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[Caesar]

Godhood VIII – Quills and Mythology
Game Thread

Godhood is a game which aims to combine creative writing and roleplaying, where players take the roles of a pantheon of Gods in a universe comprised of the so-called 'essence' and 'void'. The world in which the game takes place is young, ready to become the focus of the machinations of the Gods, who all pursue their own agendas.

Important Links
Godhood VIII OOC Thread
Godhood VIII Wiki – Pending rework, player-run
World Map
PM Caesar

This thread is meant for in-character posts for the game. This is where you can read what was written and write what was perceived.




Many a year have I observed, have I waited. Knowledge has seeped into my being, and with patience, I have grown stronger, wiser, older. I have witnessed the demise of Finnwa, the oldest of the Gods, the first goddess of the first universe. I have witnessed how the Shapeshifter's descendants, with the Phoenix' final slumber, have been put to rest. Of all gods of power, of all those closest to the essence, I solely remain; I, the closest to perfection. Knowledge of the Essence and of the Void, of the history of our multiverse: All these things are mine. It is time that I secure these limitless powers, that I end my roaming, and that I take on the guise of power myself. I will create, shape, and intervene. I will ensure that if the improbable were ever to become the inevitable, my existence will not have been futile. Now, it is my turn.

I am the strongest, the oldest, the wisest. Let my lessons be learned by the worthy, taught through the whip, and coveted by the weak. I am Overgod.

~The Scholar

Turn Zero: The Keeper


The quill scratched on the paper, and the lone candle on the desk cast deep shadows as the letters danced out of the quill. In the background, many more utensils performed their arduous duties, writing and noting down event after event, story after story, depicting in images what could not be described in words and explaining in code what could not bear to be expressed in plain words. In the twilight that the sparse candles spread across the room, the Keeper stood, his long, frail fingers caressing along the finished books of knowledge as they found their spot in the endless library. He moved slowly across the room, to the desk that was devoted to but one book, one tome. The book was but on its first page, and as the quill covered more of the paper, switched to next papers, the Keeper read. His eyes, and his eyes only, could keep up with the writings of his master, could discern in an instant what was written even as the letters themselves were cast like shadows on the paper, could absorb the knowledge without judgment. As the title page was turned, he read:

"Of Essence and Void, of knowledge and power

Let that which once was not, be now. And so it was that the first humans opened their eyes. The world was a plain, barren and empty, and they were everywhere. As they began to speak, the ground roared, and mountains soared up, valleys sank down. What had once been a featureless plain was now a varied landscape, but the force that had shaped it was not content: Deeper the valleys grew, and the earth roared again. Frustrated and with a large sigh, its surface cracked, and water welled up. The mortals ran, the mortals swam, but the water would not yield. Many died, their lives immortalized as but an apprehension of creation. In their wake was left a world covered mostly in a cruel and unforgiving ocean. The humans who had managed to survive on the islands looked about, their awareness growing. They had a talent for knowledge, these mortal beings, but possessed none. With curiosity as their driving force they set out as the islands were quickly overgrown with vegetation, or turned to deserts and tundras, as animals rose from just outside their vision, as if they had always been. From the furred predators in the coldest lands to the tusked hulking brutes of others, the world took shape. Few of the already dying race of humanity survived the wilderness that had emerged, and on some of the islands they were wiped out completely. Yet despite all their losses, mankind grew crafty and battled relentless nature. As the world finally took the form it was meant to acquire and the era of creation ceased to be, humanity was left as the victor. Not because they were stronger, not because they were numerous, but because they wielded the secrets of fire, because they took from nature to combat nature its minerals and resources. Generation after generation passed on the story of how the world was created, and as time passed they found ways not only to conquer the lands, but even to conquer the seas. They built villages, and from some of these villages grew small cities. Eventually, mortal man grew discontent to stay close to the shores and explored the seas they had once regarded unconquerable. They prevailed, like they always had, but in this prospect discovered their greatest enemies.

Humanity waged war on itself, and war was bloody. Many ships sank to the bottom of the seas that had already claimed so many of them, but for what reward? Few battles were won, and rarely did a city fall. It is in this era that gods were born from the Essence and the mutual mind of humanity. It was in this era of war and exploration that humanity discovered relics of a time before their time. Let me tell you the tales of the age of discovery.

