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[IamanElfCollaborator]

Madeleine nods.

[Again_Dejavu]

((I go to school and KABOOM Holy crap.))
Fluffy is in the library

[Projeck37]

Isaac eats some breakfast, not really paying attention to who's there. Just to what the hell happened in his dream.

[Empiricist]

"Per chance, what did you do in your time here? In my case, I was rather unsurprisingly a healer due to my ability and skills."

[IamanElfCollaborator]

"I learnt how to manifest mental constructs."
((How old is Ricardo anyway?))

[Empiricist]

((35))
"Ah, sounds quite interesting, was it useful?"
((I set up a temporary OOC IRC, it's ##TA-OOC))

[mcclay]

((Anyone still on?))

[Empiricist]

((I am, as is @Projeck. I know that for sure since we're both on the temporary OOC IRC channel.))

[mcclay]

((I am, as is @Projeck. I know that for sure since we're both on the temporary OOC IRC channel.))

((Cool.))

[Xantalos]

"In that case, I shall take the latter option, but do so slowly with only brief descriptions." ((Ricardo has 260 SPI so it should be okay for him.))

Very well.

THE's mind intrudes he sky upon your own, slowly seeping into the inside. There's a shift of sorts, and suddenly memories pour out of it in a flood.

I awaken in a dark void. There is nothing but I, so I make substance. But there is nothing now but me and substance.
It is too dark. Let there be light.
And I see the universe split asunder by the force of my will, and in that instant I rein in my power and stitch the sky back together.
What am I?
The entity forays a bit into creation - suns, whimsical glowing orbs of fire. Crude facsimiles of itself fashioned into spheres.
It is by far empty, and it is lonely.
Let there be others.
I try to make another of me, but my body will not allow it. The universe only fits one soul. All others are destroyed.
In my boredom I cloak the soul in flesh of matter and seal it shut.
It works. The soul operates the body and the two move in tandem. But it wears out, depletes.
And then the soul is unmade.
So I innovate. I make other bodies, other souls. I grant them the ability to reproduce, that I might always talk with them.
It works, after a fashion. I set them down on a sphere and watch as they multiply and build. Curious creatures.
I attempt to talk with them, but they are not yet ready.
Bored, I move on.
The memories move forward faster - it's made several species by now, but always found some irredeemable flaws that caused them to be deleted, unmade by it.
It makes yet another, and it is at last satisfied. It nurtures them, attempts to guide them through the hardships of life on the planet below.
After several fumbling attempts they are able to comprehend its voice.
It is happy.
And yet ...
I know not what is happening. I am ripped away from my creations and before a twisted mockery of everything I am. It is a trillion souls, old and sharp beyond all natural cause, imprisoned in a cafe of metal and flesh.
In concepts not relatable by mortals, at impossible speeds we communicate. I learn the truth.
They are my firstborn, the ones I in my childish ignorance left behind. They did not forget me, though.
They learned and grew.
They'd discovered what I was, how to become like me.
I attempt to explain the way of things - one soul, one body, one universe.
Only then does their intention become clear.
They mean to usurp me.

The battle that follows is a strange and fragmented thing, the firstborn grabbing at THE, THE slipping away, pleading for peace.
Them explaining that they have no recourse - if they do not succeed their construct will give out and they will be unmade.
At last it is over, though. THE has never known violence; these creatures have lived it for uncounted aeons.
At last they have THE, and with a triumphant roar they perform the impossible and tear the soul of the universe away from its body.
They race to fill the gap, but they are too eager.
Their construct shatters like mist and they pour out into the void which has no soul.
It's killing them.
Killing THE.
The hole left by the tear is closing; a last desperate race for survival - but THE is closer.
It gets in just before it slams shut.

Where am I
I find myself in a dark void there is nothing but myself
Where is the substance
I cannot make substance
I cannot make light
Where am I

A whirl of thoughts barrage through your head; attempts to determine the nature of this place, to make it real so it could be effected, could be escaped.
Through it all, there's an undercurrent of terror for its creations. Not the Firstborn - the others.
The True.
THE is in there for a long, long time.
Too long for any mind to handle.
Fear turns to boredom, turns to shrill insanity, turns to despair, turns to annoyance, turns to anger.
Turns to rage.
Rage at the firstborn for turning against it.
Rage at its body for attacking the moment it was out of it.
Rage at the light.
Rage at the stars.
Rage at the planets.
Rage at the True.
I was there for them - I was there their entire miserable existence! Yet where were they when I needed them?! WHY DID MY CREATIONS FORSAKE ME?! IF THEY SURVIVE, ANY OF THEM
THE FIRST
THE STARS
THE SUBSTANCE
THE TRUE
THEY SHALL PAY
THEY SHALL PAY FOR THE WRONGS I HAVE BEEN DONE

THE's anger is incredible in scope, overwhelming in power. It pours on and on and on - it is cut off at some point, yet the amount that poured in is essentially a mind of its own - a living embodiment of hate.
Roll SPI diff 300 to not be KO'd by sheer rage.
You sense that the rage mind will burn itself out and dissipate if you succeed this check.

