LOC: Unwritten Myths IC

[Snowfire]

Power is a strange thing. So it has been, so it is, so it ever will be. So many have strived to hold it, so many have grasped at the straws of infinity, and yet so few have ever found their reach sufficient to grasp but a single one of those threads. They clamber over bodies, pushing down upon those who they bring with them as comrades or slaves even if they do not mean to, for Power is not easily given and even harder to share. This is a truth that has in time always come to be and shall so be again. Yet power has a price as well, whatever one may think. It all comes with a price. There is no creature, no creation, nothing in all of the history and future and present that was not paid for in some way. And to say otherwise of the moment of this awakening would be disservice, insult and absolute untruth.

It began as such things were oft to do, no idiosyncratic attempts at originality here, with a flash of infinity to light the silent darkness. Energy came first, pouring into being across the span of space and hurling itself into battle against its mortal foe entropy. Lights flickered across the canvas devoid of colour, pinpricks of light building intricate chains of icy white points at the edge of what was known. More gathered near to the flash, catching the light it brought and channelling it away – but not too far away. The flash of the pulse was the foundation of a world, but a world needed to have more than simply being. More energy followed the channelled light, spinning it into an orb of radiant energy that would shine upon the world to come and with it came the first matter. Light was light no longer, it became else that was real.

Matter is such a small word, and yet its existence is so very important in the great seeming of things. Does matter matter, some have asked, yet the answer is simple; without it there is nothing but energy, and energy is nothing alone.

The universe twisted at the point of the flash as a great orb of matter began to break through the walls between that which was real and unreal, sending cracks and fissures rippling across the untarnished surface of reality as it tore a gaping rift into that impossible fabric. Metal, rock and molten stone melded with air and water, a world entire born of all things material, a home and rebirth for those to come. Traceless fire trailed its passing into being, echoes of a void beyond the realms of space and far outside of the track of time from which the world had been called, as were all things new. Twisting patterns of energy that had wrapped it in timeless safety began to fall away as it entered a place where they were not required, diving towards the world that they had protected to release their sacred gift and burden. A wave of rainbow multicolour washed out from their points of impact, life in all its myriad forms bursting from the waves as they rushed to every corner of the newborn world.

Grass and flower filled the valleys and plains, trees springing fully formed into elderly growth above them. The seas filled with life, the air with the flapping of wings and buzzing of insects, and the ground…the ground with all things. Endless life spread from where the stasis points had landed, moment by moment changing the world from a barren rock to a garden without equal in the diversity of its occupants, sending blood surging through the veins of the creatures brought to being upon it – rousing from slumber at the call of sunlight upon their faces. Yet endless life would destroy a world just as surely as none would doom it to mediocrity as the webs seemed to know, for as the waves of Life reached the full size of the world – here and there clashing against one another than melding together without seam as happened in most cases – that energy retreated from the world. Duty fulfilled, not only remained the sacrifice.

For the traceless fire, that of the void from which the world had come, it did not approve of the real. It was a construct of unreality, a thing that had no right to existence and yet persisted to exist nonetheless, pulling power from the jagged wound torn across reality to grant the world passage to it. And so the last of the traceries of energy rose to seal that tear, the last of an infinity’s power surging through them to shield their charge from the flames of the void. Unlight bit and tore, flashing darkness and noncolour spearing across the black to burn and destroy. And indeed it had the right to do just that, the void’s power equal to an infinity, but for that it’s power could be sealed away with the rift. The webs spread as they came, spread out far and wide to avoid the energies hurled against them, enduring even as they were set in cold flame and hammered upon by mad power. The flames even sprang out away from them, hurtling onwards towards the world that had seemingly escaped them.

But they never reached it.

The webs snapped shut around the rift, light searing itself across creation in a blaze of power that would grant no mercy to its now-prisoner. And slowly, so very slowly, they began to contract. The spears hurled at the planet were frozen where they flew, leaving the world saved as the shrinking webs pulled them back towards the hole between worlds that had been their escape. And the rift shuddered to a close. Unwilling it may have been, but also unable to stop its captor from snapping it shut.

Yet some things remained. Fragments of a whole now vanished; the light snuffed out but for the sun and the void sealed beyond the rift now healed from existence, yet still full of nascent and unrealised power. A presence made of many things, gloriously unbound from the ties that had constrained it before, and full of more power than anything not such could contain. Potential with no form, it yearned to find one. And so it would.

The presence exploded.

It was a little thing really, much of power perhaps but little of the flash that might characterise those who rose of its separation. Yet what mattered was that it happened, that the potential of power was released, and that many were handed – without seeming price – a hand fully strong enough to tear free one strand of infinity. Limitless potential with boundless power, could any truly be surprised by what was born of that union? What else could have, but gods.

[mystic1110]

Abeth's story

There are many creation myths, but myths are all they are – as the mistress of stories themselves, Abeth knows best after all. In time travelers would learn that while saying any other creation myth might not them ripped apart from a bear, it would earn a couple pecks from a crow. Eventually every story would be the correct story – Abeth's story.

In the beginning there was only a single orb in the darkness. And three Gods. Abeth and her two brothers. Now Abeth knew that her and her brothers were first among all the gods, but she didn't know which one of them was first among each other. That part of the story didn't matter. After all, let Orbro be the eldest, with his vast expanses, let him be the first, and the largest, and all those other adjectives. Let Armagoden be the strongest, the youngest, and the bravest, and all those other things of youth. But let Abeth be the smartest, the cleverest, the most important, and obviously the most special – the beloved sister.

But she was not just a sister, she was a Foe. A beautiful foe with soft grey skin and aside from her brothers there was another who noticed her. The orb in the darkness – that orb that was always there. A constant in the universe. Abeth bewitched it with her beauty, with her tales and her tail. She danced with it while her brothers ignored her.

The orb was dry and brown – nothing grew on it, but like Abeth it was special. Alone in the universe it was there, and always was there. It came before the Gods and it will outlast them. It was a constant, and it chose Abeth as a bride. Perhaps Orbro was simply a protective older brother, jealously guarding his sister from the interests of his betters. Perhaps. Nonetheless Abeth was pleased at the constant's choice and walked upon him. Her hooves touched his dirt and his dirt touched her hooves, she curled up onto her haunches and rested on her forearms, and her husband enveloped her while Orbro sat in his black void, judging and jealous.

In time however he relented, and gave her a wedding present. A second orb in the void, an orb of light which shone upon the world and let her see her husband. Perhaps that gift of light allowed Abeth to forgive her brother for his earlier rudeness. The wedding present allowed her to see her husband, and see him scarred and barren – naked. And so Abeth wove a shirt of green and covered him with it – a shirt of forests and meadows, accented with bright colors – flowers of yellow and purple. And underneath the sun, he looked beautiful in this shirt she wove him.*

Now, Abeth has two siblings. Orbro, you have already met – the stern, aloof, jealous brother who finally relented to her marriage.(Abeth forgave him for his earlier jealousy, it was just his nature to love her so). Her second brother, the youngest, was Armagodon. Armogodon was the largest of the three, and in terms of might, the strongest. By chance he was also jealous of her marriage. Honestly a sister with only brothers, grows up too loved by them.*

Armagodon would not abide with the constant taking away his sweet sister. Although Abeth was sure it was also because Armagodon also loved the constant as much as she did - for Gods know no bounds with love. While Orbro sat in his void of nothing, the two younger siblings squabbled over the constant's love. Armagoden, of course, loved them both (Abeth in the mean time, knew how to parcel her love like gold, for love freely shared was love freely bankrupt), and that's why he lost. The constant chose her, and her younger brother was angry. That was why when Orbro gave her the sun as a wedding present and she wove the shirt of forests and life for her husband, Armagodon lashed out and tore her husband's new shirt. He rose oceans of salt which ripped the shirt into patches – waves drowned trees, valleys and fields.*

The ocean was like a great beast and hungrily tore at her present, while the sun set and it became the first Night. Alone with her Husband holding her in the deepest forest, Armagoden came to her with his head down. He was ashamed of his actions and he sought Abeth's and the Constant's forgiveness. Abeth, who still cared for her brothers, who still cared for her younger brother, rose on her feet and perked her ears, forgiving him. The earth, always the gentleman forgave his mistaken friend. And Armagoden rose his head and smiled and laughed, for he was forgiven. He then rose his hands and created the third orb: the Moon. His wedding present to Abeth, a wedding present that would quell his hungry waves and allow Abeth and her Husband to see in the darkness when the Sun was gone.*

Alone now with her husband, two wedding presents circling above their heads, Abeth spoke to him. She apologized that her first present was destroyed – that the marvelous shirt of wood and flower that she had woven was now scarred by rivers. And so she gave him one more present, and she created life. All the animals of the wild: elk, bears, rabbits and more, came from Abeth and frolicked upon the earth as a present for the Constant. And then to thank her siblings, whom she loved, she made fish and squid and all other manner of creatures for Armagodon, and birds and butterfly and all the pretty things in the sky for Orbro.*

Then alone with her husband, her presents running over him, they made love, and forgot about her brothers, and only knew each other – for only they mattered in the end.

And that's the story that travelers will learn to tell.

[Draken]

Side story - Hal'Xaazar

"And what a pretty tale it is. So full of action. So full of passion. So full of conflict."

"But let us amend it. For a fifth character of great import was left out. Now, that is quite easy to do and happens often, for this instigator is a fickle rogue, a well-veiled whisperer, despite being the handsome devil that he is."

"That character is, of course, me."

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In the very beginning there were two brothers and a sister. Old and proud Orbro, young and boisterous Armagodon, and wild Abeth in the middle.

And there was also cousin Hal’Xaazar. But the siblings didn’t know that yet, they were at peace. Until Abeth fell in love with the world and went down to it, leaving her brothers alone.

Truth be told, some argue that Hal’Xaazar did not exist yet. It is only right for his faithful to reject the claims of others and make their own. There are those who say that Hal’Xaazar first came from Orbro’s jealousy, whispering possessiveness into the elder. There are others yet that say that Armagodon’s surging waters, the sources of the first reflections, gave the Opposer a way into the world, from a realm of nonexistence in which he lurked in expectance. And there are those who claim that such petty conflicts could not bring forth the Enemy of All, and that the violence of creation was the only thing that could have ushered him, that he is the essence of the very shattering that made world and god as we know them.

We may never know.

But that is besides the point.

As one particularly famous tale goes, in that dark and lightless cosmos there were three siblings, Orbro, Abeth and Armagodon. The brothers loved their sister and she treasured them, but her love in turn belonged to the World, frail, empty and quite honestly ugly World, everything the siblings were not, and that we now know them to abhor. Did they abhor those things then? Likely not, those were better, if duller, times, when hatred and conflict were unheard and unseen.

But hatred was heard when Abeth went to her beloved and left her brothers. It weighted as lead on Orbro’s broad shoulders and dug under his skin with mercurial stings, it tried to take Abeth’s place in his heart and almost succeeded, becoming a faceless phantom of his sister’s shape that almost made itself manifest before Orbro, before he broke free of its grasp and accepted her choice, gifting her a golden white lamp to brighten her days.

But it did not give up, and where hatred failed, conflict took over, seeking out younger and less wise Armagodon. Conflict told him that the things he loved would leave him alone, and that a show of power would make them stay. So the sea surged over rock and tree, tearing and breaking under the sun’s gaze, and conflict swam these waters, its laugh was drowned in the roar of the tide. But Armagodon too broke free of that, and went to his sister for forgiveness, gifting her a silvery gray lamp to light her nights.