At the foot of the Lessi, a large mountain surrounded by farmlands, a man kneeled. Betrayed by the woman he loved, he cried, his hands pointed at the sky, which answered him with a merciless downpour of rain. "Why? I sacrificed everything for her!" The heavens thundered in reply, and he clenched his fists uselessly. In his pain, he grew incoherent, grew depressed. His time at the foot of that mountain changed him and, covered in mud, drenched in water, he started climbing; away from his home, away from his love. It took him days to scale the giant, but neither fatigue nor wisdom could pursue him from his plan. When his journey had come to an end he paused, looking down on the city of Lessites. A cry rolled down the slopes violently: "I will win you for me!" However grandesque this promise, he proved unable to live up to these words, so he committed himself to a project so great that it would make him forget about his broken heart. A lifetime passed, but in that lifetime he forged a legend. For the smithy that rests on top of the mountain Lessi stands against the tests of time, and it harbours the greatest fruit of his labors: A god, in his image, worshiped faithfully by the descendents of the people he had once come to despise.

Hiate was a continent, the only of its kind. From the steppes to the north and the swamplands to the south, it harbored several cultures even before the era of exploration. The Astineii, a band of semi-nomadic tribe, lived in the steppes, their society centered around the settlement Astinos, which, while not quite a city in comparison to the other cities of the time, was impressive in its own way, as it served as a meeting point for all the Astineian tribes. To the south lied the city of Keluss, which was known as civilized and cultured. In the middle, where steppes made way for swamps, there lived the Kanskians. They were a distant, interesting people, who guarded their lands with such severity that it inspired greed into the Astineii. The Astineian tribes united to destroy the Kanskians, and from the ashes of this once interesting culture a god, Nambe, was born. As he came into existence; a mortal man ascended to Godhood, to the north, Ode was born. Both of these gods were nurtured by the residue of life the deceased Kanskians had left on the island, and even before these young gods had acted, the Astineii and the Keluss found themselves at war, claiming the continent for their gods.

Long before the destruction of the Kanskians, a legend was forged on a completely different part of the world. Stories are told of the legendary warrior-king of Nessaiie. His name was Hakkaros, and it is said that his face was beheld by none, not even his wife. His armor was black as the night, and on his helmet he wore a red wolf. He led Nessaiie into war with Heleph, another state in the region. So great was his tactical insight, so strong was his courage, so magnificent was his combat prowess, that battle after battle was won and Nessaiie managed to land its armies on the island of Heleph. The resulting battle raged on for over a day, and even the Helephian elephant, which had proven succesful in the past when they conquered the barbarians that inhabited their island, fell before Hakkaros' talented approach to warfare. It was with a victorious roar that his army poured into the streets of Heleph, but the victory turned to defeat as everyone was met by a blinding light. Where once Hakkaros had been, now stood nothing, and without its epic leader the army lost its discipline. The remaining defenders of Heleph routed out the disorganized Nessaiian army. The remnants of the fleet regrouped outside Heleph, but were not able to mount another assault, instead retreated to the island of Karestria, where the local populace, still intimidated by the Nessaiian war machine, surrendered without bloodshed, promising to pay tribute to their war effort. The patron god of Karestria had long been Delatheia, a goddess who was said to provide for Karestria in abundence, giving her populace fish, wine and deer, or depriving them of the same in times of anger. Following their example, both other city-states adopted their own gods, both based on the events of the battle of Heleph. Heleph adopted Radiant Sarthisyn, who was said to be pure and bright, whereas Nessaiie lifted their legendary king to the status of deity, claiming that he had gone knowing that he was a victor, and that they had brought shame over him with their embarassing defeat.

The war continues to this day, and it is said that during one battle, a great beast surfaced from the oceans during a storm, destroying most of two small fleets engaged in a battle. The descriptions of the beast differ from survivor to survivor, and it has not been seen since. The true beast, however, was humanity itself, as from the sacrifices that were made in their bloodlust, another god was born; The Archspawn. His island grew from the victims of war, somewhere deeper into the oceans. The island, bearing no name but that which its master gives to it, consists solely of obsidian, and is centered around an active volcano. The god that lives inside is merciless, cruel, and in those characteristics the embodiment of spiteful human sentiment. He lives in the darkness below, where he plots quietly. Another god, Yahkuz, lived in the darkness far before him. The King of the Dead, rules over the afterlife. Like all gods, he has rested calmly, content to watch the mortals meet their demise, be it by sword, disease, age or beast. Yet as the other gods are born, so may he have to act. As his world welcomes the victims of the overworld, he grows increasingly aware of the world beyond his kingdom.

