mind: Who would keep his family together now? He had been grooming his son Pietro to take his place, but the boy had disappeared over a month ago. Alexi blinked away tears as he struggled to keep his heart pumping blood, what would happen to them?
Suddenly he saw something in the corner of his eye. And Alexi knew that someone else was in the room. He was a tall man, favoring his mother’s Germanic features more than his father’s Ukrainian. Alexi smiled. “Pietro.” He whispered and his heart stopped pumping. Alexi, who stood against the most powerful men in the USSR, stopped struggling. Finally he knew his family would be okay.

Petros kneeled next to the man and took his hand as he expired, “No father.” He kissed the kind old man on the forehead, “A second son, but a son all the same.”

The claim of a stranger to be the son of the late great Alexi Koslov was met with reasonable skepticism. All it took was a DNA test to prove he was the genuine article (admittedly faked since Petros doesn’t have DNA). And being that Alexi had not been in any state to change his Will prior to his death, in which he left the vast majority of his assets to his now missing son, all of those unaccounted for assets fell into the hands of Petros and he used them well.

Already he had set the wheels in motion; the next harvest would see unprecedented profit for his farmers and then, expansion. Petros was not without his critics. He was making many risky investments in a time when they were unlikely to pay off. He certainly was buying stock for 10% of its market value, but without the brokers, records, and analysts of the NYSE, what good were they? Still, he laughed such critics off as if he knew something they didn’t and when the information came to the Chicago Mercantile Exchange, Petros was the richest man in the world. To the world, he was a young man who had made an incredibly risky gamble and had it pay off. But he was much more than that.

Unknown to any but perhaps some of his kinsmen, he was no man, but a god. Petros saw a world destabilized by his own kind. If his kinsmen were left unchecked then humanity would either be enslaved by the gods or become dependent upon them. Petros found neither of these choices acceptable so he conceived a third option, where humans and gods coexisted peacefully, with neither seeking to dominate the other, a symbiosis, that while difficult, was achievable. With that, he came up with the first of many ideas.

Intro (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lVrRTayCZMI)
The Sears Tower, under new management.
Petros lowered his cigar as he surveyed the city; he had chosen this place for his headquarters. Chicago would be the only old financial center under his direct protection.

Hard to believe it had only been a few days since his birth.

“The question is, how do we keep these, ‘gods’ as they call themselves from destroying us?”

“Do you really think it would come to that?”

Behind him a black box chattered with conversation, corporate officers and select government officials from around the world discussed something that concerned every single one of them, the advent of gods. They were unaware of the true nature of the man who had called the meeting; no mortal knew his true nature. In fact, every member of the conference was confused as to why they had chosen this meeting.

Petros grimaced, in his first second of life he had gone over every scrap of information since the gods had reappeared. As near as he could tell there were least three but most likely four who were downright malevolent, though he could only name one. And a few who were relatively benign; Zurich would be a good place to pick out the good from the bad, or the good from the indifferent.

“Does he think it would come to that?? Look at New York! I just thank God my family and I were on vacation when the crazy hit.”

There was a long silence, when someone with a Japanese accent chimed in.
“What about this Cabal? Perhaps we could strike a deal with him.”

”If you want to survive you should weary of all of these gods. I only agreed to hold this meeting over conference call because I think Mereon will be gracious enough to keep his own counsel on what transpires here.”

Petros could smell the fear in some of the delegates as Mereon’s name was mentioned. Only a few days, that was all it really took for mortals to begin trembling. It was different even a month ago, when they believed in a kind paternalistic deity, none-at-all, or many gods who would war for their safety. Now? Now gods were an ugly and intimate truth. Man had discovered, the hard way, that gods are petty, cruel, and selfish. Even the good gods allowed the people to suffer. Petros looked at his cane, even he allowed people to suffer. It was almost tragic really, Petros was reminded of an old belief; that all gods were real and in the end the good gods and the evil gods would battle for the souls of all men. Many had considered it heresy to think that the good gods would lose. But now that the gods existed, now that they were right in mortals’ faces, man was faced with the harsh reality that sometimes, Evil wins.

Petros growled.

“Apologies did you say something?”

”No, but I do have a speech prepared if you would allow me to present it….

“Ladies and gentlemen we are at a crossroads. We are no longer in a world where faith can neither be denied nor proven. There are gods, they are many, and they are powerful. I suspect New York City and Las Vegas will not be the last cities to fall before the gods have gotten tired of changing the world order and we settle into something resembling normalcy. By their own admission they are young and many will not act in the best interests of our people. Yet we still have people that depend on us. They depend on their wages, they depend on our legislation, our kindness, our morality. They depend on us to stay strong even in the face of deific opposition. Therefore I propose a council, a world-spanning organization, dedicated to the good of humanity, despite the gods. I’m certain we will find some we may cooperate with, but there are at least three we must oppose. Myth is coming alive gentlemen and humanity needs leaders who can guide them through the rough times ahead. We must work together, so that when the gods war, our people will make it through.”

Petros never liked to hear himself speak for so long, but he was pleased at how many accepted the invitation whole heartedly. He knew some of these CEOs and leaders may have had contact with the other gods, but that was fine. As far as he was concerned they could come to the council themselves, maybe see the creatures they wanted to exploit.

Almost as a formality they establish Petros as chairman. The first course of business was to select a name. The choice was ironic given the infamous reputation of the phantom organization. But the laughing southern oil tycoon, who suggested it, pointed out how it was supposedly formed to oppose the power of the Church and Petros agreed, the name was appropriate.

So, after hours of discussing the outline of his plans, the first meeting of the Illuminati council adjourned with 11 members selected to sit alongside Petros as the high council. They had also decided upon the dues payable by each member according to his annual net income. This was substantial, considering its 300 members were among the wealthiest individuals in the world. Petros would contribute over 50% of his personal annual net income, a function of his office and a disincentive for those not totally invested to seek the position. The other members of the high council contributed 25% and a regular council member would contribute 10%. Petros would of course know if they held back. Being god of wealth meant he knew how much they would make in a year.

The next order of business would be to establish the basic functions of the Illuminati, but Petros already had some good ideas. The sun set over Chicago just as the old world order crumbled. Petros did not bother to deny it, he was afraid for humanity. Despite his actions, he doubted it would survive the coming storm.

He would still try.

But before then, it looked like Zurich was the place to be.

Starting AP: 15
Bless (Economy) -1AP The Fiscal Crisis is still ongoing but because of a marginal return to normalcy it's beginning to look like a recovery
Note: I have no idea how you would really recover from the loss of NYC, so I did the best I could think of.

Form Order (Illuminati) -2AP As described above, an organization of humans dedicated to the benefit of humanity. Any player controlled business owner or political official, except for Bryn's character, is welcome to be on the High Council. Only excluding Bryn's god because he did enough of a background check to tell if they were deities or not.

Ending AP: 12

[mystic1110]

The lights coming from people’s apartment windows have replaced the stars for us. Man owns his own destiny now. Look up – do you see the stars in the sky – all the stars? Or just the brightest, the rebels that refuse to fade into the pollution? The Eight of Cups smiles into the night sky as the sea breeze makes his red locks curls and wisp away into the wind as so many zephyrs. Here in the middle of the sea – as the desert, the light of the stars, all the stars, are clearly visible – perhaps they are merely escaped butterflies from the cage astride his goddess; perhaps they are that, now. . .

The Eight of Cups, the card that represents the search for deeper meaning, of growing weary and moving on. The card that relays that some changes can be wearying; that endings are not always easy; the card that reexamines your life and your priorities; the card of good friends outgrowing each other to pursue their dreams . . . but dreams are memories, and the Eight of Cups is the captain of memories, out here in the ocean – a roving Kingdom of ghosts; a sad kingdom – and a vengeful one. The stories say.


***

The Mary Celeste was merely one ship among many; they floated on the green blue waves with rotted wood and tattered sales. Other ships, like the USS Scorpion, were rusted hulks that should have sunk by their own weight, but parted the sea with their hulls. The Saragossa sea, the strange and a unique creation of the nature was bounded by ocean currents on all sides. To its west is the Gulf Stream Current, on its east is the Canary Current, northern side is bounded by North Atlantic Current, and the south by North Atlantic Equatorial Current. These were the boarders of the fledgling Kingdom. Each ship was filled with memories – Ghosts, specters, wraiths – the objects of stories passed through into rumor, and each story had a captain and those captains had a captain – they would call him the Lord of Eight Cups.

The ghosts had their own stories – they said that the Lord of Eight Cups owned eight cups, from which he received his name. Each cup held a fragment of the world’s soul; the ocean in the first, the sky in the second, the earth in the third, heart in the fourth, memory in the fifth, dream in the sixth, history in the seventh, and the eighth kept the world’s secrets. Other’s claimed that the Lord of the Eight Cups was merely another ghost – only as they were memories of those who long since passed but remembered – he was the memories of those who were forgotten. He did not have a ship, merely a little wooden row boat in which he navigated the sea – forever alone – searching. Rarely did he call for the captains to assemble, but often enough that they knew who ruled the triangle.


***

When the first mate was a child, his mother told him an old Tibetan story about an industrious but foolish troop of monkeys that lived in a forest near a well. One dusty night, a monkey elder woke thirsty. He crept away from his sleeping mate and went to the well for a drink. Inside, he saw a reflection of the moon. "The moon has fallen into our well!" he hollered.

His ruckus woke the other monkeys. They all agreed that it would be a terrible thing to live in a moonless world. They joined hands and formed a chain to climb into the well and rescue the moon. As the monkeys dove in, the moon's reflection broke, leaving blank dark waters.

The shamed monkeys climbed out again: shivering, wet, and empty-handed. The real moon chuckled above them, safe in the sky.

And so the moon laughed – but it was only a story – but the first mate wondered as he looked up into the night sky and the face of the full moon as the rotting ships with hollering pale figures approached – stories have power.

In Tibet they tell stories Tulpa. Tulpa are created through mental effort, purely from the thoughts of their creators. A very skilled Buddhist practitioner or sorcerer may have this ability, and in some cases a Tulpa may be created from the collective thoughts of the villagers. Such a ghost is not self-aware at first, but may gradually acquire awareness and go on to become a normal human being. But what if . . . these were the Tulpa of humanity – thoughtformed and free to roam – and what thought doesn’t devour its creator?

The moon laughed from the sky.


***

The Lord of Eight Cups, the Eight of Cups, sat in his row boat, red hair flowing in the wind, noticing the moss grow, covering his little vessel bit by bit, his green wild eyes seeing the stars glow above – Humanity was indeed master of its own destiny, but man was not.