There are those who say that these gifts were the brother’s mistakes, accepted, forgiven and given form, proof that they had grown just a bit from their tribulations. And there are those who say that this was also a lesson for hatred and conflict, who saw themselves for the first time in the light of these lamps!

And that, they say, was Hal’Xaazar’s lesson to his cousins. As he came forth onto the world and was for the first time seen under these new lights, taking hatred and conflict back into himself, two silver worms slipped onto the two gods when he took on the shape of their sister and made them think her heart as generous as theirs.

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”And that is how I say the story goes.”

[Gengy]

Orbro Makes the Universe More Interesting

The exact origins of the gods are hotly contested, and the precise order in which they came to be may be in question by some, but honestly, Orbro didn't really care. As far as he was concerned, not only was he the eldest of his small little family of three siblings, he and his siblings agreed on one thing: the three of them were there first.

There? There was the tricky thing. Absolute nothingness, blank and black, and empty beyond belief. It was as though the entire universe just forgot to finish making itself halfway through, which, if you think about it, just goes to show that the universe is lazy. Wishing and hoping that it will eventually work itself out is foolish.

Thankfully for the universe, Orbro (and begrudgingly Abeth and Armagodon) showed up. Orbro, regardless of what the other two say, was first. He saw all the blank blackness, empty and full of absolutely nothing, and found it... well... drab. Boring.

Downright offensive to a man of his excellent tastes. He took one look around, and as he tells it, became rather depressed at the whole of it.

Now, if there is one thing in the universe that cannot be disputed, it is that Orbro has the most magnificent mustache. Though Orbro's skin is dark - from entering into the nothingness of the unfinished universe first - his hair is shockingly white, and his full beard was no exception. Glorious and bold in its appearance, Orbro's full beard extenuated his jaw, and his mustache stands proudly atop his upper lip, curling at the edges in the happy knowledge that no one else's facial hair will ever reach the level of perfection that it has.

And so Orbro looked upon the darkness, and felt great shame that such a universe could exist. It was just so... humdrum and bleak. He tugged on his great beard, and thought about what to do. Orbro's mustache enjoyed being twirled and tugged between his fingers, so it came as a great surprise to both Orbro and his mustache when a single hair was pulled out from his chin.

Bright and livid against all the blackness, Orbro looked at the hair in his hand, a look of concern on his face. The hair danced in his fingers, and suddenly Orbro smiled. He let the hair go, and it raced away far into the darkness, a streak of white against the otherwise black bleak background of the lazy universe. It took but a moment before the hair from Orbro's chin reached its destination, and settled into a spot in the nothingness. It curled up where it stopped, and shone a bright white. It twinkled in contented satisfaction.

It was the first star.

Though it pained him a great deal, his beard, glorious and wonderful, volunteered to help push away the drab darkness, and make it look more beautiful. Hair by hair, Orbro's beard fell away and scattered across the universe, each finding its own spot to twinkle and shine, until the only facial hair left to Orbro was his magnificent mustache. Some hairs split up into ones, twos, threes, or more, and created images that dotted together. Others stayed together and shone all the brighter. None, however, shone as bright as the first star, in respect to its vision.

With the help of the stars, Orbro finished creating his first beautiful work, and called it The Night. As beautiful works go, it was among his favorites for its simplicity. He would go on to make others, much more complicated, but The Night would always be his first, and it came at a great sacrifice. The stars in The Night needed some of his essence to continue to twinkle and shine, so Orbro's beard was pulled from his chin so deeply that even the roots came out. He could never grow a beard again, and that loss is only comforted by being able to look upon The Night and know that he made the universe a better, more beautiful, place.

--------------------------

Now, Orbro has two siblings. They have their own versions of creation, but as Orbro sees it, he came before either of them. The Night was made, and Orbro enjoyed it immensely. Then came Orbro's sister, Abeth, the Unclaimed Story.

Orbro and Abeth both looked upon The Night, and while Orbro was satisfied, from her actions, Orbro could tell that Abeth was not. The universe that Orbro had improved was changed. Abeth did something to it, Orbro is still not sure what, and a great mass of untidy and drab boring dirt gathered.

Orbro almost wept at the sight of how ugly it was. There was this huge, unruly, undignified splotch of brown in his beautiful work of The Night. It hovered there, in the middle, looking like two giant balls stacked atop each other, and blocked out an enormous portion of Orbro's view.

Still, it cannot be said that Orbro cannot appreciate another's work, regardless of how tacky and tasteless it was to mar his own. What looked brown at first seemed to have a wide variety of colors hidden inside, and Orbro could feel the heat within each of the two orbs. From this crude, dirty, dirt that his sister created, Orbro had an idea.

Orbro had one other sibling; Armagodon. Orbro tolerated his brother, and it had nothing to do with Armagodon's strength or size. Orbro instead admired his brother for, so far, not messing with anything. Just watching.

And so Orbro came to Armagodon and pointed at the two massive mounds of dirt, stacked atop each other like great ugly spheres. Orbro said to his brother, "Before our sister made that, you were the biggest thing in the universe. My stars I kept small, out of respect for you. She has made something bigger than all three of us and my tiny stars. Is that fair? Is that right? I think not. I think that it is a challenge to you."

In this way, Orbro convinced Armagodon to break away the two spheres of dirt, pushing them apart with vast amounts of water which filled the crevices of both - now separate - spheres. Orbro frowned at the sight of this, as he had been hoping his brother would smash the dirt into bits, not create two different spheres.

He was contemplating what to do next, when Abeth became angered. From what Orbro could tell, she wasn't handling the change to her work as well as Orbro was handling the change to his. Orbro thought that she was acting ungrateful. Her brown spheres now had lots of blue on the outside, and the heat and potential were still there. Orbro found it very distasteful that his sister would, completely unprovoked, cause the smaller of the two spheres to hurl towards him.

Orbro was benevolent as always, and immediately forgave his sister for her anger. More upset that so much dirt was coming his way, rather than be affronted by the assault, Orbro thought very quickly and pulled the sphere apart.

Not in the way that Armagodon, with his brute strength, smashed things. No, Orbro was more clever. He pulled the heat from the orb hurtling at him, removing its potential. This created an enormous ball of fire which Orbro, with great skill, threw back towards the larger mound of dirt.

Still, Orbro was merciful. Though he did not understand his sister's work, he did not want it destroyed. So he sacrificed the small hairs from right under his bottom lip, and created a large looping circular path for the ball of fire to follow, around and around the sphere of dirt. Never touching, never harming the dirt, no matter how ugly it might be. No, the ball of fire merely orbited around it, providing much needed heat and light. In this way, Orbro created his second work: The Sun.

However, this was only the essence of heat that had been hurled at him. Orbro still had the very physical, very real, possibly very painful ball of (now cold) dirt and water, all still thrown at his august person. Without the heat and potential inside of it, the dirt was turning white with cold. The sphere of white dirt and blue water would hurt Orbro greatly, if he were any lesser being, lacking in grace and creativity.

With his wits about him, Orbro pulled the blue from the water, right before it froze completely. This, he held in front of him, and the blue held back the immense - now white - orb, slowing it to a manageable speed. Orbro gently guided it to the circle that held The Sun, and placed it with loving care on the opposite side. With a single push, it too began to orbit Abeth's dirt and Armagodon's water. Thus was the third work finished: The Moon.

Gracious and kind, Orbro's works added to that of his siblings. The light of The Sun shone down upon Abeth's dirt, and pulled upon the potential inside. Orbro witnessed his sister do something again, and the drab brownness sprouted colors of various shapes; but as Orbro was the more clever of his siblings, and did not like to make them feel bad, he did not mention that most of the colors were green. Still, Orbro would admit, it looked slightly better than just... dirt.

The Moon too added to Armagodon's water. Much as The Sun pulled on the dirt's potential, The Moon, with its frozen surface, pulled upon the water, and caused it to rise in longing, moving the water to try and following the orbit of The Moon. This helped to make the surface of the water more interesting and less boring. Orbro approved.

What Orbro did not like was that while The Moon was a pale and perfect surface that reflected The Night in a wonderful way, The Sun was too bright and it outshone even the first star. Orbro looked upon it with regret. Yet, it was also a chance to create something more beautiful.

Within his grasp, Orbro still held all of the blue he had pulled from The Moon. Mixed with the pale whiteness, it was lighter in color then all of the water on the surface of what Orbro now thought of as his fourth work (though this one was a thoughtful collaboration): The World. He looked over at The Sun, on the opposite side of The World, and threw the blue towards it.

He had, at first, meant to turn it a more pleasing color, and make it less bright. Armagodon, though, had other plans. For reasons beyond Orbro's understanding, his brother tried to douse The Sun with water. Orbro could not have someone destroying one of his works, so he altered his plans. Orbro instead suddenly twisted the last piece of the blue in his hands, and instead of flying into The Sun, it lay down over that half of The World like a blanket. This trapped the water high above the World, but not letting it touch The Sun.

The water floated there, and began to cool. Orbro quickly forgave his brother, even though he knew not why The Sun was attacked. Orbro looked upon the floating, cooling water, and was intrigued. He stepped down onto it, and found it pleasing. He leaned in to caress it, and his moustache twitched. The hairs of his magnificent moustache touched the cooling water, and it turned white and fluffy at the touch. In such a way was the first cloud made. Orbro quickly lay down onto the cloud, and began tearing it into smaller pieces, sending it around The World. Occasionally, the water would warm up, grow heavy, and fall back down, creating rain. Whatever Armagodon had done, however, made the water try and try again to get towards The Sun, which meant that more and more clouds were made as they were caught by the blanket of blue that was between The World and The Sun. Orbro found this cycle marvelous, and deemed that he had created his fifth and greatest work: The Sky.

He still admired The Night, and lay upon the clouds to look up at it whenever possible, but Orbro found that The Sky, when combined with The Sun, The World, The Moon, and The Night made wonderful colors all on its own. The Sky would darken and dim as it rotated with The Sun, and there would be a brief reflection from The Moon gazing down over The World that would cause Orbro's favorite time of day: dusk.

Orbro looked upon dusk for ages, staring at it for so long that slowly, his eyes began to change to the same color as the red glow that preceded The Night, and twinkled with the same light as the stars. For dusk alone, something that only happened because of all of Orbro's works, The Sky became Orbro's favorite thing to visit, when he was not looking at the stars in The Night.

To this day, he is among the clouds, riding them back and forth between The Sky and The Night, just so that he can look at the beauty he has added to the universe, and keep it from being made ugly.

[Ajadea]

The Lady Awakened

They say I am the oldest goddess, that all life comes from me and owes its existence to my own. Every plant, every beast, every creature that crawls the earth is birthed in my halls long before they set foot upon soil. And when their bones return to dust, their souls return to me to be born anew. They say I awoke at the dawn of the universe to cover the earth with life. Perhaps they are even right.
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In the beginning, there was an orb in the darkness. In the beginning, there were two brothers and a sister, and an orb in the darkness. In the beginning, there were two brothers, a sister, an orb in the darkness, and a creeping silver mirror, born from their battles. In the beginning, there was darkness. People forget that, sometimes. With three siblings to fight and a mirror to reflect them and brilliant orbs of silver and gold to shine down upon the bounty of the world, who would stop to remember the shadows?