Remestes, the largest city of its time, had devoted itself to pursuit of knowledge, and they worshiped Magnus'ka'naet. In their research of the world around them, they had developed philosophy and mathematics as arts rather than as tools, but with war largely unknown to them, they could prove easy prey for the other civilizations of this world. It is said that once, a man came from the seas, and he had examined the city quietly. After a short while, he departed, leaving the citizens astonished when he simply disappeared into the sea. Later, they found that one of their children, the son of a great artisan, had disappeared. Fruitlessly, they had searched for the man around the island, but never did they find a trace of him.

Many smaller civilizations are still growing, and most of them will one day seek to claim their rightful place among the greater. Those who are magnificent now may become but notes of the past. Where will the gods lead their peoples?"

With a loud thud, the book closed, and the Keeper looked at it for several moments before caressing the leathery cover again with his bony hand.




The world is shaped by the Overgod into a world covered by oceans, islands and small continents.
Humanity develops to a classical era.
Humanity starts exploring the oceans and the various civilizations discover each other.
Wieland is born, his godly domain extending over the mountain Lessi and the city Lessites.
Ode is born on the island of Hiate, his domain extending over the steppe-faring tribes of Astineii, and their main settlement Astinos, in the north.
Nambe is born after the Kanskians are destroyed by the Astineii, and his domain extends over the city Keluss in the south. (You will be better able to tell how your god was born than I am!)
Keluss and the Astineii are at war with each other.
Hakkaros is born from the legend around a warrior-king of Nessaiie. His domain extends over Nessaiie.
Radiant Sarthisyn is born in the city of Heleph.
The city of Nessaiie is locked in war with the city of Heleph.
Delatheia is born in the city of Karestria, located between Nessaiie and Heleph. The city pays tribute to Nessaiie, and is so far untouched by war.
The survivors of a naval battle between Nessaiie and Heleph tell stories of a great beast under the water, although nobody seems to agree on its description.
The Archspawn is born from the dead of various battles on the sea, his domain a vulcanic island which consists solely of obsidian.
Yahkuz is born in the afterlife, and predates the other gods. His domain is the afterlife.
Magnus is born in the city of Remestes. His domain extends over the island on which Remestes is located.
Stories are told of a man who came from the sea, who kidnapped a child from the city of Remestes and disappeared back into the sea.
Many more villages exist on the various landmasses, but these are yet to grow to notable size.

Code: [Select]

(Atilliano) Deletheia: 2
(Azthor) The Archspawn: 3
(Fniff) Nambe: 2
(Ghazkull) Wieland: 2
(gman8181) Ode: 2
(Harbingerjm) Radiant Sarthisyn: 2
(ragnarok97071) Magnus: 2
(Shootandrun) Hakkaros: 2
(Vagel7) Yahkuz: 3


[Ghazkull]

Relentlessly the Hammer crashed down on the Metal below it.

Cling.

Cling.

Cling.

He put all his power into it. All his body gave. And beyond. His wrath. His hate. His sorrow. Again and again the Metal was slowly bent to the power of his will. Shaped into form.

Cling.

He screamed. His muscles ached. The downpour sizzled as it turned into mist over the fire. He had stood there since days, hammering away without end. The Citizens were frightened by the orange glow in the Night and the Smoke in the Day. The Screams and the Roaring of a seemingly Mortally Wounded Being.

Without fuel the fire burnt. Brighter. Ever Brighter. His screams increased in volume as the power behind the hammer increased.  The roaring of the Man and the roaring of the fire became one, joined by the screaming of the metal and the bright sound of the hammer.

A Symphony of Sadness and Hate, the screaming turned into a rough Chant of Ancient Tongue giving form to beauty. Perfection. Fire and Steel, Flesh and Bones bent to the will of one Man. Vested with his Will, his Strength and his very Soul and Life.

A Final Stroke.

He was satisfied.
He stepped back, gave his work one approving look. He had done it.

The Smith collapsed. His hammer dropped; crashed into his creation, shattering the perfection.

Wieland was born.

[vagel7]

The Underworld. A deserted wasteland with rocky mountains and filled with ruins. The red sky illuminates the earth beneath it, it's ravaged by war. The ravens flying high above dive down from time to time to pick on the skeletons littering the ground. A storm is constantly blowing from the sea. Strong waves break with a deafening roar against the cliffs, the docked black sailed warships just toys for the angry sea.
High in the mountains there is a castle, not ruined unlike the other buildings, but war torn. Torn black and red coloured banners waving in the wind. The gothic towers reaching as high to the sky as the eye can see. This gigantic, monumental castle is The Seat of the Dead. The grand halls of this magnificent building hold all of the souls in the Underworld. Filled with riches the dead can rest here, the parties are endless in these walls. They have only one fee to pay, eternal servitude to the King of the Dead. They know that when the King calls them they must answer without question. But the old god has dark secrets, secrets which the endless halls conceal from all.
Deep in the castle there is a hall far more grander than any other, the throne room. Decorated with silks and banners from different dynasties who have found their end and gruesome paintings of catastrophes, it houses the history of death itself. Far back in the room there is a throne of skulls and bones, decorated with long silks reaching town the stairs on which the throne is placed. On that throne usually sits the god himself with his closest advisor Zherlack to his right.