AP 9 + 4 Rollover = 13

Create Organization {2}: The Kingdom of the Lord of Eight Cups in the Bermuda Triangle

AP 11

[The Succubus]

Dreams of Distant Worlds

He walked through the empty streets, the barest handful of people remaining from the hundreds and thousands before. The road beneath his feet was covered with the lightest sprinkling of sand. As the months and years progressed, the sand would eat away at this city until it became naught but dust in the wind.

He found the idea comforting.

But there was still so much more to do - so many other cities, so many other countries. He had caught the humans by surprise with his assault on Vegas but they were remarkably resilient creatures and they would fight back. It would be exhausting, even for a god such as he. He needed somewhere completely untouched by humans where he could rest and regenerate, somewhere he could be truly alone....

Whether fate or happenstance heard his plea will never be known but a gust of wind carried a magazine from a looted store nearby and opened its pages to him. It was an astronomy magazine. A lot of the words spoken within its pages didn't make much sense to him - he had a reasonable grasp on the world but he was not omniscient. It spoke of siblings of the Great Mother that dwelt in the heavens alongside her. There was the Eye of Fire, whose gaze gave warmth to his beloved deserts. The Eye of Water, who danced in the heavens at night and gave her ghost light to the night sky. The Giant, with a cyclopean red eye and his slightly smaller bride, bound to a great ring around her and...

He stopped and stared.

A desert world. Completely devoid of life. A world of red dust, of canyons and great peaks. If this world was the Great Mother, then he had found the Great Father, whom the humans referred to as Mars.

In a frenzy, he tore through the streets of Las Vegas, trying to find some depository of knowledge that he might learn more about Mars. After some searching, he found a bookshop that was relatively unscathed and spent several days looking through the shelves for information. The books offered up their secrets to him and although he had to give a small amount of grudging admiration for humans exploring other worlds, they often spoke as though they had a right to the universe and its splendours.

Sand vowed that what they had done to the Great Mother, he would *never* allow them to do to Mars.

He exhausted the scientific section and instead found himself looking through science fiction. A small tome caught his eye by an author called Ray Bradbury. It spoke of a theoretical life on Mars and featured some rather delightful illustrations. He flipped through the pages and in the centre of the book was a picture that captured his imagination. He pocketed the book and quickly left the city and wandered out to the desert. With reverence, he placed the tome on the ground and opened it up at the image he had seen.

A roaring wind slowly came to life and in the empty air above him, faint lines of light slowly appeared. From time to time, Sand would turn his gaze between book and image, making sure that the majority of the image was the same, although with a few of his own small flourishes here and there. The lines of light grew and widened, becoming solid surfaces of wood, metal and bone. The wind intensified as Sand sought to bring fiction into being through divine might and will.

Eventually the wind settled and an object in the sky cast a great shadow over him. It was about 100 metres long and about half as thick. It hovered, suspended in the air by a large balloon and at its stern was a rather curious engine, that had had more emphasis on aesthetics than scientific understanding. Oddly enough, it did little to impede its almost frightening effectiveness.

Sand strode aboard his creation and almost immediately, the vessel came to life. A quiet whisper like a desert wind cam from the engine and the vessel rode higher and higher into the sky, physics having almost no say at all in its operation. Eventually the desert was lost beneath cloud and before long the clouds got smaller and smaller as the sky shaded from blue into inky darkness.

He cast his gaze, marveling at the beauty of the heavens above and the Great Mother below. He spotted a red glint in the distance, which he knew to be Great Father Mars. With a flourish, he flung out his arm and pointed towards it. The great ship turned and from the prow burst something akin to a great golden kite. Sand had never sailed and didn't know of the term "spinnaker" but it would have been an ideal description. The golden sail caught the gaze of the Eye of Fire and the vessel sailed into the inky blackness of the Void.

*****

Some months later

"Sir, I think you need to come take a look at this."

The mission lead walked over to the operator's desk and looked at the image on the screen.

"This has got to be a prank of some sort. Please tell me I'm not looking at a footprint."

The operator shrugged. "That's exactly what-"

"What the hell?!"

The image on the screen turned to the left slightly and there, in the distance, was the unmistakable silhouette of a man, some way in the distance. The figure turned and drew something. Curiousity's microphones picked up two deafening bangs before the the screen went black.

*****

He sifted through the wreckage of the probe with his boot. The man gestured to his companion and a small tornado spun fiercely around the probe's remains and ground them to powder. His friend had stowed away on the ship during its construction. At first he had been mildly annoyed but sensibly concluded that the Great Father would need protectors. There were only a few of the sentient tornadoes on the surface of this new world but more would always be welcome.

Sand gazed up through the skies of Mars, Earth a little blue glint in the far distance. One day, the Great Mother would be as beautiful as her mate and now that he had a sanctuary, he could begin his mission in earnest. His thoughts turned to his time in the bookshop and remembered a fragment from one of the astronomy books he had read:

"The sands of Mars are blood red in colour. This is extremely fitting, given that the planet derives its name from an ancient Roman God of War..."

He was unable to suppress the chuckle that came to his lips and the empty sands of Mars echoed with his laughter.

Relevant media:

Sand ship image (http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_P61pW1ywLpk/SukTYZY8eYI/AAAAAAAABYI/LeH2UPItvCI/s1600/mars_ships-2+copy.jpg) - Pretty much the one Sand has used, with a large black balloon above it, bound in brass.

Some mood music (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L0bcRCCg01I)

AP Expenditure

Create Relic (4 AP) - Sand's Skyship (Name pending). This beautiful vessel was wrenched into being by Sand after reading Ray Bradbury's Martian Chronicle's books. The ship can traverse land, sea, air and space. (Hyperspace - we'll see. Odds are it'll need a bump of some sort). It looks kind of like a steampunk airship and moves very silently. It also undetectable on radar systems and the like but not invisible to human eyes. Slightly more difficult to spot at night. The ship has no weapons and reacts adversely to humans that set foot on its decks. Often has Dust Devils on board but only Sand himself is able to pilot it.

Create Sanctum (3 AP) - Mars - exactly the same as it is in real life, aside from the odd Dust Devil. Sand has claimed this world for himself and will defend it from human encroachment by all means at his disposal.

[mystic1110]

People weren’t people anymore. At least some people weren’t. Insects roved the streets – some, those that used to be half Chinese – walked around with a mantis arm, or a mandible – some with even remote Chinese genes had one bug eye, or antenna. It was weird. You think people were racist before? Try speciest! It was people verse buggers, buggers verse people, people verse halfers, halfers verse buggers. Gangs were reformulated quickly, the KKK was now a respected institution, and the porn industry was in a golden age – Seven of Swords smiled.

Weirdness breeds fetish. Yellow fever? Try straight up alien sex. Really wanted to get weird? Try feelers up your ass.

Amsterdam was perfect. At least now it was perfect. When Seven of Swords first arrived – he thought what everyone else thought – that Amsterdam is the modern Sodom and Gomorrah. You can do everything in Amsterdam. You can do drugs till you drop, explore the wildest boundaries of sexual debauchery, and have your fries with mayonnaise. Not true – it was just a regular city, no more adventurous or depraved than Brussels.

He changed that. That’s what Fairies do.

Now as the scent of sweat and whatever insects excrete filled the streets, Amsterdam really was the modern Sodom and Gomorrah. The citizens from dawn to dusk engaged in every pleasure of the flesh imaginable – imaginable to Humans and Mantise. Half breeds roamed the streets, insect skin and razor fingers, blood and everything else. It was gorgeous.

Ghosts started to appear – born from the rumors of the populace of Amsterdam – they were the old kings of Sodom and Elam – Chedorlaomer; Bera and Bishra. The Ghost of Marquise de Sade. Anne Frank sitting in her window watching the nightly parade. The Trip brothers and the Beuatiful Helena. They're the lost souls of those burned as witches or hung in the Dam Square. The shades of those executed at the Nieuwmarkt. The Netherlands had been subject to the worst forms of torture and horror known in history - and these new ghosts really knew their trade. Seven of Swords threw them into the mix as well – what orgy was complete without a ghost passing through the bodies, or a wraith taking them all.

He smiled as he relaxing into his black leather chair in some dungeon in the Red light district, now known as the capital of the city state. No one knew just how much he controlled the city, although some had a clue – they just called him Mr. S. O. S.

But there was no one to help, and the moss was growing.

[Elemental]

Hyperspace

Eventually, the Lion's trance was broken. He had stared long into the Spark of Nothingness as he came to call it. It felt like aeons, in fact, it could very well have been aeons, he did not know. But at last, he knew what he must do. In a way, the Spark had reached out and touched his mind, flooding it with trillions of new possibilities, so many that even his divine intellect grasped not one tenth of the total.
In the simplest terms, the Spark was energy itself. It was all things and a gateway to all places. Yet it remained nothing. The Lion wasn't even sure if it was there, the sensation from the Spark seemed so vivid, yet he knew it could not be. He doubted his own sanity and almost with certainty believed he was hallucinating. But the Spark had to exist, he could feel it in his soul, at least he would if he had one.
It was this realisation that broke the Lion's trance. He was a soulless creature and that meant he was nothing. Did he exist? He wasn't sure any more...
The Lion's eyes began to glaze over as he began to look into the Spark one more.
A voice jolted the Lion from his contemplation. Was it he who spoke? He must have... He looked away and once more felt himself. Subconsciously, he desired to look once more at the Spark, but he averted his eyes and closed them. The Spark was not for him and he turned to leave before he heard the voice again. It comforted him and he smiled as he wove his power to its silent instructions. Perhaps it was his soul that spoke? That was a comforting thought, and with that, he left the accursed place.


The Archive

The Lion left without even stepping foot inside or looking upon what he had created. But the Archive did not care. How could? It wasn't alive. It had no sensation or thought or emotion. It just existed.
And as its existence began, information began to flow in from across the Universe, knowledge no one may ever read. And as it did so, the lights began to turn on, shifting patterns of runes and letters moved across glass panes in the walls. It merely awaited now for someone to find it.