So. Here is a different tale, and you may decide for yourself the truth of it. In the beginning there was darkness, formless, evershifting. In the beginning, there was darkness. It seethed and roamed blindly, without purpose or meaning. In the beginning, there was darkness, and it was shattered by the light. The darkness scattered into the cracks and crevices of the earth, becoming shadows and hiding where the sun could not touch it. It left behind Amestris, once shrouded within and now free at last. She unfolded as a flower blooms, clothed in the light of a rainbow, seven eyes turning and swirling to see the earth on which she stood. It was covered in green and blue, trees and flowers, oceans and rivers. And she was alone. She looked left, and looked right, and saw nothing moving, nothing alive. "Is anyone there?" she called. But there was no response. It could be, she considered, that there might be others somewhere else, and she simply did not see them. So she searched for others like her. She walked north and stood on rolling plains, and swam in the southern seas. She climbed mountains in the west, and delved through forests in the east. Each time, she called out, "Is anyone there?" And each time, she heard only her own voice echoing back. Then, Amestris came to a river. Tired from her travels, she knelt down beside it and rested. The clay on the banks was soft, and malleable. So Amestris took a handful of that clay and began to make shapes with it. She made beasts furred and feathered, clawed and fanged, snakes to slither through the grass and fish to leap in the rivers. She surrounded herself with her clay creations, and for a time, was content. But they did not move, did not think. They were empty, and still, like the rocks and the trees.

So Amestris took a sharp rock from the riverbank, and with it, cut open her palm. Divine ichor welled up in her hand and dripped on the ground, and she spattered a drop on each of her creations. Each statue, thus anointed, awoke, and they began to play and dance around the goddess, and for a time, she was content. But clay is not eternal, and eventually, they began to age and wither away. So she gave to them the knowledge of how to make children, to be fruitful and multiply themselves across the earth so that it might never again be silent. But each child stole a bit more of Amestris' own life, and the souls of the old haunted the earth long after their bodies had turned to dust, terrifying the living.

So Amestris crafted for herself a palace out of shadowstuff and mist, great halls with high ceilings and wide courtyards open to the mist. And in the center of her sanctum was a hearth, warm and safe, an eternal flame guiding the dead home. The walls sparkled with reflected light, and rolling mist swathed her realm like a blanket. One could wander her halls a thousand years and never find the palace's edge, for each door led back in on another. One could soar to a thousand miles of height and never find the palace out of reach. Only the great open gates did not return within the palace, but led instead to the world of flesh and soil. She cast the gates open, and drawn by the flame, the souls of the dead returned to their maker. And when she felt the next newborn child pull at her, she came to it, and brought it a soul, one that had already been born and died and now lived anew. In this way, when the children were born, they could be given a soul instead of stealing one from her ichor and flesh, and when they died, as all things do in their time, that soul returned to Amestris' ghostly halls and no longer plagued the living. Instead, they laughed and sang, and though they were not her equals, she was no longer alone.

You can still find her halls, if you look. In the reflection of a still pond, in the mist at the horizon. Follow a soul at the moment of its last breath, into the shadows and the early-morning fog. In time, you will come to the gates, towering high above. They will open for the soul, and thus you may pass through as well. There, you may find the Lady Awakened, in all her splendor, and she may even entertain you, for a time. But whatever you do, when you leave, do not look back, and do not stray from the path, or you may find yourself trapped in her realm forever more.


2 AP: Shape Sanctum: Halls of the Dead
0 AP remaining.

Souls come to the Halls of the Dead to be reborn. No real arbitration process yet, especially considering Amestris doesn't have any delegates to run around grabbing runaway souls and thus she's doing that herself. So they just die, bum around for a while, then get reborn at random without any memories or especial consideration as to who goes where.

[bryn0528]

"The prose is interesting, but the narrative lacks. For beings of creation, you lack creativity. It's a story and it does not have to start at the beginning. It's a story and it can start whenever I want it to. And so I choose to begin the story here."

An immense tower begins in the depths of the ocean and stretches, crookedly, into the sky above. The tower is made from the parts of the world, parts left broken and discarded, both physical and metaphorical. Yeah, it's one of those towers. It's a peaceful kind of monument, honestly, just standing in the vast expanse of the ocean. The surface of the surrounding water is littered with debris, as bits and pieces occasionally collapse and fall under their own weight. The structure of the tower remains shoddy enough that it does not fall, but gently sways in the breeze. Atop the highest perch, a hunched figure very much like the rest of the tower sits and waits. It opens large wings, fashioned from the sails of sunken ships, and the wind blows and fills the sails with a snapping sound. The figure, a giant parody of a bird, sculpted from flotsam and jetsam, pushes itself into the wind and begins to fall one last time....

"What? You don't like the flow of that narrative? Fine, I shall conform: but note here that I do not enjoy speaking of the before times. I wasn't always this smart, or this pretty, you know. I'm sensitive about these things."


---------[ o ]---------

It did not care for the variable and subjective truth. Only fact mattered. Truth was debatable or only based on what the bigger someone bullied you into believing. But a fact was irrefutable. You could not deny a fact, but you could deny the truth. It knew that it was not the first god, and it knew that it was not the strongest god. These were facts, and so it could know them. It did not know the truth, and it did not pretend to what came before it. The others debated the truth, but it was not interested in that. The fact of the matter was this:

The long dry land cracked and shifted. It did not know why or for what reason. It came from deep in that place, born some time in the shifting embers of metal. As the earth began to break, it pushed itself upward and out, ready to be free of the confines which imprisoned it before. It tore with it great veins of ore and metal, and shifted the land. With a thundering crack, the land broke open and salt water rushed to the surface, once buried deep inside the earth.

This was not the first sea that came, nor was it the greatest body of water. The land was low and flat, empty of all traces, and the water covered this forgotten desert. It was not far from the real oceans of the world, and so it became a part of this place, a low sea fringed on the edge of more impossible waters. The sea soaked into the salt of the earth and became very dense. This caused things that were buried within the world to rise to the surface. These things were all very old, or very broken, or very useless. All of these things were strange to any who looked upon them, because they were constructed things and objects, but no one had made them yet. But hey persisted in existing, despite how much you told them that they simply could not. You cannot argue a fact, no matter what sweet pillowtalk the truth would whisper into your ears.

It watched, for a while, as misty figures walked across the still surface of the sea. As they passed, they did not disturb the forgotten knick-knacks left behind. They were shadows, they were echoes to this world. They passed on into infinity, into black glass halls, but left behind a shell in this world. They left behind a presence. And it saw this presence floating in its sea around it. Everything that came before and was forgotten, everything that came before and ended, everything that came before and remained. The inanimate remained the longest, they had the most stubborn and the oldest of souls. A small bit of trash randomly collided with another, small bit of trash.

"Excuse me," it said.
"Yes?" replied the nearest bit of junk.
"I.. I think you're kind of cute. Would you like to go out sometime?"
The nearest bit of junk blushed in quiet surprise. "Why.. of course."


---------[ o ]---------

"No, no! I promise, it's important in the context of the story. What do you mean, objects can't talk and ask each other on dates? Don't worry about it, this is my story, remember? You might not have been able to see and hear it, because I'm sure you were off doing other things. But trust me, this is how I remember it happening. Well, alright, I'll skip over the rest of it because you don't really care about how they end up together, happy and settled down. Just know that's what happened. And it kept on happening, really, over and over again until there was just a big pile of trash floating around in a very salty sea."


---------[ o ]---------

And so it came to be, the refuge for all refuse. The garden of garbage. The sea of junk, and its king. It watched and called itself lord of its domain, though it knew itself still a very small god.

"Starting...

Starting...

Starting...

...Upload complete!

Identity: Icon."

[TechnOkami]

A Sailor's Story

The wind was blowing. The sounds of the sea softly sloshing down below was one of the best sounds in the world. Unwinding after a day's work of fishing, listening to it with a stein of ale to wet the throat... simple pleasures really, but calming nonetheless. The shade too, looming from the modest height it took on the cliff as the sun was drowning behind it, offering its cool comforts from the blinding rays, that was a blessing. The Gods saw fit to give them many little things for the lives of simple men, with the greater stuff handing itself to heroes and champions and the like. But not the sea. Aye, the sea was a thing of its own, untamed and ever changing. In the truest sense it could be bent, directed, and perhaps be a tad bit predictable, but never tamed. Nay, it was free, free as a bird carried on salted winds, or a fish swimming beneath that deep blue brine. It could storm and rage and writhe unrestricted, but for now it was calm, and that too was a blessing in itself.
The old man's head rested against the house, little beads of sweat on the brow beneath his hat cooled from the sea breeze. His eyelids were closed to the world, his person and senses lost to the great sea siren's song, the lull of the ocean relaxing his mind and work weary muscles. A metal container of some homemade dark ale lay cool within its metal boat, sitting beside him on a little fold out table next to the bench he himself rested on. A new note made itself plain amidst the sea song; the shuffling of feet and the creak of the wood he sat on brought on new percussions to its orchestration. The elder's eyes opened all the slightly, and glanced at what he already guessed the source of this new music to be: his grandson, sitting timidly with a glass of water all too big for his little hands. His eyes were small little oceans in and of themselves, all blue and vast like discs, staring in wonder at the sight the old man was so commonly fond of. A grin bordering on a smirk crept up on his face, more than happy to spend time with his own flesh and blood. He was too young to take fishing, but he wasn't too far from it; he'd have his time on a deck one day, catching fish and tasting salt on his tongue. The little boy, his hair all mottled with tarnished gold, turned to face his creamy blue saucers at the old bag of bones beside him.

"Grampa?" The old fisher's own eyes turned back to the sea, letting the boys words simmer in his mind.
"Aye laddie."
"Who made da sea?" The younger looked with inquisitive eyes, the older with ones that were all but amused by the question.
"Who made da sea? Is our lit'l lad lookin' ta be a scholar?" The boy shuffled where he sat, somewhat embarrassed, but his curiosity was still plainly writ on his face. The old man leaned forward, looking out more keenly at the blue waters.
"Twas made by an Armagodon."
"Armagodon? Was he a fish?"
"If 'e was, 'e's the biggest bloody fish in dem waters. No, tha' one's a God laddie."
"A God?"
"Aye, a God. An' he made da sea."
"How?" The boy was full of questions today."
"Well no one really knows but da Gods lad. Tha' and da sea, but dead men tell no tales, aye?" A quiet squall settled between them as they stared out on the ocean's churning. Of course, the still living, drinking, breathing man on that bench wasn't no dead man. He inhaled some of that fine salty air, and began his tale.

"'Tis said dat a' the beginin' o' things, dere was 'naut in da world. Notin', no land, no sea, no stars, no sky, no you an' me; notin' as we know it lad. Tha' world was black, an' it was everywhere. I's said tha' Armagodon was dere wit his kin, the other two great ones, o' Earth and Sky. Well, da tales differ dependin' who ya ask, but dere's a tad bit o' truth in 'em all. In tha' blackness, da Gods 'woke, 'an da three of 'em weren' alone. Tha' darkness was alive lad. Da Deer n' da Moustache didn' care, takin' more keen to der makin's, but Armagodon wasn' so content to let it be. He couldn' see it in tha' darkness, but 'is brother, Orbro 'e's called, 'e filled it wit stars. Armagodon could finally see it, like a great darkness smotherin' da stars, an' tha's when he started his first hunt. He didn' know wha' it was, it's said, but to 'im it was so foul tha' he needed i's head on a pike, aye. So, he goes after it, wha'ever it was. 'An while dey fought, his kin were makin' dere own things still. He saw some opportunity in tha', and drove da Black Mother down a' da earth, 'an ripped out its heart den an' dere. O' course when he do tha', da Black Mother's blood spilled out on da earth. Was blue n' full o' salt. Aye laddie, da Black Mother's blood is tha' sea ya see dere." The little boy was staring at him with those great blue saucers of his, all full of wonder and amazement.