[ragnarok97071]

Magnus Wakes

The being who the humans have named Magnus does not pay heed to the tales of a man. Such things are not his to govern, and the daily events are not his concern... Knowledge, learning... these things are flourishing, but he is not unaware of the fires of war enveloping the world. He knows that defences are required.

And so he begins, reaching deep into the heart of the world, into the primordial energies which form all matter, all creation and energy. From this power he sets into motion a great Change. From this power he sets the first thread upon the Loom.

Beneath the bedrock of Remestes, power stirs.

It shifts, coiling and uncoiling, before blossoming, pooling up beneath the city before spreading, filaments of its power lancing out through the earth.

And so was magic tamed, and given form. He created the Dragon Lines to spread across the world, to bring magic eventually to its every corner... but never would a place be so magical as Remestes, for that city would be the Source, from whence all magic flows. And in control of that flow, of course, is Magnus. None would wield the power of magic without his knowledge, for no magic could escape the inexorable pull of his weaving.

The stage is set.

Let the first act begin.

Magnus creates the Source and the Dragon Lines, the foundation of magic in the world.

[gman8181]

The Astineii tribes were a scattered people, in time only united by their greed and lust for neighboring lands. Still, this unification was not a spontaneous event. Much had to be done behind the scenes to play upon the initially small desires and resentments that would eventually be utilized to cement together the fragmented clans. Someone had to start the events that would eventually lead to the massacre of the Kanskians.
 
Masked and robed so that none could look upon his most holy face, a great priest of the land was instrumental in bringing together the Astineii and forging them into a unified entity. This was before these people has a true god to worship and many of them instead prayed to nature, a process aided by various holy men and other spiritual authorities that supposedly had a greater connection to the world. This particular priest though was not content with such a meager life as was seemingly presented to him by fate. Looking upon the divided tribes of his people, he wondered why they could not be unified like so many other great nations in the world. What was holding them back from the bright future they so rightly deserved?

As time passed, the priest came to a conclusion about what was lacking; Strong Leadership and a Common Goal. Who better to lead than one of such elevated spiritual and intellectual enlightenment as himself? A common goal was still needed but that would not be too difficult to devise if a little creativity were properly applied. Pondering the possibilities excitedly, he planned. Of course, what brings people together more than a common enemy? Even more perfectly, one so readily available and conveniently located. The tribes of the plains and steppes had long held a simmering resentment towards the southern Kanskians and their suspiciously protected lands along with their rage inducing ‘customs’ that were barely concealing insults at those whom they obviously considered less cultured. Many pieces would have to be put in motion but the masked priest was confident in his abilities and there was plenty of time...
 
When war was finally brought upon the Kanskians, the masked one did not stand at the forefront as some brave and noble general. He did not charge into the enemy ranks wildly as some bloodthirsty warlord. The priest's place was at the back, carefully orchestrating events in the conflict. Only when it was finished and the Kanskians had been utterly ruined did he himself step forward. Smiling, he looked upon the defeated, the dead and the enslaved. This would only be the beginning he thought proudly. What a beautiful start.
 
Unfortunately for him something completely unexpected happened then; an event the priest even with all his wisdom and his scheming could not foresee. What had been set in motion that day had unleashed a tide of energy, activated by the lives of so many ended in combination with the awakening of a new god by the name of Nambe. These things played together and created another great source of energy that fed off all those darker urges that first drove the Astineii people into conflict. A violently powerful rift tore itself open sucking in much of the surrounding terrain as well as a significant number of the dead. The masked priest was one of the first consumed by these violent energies and in a sense he became immortalized in that his desires for dominating and manipulating others were the first things instilled in the newly formed god Ode. The rift closed leaving little behind but the priest was correct in saying that these events would only be the beginning.

The tribes of the Astineii were once more in turmoil. The great priest who had been responsible for the short lived unification was missing. What had so tenuously kept the tribes connected was now gone and they were beginning to once more splinter. In the dark of night a chill wind blew and a lone man covered his face against the biting cold. Mobs of scared people were fleeing through the streets of Abstinos looking for shelter, although the lone man knew not why they ran. Calling out to one of those passing he asked,
“Please tell me, what is the cause of all this commotion? Where is everyone going?”