Starting AP: 10 + 4 (rollover)
Forge Monument: The Eternity Archive - 7 AP
Centred around the Spark of Nothingness, the Archive consists of three interconnected ring-like structures all forged of black metal and stone. In size, the Archive easily approaches that of Germany, the rings being several kilometres thick. At the centre of the rings is the Spark of Nothingness which ensnares the minds of all who look upon it.
The exterior surface of rings are interrupted by numerous towers, spires and domes jutting above and below them. None of these features is large enough to significantly impact the overall shape of the Archive, but due to the overall size, they are more than substantial. In addition, the Archive has numerous windows of purple and green glass.
The interior consists primarily of long columned halls, the vaulted ceilings of which are lost in the darkness. In addition, there are many stairs, some leading nowhere, and numerous large chambers which cathedrals could sit comfortably inside. There is no source of illumination save for dimly glowing crystals suspended from long chains and glass panels along many of the walls covered by moving symbols in all languages. But these only heighten the gloom.
The purpose of the Eternity Archive is simple. By tapping into the unique properties of Hyperspace, the Archive is in touch with all points in space simultaneously. As such, it is able to gather all the knowledge in the entirety of the Universe and store it within the conduits of its structure. The sheer quantity of data available make searching through it nigh impossible, but given enough time and luck, one may use it to unlock any secret and defeat the unknown.
To use the Archive, find a data access terminal, there are several within. Unfortunately, they are not particularly user friendly, the only way to read the user's manual requires knowing how to ask the Archive for the user's manual, do not provide illustrations, staring at their holographic displays for too long causes severe headaches and eye strain and last but not least, the Lion will not give you a hand, he only has paws. Fortunately, maps, graphs and tables are available on request, otherwise, the entirety of the Archive is rendered textually.
Note: The Archive cannot look into the future and its range is limited to Hyperspace and ordinary space. Furthermore, it will not extrapolate the future for you or provide the probability of success for hypothetical actions as they have not happened.

[THEChanger]

Zurich, Switzerland

The door to the meeting room swung open, and a rather plain looking man walked in. He had been wandering around the city since dawn, and was rather miffed about how long it had taken to get here. Sister P had rather rudely not been there to greet him. She was somewhere else, the wind whispered to him that she was hiding. But there were two others, so Peacetrip felt he should be there.

"Lady L, Brother M. Good to see you. I'm afraid Sister P isn't coming. I don't know where she's got off to, but the wind tells me she's often like this. Gets distracted by some project or another." Peacetrip leaned his walking staff against a wall, and smiled at his siblings. It was good to be in the presence of his compatriots at last. "So then. We're here cause Sister P wanted to start a group of sorts. All us godlings getting together, laying down some ground rules and whatnot. If it's for the good of the people, I like the idea, yeah? So let's get the brains flowing. I know you've already been pretty involved with the people over in China, Brother M. Could feel it. Hear it on the news, when I pay attention to the news. What's up with that?"

[Draken]

Zurich

Mereon took a word up to his chin, 'rub', to be precise.

"A few governments reached out to me. Asking for all sorts of things. Advice, allegiance, subservience in one case."

One dead idiot in some forgotten corner of a microbial nation with boiling ink clotting in his veins.

"The orientals were much more reasonable, seeing me for what we are, powerful spirits to be appeased and perhaps bribed for boons. Primeval religion at its finest. They asked for strength, speed, for compliance. They offered to feed my vanity. It was a very good deal, I would say."

Mereon can't avoid but let the word "amusing" slip through and appear as part of his limbs. He is more fickle than any being of law should be.

[Yeshon]

Sears Tower

It was hard to believe such a short time ago they had decided to found the Illuminati Council. Petros looked into the Black box atop his conference room table, it seemed this was all he did anymore. He mentally checked off the names of the High Council members, he was the only one who knew them all and he preferred to keep it that way. The meeting had already been in full swing for about an hour, most of it centered around this 'kingdom' in the Bermuda Triangle and the alterations to the Chinese. He was a little concerned about the alterations, two of the High Council members were Chinese and at least one other had Chinese ancestry. He had decided to allow the Mantis men into the Illuminati despite their alterations, still, he would keep an eye on them.

"We lost Amsterdam."

"Could be worse."

"Loosing cities left and right isn't rock bottom?"

"Well- I mean it could've been somewhere important."

"Tell that to the people who lived there!"

Petros shook his head, "We're getting off topic. Can Tokyo give us an idea of what it's like on the ground over there?"

"Only bits and pieces, we can see that the city is in utter chaos, they are *ahem* vigorous in their new pass times."

"What does that mean?"

"I believe Rome under Caligula's reign is an apt comparison."

"Wait, yah saying it's turned into an orgy?"

"Among other things."

"And the humans are just going along with this?"

"I have seen plenty of destruction in the city, so perhaps there is armed resistance?"

"Or just the city going to hell."

"... this is news." Petros was aware that the gods could manipulate the human will. NYC had been driven insane over a poem after all. However, what he was hearing, was just blatant control and if the gods could do that! Well the implications were not pleasant.

"... So what're we gonna do about it?"

"What can we do? We are not an army."

There was a long and uncomfortable silence. Then, Petros sighed.

"You're right, we aren't an army, not yet. What we need are the tools to fight the gods, but more importantly their servants."

"Servants? Are you talking about the Speakers?"

"They're a relatively benign group compared to others I have had contact with." He lied, he hadn't ever met one of the Fae or the Dust Devils, but he knew of their existence, he had seen them and further he could feel their effect on the world.

"I'll speak plainly, we have no chance unless we become stronger."

"Umm, that doesn't tell us much."

"At the moment there's not much to tell."

"You don't sound confident."

"I'm not."

Petros looked at his watch and rather than explain himself, he said, "Apologies gentlemen but I will have to cut this meeting short, I have an important engagement I must attend."

"More important than this??"

"I hope so."

Zurich, Switzerland

A tall man in his mid to late 30s wielding a long black cane enters the meeting room. He had only just arrived, godly travel was strange like that. He surveyed those present, unlike with mortals, he didn't get a read on them right away.

Petros nodded to his fellow deities, "Kinsmen, I am Petros. A pleasure to meet you."

Waiting a suitable time for pleasantries to conclude he looked at Mereon.

"Compliance? Do you mean that you made the Chinese more obedient? Or was their compliance your price for helping them?"

Petros' face and voice were implacable, betraying neither outrage nor approval. It seemed as if he was asking merely for the pleasure of knowing.

Forgot to do this

Starting AP 12

Create Relic: Cane of Wealth -4AP: The cane that supports the god of commerce absorbs some of his power. Drawing upon that stored power Petros is able to reduce the strain it takes to bless his followers and protect from his kinsmens' curses. Reduce the costs of blessings by 1.

Ending AP: 8

[Mynxae]

New York

Elizabeth hovered over New York, looking upon the order she had now created. There wasn't any more riots, nor rival gangs having wars of poetry against one another. She had put a stop to that. She decided to make an address to her people.

"My subjects, we must make a stand! For freedom!" she roared as the crowd roared with her. "We shall go north, taking cities along to the way until we reach the mighty expanse that is known as Canada, and it shall be ours, as is our right!" she screamed, the crowd looking at one another with glee. "Go, and find your destiny!" she yelled, as the crowd raged up the streets of New York, on their way to the next city along the East Coast which happened to be Hartford, weapons appearing in their hands as she said so, herself leading the great army on horseback.

Start AP: 15.

Form Society AP1: Freedom Warriors, the army of Elizabeth, created from 90% of the people who were living in New York, the rest left to keep watch over the city.

Bless AP1: The Freedom Warriors are blessed with sophisticated weaponry of the modern day and age, stuff that Special OPS in the army would have etc.

End AP: 13.

Zurich, Switzerland

Beth entered through the door, looking slightly girlish in a long flowing blood red dress with a black vine pattern interwoven into the fabric. "You rang, Madam?" she said with a curtsy.

Beth is the first shard of Elizabeth, she is more polite and kind to others than Elizabeth herself.

[Draken]

Zurich

Mereon brings a few words to his chin. Most of them are related to the concept of understanding.

"Hmm... No, not the way you think, not that you will enjoy it much either way. I would say I made them more... Solidary? Group-minded. Hive-minded even, but not so extreme. No."

"I guess I made their psyches more adequate to an eusocial environment than the human mind usually is... Yes. More prone to thinking of the group before the individual."

"It was part of the requests, really."

Better communists.

[Yeshon]

Zurich

Petros nearly missed Mereon's explanation as the girl entered the room. She had suspiciously similar aura to the one who had destroyed New York City. He kept his composure and continued to focus on Mereon, with some, significant effort.

After Mereon concluded Petros shrugged, "I understand keeping a contract better than you may think."

He said no more on the subject and turned fully to Beth. "Greetings kinswoman, I am Petros. Apologies but I'm afraid I do not know your name."

Chicago

The North Eastern U.S. was under siege. Many began to protest that it was God's judgement upon a corrupt and sinful nation. Others locked themselves in their rooms, convinced it was the end time. Both were right in a way. A god had judged them wanting and a world was ending. But, if the Illuminati had their way, this world would change for humanity's benefit, not the gods.

"Have you finished development?"

"...No, we are still processing many of the side effects of our program."

"Will they be controllable?"

"About as much as any human, all we're doing is jump starting evolution."

"Hmm, any word from the boss?"

"Not that I've received, I was just about to inform him that the prototypes were nearly done bu-"

*BANG*

*RING RING*

"It's done. Proceed as planned. Oh, and Michael? No screw ups."

*CLICK*

Well, for the benefit of some at least.

[THEChanger]

Zurich
Both of the new arrivals caused a shiver to run down Peacetrip's spine. Petros was capitalism, deception, forcing rules upon others. Peacetrip wasn't too fond of Mereon, but he recognized that rules had their place. Petros made other follow his rules, he could feel it. He was the MAN. And then there was Beth. War, death, and destruction. Careless disregard for human life. At least the MAN thought he was doing what was good.

But they came in good faith and peace to this little powwow. And so they must be respected.

"Brother P, Sister E. Good of you to come. With so many of us coming together, I've got a little hope." Peacetrip then turned back to Mereon, and pondered his explination. "Well, something about changing mortals doesn't jive with me on a basic level. But if they knew what they were getting into, I suppose that's they're choice. But I'd like, perhaps, to make this sort of an official, written down rule-like thing. You're good with the legalise, right Brother M?"

[Draken]

Zurich

Had Mereon any eyes, they would surely twitch.

One of the tendrils of words reached up to Mereon's neck and he coughed a bit. Before making a perfect impresison of Peacetrip.

"Brother P, Sister E. Good of you to come. With so many of us coming together, I've got a little hope."

"Well, something about changing mortals doesn't jive with me on a basic level. But if they knew what they were getting into, I suppose that's their choice. But I'd like, perhaps, to make this sort of an official, written down rule-like thing. You're good with the legalese, right Brother M?"

Well, he is a hard ass. That much is certain.

"That is not a regulament I am willing to make, because those who would be affected by it will be unwilling to comply to its terms, such as myself."

Why, Mereon knows all laws and rules. If he were bound by them all, he would quite simply go mad. There is some stupid legislation out there, you know.