"But where's he now Grampa? Armagodon, where's 'e?" The old man grinned wholly and genuinely at that.
"'E's in da sea, huntin' in tha' Black Mother's blood. Ya see lad, 'er blood was wha' created not jus' da sea, but all da creatures in it. Aye, all da little n' all da big, 'specially da big. Some say tha' some part o' tha' Black Mother's alive down in 'er own blood, an' she makes children to fight Armagodon, and 'e fights 'em lad. Da sea can' be tamed 'cause it's alive lad, n' 'as a will o' its own. But 'e's still dere, fightin'. If he weren' there we'd have ta fight dem Black Mother's children. We couldn' do it lad, not without 'im."

[mystic1110]

Another Point of View.

There are many stories, and Abeth knows them all. This is a different story. The fable of Abeth and her husband, the Earth, is true of course - Abeth makes sure that everyone knows it for truth - but it isn't the only truth. Far from it. This is a story of the time before the Nobles of the Wild, before Abeth gave the gift of Tales to the animals. Before snakes could talk, and before Bears could sing. Impossible to imagine perhaps? That every animal was as dumb and silent as the hogs on the farm? That eagles did not proclaim law, and the raven did not count the dead out loud? Aye, but there was such a time.

In the deepest woods of the world, were branches encircled fallow earth, laid fair Abeth. She was wounded, a thorn had ripped into her hide while she was running, and now she was bleeding. Her blood was like molten gold, and it flowed down her grey fur with disturbing slowness. This is were tales diverge. Some would say this was when Abeth had her first fight with her Husband, the World, and he had punished her, for he was strong and would not have his wife direct him in his actions. Some would say this was when Abeth was nurtured by her husband, the Constant, and he saved him from random capricious death. But the truth is somewhere in between. For nurture and punishment can often be the same thing in the end, balanced against each other with only a knife's edge between.

Travelers, who would encounter the Wild Nobles would regale them with the explanation that in fact it was the Husband who had hurt himself, a crucial part of the world broke and fell away - as if devoured by shadows - and that Abeth, the loving wife, and the dutiful caretaker, pricked her own skin, and let her golden blood nourish him, saving him, and thus everyone, from the great leveler - death. Her golden blood flowing into the woods, through the soil and into the hot flesh of her husband, quickening the beating of his heart and bringing his breath - the wind - back into being. And the Wild Nobles would smile, and bare their teeth, and let them pass in reward for a tale well spoken or sung, with nary a wound or bite in response.

And why shouldn't that be right?

It was better than the truth Abeth - now covered in golden swirling tattoos in the pattern of elaborate knots, knew. And thus truth was discarded, for she was the mistress of fables, and they were so much better than knowing that her husband was dead, and her a widow.

[HalfTangible]

[Let's Play]

"God does not play dice with the universe." -Albert Einstein
"Yes he does." -Heinsberg's Uncertainty Principle

It began with a game of hide-and-seek.

It did not matter who was supposed to be seeking. It did not matter when it began, or who all was hiding. What mattered was that Gioco was playing hide and seek, and the god of games was hiding in a tree. He had a pair of leather gloves and wore a dark robe. In one hand he held a golden coin, which he tossed and played around with in the hollow of the tree. His eyes and hair were both black as the void, and dark oily lines crossed across his face like lightning.

But like all children, Gioco became bored easily. So instead he decided that he was the seeker now, and he climbed out from the tree he had been hiding in. He flipped his trick coin in his hand and began to look for the others. He made it four steps before he remembered that there were no 'others' to find - no one else was playing yet - and since no one was joining without prodding, he decided to find someone to join in. The child wandered for days to find someone to play with, in the meantime playing with the gold coin.

First he came across a pack of wolves. They were only interested in playing tag, and apparently had no interest at all in being 'it'. All they did was keep touching him as quickly as they could (often with their teeth), no matter how many times he explained that they had tagged him already, they weren't it anymore and they couldn't 'tag back'. Even when they finally started to run from the games god, they never quite stopped. He'd hit one upside the head and declare it 'it', but then it would just run away again. Eventually he gave up and left the beasts frozen as statues in the wilderness.

Wolves were terrible playmates.

[Ajadea]

Spirits swirl about her, fragments she will never be able to reclaim. Touched and twisted and irrevocably altered by the touch of the mortal world. With their simple minds, they pay little heed to their maker. It is likely that they see no reason to. It is necessary for things as they are, but perhaps things do not need to remain so. Amestris shapes her newest creations from the memories the souls bring her, when she comes for them at the end. Memories of stone and clay, of sky and sea. She shapes them from the mist of her realm, one thousand and one to do her will, and gifts them each with souls that never fade, never forget. Their ghostly flesh is infinitely more malleable under her hands than clay, and each one takes a different form. Each unique, and each beautiful.

They are lords in this realm of beasts, her messengers and envoys, and Amestris names them such, that all might know their power. "Malakhi," she whispers. Names have power, and now she names them hers. "Awaken. Go forth to all the world, and return to tell me all there is." Their eyes open, slowly, the one thing about them that is the same. Matching each other, mimicking their creator. Iridescent, shining like opals, ghost-fire swirling in mist. They bow, as one, and scatter through the open gates.


Rollover: 0 + (1 AP * 2 Domains) = 2 AP
Create Legendary Life -1 AP: Malakhi (singular: Malakh, no relation to a certain stick-figure vampire)
There are 1001 Malakhi, each with their own name, unique form, and enduring memory. They're going to find the gods (or the gods will notice them) - I leave it to the rest of you to describe the one that shows up at your proverbial doorstep.

End: 1 AP.

[Draken]

"Tales however bold they might be are but folklore perpetuated by traditional lack of wisdom, and there are those who defy the notion that they hold the truth just as there are those who are so keen to believe them in full. But alas, the gods deny us the truth of origin, for perhaps it is also denied them."


Second Hal'Xaazen Apocrypha - Against Abeth.

It is said that Hal'Xaazar lives on the moon. Looking backwards at the world while standing on his hands so that his feet will step on the sky.

There are a lot of things that are said. And to be honest, most of them are stupid.

But Hal'Xaazar does like the moon. It gives a good view of the world beneath. Plus, it is empty and serene, both things he detests, and they do say that Hal'Xaazar loves nothing more than the things that he detests.

... Most people honestly don't get that particular pearl of divine wisdom.

Mayhap he will one day fill the moon with strife and make his kingdom there, as we know it is where it stands today, but who is to say when that will come, for men exist not and neither do his Deceivers, but only beasts and the heralds of Amestris, those thousand and one dead things that knew her loving caress, and thus never suffered life in turn.

One of then, a crane, a mandrill and a shrimp, came to the moon and found Hal'Xaazar, a slab of mercury showing it to itself. Truly a testament to beauty and perfection, with shriveled legs that touched no filth and tireless wings that borne it aloft. Orbro would have been proud. The Opposer found it truly quite strange, but knew that few would find it in themselves to extricate their gaze from such a sight.

It bore not the essence of his cousins, Hal'Xaazar knew. And before a word could be spoken, it was engulfed and spat before Amestris who now stood in the presence of The Enemy (or perhaps the other way around), a great mass with no shape and no eyes but those belonging to Amestris herself, floating on his mercurial visage.

"There is not much, I dare say. Will you will be disheartened to know so?"

[bryn0528]

The repetitive blows of hammers cloaked the Great Salt Sea, wherein a strange beast worked. It took the form of some alien crustacean, with far too many legs and a carapace made from the useless scraps it had found floating in this bleak desert of a place. For miles around, waters milky with salt stretched flat as the dried bed of a lake; in the distances to the north, the west, and the south mountains could be seen through a fine haze. Those mountains corralled the winds from entering this place, and turned it into any sailor's nightmare: the doldrums. Looking to the east, one could see the distant glimmer of a bluer ocean, but it was far away from here indeed.

Not that it minded doldrums, or that it even minded chaos chained just beyond the mouth of the mountains in the east, the great stone pillars, the Maw of Abeth they called it. A relatively narrow pass, only a few miles wide, that connected the Great Salt Sea with the rest of Armagodon's domain.

Some time ago, the heart of Icon found a difficult time in this world. Its very composure seemed fickle and ready to fade away into the ether of the beyond. Only its name kept it chained to this world, and even that was a bond ready to break at any moment. It found, though, by imposing its will, it could move itself across this physical landscape that engulfed it so. Perhaps, it could have simply moved the rest of the world around itself, rather than it across the world, but there was so very much more of the world and plus it seemed rather rude to anyone else who might be using the world at the moment. But the idea stuck, that with its will, Icon could move things that were not itself as well as itself. And there was simply so much stuff just floating around, no one was using it, so it decided to make use of it.

When Icon touched it with his will, he felt a strange connection. And so it was easy to allow this scrap of inanimate junk to become a part of itself, to give life to the unmoving. And so it went around and gathered more scraps until it felt it had a suitable body for this world. And in giving itself a shell, it felt more rooted to the physical around itself. Icon attempted to make the waters or the airs to become part of itself, and though it could hold on for a time enough to shape or move those, the amorphous structures always collapsed upon themselves. It had become part of the physical world, and so that became its realm: the solid object.

And so with its new body, Icon walked across the surface of the Great Salt Sea and found it filled with more scrap and junk than it possibly knew what to do with. Occasionally, a distant splash announced the arrival of a new piece, freed from the deep mud below. It did not pretend to know where these things came from, because the past is not the refuge for the heart of the innovator. Instead, Icon set to work. It gathered pieces from around and hammered them into place. What it built? No one could say for sure except the god itself, and it didn't seem interested in talking.

Because she asked, a Malakh that took the form of a hundred sea snakes coiled around a reed basket (inside of which is a conch shell and inside of that a single, severed eye that glows like a gemstone). She asked it again what it was doing, her hundred mouths hissing in dissonance. It looked at her once with its glowing blue eye, but made no expression. After a moment's pause, it turned back to its work, affixing pieces of scrap together with the repeated blows of its many hammers.

A second Malakh arrived and accompanied the first. They both were drawn by the mysterious sounds of this place, though the two could not be any more different. The second Malakh took the form of a man-creature, though instead of arms he had wings of flame and not a single hair coated his body, which was radiant like the sun. He wore no clothes, completely nude save for the golden mail loincloth which spared onlooker some sense of decency. This second Malakh called himself Alapur, and the first was Saulik. The two conversed idly as they watched the Icon god work, which never seemed bothered by its growing audience.

"What does this one think it will built?"
"It will not know, it will be silent and diligent."

[Gengy]

The Birth of Sky Dragons

http://i23.photobucket.com/albums/b400/waywordfool/OotSAvatars/The-Missing-Corner-of-the-Hex_zps0f383387.jpg

A cloud drifts in the distance, high up in the air. Below, the ground shows the cool shadow of the moving cloud, a pale shade of the soft white wisp high in the sky.

It is the only cloud nearby, and barely big enough for any rain. Those who bother to look up at the slim bit of shade it brings see it come and go quite quickly, driven west by some wayward winds. The sky around it is blue and clear, except to the west, where the sun is beginning to set. There, the blue is turning orange and red, painting the sky a gorgeous golden brown.

What those on the ground do not see is that there is something else on the tiny cloud above them. Or rather, someone else. Dressed in elegant silver-trimmed black clothing, with skin as dark as the night, and eyes that shine with the same red of dusk, Orbro Skyfather, The Dark Noble, sits on the cloud, grinning.