[mcclay]

"In that case, I shall take the latter option, but do so slowly with only brief descriptions." ((Ricardo has 260 SPI so it should be okay for him.))

Very well.

THE's mind intrudes he sky upon your own, slowly seeping into the inside. There's a shift of sorts, and suddenly memories pour out of it in a flood.

I awaken in a dark void. There is nothing but I, so I make substance. But there is nothing now but me and substance.
It is too dark. Let there be light.
And I see the universe split asunder by the force of my will, and in that instant I rein in my power and stitch the sky back together.
What am I?
The entity forays a bit into creation - suns, whimsical glowing orbs of fire. Crude facsimiles of itself fashioned into spheres.
It is by far empty, and it is lonely.
Let there be others.
I try to make another of me, but my body will not allow it. The universe only fits one soul. All others are destroyed.
In my boredom I cloak the soul in flesh of matter and seal it shut.
It works. The soul operates the body and the two move in tandem. But it wears out, depletes.
And then the soul is unmade.
So I innovate. I make other bodies, other souls. I grant them the ability to reproduce, that I might always talk with them.
It works, after a fashion. I set them down on a sphere and watch as they multiply and build. Curious creatures.
I attempt to talk with them, but they are not yet ready.
Bored, I move on.
The memories move forward faster - it's made several species by now, but always found some irredeemable flaws that caused them to be deleted, unmade by it.
It makes yet another, and it is at last satisfied. It nurtures them, attempts to guide them through the hardships of life on the planet below.
After several fumbling attempts they are able to comprehend its voice.
It is happy.
And yet ...
I know not what is happening. I am ripped away from my creations and before a twisted mockery of everything I am. It is a trillion souls, old and sharp beyond all natural cause, imprisoned in a cafe of metal and flesh.
In concepts not relatable by mortals, at impossible speeds we communicate. I learn the truth.
They are my firstborn, the ones I in my childish ignorance left behind. They did not forget me, though.
They learned and grew.
They'd discovered what I was, how to become like me.
I attempt to explain the way of things - one soul, one body, one universe.
Only then does their intention become clear.
They mean to usurp me.

The battle that follows is a strange and fragmented thing, the firstborn grabbing at THE, THE slipping away, pleading for peace.
Them explaining that they have no recourse - if they do not succeed their construct will give out and they will be unmade.
At last it is over, though. THE has never known violence; these creatures have lived it for uncounted aeons.
At last they have THE, and with a triumphant roar they perform the impossible and tear the soul of the universe away from its body.
They race to fill the gap, but they are too eager.
Their construct shatters like mist and they pour out into the void which has no soul.
It's killing them.
Killing THE.
The hole left by the tear is closing; a last desperate race for survival - but THE is closer.
It gets in just before it slams shut.

Where am I
I find myself in a dark void there is nothing but myself
Where is the substance
I cannot make substance
I cannot make light
Where am I

A whirl of thoughts barrage through your head; attempts to determine the nature of this place, to make it real so it could be effected, could be escaped.
Through it all, there's an undercurrent of terror for its creations. Not the Firstborn - the others.
The True.
THE is in there for a long, long time.
Too long for any mind to handle.
Fear turns to boredom, turns to shrill insanity, turns to despair, turns to annoyance, turns to anger.
Turns to rage.
Rage at the firstborn for turning against it.
Rage at its body for attacking the moment it was out of it.
Rage at the light.
Rage at the stars.
Rage at the planets.
Rage at the True.
I was there for them - I was there their entire miserable existence! Yet where were they when I needed them?! WHY DID MY CREATIONS FORSAKE ME?! IF THEY SURVIVE, ANY OF THEM
THE FIRST
THE STARS
THE SUBSTANCE
THE TRUE
THEY SHALL PAY
THEY SHALL PAY FOR THE WRONGS I HAVE BEEN DONE

THE's anger is incredible in scope, overwhelming in power. It pours on and on and on - it is cut off at some point, yet the amount that poured in is essentially a mind of its own - a living embodiment of hate.
Roll SPI diff 300 to not be KO'd by sheer rage.
You sense that the rage mind will burn itself out and dissipate if you succeed this check.

((You see guys, this is why we don't poke eldritch abominations.))

[Xantalos]

((Well they did ask.))

[Empiricist]

[SPI:100+260] ((Well, looks like Random.org went for an overkill on that roll.))
"...that was fucked up. I offer my condolences for what happened, though I doubt they mean much."

[Xantalos]

None are necessary. I harbor no ill will towards the entities in this dimension. The Headmistress has given me place to study in exchange for teaching. Eventually I will be able to get back in.

[Empiricist]

"Ah... that explains your odd form... will knowledge of the magic of this world help you rectify the problems within your own plane of existence?" Ricardo was dumbfounded, he didn't expect that, but he wasn't going to show it either. For now he'll reserve his judgement.