"The mantise were, perhaps, somewhat sudden and maybe extreme. But can you imagine how many prayer strips have been burned from the first announcements until now, requesting transmutations into forms more noble to the large scale imaginary? Why, I would dare think this worship empowers myself nearly as much as it empowers... The other storyteller."

[Yeshon]

Zurich

Petros cleared his throat, hoping to move past Mereon's slight so that they could speak of the matter at hand. Still, this brief interaction between the two provided very useful information. "I for one am bound by my nature and I can break no contract once I've signed it."

There were of course loopholes.

"The other storyteller? Are you referring to the one who has caused Amsterdam to descend into anarchy?"

That, more than New York, disturbed him.

[Elemental]

Timbuktu

Mereon had obviously been distracted by other matters and the Man had too much to do without waiting for his response. Part of him wanted to see what the Lion had wrought, but Zurich kept surfacing to the forefront of his mind.
Courtesy demanded he attend...


Zurich

A shadow formed on the wall, pausing to count the number of attendees. Backup may be required.
Leo, I might need you. Bring an escape plan.
Contingencies out of the way, the shadow walked off the wall and formed into a man of average height, his hair streaked with silver.
"Forgive my intrusion and brief eavesdropping. Social occasions are not my forte."
He ignored the mortals who had gathered to observe the occasion, he felt no need to involve them as yet.
"Still, events concern me too much to not attend."

[Mynxae]

Outskirts of Hartford, Connecticut

The army raged across the countryside, recruiting anyone along the way that they could, killing the rest with their guns. Elizabeth rose atop a hill at the forefront of the army and saw their next target, Hartford. As she saw the city sprawled out before them, she crowed in triumph. "Onwards my children!" she screamed.

Zurich, Switzerland

"Greetings to you as well Petros, I am known as Elizabeth, or Beth for short" she said with a winsome smile and another slightly curtsy as her cheeks flushed. She turned to address the deities that had arrived. "To what do I owe the pleasure to all of you fine ladies and gentleman?" she said briskly.

[Draken]

Zurich

Gentlemen.

Being the god of grammar is a pain in the ass sometimes, his ears catch the most minute flaws of inflection that could be lost to others and written off as mere accents.

But that has to be the worst, most grating, secondary power imaginable.

"I wouldn't call it anarchy. There is an order to the debauchery, and an authority overseeing its proceedings. An entity akin to the ones in the triangle and in Britain."

Mereon's tendrils became a miriad of runes of celtic and norse origin, spelling out the endings of epics that were now written in the pages that comprised his body.

[Elemental]

Zurich

"Be that as it may Noble Mereon, it is clear that whatsoever is behind these acts will not stop until the world is bent to their heel. Though perhaps they will not see it that way."
The Man's eyes scanned the group, lingering for an instant longer on Beth than anyone else.
"However, they are not the only threat to the continued survival of humanity. Many prey upon them, seeking either their doom or their subservience. Some even choose to pervert them into forms more manageable."
A subtle rebuke that Mereon would likely notice full well.
"I will have none of it. Their civilisation is worthy of our protection and their species has overcome worse trials than interference from the likes of us.
"I implore you, leave them be. By all means guide them, but leave their fate to be decided by them."
Perhaps it was foolhardy to so readily make his opinion known, but the Man didn't particularly care what others thought of him. They were all equal before the majesty of creation anyway. And besides, the Lion was on his way.


Hyperspace - Third Layer

Surrounded by an infinite expanse of dark fog, the Lion could work on the escape plan without interruption. Well... Occasionally there was a bolt of lightning, but nothing too important.
A ship was in order. Not a simple ship like those constructed by the humans, but one that would cut a path through reality with no horizon to bar its way. A horizon was an illusion anyway, it only existed when one was bound by gravity to a single sphere. Out in the depths of the darkness, there was no such illusion.
The Voice that had instructed him in his weaving of the fabric of the Archive chose to remain silent, so he was on his own when it came to this project. But it mattered not, it wasn't a project of such significance...

[THEChanger]

Peacetrip chose not to acknowledge Mereon's mockery. For a god of language, he had some trouble understanding when people talked. "No, Brother...Brother Z. Yeah, Brother Z. You're absolutely right. Humanity is worth so much, and has the potential to be even more than us, if we let them. And that's what I was trying to get at. A pact of non-interference. If humans come to us, then we use our judgement. Decide whether or not to interfere based on who we are. But if they don't want our help, we don't give it. It should be their prerogative, their choice." Peacetrip gazed around at the assembled deities. They were not the only ones. The wind whispered in his ear, and told him of others. Of one who made the legends of old spring anew, and did so without regard to anything else. Of one who even now plied the oceans beyond the sky, and had claimed a red sphere for his own (Peacetrip did not understand what the wind meant by this. His knowledge of science was woefully small). And possibly more. But if some, if a few began to work for the good of humanity, perhaps the others would follow in their footsteps.

[Draken]

Zurich

Mockery isn't the right word for it...

Compulsion is more adequate.

The god of language sits back, putting confortable words behind his head.

"That changes very little on my intended works. I will admit to twisting a thing or two about the chinese desires for my aesthetical pleasure. But it remains their wish... Or the wish of their appointed representative officials, but that is minutiae."

Mereon's priests speak among themselves, one hand over their mouths and the other over one ear.

"But. I suppose I could refrain from egregious biological reconfiguration in the near future if it will assuage your colective fears. I had other ideas in mind anyway."

[mystic1110]

While other gods talked another god walked, on four black paws the dark fox trudged through forest, the large metal cage rusted and open, the door clinging against the bars with each step, rested upon her back. The cage was filled with the remains of cocoons long since useless and discarded - the butterflies flying far and wide. Alongside the weary goddess stood one of the Fair Folk, The World, one of the Major Arcana - the fairy of happiness and wholeness - the fairy of the sense that everything is working together in harmony.

The fairy of the idea of dynamic balance. Involvement is important. To be happy, we must feel connected - engaged with what is around us. There is also accomplishment - knowing that we have goals and are moving toward them successfully. When all these elements come together, we feel fulfilled and blessed. That is The World, the personal attendant of Fraulim, the beast beneath the cage.

Another Fairy walks behind The World, far behind for it's not his turn yet, this aspect of the goddess was only to be attended by The World. And yet when the moss and spiderwebs within the cage re-tangle themselves and the goddess that walks upon the earth is Fraulim, the cage astride the Beast, he will gently tap The World on the shoulder, and they will switch places. For he is The Four of Wands, the Fairy of Self Absorption and Self Reflection, of Apathy and Renewal, the personal attendant of Fraulim, the cage astride the Beast.

The World was a beautiful woman, blond and green eyed, short yet graceful, who walked upon the Jungle floors barefooted and always smiling. When he was human the Four of Wands was The World's Son, and even now as part of the Major Arcana she knew his true name, and for now the balance was the Beast's and not the Cage's. The Son was grim, black haired and green eyed. He was tall and muscular, the definition of warrior and man.

And thus the three walked through the jungle - for another story was to be told - one of the oldest.

The Garden of Eden, Gaia, The Great Mother. Fraulim sniffed air and howled the shriek of the wild fox. Nature, humanity always looked at nature with reverence and wished that it looked back. Now it will. . . .

And thus the world's largest forest began to stir, the trees began to see, and they began to move, to grow their roots and plant's their seeds, and grow like never before. The forest. . . was alive. And it was angry. And as Fraulim retreated with her two attendants, the moss . . . covered the snow. And the world was green.


***

Although most people think that it is the Amazon, the largest forest is a huge coniferous forest which goes around the globe near the North Pole, through Russia, Canada, Scandinavia, just below the tundra line. Its called the Boreal forest and composes more than a third of all the trees in the world.


***

Vladmir fired his rifle. The dear fell down, wounded but not dead. He sighed and placed the gun down as he retrieved a large knife. He hated when he missed, but the years of Vodka have taken their toll. He approached the fallen animal and tried to shut out the sounds of it's dying mewls. He put one hand over it's eyes, and then plunged the knife into the back of it's head, severing the spine. Quick, painless.

After he skinned and dressed the meat he placed it on his sled and began to pull it through the snow. It was long and cold, he took a drag of Vodka when he could.

Eventually he stopped. He had been down this trail countless, hundreds, thousands of times - he never noticed this totem pole to Perun, the Slavic father of gods. Funny sometimes you never notice the trees for the forest.

You also sometimes don't notice the trees moving right in front of you - well you do notice, but you often attribute it to Vodka, or delusion or insanity. You never believed it could be really happening.

Perun opens his wooden mouth, and grabs with his wooden hands, and pierces with his wooden fingers, and then eats the man with his wooden teeth.

And the moss begins to grow.

AP 11

Create Sentient Race: Ents (so far only in the Boreal Forest, but look forward to Amazon Ents)

AP 9

Gain Domain: Death (Ghosts)
5 GHOSTS
2 Kingdom of GHosts

Gain Domain: Mysticism (Fairy)
1 Fair Folk
2 Nexus at Stonehendge
2 Ents
2 Court of the Fair Folk

AP 3

Fraulim is now a lesser goddess

[Yeshon]

Zurich

Petros frowned, "I would object on the basis that I cannot wait for mortal agreement; if, for example, one of our kinsmen is wiping out a city."

[Mynxae]

Zurich, Switzerland

Beth looked slightly nervous and edgy at Petros' latest comment. "Well, whoever would do such a horrible thing?" she exclaimed.

Meanwhile, on the East Coast of Northern America...

Hartford, Connecticut

Elizabeth rode through the city, gunning down those who would oppose her will and recruiting others who wished to see the world burn for their freedom. She loved the idea of prisons and jails, for they were full of new recruits just burning with promise.

[Yeshon]

Petros looked over at Beth and smiled. It was a smile that was unreadable. A smile that could have been condescension, wrath, or ignorance. Perhaps because of this, it was a terrifying smile.

"Several of our kind."

[Draken]

Zurich

"You. New York is dead to me after that debacle with your disgusting murder of proper metrics."

---

The ISS.

Mereon spent a lot of time here. Well, one of his dual bodies spent all its time here. The astronauts were quite used to him standing outside by this point.

Doesn't mean they were not worried, because Mereon had taken to gathering the orbital trash ever since a stray titanium plate clocked him in the prayer strips.

Then again, his craftsmanship was quite divine, and he was making extra modules for the station? Well, he was certainly using more than just the orbital trash then. The expansions were very... Expansive.

"Is that seriously the best you can do?"

Oh, shut up. And build your damn sanctum.