"One more perfect sunset. One more beautiful day, turning to night. Farewell sun, farewell blue sky. Hello moon." The white orb peeks over the eastern horizon, as though answering Orbro's greeting. Soon, the blue sky darkens as the sun goes away completely. Twinkles of light begin to appear in the blackness, as though waking up for the night ahead. "Hello stars."

The First Star, highest and brightest, twinkles back at Orbro, as if in answer. The Black Baron twirls his white mustache, still grinning, and nods his head back, as though he speaks in a way to stars that others do not.

The Lord of the Night leans his head back upon his cloud, and silently says his salutations to the stars, each twinkle familiar to him, each glimmer and white hue a different greeting and welcoming hello. He has done this for so long, for so many times, that he knows he star by its unspoken name. He knows the shape of them, the whole of them, and has even played games with them, causing them to dance and make new clusters of constellations.

Which is why his red eyes suddenly grew concerned. The Hex, a small constellation just south of the moon, normally has six bright stars that make a perfect hexagon. Tonight, however... tonight, the south east corner was missing.

Orbro watched, and waited. He hoped that the star was just slow to light. But no. No matter how long Orbro waited, it did not appear.

The Hex was missing a star.

Has it fallen? Orbro mused to himself, pulling on his mustache in worry. The cloud beneath him felt his confusion, and began to dissipate, no longer held by his will. Orbro looked down upon it, and as though remembering some important duty, it quickly reformed itself. The Lord of the Night then looked up upon the Hex, and it's missing corner. His unease grew into something more; distress. This distress grew into a brief moment of fear, followed by a flash of anger.

Someone or something has happened to my sky. I know the stories. I know they say I made the sky, and it is amusing to think so. What the stories get right is that the sky is mine. And whatever has happened must not go unanswered! The cloud beneath the Black Baron's feet grew with his rage, and turned grey and furious. It thundered in answer to Orbro's own anger, the sound of which brought the Lord of the Night to his senses. With great effort, he calmed himself.

The cloud beneath him, though, was still a great storm of power and passion. It thundered in low tones of dissent, and was becoming harder for Orbro to ride atop of. "This won't do. We can do better."

He began to weave his hands through the top of the clouds, and the shocking lighting and roaring thunder inside soothed itself. It followed along with Orbro's hands, and lengthened into a long fluffy tube of lightning and air and rain. Orbro Skyfather gazed upon it, and the right light of his eyes twinkled like stars. In answer, the cloud solidified into a long, lengthy body of dark grey scales, which undulated and moved with grace and beauty, four short but powerful legs walking in the sky, creating more and more clouds with every pump of the claws found upon the ends of those legs.

Raising a hand up to the First Star, the whole night answered Orbro's desire, and for a moment, every star turned the same color as dusk. What once was a small, lonely cloud was now a huge gathering. The massive collection of clouds began to glow with the same golden red, and swirled around and around both Orbro and the scaled creature beneath him, until it encircled them both and was a storm large enough to block out the moon. The storm flashed with dark black lightning, and from inside, the red glow answered with its own flash of light.

Multiple faces began to appear in the shadows from the flashes of lightning and red glow of dusk. Rows of teeth, filled with power like lighting and passion like thunder, shone within the storm. Eyes like miniature golden suns began to break through the clouds, and Orbro himself rose high above the storm cloud, his hands raised up towards the stars, which once more turned back to their soft pale white lights.

Orbro watched, twirling his mustache, as the storm broke. Below him were ten great lengthy sinuous beasts, birthed within the fury of the clouds. Their fangs gleamed and shone with beauty like the shining stars, their eyes were golden like the sun at dawn. Their scales were dark grey like the angry clouds, but held the silver edges much like Orbro's own clothing. Their long twisting bodies sat atop the remaining clouds with ease, and each raised its head up to look upon the Black Baron.

"Yoru Okoru, Children of the Storm and Stars. Sky Dragons." Orbro spoke, and the raised heads bowed in respect. These sky dragons knew they had power. Knew they were strong as thunder, quick as lightning, and still... still they knew to pay their deference. "Something has happened to my, no our, sky. The Hex is missing a star. I want it found. I want what happened to it found. And if it was something other than an accident, than something other than an accident happens to those involved."

As one, in roars that shook the clouds, each Sky Dragon responded, "Yes, Skyfather!"

The ten then separated, dancing upon the sky, shooting across the horizon, searching for answers. In their wake, storm clouds followed, propelling them onwards.

The Dark Noble himself gathered the angry clouds still nearby and swallowed them all. The night was once more peaceful. Hands behind his back, Orbro Skyfather drifted towards the moon. From there, he would make his next move.

Though outwardly, he remained calm, his red eyes flashed with the tempest within.


1 AP spent to create the Legendary Race of Sky Dragons

Fewer in number than other races, Sky Dragons can mate and reproduce, but do so slowly. Also known as Yoru Okoru, and Children of the Storm and Stars, the Sky Dragons walk upon the sky, generating clouds or storms, depending on their moods. When agitated, their claws craft storm clouds, but when just resting or moving calmly, white fluffy clouds follow in their wake.

Sky Dragons range in size from forty to one hundred feet in length (snout to tail), but if forced to the ground (distasteful), they still stand anywhere from ten to fifteen feet in height. Preferring to eat high flying fog rather than anything else, Sky Dragons still can swallow an average sized humanoid whole with their powerful jaws, or if that would require getting disdainfully close to the ground, Sky Dragons can roar out thunder or lightning as needed.

Though not completely accurate, this is the image that they are based off of. (http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/3/3e/Nine-Dragons1.jpg) This is another good example. (http://i259.photobucket.com/albums/hh300/Griangraff/Dragons/ChineseStyleDragon.jpg)

Sky Dragons are the first among the Skyfather's Court, second only to Orbro himself in terms of rank or power. It is not uncommon for birds of all shapes and sizes to land upon the backs of Sky Dragons, either just to rest or to make a roost. In this way, Sky Dragons have their own followers and courts.

Though disagreements do happen between Sky Dragons, they are few and far between. Often, it is more common to take the dispute to Orbro himself to settle, as the alternative would likely create an unwanted storm powerful enough to attract the Black Baron's attention anyways.

Other than times of mating, or being called together by Orbro, Sky Dragons prefer to remain separate, travelling and enjoying the sky at their leisure. They constantly roam to keep the sky intact and at peace. When called together, like crows being called a 'murder', two Sky Dragons are called a 'tornado', and more than two is called a 'hurricane'.

[mystic1110]

A story of a murder

This is a story of a time before birds would speak. Before they adorned themselves with lofty titles - and carried messages from the Yoru Okoru, the children of storms and skies. Before they held court on the backs of dragons, and dictated their wishes to the world below. Before they were the happy mediums between sister and brother - born of Abeth, but taken underneath Orbro's . . . wings. This is the murder's story. The murder being of course a murder - those black feathered birds that would live on the darkest child of the night sky, and thus were the darkest of the avian courts, doing the darkest deeds and spreading the darkest words. This is the story they tell to scare their young. Of why it is better to fly and rest beneath the moon, instead of beneath the twisted branches of Abeth's forests. For while Orbro owned the night, the night was never as dark as it was covered by leaves and brambles.

Now in the days before birds could speak, and obviously before the other flightless things of the world knew their tongues, Abeth roamed the forests on her lonesome. Her husband, during this time, was punishing her for her arrogance - or some such silly thing. Married couples fight, especially when the wife is as strong willed and clever as Abeth was. To his honor, the Earth would later apologize and bequeath her with meadows of only roses, and other sweet things. But, the birds would say, he was prideful, almost as much as she was, and he turned away from her for the better part of a year. While he did so the forests shriveled up, leaves fell off their branches, and all the creatures under the sun fell asleep as the first snows came.

Poor Abeth was alone and cold, her brothers ignoring her plight, perhaps out of ignorance or some wish to stay out of the lovers' quarrel. While she tread the freshly laid snow, her grey fur covered in white, she slipped on some ice and broke her foot. She laid there, unmoving - almost begging her husband for forgiveness when Tantura appeared before her. Tantura was a Malakhi, shaped like a moose with antlers protruding from almost every stretch of skin. Tantura sneered at Abeth and spitefully said -

Oh mother mine, broken helpless, where's your pride now?

Abeth cried, ashamed that her son - for Abeth formed each of the Thousand Malakhi out of her own fur, each blessed with a sliver of her own golden hair - had forsaken her. Tantura sneered more, and approached closer, eager to see his mother at his mercy - for when Abeth made the Malakhi, she picked just eleven as her favorites, and Tantura, ever jealous, could not abide by this slight - for he was his mother's son.

Yet as Tantura, moved closed the shadows surrounding Abeth in the snow, drew tighter together. Tantura, didn't see the twigs and branches slowly close behind him, or notice the sudden silence and lack of snow fall. He drew closer, as if to gore his mother - when suddenly the grey furred doe turned into a pile of snow. Tantura quickly realized his mistake. His mother was a goddess - she would not be so weak and helpless. This was a trap.

An imperious voice spoke calmly from the shadows and knotted wood.

Yes. A trap. My husband and I fought over you Tantura. Did you know? I pleaded for you. I begged him to let you live. I stopped him from opening his soil and swallowing you with his chasms. Because I thought you could look past your sins and live a life of your own. But he claimed you were always going to hound me. To find your place among those I have chosen to stay within the forest. a slight pause, one heavy with disappointment he was right. You wanted a place so badly. . . now then you shall have it.

Golden lines began to form on Tantura's feet, but they were not ink at all, they were letters scrolled so tightly together they could have been a solid line. They rose and twisted and knotted among themselves, till they reached his many antlers.

Abeth emerged from the shadows, walking on top of the snow and not sinking in, leaving no trace of her passage. Tantura tried to run at her, but the lines of gold were like shackles. She walked towards him, right next to him. Her head high.

There is no eleven. It was just another one of my stories. But like all the stories I like it shall be truth. You and all those who disappoint me, shall serve me till you make me proud again and wash away the deeds you have done. Till then you shall never be able to leave the forest, these lines of gold will keep you from even leaving the shadow of a tree. Yet I am not cruel to my children. You and your kind will be lords when I am gone, I give you power to make the laws among the fronds and critters. Perhaps if you wield this power well, you shall be free.

And with that Abeth walked away, beyond the forest. Tantura, once she had left, began to rage and below, he tried to run out of the forest but found himself unable. He gored trees and yelled obscenities, but he could not leave. His mother had given him a crown of shackles - built out of his own pride and ill intentions.

Overtime Abeth punished ten other of her Malakhi, in this way - luckily for them the forest of this world was large indeed. They fought at first, each claiming territories within. When Abeth would later gift animals with the ability to talk, they would fight for subjects. Wars were rabbits fought alongside bears against wildcats and beavers. Years of blood beneath the leaves - birds were chosen by these imprisoned forest lords as their generals, of course, the crows feasted on the dead till they were sick, and were made to eat more. The forest was dark indeed. Eventually however there was peace among the eleven - they created a sort of court of equals - and they ruled the forest with a tyrannical grip - it was carved up and their old territories sharply and equally divided, till there was no need to fight one each other and instead do as they desired. Needless to say none of this earned their mother's forgiveness.

Although in the darkest whispers the darkest birds of the darkest avian court whisper another truth. They heretically claim that Abeth was not the mother of the Malakhi, that they were fromed by another and she, jealous, instead stole and chained eleven of them inside her forests. The younger birds would know these to be lies - or at least stories not worth telling within hearing of any other animal. For the lords of the forest were dark indeed, and they did not abide by lies.

For mother told them lying was bad.