Modules built upon modules, growing into a half-moon structure around the central man-made basis of the ISS. Some of the parts, already connected to the main body of the structure, were not only inhabitable but spacious and comfortable, even boasting gravity like the Earth's. The astronauts were urged to make diagrams and take pictures at the start, in hopes that it could be reverse-engineered, but swiftly found out that the divine artifice was outright magical in nature.

But hey, Tanaka had learned himself some Word Magic, he was sure he could do something of the like. Given more training. He had managed to create a word that caused a small area around himself to boast terrestrial gravity, even. That was complex magic! Still, he was watching a Maestro at work.

Tanaka was the only Speaker in the station for the time being, but the other astronauts were trying to learn the craft, it was harder than it looked.

A scream, Alexei bit his tongue again, apparently.

Mereon seemed almost done with his work, the speed had picked up pace. Nobody could hear his voice out in space, but the words in the screens were pretty clearly a music, and this finale was a crescendo that no mortal lung could survive.

And then it ended.

The original station all but vanished within the sprawling halls of the Impeccable Speaker's Sanctuary.

Yes, that is what the plaque said. Apparently he felt like keeping the old initials? How very...

... Whimsical.

And just then, Tanaka felt some wisdom creep into his mind directly from Mereon, a dictate of great power gifted by him to any who could master Word Magic. A word capable of instantly moving a person to and from the Sanctuary.

Even as the astronauts of the ISS took their first few steps into the new space platform, they were greeted by a large assembly of Speakers of all ages from across the world, getting ready for the inaugural festivities.

12 AP in:

3 AP: Weave Sanctum: The Impeccable Speaker's Sanctuary. A massive space platform built around the former International Space Station. The Sanctuary or the ISS for short.

1 AP: Bless: Speakers. All Speakers gain a spell directly from Mereon. Used on Earth, this spell transports the caster to the Sanctuary. Used in the Sanctuary, it transports the caster to a place of their choice on Earth. For the sake of safety, Mereon recommends that terrestrial targets be places where the caster has been in the past.

3 AP: Gain Domain: Rune (Word Magic)
Word Magic - 5
Cult of Mereon - 2

3 AP: Gain Domain: Trickery (Interpretation)
The Mantise - 1
Speakers - 3
The Sanctuary - 3

Mereon is a lesser deity.

2 AP left!

[Mynxae]

Zurich, Switzerland

Beth looked shocked at this latest statement. "Dear Mereon, why would I ever do such a thing?" she said, fluttering her eyelashes innocently.

[Yeshon]

"It is difficult to understand the motives one may have for destroying so many."

Petros looked down at his cane. The U.S. was going to have to react, hopefully his science project would be done by then.

"I speculate whoever this goddess, or god, is; she had something against the structure and institutions of New York. Something, I confess, I admired greatly."

[Elemental]

Zurich

Z? Unusual choice. X is more fitting for an unknown.
"You should read more. Their appointed representative officials are hardly a government consisting of wise and charitable individuals. A decision of such magnitude should really have been held to referendum anyway. However, we all make mistakes and I accept that you will refrain from such acts."
This would start a theological debate. Hopefully even a schism among Mereon's priesthood.
He turned on Beth when she tried to deny her own actions.
"You would. I was there in New York when it was just beginning. Do not try to deny it, you exude the same stench of madness and blood that she did.
"You are a monster. An abomination, a mass-murderer and a slave driver. Not to mention a terrible poet. You are the very thing that will cause the end of this world."
Briefly, the form of the Lion was interposed over that of the Man.
"And I want to know why."


Hyperspace

It was evident that the Lion was no shipwright. Still, he laboured on and soon he had a ship to rival any other. It was nowhere near the size of the Archive, but it still dwarfed the largest city ever built by humanity.
Built in the same style as the Archive, one would be forgiven for thinking it was a ship designed for warfare, but it had no weapons. Merely shields impenetrable to any mortal weapon and millions of pods for suspended animation.
By the Lion's calculations, his counterpart had about five minutes before he needed that escape plan. Plenty of time to test out the hyperdrive.

Starting AP: 7 + 4 (rollover)
Create Relic: The Horizon Skimmer - 4 AP
A ship built with a similar aesthetic to the Eternity Archive. Capable of interstellar travel at a significantly faster rate than any other vessel by virtue of its divinely built engines and navigational computer. Aside from the aforementioned shields, the only components of importance are the millions of suspended animation pods to facilitate mass migration of humans and their animals. In addition, it possesses a system of teleporters and tractor beams for the moving of cargo and passengers.
Only the Lion or another Shard of Janu-Shal can pilot the vessel.
Remaining AP: 7

[Mynxae]

Zurich, Switzerland

Beth's clothes became completely black, her face echoing madness, her eyes swirling with pure chaos. "You wish to know why, pitiful godling? I'll tell you why. I wish to control the world for my own purposes, and I'm sure that most of you wish to stop me. But any who wish to join me, I will give a share of the world and contribute my forces to help conquer whichever parts of the world they wish to have for their own. Thus the Order of Fury is created" she said harshly, punctuating her announcement with a crack of lightning and the boom of thunder outside the windows as the sky became black with storm clouds.

Start AP: 15.

Create Pantheon AP3: Order of Fury, run by Elizabeth, the headquarters being the Empire State Building of which she is so fond.

End AP: 12.

[THEChanger]

"Enough."

For the briefest of seconds, the smoke around Peacetrip's face is blown back, and his eyes can be seen plainly by all. They are both brightest white and darkest black, both terrifyingly furious and awe-inspiringly peaceful, both smaller than the smallest atom and as large as the universe itself. In his eyes, Everything made itself known. And Everything wished for silence.

Then, the smoke returned, and the assembled deities wondered if they had imagined what they had seen. Peacetrip puffed a couple of times on his pipe, and sighed. "Look. Sister E screwed around with the mortals. I know it, she knows it, we all know it. But this bickering ain't gonna solve anything, ya dig? So, this is what I want to do. We stop fighting. We work together. We help the mortals-humans, mantis-folk, and whatever else pops up-become everything they could be." Peacetrip puffed a couple more times on his pipe, and grabbed his staff. "Sister P wanted to set up a group of us. Informal, but collaberative. In her absence, I'm gonna take up leadership of it. I am welcome to any who want to help make this world a good place to live in, for mortals and us. We might have conflicting ideas on how to make that happen, but I'm hoping we have the ability to work them out like mature folks. And I'm extending an olive branch to you, Sister E. You don't have to destroy everything. You like poetry. I dig it. Don't you get that we're like a poem? Everything works best when it's all working together." Peacetrip extends a hand to Elizabeth, hoping against all hope that she might repent.

Spending my first three AP to assume leadership of The First Council for the Advancement of Sentient Life. That should put me at 12. I might rename it, but Peacetrip is mostly holding onto it for Penelope. At such a time as she returns, leadership will be given back to her.

[Elemental]

Zurich

The question now was whether or not to stay silent. Peacetrip clearly remained hopefully, but even now, an army seeking only conflict marched North. An army under the banner of the snarling demon who screamed at them when someone refused to allow her charade. Silence would have to wait.
"I do not believe that is wise. Her only use for an olive branch is as a makeshift spear.
"She has no intention of making the world a good place to live in for anyone else but herself, and she has not the foresight or desire to change her mind."
The Man looked around the room from deity to deity.
"Now... Who among you has the decency to work towards this goal? Or shall you all be exposed as craven in the eyes of your peers?
"And shut up Mereon, craven is the right word. It takes courage to put aside one's own goals to help others without promise of compensation."
Naturally, should all else fail, the Lion's escape plan can be altered to save humanity...

[Draken]

"Enough."

For the briefest of seconds, the smoke around Peacetrip's face is blown back, and his eyes can be seen plainly by all. They are both brightest white and darkest black, both terrifyingly furious and awe-inspiringly peaceful, both smaller than the smallest atom and as large as the universe itself. In his eyes, Everything made itself known. And Everything wished for silence.

Then, the smoke returned, and the assembled deities wondered if they had imagined what they had seen. Peacetrip puffed a couple of times on his pipe, and sighed. "Look. Sister E screwed around with the mortals. I know it, she knows it, we all know it. But this bickering ain't gonna solve anything, ya dig? So, this is what I want to do. We stop fighting. We work together. We help the mortals-humans, mantis-folk, and whatever else pops up-become everything they could be." Peacetrip puffed a couple more times on his pipe, and grabbed his staff. "Sister P wanted to set up a group of us. Informal, but collaberative. In her absence, I'm gonna take up leadership of it. I am welcome to any who want to help make this world a good place to live in, for mortals and us. We might have conflicting ideas on how to make that happen, but I'm hoping we have the ability to work them out like mature folks. And I'm extending an olive branch to you, Sister E. You don't have to destroy everything. You like poetry. I dig it. Don't you get that we're like a poem? Everything works best when it's all working together." Peacetrip extends a hand to Elizabeth, hoping against all hope that she might repent.

Spending my first three AP to assume leadership of The First Council for the Advancement of Sentient Life. That should put me at 12. I might rename it, but Peacetrip is mostly holding onto it for Penelope. At such a time as she returns, leadership will be given back to her.

"I don't like the flow of that narrative. You don't get to decide what I think. So I will be striking it from my personal records."

Zurich

Inducing a schism on Mereon's priesthood would be difficult... It was more of a group of philosophical debate anyway. Actually, not difficult at all. Schisms were the norm, with three or more cliques battling over interpretative minutiae, and with individuals who were on equal terms over a matter being fierce opponents on a completely unrelated issue.

However, nowhere in his portfolio does it say that Mereon is a god of democracy. It is a settled matter among his priests that tyrannical law also falls under the amplitude of his purview. That particular matter represents calmer discussion waters than the matter of childhood promises, in fact.

"Craven is a word, your situational understanding and intent with its usage make it right depending on the social mores aimed."

Mereon rose from his chair and dusted his scrolls.

"But it would seen to me that, for all you talk of change for the better. I don't think you truly plan to change anything. And indeed, I am sure that our gracious host had not invited us here to argue restrictions over our colective freedom of action."

And with that, he turns his back on the assembly.

"Farewell and good fortune on your endeavours. Except you, Elizabeth, go grab your grub in grammatical gehenna. I will get "

"Also. I will be taking this. I will need it."

New York

The headquarters of the United Nations breaks off from the rest of the devastated city, coming to rest many miles away, west of Senegal, with landmass rising from the ocean floor to form an island upon which the place could settle.

Zurich

Mereon clasped his words behind his back, stopping to think for a bit.

"Anyone has any noteworthy words before we part for today?"

2 AP.

1 Ap : Alter Land: Meroen stole the UN from New York, nobody will miss it there anyway, and he likes the place.

[Yeshon]

Zurich

At this point Petros had decided to ignore Elizabeth, talking with her wasn't going to work, at least not in his opinion. Instead he focused entirely on the more reasonable gods.

"... If it is acceptable to you Peacetrip, I would 'take a rain check' on that invitation. While I respect you, I am not yet convinced we can work together."

He looked at those assembled one by one, "This meeting has been fruitful, at least for me. I've come to realize that we can't really be called the same species. Each of us has instincts and purpose that are totally distinct from those held by another. If I had to classify us, I'd say 'we are each a species unto ourselves.' Because of that, I doubt any of us are capable of truly cooperating."

Petros thought for a moment, then smiled, "If I'm proven wrong, then I will approach you upon that date and submit my application to join. If, of course, you would have me at that time."

[Hank McBadass]

Zurich

The Lady laughed in the corner of the room. Her retinue seemed oblivious to the contentious debate and Elizabeth's fury. Oblivious. It might be the right word to describe them, but it described the other gods in the room even more. Arguing about such things as if they mattered. She just shook her head.

Terran Federation Planet Eglantine, Sometime in the Future.

The celebration had been going on for 3 days. Total Victory! The last bit of serious opposition had fallen. It was a mathematical certainty: the earth species would colonize the entire galaxy within the millennium. In 50,000 years the galaxy would be full. New slaves and the plundered wealth of the defeated civilizations poured into the central imperial systems.

Rebecca put her daughter to bed. Her servants prepared the sheets. Once the children were asleep the party would begin in earnest. Egalantine didn't believe in artificial sleep-benefit implants for children.

"Mommy, how come we're celebrating for so long? The last war it was only one day."

"Because this one fulfills the prophesy of the Founding."

"Of the Federation?"

"Not the Federation little one. The founding of the first people under the Empress."

"You mean of Texas! Oh mommy, tell me the story of Texas again!"

"Well, you know of the Yellow Rose don't you?" Rebecca recounted the story again. It would put her in a patriotic mood for the night's festivities.


Outside Odessa, Texas

Alice stood on a bluff overlooking the drill site. Roosevelt paced nervously nearby.

"It should be any minute now. Any minute." Roosevelt couldn't explain why he had pushed exploration so fast. The world was in disarray and he was drilling for oil. But what was he supposed to do? Alice, on the other hand, didn't seem perturbed.

"I think its about to hit." Alice said calmly.

"Why do you think that?"

"I just have a feeling." She saw the glint of emerald on the horizon.

There was no geyser -- this was a modern operation after all -- but when the oil began flowing it was obvious. A cheer rose up from the operations center. Roosevelt forced himself to walk calmly into the trailer. The engineers were in a frenzy. The oil was so light and sweet they weren't sure at first that it was really crude. Roosevelt could basically see the dollar signs.

Alice left without saying a word. It was time to act.


Wheel of Fortune

The future was hers to decide.

A new place. Somewhere utterly different from any place that had existed before. There was nothing but a light that shone from everywhere and nowhere. Whatever a person thought in the place came into being. The Lady entered the place and filled it with her presence.

The most wondrous thing ever created came into being: The Wheel. That was what it was called but it was infinitely more complex that just that. It was more like wheels within wheels within wheels , spinning every which way. It was made of gold, platinum, and metals of every type, embedded with jewels, gems, and stones. Every living thing that had ever existed could find it's match on the wheel from the most modest bacteria, miserable leaper, to God-Emperors of Multi-Galactic civilizations . Only the gods themselves were free from the Wheel.





AP:

8+ 4+ 4 = 16

Weave Plane -- -5

Forge Monument -- -7

Boon Texas -- 0 (from monument)

= 4


The Wheel

This is the classical Medieval conception of the Wheel of Fortune. It provides a -3 reduction in Scourge/Boon and Exalt/Condemn activities.

Basically, any mortal or god can ask for a blessing or a curse on someone. They can then roll a 5 die. 1 does the extreme opposite, 2 does the lesser opposite, 3 does nothing, 4 does the least beneficial action, 5 does the most beneficial. For example, if someone asks for luck in a battle -- if someone rolls a 1 they will be tortured and killed, a 2 they will be killed, 3 they will be wounded but live, 4 they will be unscathed, 5 they earn a medal of honor and are basically invulnerable in battle.

http://www.r3.org/rnt1991/images/wheel1.jpg

[The Succubus]

The Red Comet

The comet came to rest in the The Chihuahuan Desert, yet left neither crater nor fire.

It had puzzled the scientists of Nasa, for their telescopes had not picked up its entry into the solar system, despite having numerous telescopes and satellite s designed specifically for this purpose. After a brief panic, they measured the size of the comet and, at a shade under a hundred metres long and less than half as wide, determined that the majority of it would burn up in the atmosphere upon entry. There was no risk to the public health from the comet.

A few question marks still remained though. The comet seemed to stream red dust and was unusually bright for its size. People all over the world caught glimpses of it as it approached. Doubtless those who saw it would interpret it as they saw fit, for either good or ill. The comet kept its own counsel on the matter.

*****

As the occupant of the “comet” stepped off, the dark, black sack of the airship deflated and folded away into the deck. With its levitation device safely stowed away, the ship began to sink into the desert until not a trace was left on the surface. Satisfied that his vessel would be safe, its occupant strode away to the east.

[Elemental]

Zurich

Well Mereon's narrator isn't the only one who can discuss theological schisms, as such, Janu-Shal's narrator shall take this opportunity to point out that the potential schism was over the fallibility of Mereon, not his autocratic measures. However, this narrator cannot be exactly certain whether Mereon has made any claims of perfection in deed, but will assume he has because he seems to have a high opinion of himself.
This narrator shall return to his regular duties;

Well... It seemed peace was falling apart, everywhere else that was. It had no real chance here. The gods in attendance were too conflicting in personality and goal.
"Unfortunately Peacetrip, we cannot join together in peace for the betterment of mortal kind. Fortunately, I am possessed of a back up plan."
As he spoke, the room began to shake and, assuming there are windows, the panes of glass in the windows began to rattle. Outside, a vast cloud of fire and smoke was rapidly approaching the city, lightning crackling throughout. It blocked the light of the sun and darkened the countryside for kilometres around before coming to a rest directly over the place where the deities had briefly assembled.
"The only question now is whether or not it is better to abandon this world entirely."

[Draken]

Well, now that would be extremely foolish and contradictory of a claim to make after he stated clearly and for the whole world to hear that he was not omniscient, and that none of his peers were likely to be either.

How can you be above failure if you are not all-knowing? No, the only claim Mereon ever made was that he is Mighty, moreso than any mortal man could dream to be, that is for sure.

----

Zurich

Without anything else to add, Mereon departs the meeting.

[Yeshon]

Zurich

Petros sighed, he was hoping the other gods would prove him wrong, not the case.

"Do what you will, I will stay. This world made us for a reason. I don't quite know why it made me as of yet, but I believe it is my responsibility to find it and it is a responsibility I refuse to abandon."

Petros turned and began to leave through the doorway, "Regardless, I wish you all well on your endeavors, so long as they do not directly conflict with mine."

A Barren Area Just Outside of Chicago

"This had better be worth my time Koslov."

Petros smiled, "It will be general."

"I had to donate a tank and a hundred man hours for this demo of yours--"

The General began to rant but Petros tuned him out, he was busy counting the troops. An entire platoon of marines backed up by a M1A1 Abrams, all using live ammo.

"-- where the Hell's this drone o' yours??"

Petros hadn't realized the general had stopped talking, he shrugged and looked at his watch, "Give them five seconds."

"Wait, them?"

Suddenly a gunshot rang and one of the soldiers fell flat on his back. Then all Hell broke loose. Soldiers scattered and ran for cover some of them calling out the word "sniper." Even with their impressive reaction 3 soldiers fell in quick succession.

Another shot rang out another soldier fell to the ground.

"Jeezus Koslov, my men are--"

The tank wheeled around and demolished a building. The bullets stopped for a moment.

"W-was that it?"

"No sir."

A cloud erupted next to a group of soldiers and a shape stepped out. A humanoid shape, three feet taller than most men with enough bulk to make a linebacker look like a pansy.

"Not even close."

Later

"They're human??"

Petros again stood next to the general, he had just seen a single warrior take out an entire platoon and a tank without seriously injuring anybody. The warrior in question, Madeline, was being examined by some of Petros's best scientists making sure the stress of actual combat didn't tear her skeleton apart or anything. So far, she was performing well within Petros's expectations.

"Not exactly, we sped up the evolutionary process by a few million years, she can lift 1000 times her own body weight, run at 50 mph for extended periods 70 mph if she's sprinting, and she experiences at a rate 5 times faster than most humans."

"What's that last part?"

"For every second you experience, she's lived through 5."

"By God."

"I'm afraid this was not the work of an invested paternalistic God, this was more a matter of investment in the proper areas of knowledge."

"And this thing's the first?"

"Madeline."

"Huh?"

"Her name, it's Madeline, or Maddie for short."

"Whatever she's called, how many of these guys do you have?"

"Four counting her. Two males, two females, Madeline, George, Marc, and Veronica, they volunteered to be our guinea pigs, unfortunately we only had an 80% success rate."

"80%?"

"The other subject is currently in a coma, we are currently trying to figure out the cause. Regardless, as you've seen, these soldiers are quite effective and I'd suggest you use them."

The General, heedless of the no-smoking signs took out a cigar and lit it, he puffed on it for a long moment before letting the smoke flow from his mouth. Petros couldn't help but admire the smell, Cuban, he thought, so strange that the nation's highest career military officer would possess contraband.

"I'll be honest with yah son, I don't even know what I'm doing here. America's all but dead, I know the boys in Washington got something going, but I don't know what it is. Heck, maybe it's just wishful thinking on my part that they have an idea of what to do. Gods just popping out of nowhere, telling me my faith was a load, I don't get it, either God's testing us, or we really are looking at the world's first gods."

He looked at Petros, "I saw you in Zurich, I know what you are, it's your kind that's been doing this to us, how the hell can I trust you?"

Petros frowned then shrugged, "In World War II President Roosevelt made the decision to imprison American citizens because their ancestry matched those who had attacked Pearl Harbor. Even denying all their attempts to prove their loyalty, such as by joining the army. The reason stated was always to combat Japanese infiltrators. Still, I have to wonder, if those men were allowed to enter the war, would they have made a difference? Maybe one more boy could've returned to his mother or one more father to his son, we'll never know.

"But what I do know is that history is not recorded so that we may repeat it. You and I both know the Japanese should have been judged by their own actions, not by the actions of their people. So I'm asking General, judge me by my actions, not by my 'race.'"