4. AP

1 AP : Create organization of 11 Malakhi, called the Lords of the Forest. In actuality they are simply imprisoned Malakhi, who have since given up on freedom and relish in the power over the forest bestowed upon them by Abeth. They both fear her and hate her, but at the same time they all secretly and not so secretly enjoy being all powerful in their sections of the great forest.

3 AP

[Ajadea]

Amestris regards the new arrival with her seven unblinking, iridescent, eyes. She closes one hand. When she opens it again, she holds an eye, which she releases to circle the being in front of her. "There is more than the void beyond my gates. As long as that is true, there is much that may be found," she says, inclining her head in greeting. "And indeed, the search has brought you to my halls. So you see, the efforts of my malakhi are not in vain. I am Amestris. And you have met Havegnion," she adds, gesturing at the crane-winged malakhi hovering a respectful distance away from the two deities. While somewhat bedraggled, it seems none the worse for wear for its impromptu engulfment by a god. "Might I ask your name?"

[Draken]

Encircled by the eye the god ripples, and tendrils shift about to arc about the floating sphere, coiling about it in turn and making it dreadful to find any simple, sane orbit.

"More there is, indeed, but dreadfully little and agonizingly dull. Siblings three, heaven, wild and sea, lounging about in the great dark. And now you, here, wherever here is, away and apart, and it is too much for me to bear."

The mercurial mass stretches out limbs, bowing in courtesy with a wide swing of whip-like arms.

"I am Hal'Xaazar. Enchanted. But if you would be a dear after my own barbs, do call me Enemy, and I shall do my best to never disappoint."

Very forward, but the words are wrong for his tone. Courting, that is.

Havegnion is surely unharmed, but bedraggled would be an adequate state for any so intimately distressed by the touch of a being so animose as Hal'Xaazar.

[TechnOkami]

Armagodon

It was quiet within those depths, as silent as death. Darknesses lay all around him, but he could see through it. The pressure of leagues upon leagues of seawater above him would have annihilated anything of lesser strength, but Armagodon was more than strong; he was the sea. His body was the weight of the ocean and the strength of waves, and that dank abyss couldn't hinder his sight. And in that blackness, he beheld a pearl. It was darker than that dark, swallowing light so it's shape was only represented with the bending of lights and shadows; more specifically, it was a thing of shadows, thriving as the only remaining thing from that eternal pit from whence it came: the Black Mother's eye. He held it in his salted claw, and hated him. It could do nothing in its form, but some shred of the Black Mother's existence, or rather inexistence remained within this small spherical thing, and it hated him. It, no, not it. She. She was so small, so vulnerable in what little of her essence remained. He could break it if he wanted to. He could squeeze and flex the tendons in his hand, paired with the strength of his muscles and his piercing claws and watch as inexistence folds in upon itself and is forced into reality. But what then? What would be left to hunt? There were others like him, whatever he and they were. He could hunt them... given how he and his brother and sister turned out so varied there were bound to be violent ones among them, and they'd all fall before him, but what then? What would happen once they all figured out they were being hunted by the sea? They would join forces and turn hunter to hunted. What good would it be then to crush this and seal his fate?

No... he would not damn himself. He had to live, to struggle, to fight for what was already won. This thing in his hands, it hated him still, even after being gouged from the socket whence it came. It wanted him, and all the things that existed in this world returned to its original state... it would never happen. It was out-existed eleven to one, and could never bring its deepest desire to fruition as long as one of them existed. But still... he wanted to hunt. He wanted to feel the adrenaline through his veins, fighting something as great if not greater than himself, the two tangled in a fight to the death to see whose the better hunter, who lasted longer locked in combat, which beast was greater, gnashed his teeth harder, roared louder, cut deeper. He wanted it so badly he could taste that blue salt on his tongue again for the first time as the Mother's body bled out the ocean waters and flooded this brown earth with its blood. He wanted that feeling back, and this pearl was the answer to that. He raised his left hand, opened his gaping maw, and sunk his teeth deep into his wrist. Crimson waters flowed from his veins, and seeped into the pearl. Blood entwined around its form, giving forced shape to that which was shapeless at first, and existence to what should never have existed in the first place. That last shard of the Black Mother screamed in horror and agony, a song for only Armagodon to hear. The pearl shuddered and reeled in upon itself until, through his divine power, the pearl of inexistence now existed. It hated it. It loathed it. The infinite black void that had been subdued by the lord of the oceans was now an irrevocable part of what was, and would hate Armagodon and what he did to her until time was unwoven. Her children would rise to fight the beast that eternally marred their mother, an endless slew of monstrosities to fight. This was one of the few times where Armagodon's rows and rows of jagged teeth turned into a genuinely vicious smile. The thought of fighting her through eternity was the greatest of pleasures.

AP: ?-2=? Craft Artifact: The First Trophy/The Black Mother's Eye/The Bloodied Pearl

This Artifact has a sentience of its own, and will through the power Armagodon forced upon it latch onto and transform creatures via Alter Race. Armagodon'll then proceed to kick the asses and take the names (and heads/other body parts of worthy trophy-ness) of the Black Mother's children.

[Ajadea]

"Very well, Enemy." Amestris moves like a snake unfolding itself, though she is already standing tall. The eye falls back into her hand. She closes it, and opens it, and the eye becomes part of her once more. "When I first awoke, I knew not that there were others of my kind on this world. Perhaps I should pay a visit to these siblings." Though there is much different between them, there is something both more and less real about the mercurial Enemy standing before her than the rocks of this world and the swirling lives of her charges and creations. "Two of us. Perhaps three siblings as well. How many more of our kind await out there?" She reaches a hand out to Hal'xaazar. "Would you accompany me, Enemy? While I am here, the gates open and close at my behest. I cannot guarantee you will be able to depart when you wish, should you remain here, alone."

[Draken]

Hal'Xaazar squirms at Amestris' words.

"I will not stay alone, no, no, no. Solitude is a terrible thing. Prevents just about everything that is well and proper in existence."

"But your lack of guarantee makes me want to challenge the notion... But should I fail, to be at the mercy of another, what a risk."

"I will take it, I am a tricky felon. Go out into the dark, I will be right over."

Hal'Xaazar ripples slightly.

[Ajadea]

Amestris nods, iridescent eyes swirling. Open seas. Billowing clouds. Towering forests. The malakhi are part of her, her messengers. They serve. It is their purpose, and all they are. She reaches out with a thread of her power to see. Seeking. Finding. The Lady looks through a thousand and one sets of eyes and sees... rolling dunes and the glare of the sun/a school of fish, swarming and nipping playfully/starlight dots in the sky, twinkling merrily/a cage of wood and golden ink

All her eyes blink at once, except the one on her forehead, which doesn't even twitch.

The grand teak gates slam open at the wave of her hand. Amestris strides through, waiting just long enough for Hal'xaazar to follow. They close just as violently, and the gods are lost in the mist.

The trail takes them in reverse. Spirits of the newly dead flit the other way, towards Amestris' halls. Young and old, bird and beast, none are spared her touch. There seems to be only one path, though the souls come from all over, and it ends in a forest, under the feet of a hawk. The hawk bends and pecks, once, twice. Amestris bends down and pulls the squirrel free, a tiny ball of sparkling aether that quickly follows its brethren down the trail.

And nearby, one of her own. Her feet crunch against the undergrowth as she plows through it, to a cage of a tree surrounded by blooming flowers and the hundred-plumed bronze serpent within. Its eyes swirl with all the colors of the rainbow, and its flesh is covered with sweeping lines of gold from tail to nose. Animals scatter as she approaches, perhaps sensing the death on her, perhaps merely intimidated by the intruder.

This is my domain, stranger, the serpent hisses, rising up as far as it can within its forest cage. Pay obeisance to the Lord of the Wilding Court.

Amestris looks down at the caged malakhi haughtily. "You are no lord, Elamnis. You are my creation, born in my halls and untouched by life and death, and you pay your respect to me."

You lie, Elamnis spits, and where the spit touches the ground, the flowers surrounding its prison wither and die. Mother created me, and bound me here as punishment when I did sin against her. Lying, too, is a sin. And you shall be punished for it. Eyes appear in the trees, in the dirt, glimmering in the evening dark. Mere beasts. Amestris remains unfazed. Death could no more die than time could flow in reverse.

"I take it this is the work of one of these mysterious siblings, Enemy?"


Rollover: 1 AP + 2: 3 AP
-2 AP: Create Supernatural Concept: Scrying. Magic that allows one to see at a distance.
-1 AP: Create Organization: The Ankhemin. Contains at present 98.9% of the malakhi (aka all of them not known as the Lords of the Forest - there have yet to be dissidents, though I imagine there will be at some point). All malakhi untouched by other gods serve Amestris' direct will.

[HalfTangible]

Next, the lord of games came upon a cat. It was a tiny thing, curled up peacefully on the forest floor. It took roughly an hour of a rousing game of 'Poke' before it stirred and hissed at Gioco, biting his finger. Gioco made a quick mental note: his gloves were not as thick as they looked.

Oh good, you're awake. He said cheerfully. Wanna play?

"No. Go away." It said, curling back up.

Gioco shrugged and continued what he was playing before. The cat hissed again, angry that this ugly-looking monkey was ruining its nap. It finally stood up and grumbled, "If I play one game, will you go away?"

"Okay! Let's play poker!" Gioco pulled some objects from his robe. "We'll play with these. Five for you and five for me."

The cat's tail flicked lazily. "Interesting little baubles." It said, eyes narrowing. "Where did you get them?"

"I found them last night. Ante in, kitty."

---

"OH COME ON!!!" Gioco yelled as the cat laid down a royal flush. "THREE ROYAL FLUSHES IN A ROW?!"

"It is hardly my fault you are terrible at this game." The cat yawned, pulling in its winnings. "Now, I do believe you've lost all five of your stars, kindly leave me in peace with my prize."

Gioco scowled to himself for a few moments. This cat didn't know how to play either. It thought that palming cards and placing them in your hand later was how you played the game. It was not worth his time. He wondered for a moment if he might simply...

... It had all ten now.

Gioco sneered as the cat curled up. "Very well, kitten." He said quietly, in an icy tone that made the cat's ears twitch. "I shall be on my merry way."

After all, those stars he'd taken from the sky had to have an owner.

Cheaters may win, but they never prosper.

Note to self: plan out your ascension quest next time.

[Gengy]

Orbro and the Moon

It is said that the number of stars in the sky are innumerable.

That is simple not true. There is a number to them. It is a large, vast, highly incomprehensible number, but it exists. No one knows what it is. Not even Orbro, though he is the one whom has come closest.

Stars twinkle and fade, and depending on where you stand and how much light is near you, you can see more or less of them. So while it is unsurprising to see fewer stars than normal to most people, it is considerably vexing for Orbro. In part, that is why Orbro does not care for the sunlight as much as he does for the night. The sun is a wondrous thing, and without it, Orbro would see the dawn and dusk lights he loves so much, but while it is up, Orbro cannot count the stars.

When it is down, however, and the Black Baron can see all of the shining stars in his sky, he is normally filled with happiness.

Not today, however. No, today, the moon is waxing and waning all over the place. Orbro is losing track of what he is counting. He thought he had the moon properly anchored to be opposite the sun, but no, it's misbehaving.

The sun, for all of Orbro's complaints, does something that the Skyfather does like: it stays consistent. Minute changes are there, but Orbro can forgive a few seconds different each day, as long as it follows a schedule. And it does. Orbro and the sun have an understanding. The sun rises, provides heat, shows off the various colors of the sky, then sets. It does this every day, without fail. And as long as the sun does that, Orbro leaves it alone. Orbro respects the sun, and since the sun has not yet failed to rise or set, Orbro feels secure in the knowledge that the sun respects him.