The general said nothing, he continued to watch the 'woman' in front of him get examined, the scientist gave a thumbs up to Petros signalling all was well. The god nodded, then looked to the General.

"Well?"

A few hours late, Iluminati bunker

Petros walked in and his four super soldiers got up to salute. He knew what they were talking about, their boss was a god, shouldn't they oppose him? Petros wouldn't address those doubts, maybe, one day, he'd need to be opposed.

"Maddie, George, Marc, you're bound for New Hampshire within the hour."

Madeline smiled, "So we got the job?"

Petros nodded, "The United States Army will be deploying there within the hour, but this is strictly a delaying tactic. The National Guard will be engaged in withdrawal efforts for the civilian population. Your primary objectives are to prevent Elizabeth's army from advancing past the Connecticut border and survive the battle."

George snorted, "Think they got something that can kill us."

Petros looked him straight in the eye then looked away, "I'm giving each of you a flee on sight order in regards to the goddess known as Elizabeth, she shows up, either I engage her, or no one does."

"Sir,"

"Yes, Veronica?"

"You listed off everyone but me."

"By design, I need you to stay in reserve."

"Wha-- Why?"

"Call it intuition."

Marc slapped Veronica on her shoulder, enough force to crush a human collarbone, but barely enough to even register with Veronica, "Better luck next time sweet cheeks."

"If you wanna get in the ring just say so," Veronica winked, "I promise I won't make you cry again."

"Dude you cried?"

"I wasn't crying!"

"He was, saw him, crying little babee tears."

"Wait, you were there? That's kinna--"

"They were boxing! What the Hell did you think we were talking about??"

"Erm--"

"Well if you meant that type of ring."

"Stow it!"

They stopped talking and Petros nursed the headache he knew that was coming, he wondered briefly if this is what it was like to have kids. He shuddered putting the previous conversation in the context of a conversation between siblings. He vowed never to do it again.

He continued to nurse his headache as Veronica and Marc started up again, "Don't you three have a plane to catch?"

On the Plane

"We should have a name." Marc piped in suddenly, it was 30 minutes into the flight and Madeline had already vowed if Marc fell asleep she would smother him with a pillow. Which, considering they could hold their breath for an hour, would take a while, but it'd be worth it.

"We aren't a new species Marc." George was mildly less annoying.

"Um, yeah we are. I mean damn man, I can tear steel doors off their hinges."

Maddie got annoyed, "We're still human, you heard Petros."

"And now we're on a first name basis with a f*cking god! I mean seriously, we need a name."

"As much as it pains me to admit it, Marc may have a point."

Marc began to throw names around, mercifully George shot them all down, so Madeline could watch the clouds go by.

"How about Alphas??"

"TV show."

"Bunker Busters?"

"Are we an 80s rock band?"

The more she thought about it though, the more Madeline started to agree, they really needed to call themselves something.

ARCops? No, too cartoony. Genetically Engineered Super Commandos? Kindof a mouthful and GESC erm, sounds racist. Can't go with Super Soldiers, that's for sure. Wait-- yeah, that could work, not very original, but yeah."

"Hey guys, think I got one."

"Well, let's hear it."

Concord, NH

When they disembarked from their plane every eye was on them. It was rare you saw three eight foot tall soldiers in reactive armor, carrying machine guns five feet long.

A graying colonel in military fatigues trotted up to them, gave them a quick salute and gave a breathless introduction.

"Colonel Ellis, National Guard. I'll be brief we need you people deployed pronto, that army just isn't stopping and we still have millions to evacuate. Whatever you're going to do, you better do it fast."

As one they began to walk away, even the annoying Marc was able to pull off the stoic routine.

"What do I call you guys?"

Madeline called over her shoulder, "Sardaukar!"

And they took off at a run of 50 mph, heading for the first real resistance Elizabeth would face.

Marc couldn't stop smiling, "so badass."

Beginning AP 10 (6+4 rollover)

Create Legendary Concept Advanced Genetic Engineering -5AP Essentially a prerequisite in this case for making the Sardaukar, now humanity has the means to recode themselves. At the moment, this is considered a trade secret by the Iluminati, but yeah, they can't stop a god from taking it.

Alter Race Humans-Sardaukar promoting to legendary creatures-1AP Created to be Petros's hands in a world grown increasingly violent.

Ending AP: 4

[Elemental]

Zurich

Oh well... Janu-Shal's narrator can't be expected to remember everything...
As most of the other Gods left, the Man spoke softly to Petros.
"They will Petros. Just a feeling."
A beam of light ripped the roof off the building they were in and gently laid it down on the street.
"It seems that my ride is here. I have work to do. But before I leave, I urge you not to elevate the humans too far too quickly."
There was a flash of light and he was gone. The clouds of smoke above dissipated revealing the black hull of the Horizon Skimmer. Very slowly, it moved off toward the West.


Across North America, excluding New England and the Midatlantic Regions of the United States, Iceland, the Faroe and Shetland Islands and Siberia

In these regions, a voice echoed out of the sky, a kind voice who offered salvation to the humans in the form of a new home among the stars where they would be free to live out their lives and practice their faith in peace.
They simply had to gather up their goods and chattels, anything they desired to take with them, and wait inside their homes three days from now.
Most people ridiculed the message, believing it the lies of yet another masquerading demon, but some believed and they would be saved and taken to a new world.

Starting AP: 7
Bless: Across the mentioned regions, approximately thirty-million unaltered humans, including a full half the populations of Iceland and the Faroe and Shetland Islands, are given the message to gather up their possessions and animals so that they can start anew on a new world.
Remaining AP: 6

[The Succubus]

Enter Sandman
(Odessa, Texas)

Even a mile away from the borders of the city, he could sense the festive mood in the air. It seemed as though fortune had been kind to this place, at least up to this point. His very acute sense of smell picked up a rich, thick scent on the air – oil. So, the repulsive parasites had stumbled on the remains of ancient and noble creatures and instead of treating them with respect, instead sought to burn them and choke the air with their filth and corruption? There was work to be done in this town.

*****

“I think you’ve had enough, Stu.”

“Awww, c’mon man, I ain’t even tipsy yet,” said Stu, his slurred speech disproving his words.

He had been working on the drill site earlier and been there when the sirens had sounded their triumphant blast. Old Man Roose had been cackling with glee and promised everyone on the team a big fat payday for their efforts. Naturally, everyone had retired to the local bar for a celebratory drink this evening but here he was with a stubborn-ass bartender who wouldn’t even give him another beer.

“I’m thirsty, damn it! I just want a dri-“

Before he could finish his sentence, a beer slid into his vision from his right. He could feel the chill coming off it, just the perfect amount of foam on top and Stu knew that the beer within would be sweet as springwater. He turned his head and saw a slightly scruffy figure in a battered hat. He looked like one of those funny convention types that liked to dress up in old clothes. The scruffy figure nodded at him and turned his attention back to the empty glass in front of him.

“For me? Hey, cheers buddy!” said Stu and slowly drank the beer his friend had given him. It was every bit as sweet as he’d imagined it’d be. After he had finished his drink, he turned to give thanks to his buddy (and possibly weasel another drink out of him) but the end of the bar was empty.

*****

Sand waited outside the bar, enjoying the night sky. It’d be some days before the evil seed he had planted here would flower but when it did, the results would spread all the way across southern America. He cocked his head. There was something else here…something unusual. He thought he’d noticed a flicker of it in Las Vegas but it seemed stronger here. Something that would try to protect the humans. Something good. Something noble. If he could sense it, then it would most definitely sense him. His hands stole quietly to the handles of his revolvers. The night was still young.

[mystic1110]

The woods slowly grew - the northern forest grew southward, leaves falling covering the ground, and moss growing underneath - crushed underfoot, undertrunk - underroot. The forest slowly walked.

They were old. Older than Humanity, but till now, they were merely trees - lumber for the cutting, for the burning, for the carving. Now their limbs moved with purpose - angry purpose drawn from the memories in their rings. The forest walked towards the cities of the mankind, their villages and their homes - built from the remains of proud trees, and forests long since ravished. Yet the forest moved slowly - for now they could have hardly to be said to have moved at all.


***

Disgusting.

Everything here is disgusting. It rains constantly. The ground is always ankle-deep red-brown mud. There are a thousand types of biting and stinging insects. We have to sleep in the trees but the trees, bushes, and plants are noisy with buzzes, growls, snorts, screeches, clicks, whistles, too. Especially at night. The air reeks of moss, the syrupy scent of flowers, ripe palm nuts and rotting mangoes. And the jungle traps heat like a sealed glass tube held over a fire. The Jungle is a tough place to be while pregnant.

Or at least it seems like a Jungle the woman's husband reminds her that this is a boreal forest - a forest in a taiga. No jungle. The woman spits on the ground. Tell that to the mud, the heat and the insects.

The heat leaves her light-headed. She vomits at least three times a day because of the strong smells. Yes, still, even in her eighth month.

The sun is setting and she can hear it again—the creature following them. It's definitely nocturnal. . . . possibly.


***

The Ents formed a sort of loose society, Cabals formed around older and older trees. A few Fair Folk would sit on the higher branches, naked, and gave advice or urged them to action - but the Trees would not be ordered, only counseled by the human looking creatures. Their society was formed only around one ideal. . .

Revenge. Revenge against the purposeful fires, revenge against the lumberjack.

Ghosts walked among the Trees, and ghosts of older trees, great oaks that towered over the forests began to form as the Ents began to speak of their own legends and stories.


***

One story, the greatest, was the world tree. A massive ghostly tree began to grow from the collective. A tree larger than any mountain began to grow in Siberia. A tree more beautiful than any other, the World tree, so large that the earth would seem to be only a fruit upon it's branch.

A ghostly tree - alabaster and insubstantial - yet as real as any story. Ents would guard it and ghosts would walk it, for the tree would connect itself to every other world where it's story would be told.

For now it was merely a sapling - and the moss began to grow.

AP 3 + 2/9 rollover {5}

{3} Create astronomical object - The world tree, a ghostly tree born of stories, that is so large that it connects the earth to other worlds where it's story is told.

5 AP left

[Draken]

There are many advantages to a space station.

The ISS

Onboard Diary of Alexei Nikov - Open-reading Online Version
This makes it easier to delete the commentary left by Lord Mereon, not that it stops him. I guess the finds the edit wars funny?

Anyway. We have a project going up here, and down there in the UN headquarters as well, I suppose. I haven't been there myself. I will explain the nature of this project by first rambling on about the nature of Dominus Legis.