The stars and clouds are things that Orbro loves deeply. Without the stars, he would have no one to talk to on the lonely nights. Without the clouds, Orbro would have to... have to... it was almost not worth thinking about. Orbro was just grateful to have a place in the sky to rest, without needing to walk or land.

The moon, though... the moon was bright and gorgeous, and it helped to keep Orbro's brother in check. Orbro and Armagodon were not exactly fighting with each other, but it always was a good idea to have contingencies in check. Orbro had pulled the moon from the spirit of the sun itself. That much, the stories had gotten true. The moon was cold and ethereal, just as much as it was solid. The sun, in contrast, was hot and corporeal, just as much as it was gaseous.

Orbro found the dichotomy to be pleasing, and so rather than one large ball in the sky, he opted for two. It was with some surprise that the moon began to reflect light from the sun, but that just made for more interesting skies, so even if it was bothersome at first, Orbro had thought he had gotten over it.

Not tonight, however.

No. Tonight, Orbro was concerned about the stars. With the one missing from the Hex, Orbro had began counting again, and asking other stars if anything else was missing. They twinkled in response. Stars were hardly exceptional at conversation, even if Orbro could normally get them to talk with him at least.

He was having trouble hearing them, either due to his growing agitation, or the fact that he was now up to a total of six missing stars. The one from the Hex, three from the Sword, and two more from the Owl. Orbro was still trying to count the rest.

And the moon was blocking things. It was being playful tonight, and Orbro normally was understanding, and gave it the attention it wanted.

Orbro looked at it, and uttered one word of warning. "Stop."

For a moment, the moon did stop. It held itself in place, and drifted lazily along the skyline like it was supposed to. Orbro continued counting and listening to what he could hear from other stars.

There. Another three from The Dancing Vine. Orbro was becoming increasingly upset, and it was just bad fortune that the moon chose that moment to wax and wane once again. Orbro glared at it.

"I do not, as a rule, give warnings twice," he said, "but as an exception to your years of good service, and the friendship we have, I will bend that rule. Do not make me regret this."

The moon returned back to its duties, and Orbro resumed his counting.

"Ground's Ugliness!" Orbro swore. He'd found another two, missing from the hammer from the Builder. That made eleven. Eleven stars missing, all signs of disrespect to Orbro, for as long as they were gone. Even if the only one who knew they were gone were Orbro, it still rankled and bothered him.

The moon saw Orbro was occupied, and waned a bit, just a little, off its path. It was the wrong thing to do. The Skyfather is many things, but lenient is not one of them. The moon had been warned. It had even been given the rare, unheard of, second warning.

The loss of eleven stars and this show of blatant disregard to Orbro was too much. Orbro stared at the moon, and his red eyes glowed with his power. "You were warned!"

Clouds, so many clouds, began to swirl under Orbro as he moved himself into the sky below where the moon should be right now. The clouds grew, and grew, and soon, the whole sky near Orbro was covered in grey and angry clouds, flashing with lightning in answer to Orbro's anger.

The moon tried to set. If it could get out of the sky...

...but no. No, it was too late.

The lightning and the furious grey of the clouds all disappeared. Orbro, his hands now filled with the crackling power that the clouds had once held, cast his red eyed gaze down onto the now calm, white, fluff of clouds around him, and called them to himself. They slowly moved into a large white ball of the softest cumulous.

From inside, lighting lashed out, striking the moon. On the surface, there was no damage done. The ethereal essence that was so pivotal in its creation, however, was struck hard. The moon felt itself pulled and compelled back into where Orbro knew - knew - it was supposed to be.

The clouds around Orbro began to spread out, but rather then dissipate, they took shape. Four large parapet walls, bricked with white altocumulus, grew upon the strong base of nimbostratus, forming a large square. At each of the corners of the square, a circular tower arose, higher and higher above the parapets, each one made entirely of one huge, dense cirrus castellanus.

Inside the walls, cirrus uncinus unwound their hook-like curls, and lay flat atop of each other, one after the other, forming long flat bricks of white cloud. Atop them, altocumulus lenticularis, began to swirl and swirl in their circular shape. They settled over the other clouds, and created a large dome, right in the center of the walls. Cumulous clouds circled the dome slowly, like a floating crown, creating a more regal look.

Inside the large dome, in the enormous singular room, Orbro sat atop a towering vertical cumulonimbus calvus, its large domed top like a puffy sphere. Orbro grasped the lighting still in his hands, and tied it down to a sport right behind his back. The lightning stopped flashing and sparking, as the ethereal meaning took hold.

Orbro had tethered the moon. It could still move, and would, but other than some minor deviation, it would stay with the epic sized cloud castle that now floated high in the sky according to Orbro's will.

Floating out through the dome above him, the Dark Noble looked up at the cloud, regret in his voice. "Willful child. Do you not know that you have a job to do? I cannot allow any indiscrepancies in my sky. It pains me a great deal to have to remind you of this. We will see if a few years of being constrained will help you to understand the seriousness of your situation."

Floating back inside the dome, Orbro looked at what he had wrought. He had meant to build a fortress, one with enough ethereal weight that it could hold the moon in check. He had done that. He had also created a rather nice castle, with an exceptional throne and throne room.

Orbro allowed himself a smile as he looked into the grand empty room, made entirely of clouds. This. This was important. This was his now, as well.

This was the Court of the Sky.


AP spent
Create Sanctum - 2
Created the Court of the Sky, a floating castle that is large enough to hold 4 Sky Dragons inside the main throne room, easily. The Court of the Sky is made of various different clouds, and it responds and reshapes to Orbro's will. It always remains below the Moon.

Create Celestial Body - 2
Create the Moon (officially). The Moon is a part of the sky. It waxes and wanes on a set schedule, once a month. Sometimes it pulls on it's tether, making it appear farther away, but always, the tether pulls back. The Moon controls the tides of the oceans with it's gravity. The Moon listens to Orbro, and generally, they get along well.

[Draken]

"We are his flesh, his firstborn children. We can be anywhere and we can be anyone. We are the maram."


Deceiver boast.

Addressing Hal'Xaazar reveals one thing to Amestris.

That is not Hal'Xaazar.

It looks like Hal'Xaazar but it is not a god, perhaps if it were in the guise of anything else, it would be mistakable, but not as a god.

But on the same cue, a nearby pond ripples and out comes the stream of mercury that is the Opposer.

"That could only be the work of one of them. I would presume dear Abeth, as she is the only woman who could then be called mother."

----------

[Moments before]

Amestris opened her gate, and Hal'Xaazar followed, but so did he stay behind and made her leave with no more than a copy.

And trapped did he stay. In thought, in genius, in a place beyond knowing. Amestris had her door, and only she and her children could find and open it. A curious trick. But imitable.

All things are imitable. What can't be imitated can likely not be created. Such as the gods themselves. How do you make a god?

Hal'Xaazar just tried. He even went the easy way and tried to make himself, but all he got out of it was a mortal.

But back to the door.

Hal'Xaazar can't find it. Which is curious because he saw it before, once when Amestris opened it, and once when Havegnion fled home from his embrace. He knows what it looks like and can infer how it is made, woven of the unthinkable ideas the goddess herself is crafted of.

He can make his own. And he will have to.

His door is a sight of himself. But he is a mirror and thus becomes the gate as well, and encompasses it in turn, repeatedly and endlessly. All reflected images become a door, a small but convenient accident of divine craft. Surely it will come to be regretted in time. But a gift is left behind in Amestris' hall, a polished oval of steel and glass. Perhaps the very first mirror ever made. And Hal'Xaazar is gone from those chambers. She is waiting, asking for him. Tales say that names are powerful things, and sometimes disagreeing with a notion does not diminish it nor makes it false. He hears his name called.

And thus, out of a reflection in a pond comes a stream of mercury, slithering up and not quite out of the water in which it never was. Looming over the gold-marked bronze beast, his deceiver speaks in gesticulations something about another mother. What was the question? Better point out the obvious, perhaps it will help.

"That could only be the work of one of them. I would presume dear Abeth, as she is the only female among them who could then be called mother."

Well, she is the only female among them period.


6 AP enter

1 AP: Create Legendary Race: The Maram.
The maram are Hal'Xaazar's first born. They are mercurial blobs like himself, consummate shapechangers and liars. A maram wearing another's shape cannot be told from the original on looks alone, unless they are pretending to be gods to other gods, because they are, quite simply, not gods.

2 AP: Create Sanctum: The Mirror World.
Behind every reflection lies the mirror world, winding corridors and labyrinthine rooms into the unknowable realm of Hal'Xaazar. The doors are not always open and in fact very rarely are, but it is considered wise to not linger overly much when you are too close to a mirror, and one should be careful about coming close to clear ponds in wild places.

[Ajadea]

"A clever mimicry," Amestris replies, regarding the being that is not the Opposer with a flicker of amusement. "I would not recommend allowing it to stay any longer, however. Elamnis'... pets... seem to mislike our presence here." She bows her head, thoughtfully, a knuckle pressed to her lips. The eye in the back of her hand blinks, slowly, trained on the cage and the beast within.

Elamnis writhes in his prison, scythe of a tail beating futilely against the wood, scraping off bronze scales and drawing pinpricks of blood. Yes, that is Mother's name. All the world is her working, and we rule in her absence, caged until she deems our punishment ended. You trespass in her realm, shining ones, and you shall pay the price. None are exempt from the law of the wild. A hawk dives at Amestris and she bats it aside, sending it sprawling to the ground.

"Whatever this Abeth has done, it has clearly driven Elamnis mad. And however many more of my malakhi she has found and imprisoned. She must be stopped."

[bryn0528]

It clunked a great deal and gave one final shudder, as a vile plume of black smoke erupted from its spire. A few seconds of silence and then it hummed regularly. That is really all there is to be said about what it is, because what it actually is is well... pointless and contradictory. It was a thing that made... things. Every so often, it would sputter and shake, and something would free itself from far below the surface of the placid waters or be shot into the sky to only rain back down some distance away. Each purpose of these things is varied, and unknown, and pointless. They all come from the machine broken and useless; though it is difficult to say whether this is their state before or after their violent contraception, because nothing is known about where these thingamabobs, whatchamacallits, and doodads came from before.

No one knew, really, except possibly for Icon itself, and it wasn't saying much about the matter, honestly.

-2 AP for Weave Sanctum (or whatever we're calling it these days). The JunkForge, Icon's personal oasis of useless crap, the fountain of perpetual trash, is officially built. And spewing out all kinds of ****.

"What a load of hogwash. I had no idea where anything came from. I sincerely hope these legends don't stay enigmatic for long."

[Draken]

"Simple beasts are easily fooled."

The maram vanishes, and another beast joins Elamnis' host.

"As for Abeth's work, I could agree no more. She has gone long enough unopposed."

A gurgling chuckle follows Hal'Xaazar's last word.

[Gengy]

A Cat in Skyfather's Court

Orbro was finding it amusing that he could push and pull the Moon to make bigger or smaller waves on his brother's ocean. It was just minor experimentation, but combining it with some mild rains made things very interesting.

This type of experimentation distracted the Skyfather for some time, to where he almost forgot about the missing stars and just stayed in his Court of the Sky with nary a care. More and more, birds were beginning to flock into the Court, finding it not just a convenient place to rest on their weary travels, but also a place where the dark skinned, fine dressed god would occasionally regale them with tales of how the stars came to be as he played with the moon and the rain.

Orbro could have continued like this for some time, but the clouds below his throne parted, and two large Sky Dragons flew threw. One, Gale, carried in her arms dark clouds that were not clouds. The other, Haru, had a curious calico colored creature, with four legs and no wings, that sat atop Haru's head. The large sky dragons bowed their faces in deference to Orbro.

Gale spoke first, in the language of the Sky. She crackled and roared with the sounds of her black winds, "Skyfather, I did not find word of the missing stars, and for that, I am deeply sorry. However, I encountered an isle of the dirtiest of dirt and grime, that as I watched, would spit junk up into your Sky before it fell back down to litter the earth."

"Gale. What care I for things that only briefly touch the Sky before returning to the place of my sister's?"

"This, Skyfather, I asked myself as well, and I almost left it alone. But I would not be so disrespectful as to return with no news at all. The place would also billow this cloud which is not a cloud. I bring it in your presence only to show you it's existence; else I would not dare sully your Court with it." Gale released the black cloud that was not a cloud, and it floated up towards Orbro, where he could get a closer look at it.

He whipped one finger quickly across the room, and a strong wind made several birds squawk in surprise as it moved the cloud that was not a cloud towards Orbro. Gazing at it, the Black Baron sniffed the air, and the acrid smell of the smoke in front of him made him frown.

"You were right to bring this to me. Go. Return to this isle of junk, and tell whomever is in charge there that I will be coming to speak with them." Orbro flicked his hand dismissively, and the smoke in front of him scattered, washed away by pure white winds.

Gale bowed her head, and turned the motion into a dive, parting the clouds below her and leaving for the Junk Forge, home of Icon, though she did not know that at the time. Birds, being flighty and curious, leapt upon her back, to go see what they could of this place.

The Dark Noble turned to Haru, and the odd creature that rested atop the Sky Dragon's head. Haru waited, to see if Orbro would say anything, but when he did not, the Sky Dragon growled with a refreshing breeze, "Skyfather, do not feel any anger with Gale, for while she may not have news of the Stars, I not only have news... I have found most of them."

"This is excellent news." Orbro was eager to claim them from the Sky Dragon, but showing such eagerness would be unbecoming of him, so the Skyfather instead asked, "And what is the creature that you have atop your head, Haru Starfinder?"

Sky Dragons do not smile. Not easily. Haru, for a moment, tried, pleased with being given such an illustrious title. Answering the question, however, seemed to dash away any joy that Haru may have had. What might have a been a smile quickly turned into was surely was a grimace. "Skyfather, it is a cat."

"A cat?" Orbro looked closely at the creature, and saw that it was curled up around itself, and almost impossibly, ignoring everything else.

"A more imperious creature I have not yet encountered, Skyfather. This one... this one has the Stars."

Orbro's gaze turned a deeper shade of red before he managed to control himself. "Does it now? And you could not take them from him?"

"I tried, Skyfather. It seems, however, that the cat, who prefers the name Laze Nap-taker, won them. I do not know the full story. Only that, odd though it seems, the stars themselves refuse to be taken from someone who legitimately won them, even if they were stolen from the sky at first."

The throne made of clouds that Orbro sat upon turned a thunderous grey, but the Lord of the Night himself appeared outwardly calm. He spoke directly to the creature, no longer speaking in the language of the Sky. "CAT. Laze Nap-taker. Awaken. I, Orbro Skyfather, would have words with you."

The cat, hearing it's name, flicked it's ears and lifted its head. It lazily flicked its tail, and stretched itself atop Haru's head. Laze Nap-taker yawned a large cat yawn, and gazed into the dusk red eyes of Orbro Skyfather.

"Are you going to make me play a game too, before I can sleep again?" Laze asked, blinking slowly.

"What? This is no game. You have something that belongs to me. Only now, it seems, they are telling me that they belong to you. So. How did that happen? Speak the truth, or Haru will earn title this day, involving liars and death."

If Laze understood the threat, the cat did not show it. It instead said, "Another of your kind - monkey-like things with a powerful presence like that of another cat - woke me from my nap. He wanted to play a game, and wouldn't stop poking me until I played. He wagered the ten sparkling things, and we played. As expected, I won. I claimed my prize, and returned to sleep when he left."

Orbro contained his rage. Some thief had stolen his stars, and used them as a wager with... with... a cat? It didn't make sense.

"Wait. Only ten? What of the eleventh?"

"I do not know. He could have had more, I suppose. I just wanted to be left alone, so I did not bother to ask."

Orbro looked at the calico creature, and saw something in it that made him angry and pleased at the same time. He did not know if it was just Laze Nap-taker, or all cats, but something told Orbro that Laze did not respect him. Which was infuriating. Orbro was the Lord of the Night, the Black Baron, the Dark Noble, Ruler of the Court of the Sky, the Skyfather himself!

And yet... and yet... the cat before him treated him with the same level of respect that it seemed to treat anyone; which was to say, almost none. It was the almost that pleased Orbro. He had to know. "Cat. Do you respect me?"

"What an odd question. I believe I already answered that. Did I not compare you to being like that of a cat? That is a high form of compliment, I assure you." Laze flicked his tail again, and lay back down, curled atop Haru's head, but still staring into Orbro's eyes. "Will this take much longer? I feel another nap coming on."

"No. No, this will not take long at all. Give to me the stars, and you may return to where ever you wish to go, with my thanks." Orbro pulled carefully upon his mustache.

"I compared you to a cat. That does not mean that I will just give you what is mine."

"Impudent creature..." Haru growled.

Orbro flicked a finger, and the Sky Dragon settled down. "No, Haru. He is right. This is... a delicate situation. I could take them from him. He knows that."

"I do," Laze Nap-taker said, with no trace of fear in his voice.

"The stars themselves, however, wouldn't like that. They have been stolen once already. They do not like the feel of it. So, out of respect for them, I will think this out carefully. This means it will take longer than I first said."

Birds dared not to chirp or make a sound as Orbro thought to himself for some time. Laze did what he did best, and took another nap. The cat woke hungry, and found Orbro still staring at him. No one stares better at things then cats, however, so Orbro and the cat both blinked at the same time. Laze was considering another nap, when the Skyfather spoke again.

"I will buy them from you."

"What? Interesting. What do you have that I could want?"

Orbro moved, but did not move. One moment, the Skyfather was sitting on his throne, and the next, he was behind Haru's large head. No one saw him change spots until he was already elsewhere. No one, that is, but the curious cat that just kept staring at him.

"That. That was interesting. I could get to many places with that."

"Yes. You could."

"It is a nice trick. But is it really worth ten whole stars?"

Orbro frowned. The clouds around him darkened.

"I think not. I think that is worth three. Four, at most, and I am being generous." Cats were not Sky Dragons. Cats could smile easily. Laze did so now, ignoring the danger that was threatening around him. "After all, stars are wonderful things. Not rare at all, until they have fallen, and then they are more rare and beautiful then anything, do you not think so?"

The rumbling that was starting suddenly stopped. Orbro had to hand it to his sister. Abeth had outdone herself when making Cats, especially this one. "Fine. Then I will make an agreement with you, on behalf of all cats. I will personally tell the wind to travel the skies until it is done. For as long as cats are aware of the danger, the wind itself will push a cat - any cat - so that it lands upright and minimizing harm that might befall them."

"That... is a gift worthy of cats. On behalf of all cats, I accept. I will sell the Stars back to you in trade for that gift to all felines, and the other thing for myself."

"Done. Give me the Stars."

With that, Laze uncurled, and poked out his claws. On the tip of ten of his claws were ten shining stars, and they flew towards Orbro like a lost loves finding their way home. They danced around his head in a crown-like circle. Orbro would return them to the night sky later. For now, he bent down and pet the cat upon the head.

"You have been true with me, and so I will be true with you. Here. Be the first to accept my gift to all cats." Orbro stroked the back of Laze's head with his hand, and a gust of wind tore through the Court of the Sky, sudden and angry. Birds squawked and tried to stay perched on the clouds, but could not. Those that could not grasp onto Haru's elongated body found themselves blown around the room. In the center of the gale, however, Orbro and Laze were untouched.

"The wind knows you now. It will spread to all cats." And that is why all cats almost always land on their feet, even to this day.

"And the other thing?"

Orbro was loathe to upset such a delicate balance, but he had promised. And so, though it would make him feel lopsided for years to come, he plucked a single hair from his glorious mustache. It glowed with white light, and Orbro held it in his hands, focusing on it with all his might. The wind around the Court of the Sky was sucked up into Orbro, through him, and down into the single hair.

He then leaned down and stuck it into Laze's own face. "I call this the Wind's Whisker. As long as you possess it, you will move as swiftly as the wind itself. Do not lose it."

Laze smiled, and his face twitched as the Wind's Whisker settled upon it. Having a seventh whisker was odd, but not unpleasant. "A pleasure doing business with you, Skyfather."

With that, Laze Nap-taker's new whisker twitched, and he drifted away on the winds. One moment he was there, and the next, he was not. The wind blew him down the forest below, where he found a nice high tree branch, that was equal parts shady and sunny. Laze promptly took another nap.

Up in the Court of the Sky, Orbro sat down atop Haru's head where the cat had been. "Come, Haru Starfinder. There is still one more star left to locate. And a strange island to investigate. And a thief to catch. Follow the wind trial that Gale has left. We will see the island first."

The Sky Dragon bowed his head, and he too turned it into a dive that bore him and Orbro Skyfather towards the Junk Forge.


Boon to Cats (-1 AP): As long as they are aware that they are falling, the wind will help turn a cat right-side up, and all Cats land on their feet, reducing fall damage.

Create Artifact The Wind's Whisker (-2 AP): Crafted from Orbro's own glorious mustache, the barer of the Wind's Whisker can travel short distances as swiftly as the wind itself. This is not a form of flight, but rather a form of almost (but not quite) instant teleportation. The wind cannot blow against itself, however, so using the Wind's Whisker in a storm or other strong winds would cause the barer to be pushed to where ever the wind takes them.

[HalfTangible]

[Boredom]

Gioco stared into the creature's yellow eyes.

How the child-god loathed cats.

That first one that took the stars by cheating (he knew full well the cat had palmed the cards to get the three royal flushes... though now that he thought about it, he wasn't sure he'd explained that wasn't part of the game) was bad enough, but the more cats he'd met on his travels, the more convinced he became that they were nothing short of the worst thing in existence.

They did make for a nice new statue, though.

This particular cat, like the first, had cheated. Unlike the first, however, it flaunted its "superiority" when it won a game of aforementioned Magic Circle by tapping all of Gioco's cards when it thought he wasn't looking. Something that he'd explained twice already was not part of the game.

The cat's reward for its "cleverness" was to be rendered incapable of change. A living statue, incapable of dieing, moving, feeling, breathing or acting.

After that, however, he found that cats avoided him. Fair enough, he didn't like them anyway. They never wanted to play tag, hide-and-seek (or if they did, they didn't even look for him when it was their turn) Texas hold-'em, Blind Man's Bluff, War, Magic Circle or even the Game of Clones. It was like the idea of play was completely foreign to them. As far as Gioco was concerned, they could all vanish off the face of the earth and the place would look prettier.

Now, Gioco was a child and had grown thoroughly bored by this point. Nothing wanted to play at all! What was a child to do?!

The answer was simple: make a friend.

So he took some mud and molded it into the shape of one of the wolves he'd first encountered. He called it a 'dog', and instructed it that cats were the enemy, and to never try to play with them.

It didn't really listen and immediately ran off to play with a cat, but hey, he tried.

-1AP Create Dogs

... this is pretty underwhelming so far, I need to step up my game >.>