All regulaments fal under the purview of Mereon, this is a well known fact. Tangential to this fact is his inherent... Hmm... What is the english word... Well, lets go with hard-on for bureaucracy. I kid you not, in the last few days since our newly formed organization took over the old station, he went to the trouble of setting up a freaking byzantine set of ministries, bureaus and autarchies for a bunch of stuff up here. Just this morning Tanaka was inducted as 'The Shogun of the Esteemed Keepers of Empyreal Pools and Baths for Masculine Uses'. Which is a subdivision of the secretary of hygiene, which is part of the bureau of humanity. Both of which have, obviously, much longer names than that.

By the way, Tanaka is the male head janitor, for those who missed the mark. But Mereon likes wordy titles, and heck, they are funny.

Anyway. Bureaucracy.

Mereon wants to create these supernatural bureaus. It is kind of like the UN, but with... Actual powers, I suppose? Or at least the means and willingness to enforce its dictates. If you are a head of state, don't worry, apparently we won't be trying to interfere with internal policy. But with some 'global shenanigans'. As eloquently stated by someone who got a real explanation from Mereon.

If you are curious about his explanation, don't be, it was a very, very verbose way of explaining something, much, much simpler that I found out after discussing with Tanaka and a couple of kids that joined us up here. It was a very enlightening conversation, if not quite in the way I had expected. But it shed light into a question we all had, 'where did the gods come from?'. Answer: From our colective prayers and wishes, it seens.

Bluh. Explanations. Ok. Simply put. Tanaka compared what he wants to do with the Celestial Bureaucracy of oriental myth. Lots of gods overseeing lots of things related to nature, mankind and etc, etc. When you think about it, it makes sense.

Then one of the kids recalled something after hearing Tanaka's official title and remembered something, which made way too much sense. He recalled a roleplaying game that has a celestial bureaucracy with dozens of fancy names. Then he noticed a few of Lord Mereon's quirks, his colective purview (which has expanded somewhat, by the way).

He is quite pious that Mereon has been heavily influenced by gamers on the internet and may find his origins in these groups as much as he find his origin in poets, writters, legislators, jurists, and others. He thinks Mereon isn't answering the prayers of many legislators, actually. Hur, hur.

Well. I can't wait to discover what my overhiped title will be. We have a betting pool and I win if it ends up longer than Tanaka's.

The Onboard Diary of Annia Kaverin - Open-reading Online Version
Everyone is doing one of those things, following after Alexei. Yay, blogs from outer space.

Don't expect these often from me. This is stupid. I am just writing this because I have something important to say.

So. You people (Russian people) probably haven't noticed or bothered noticing. But we could see from up here. Mereon created some sweet gear for this space station. I would dare call this crap magitech. It makes wishes come true and runs on the happy cries of small children. Or on any meaningful sound at all.

God. I am rambling.

Focus. To the point. Objectiveness.

The boreal forest is moving, slooowly. Our telescopes have shown moving trees. Ents, treants, you call them. They are slowly moving closer to civilization. And as everyone knows. When the trees move towards mankind, it is to take revenge for centuries of logging.

Anyway. If you live in the area, I suggest moving and waiting until the army stops these truants. Heehehehe. Or until the nascent bureau of nature decides that these trees are breaking divine laws they never heard about. Because they didn't have ears until a few days ago, and also because the divine laws didn't exist until a few days ago. Or one of the other bureaus. The weather dudes are more worried with some happenings in the US, however. There is a kid up here who told of the first deity she met, who just watched madness and the wasteland eat Las Vegas.

Anyway. Attack of the Trees, not a bad horror movie. Russian government, deal with it.

7 AP.

No expenses.

[Yeshon]

Chicago, Illuminati Complex

Veronica sighed as she saw her squad board their jet. "I should be with them."

Petros nodded, "You should be, but I have a different job for you here."

She raised an eyebrow as she looked at him, it was strange, being taller than a god, she stood around 2.8 meters while Petros just scrapped 2.1. She felt stronger and faster than any normal human, maybe even some gods, but she still felt intimidated by him.

"I want you to check in on our coma patient."

Veronica nearly gagged, "Is that why you ordered me to stay?? Dammit Petros, I don't even know the woman!"

"Neither does anyone else. She was a vagrant that saw our flier and asked to be a part of the project. As far as I am aware, she has no family and no past."

"Okay, yeah, sad, way to make me feel bad god, but why me? Why do I need to talk to her?"

"A). You are the only one of the Sardaukar with parental experience. B). You two are now one of five members of a new subspecies of humanity, I'd say that makes you the closest thing to a family member she has. And C). I know for a fact you have nothing better to do."

Veronica looked out the window watched the crews clear the runway for some bigwig's landing party. To be honest, she felt guilty, how was it that the one thing to go right in her life screwed someone else's? The one time she was on cloud 9 another kid lost any semblance she had of a life. Then her mind caught up to the first reason Petros gave.

"Sardaukar?"

Petros shrugged, "Thank Madeline, she thought it an appropriate name and having recently finished the Dune novels I concur."

Veronica laughed, "YOU read Dune?"

"For about the five minutes it took, they were good while Frank Herbert wrote them."

The Infirmary

Veronica closed the reinforced door behind her. The docs were scared ****less of the possibility of the Sardaukar waking up from her coma scared and confused. As such her little sister, strange to call her that, lay in a small bed surrounded by 4" steel walls. A few monitors displaying nonsensical data to her layman's eye.

There was a single chair, bolted to the ground next to the girl's bed, Cynthia, that was her name. Veronica sat in it and watched the girl, maybe 18 or 19? Breath steadily. After a while the silence began to scratch at the back of her skull and she began to talk.

She didn't talk about anything in particular, sometimes Veronica would bring up her daughter, other times she'd rag on the other Sardaukar. There were stories that a coma patient could hear you, but she didn't believe it, more likely doctors allowed the story to propagate so the family member's didn't go crazy under the strain.

After a while Veronica couldn't keep up the prattle and again fell into silence. She sighed, "It's easier when the other one talks back y'know."

...

"Okay, this is weird, what am I supposed to say?"

...

"Heh, look at me, it's like I'm talking to the dead. Okay, I've covered politics, the weather, the few sports teams that are still going, and well, some jokes that you probably didn't appreciate."

...

"Y'know, it's weird I'm probably never going to know what type of person you were, but I'm still kind of sad. Ever since I dropped med school nothing's gone right on my end. There was that damn party and, well, y'know that old story."

...

"The thing is, I never even thought of y'know, the other way. I was raised Muslim, grandad's idea, and I guess I believed in it enough not to, y'know. But, now what with a bunch o' gods cropping up? Heh, guess that was kind of an empty reason. I know I'm a horrible person for wondering this, but would my life be any different now? I mean I love my son to pieces and I'm glad I didn't... go the other way. But what if I actually had gone through with it and became a doctor like my parents wanted? Maybe I'd of never become, oh whatever the Hell we are now."

...

"And I can't help but wonder, would tha-"

Suddenly the door opened and two men walked in the room. One in a business suit and the other in a doctor's scrubs.

"Excuse me miss, but we need to move the patient."

"Oh, right of course doc, where are we going?"

"Umm, apologies but you can't come."

"Why not?"

"Well we're moving her into surgery and-"

"Surgery? What for? Last I checked you can't operate on a coma."

This time the man in the business suit stepped forward with an explanation, "Excuse me miss, I'm a surgeon from Sweden and I've developed a, how you say? Procedure, that may assist Cynthia in regaining herself."

"Really? I haven't read about this--"

"It has only been made possible recently. The, ah, genetic engineering? Has allowed for new studies in the field of the mind."

"Cool! Can I watch?"

They glanced at each other, a second too long for Cynthia's tastes, she considered calling Petros but then the man in the scrubs spoke up, "Veronica is it?"

Veronica nodded.

"Tell me, do you like apricots?"

"Apri--? Ugh."

Veronica staggered away from the bed and against the wall, the room was doing its best impression of a swimming pool. "I-" Veronica stammered before she slumped against the floor. Unable to move, but fully aware.

The man in the suit dropped all pretense loosing the bad Swedish accent, "Intel screwed us royally on this one. I though they were all deployed in New Hampshire."

"So'd I, good thing the boss got that fail-safe implanted. Now help me move this thing."

"Crap how much does she weigh?"

"Too damn heavy, let's see if we can figure out this gurney."

As they began to fiddle with the gurney Veronica's mind was running through any possible out she had. She couldn't find any. All she could was sit there and think, maybe--

"I would stop that if I were you."

Veronica would smile if she could move, now they were goin-

"Oh, don't mistake me, I'm merely concerned for your safety."

The two conspirators had already drawn their concealed weapons and backed against the wall, now fear was replaced by sheer confusion. "What do y- AGGH!"

"I meant you should leave before she wakes up... it seems I was too late."

The man in the suit clutched the sides of his head and fell to the ground, bleeding out of every cranial orifice. The man in the scrubs backed away until he was against the opposite wall, dropped his gun and started sobbing.

"Pleas-- Ach!"

He felt a horrible pain shoot into his brain and then collapsed, still alive.

Petros smiled, "I appreciate your restraint. Oh, and I love Apricots."

Cynthia shot up in her bed breathing heavily and Veronica was shocked to find she had regained control of her limbs.

"You knew how to get me out of that??" Cynthia screamed, "I lay here for three days!!!"

Petros took a step back despite himself, he knew she'd be angry, but still, "In my defense, I knew the phrase but not the code word. I was aware of their designs to keep you for themselves, but I couldn't free you before the let the code word slip."

Cynthia was still red in the face, but her breathing was a little more controlled now, but it was Veronica's turn. "You mean I was bait?"

"Not precisely, I needed the word yes, but didn't expect them to act today. You were also here in case some fool decided to poison Cynthia while I was fighting Elizabeth, excuse me, if I was fighting Elizabeth."

"So I was here because I was in Med School?"

"And because you are a mother."

Veronica growled but Cynthia looked over at her and smiled, "Thanks."

"Huh?"

"You relieved my boredom, not even the big **** over here would talk to me."

"There were other issues--"

"Don't care, anyway, Veronica right?" Cynthia crossed the room in an instant and held out her hand, "I'm Cynthia, nice to meet yah."

Veronica shook it without a second thought, "Likewise." She was so stunned by what she had seen today, that she didn't ask the question that was heavy on Petros's mind, what had happened to these men? And how did Cynthia come to possess such power?

Rollover:4+8=12

Raise Hero Cynthia -5AP

Create Magical/ High Science Concept: Sardaukar are now capable of developing powers as a result of genetic engineering (Telepathy in this case) -3AP

Gain Domain: Law (Contracts)
-Raise Hero (Cynthia)
-Create Order (Iluminati)

Ending AP: 1