The woman looked back at him and despite the darkness of the streets, he could clearly make out the fear welling deep in her eyes.
“The temple! It’s overrun!”

Before any further information could be obtained, the old fragile woman was swept away along with the rest of the crowd surging forward. Thinking the worst, that an enemy of some sort was marching upon his place of worship, the lone man leapt forward, swimming against the stream of people flowing away from the darkened temple.

Within the holy place in the center district of Abstinos, swarms of roaches, rats and other pests flocked into the most holy room where the will of nature was divined. Seemingly innumerable the pests collected together and then coalesced slowly... morphing into something resembling a large tree hosting hauntingly beautiful white flowers alighted upon darkly colored yet surprisingly smooth barked branches. While many had fled away from the site of the pests, others more brave had instead followed the trail or come after hearing that the temple was in danger. Among these people stood the man, no longer alone he looked upon this strange new apparition.

From deep within the tree, a deep yet smooth voice emanated outward. Calling softly and alluringly to those who had gathered around,
   “Come to me now children of Astineii! Come closer so that I may look upon you and so that you may hear my voice.”
   
People slowly advanced towards the tree, awed and nearly unbelieving. First among them stood the man, he who had for all his life been alone but no longer. Lowering himself down in a servile position, his gaze slowly lifted up to the great tree.
“My Lord, have you come to finally bring our people unity?”

As if in response, petals lightly drifted down from the tree upon the man, giving a silent answer before any words had yet been spoken.
“Child... long have the Astineii people been divided. It has only been through the deepest desires of individuals such as yourself to bring unity, to bring truth and wisdom to the world that I have found you and come forth. Now is the time for your unity, for your desires to come to fruition. I SAY GO. Go and preach the good word that the Unifier has arrived. Tell the people of this land of the new age and its new god. BRING the nonbelievers before me. They shall see the beauty of my form and weep. They shall feel the power in my voice and bow. They will hear the wisdom we share and believe… now go!”

Beneath the tree, tendril like roots dug deeper into the ground forming into something monstrously alien with many gaping mouths dripping highly acidic saliva and containing plentiful and sharp teeth. Further tendrils and various other unfamiliar appendages slowly slithered out of shifting pores to grab at nearby food sources before retreating into the main body. Thus beneath the heart of the temple, the first of Ode’s true children was born. A being made to act as the Great One’s voice to mortals and to shepherd them into a new age of unity.

The true Ode, as of yet hidden, watched silently from the spaces between reality. Smiling inwardly, a form far more terrible than even the creature below twisted about as the Deceiver considered how to best go about the tasks that lie ahead.

The commander of the unified Astineii forces who had attacked the Kanskians rolled about feverishly in his sleep. His incorporeal dream form floating high above dark grey storm clouds and rapidly drawn into a blindingly white sphere which seemed to sear his vision and leave him blinded and in darkness. Slowly the blackness receded and a new scene came into focus. Legions of armored soldiers marched in endless rows upon cold hard stone creating an endless thunder of nearly deafening proportions. A towering fortress dominated the landscape with formidable walls and threatening buttresses. The great gates opened and an gigantic man armed with indescribable tools of war strode forth with the stench of death trailing behind. Beckoning to the commander, there was nothing that he could do to resist the warlord’s summons and so he met him at the gate.
   “Look around and see the future that awaits you and your people, commander. Power and influence beyond whatever wild ambitions you may have had. A grand fortress with an unstoppable army. A nation unified by efficiency and order.”

The warlord smiled persuasively.
   “Join me, swear yourself to me… and this can be the future.

Create “The Voice of Ode,” a large shifting abomination living mostly underground in the center of the main Astineii city. The top of the monster that is above ground appears to be a large tree with beautiful white flowers and dark smooth wood. It is capable of speaking the will of Ode in a deep soothing voice that reaches surprisingly far despite seeming rather quiet to all who hear it.

Have the Voice of Ode persuade those around it to go out and preach the good word.
Have them bring any non believers back to the city to see and hear the Voice itself.
Ensure that all the most important tribal leaders are brought personally before the Voice.

Send a vision to the commander of the unified Astineii forces and have him swear fealty.

[Ghazkull]

Lessi was shaking. The ancient Mountain shook and groaned. Aeons had it stood unmoving; now it was pounded to dust.

Wieland was hammering away, chipping away stones that would crush houses. He hammered deeper and deeper, boulders flying away like pebbles, but finally he reached what he wanted.

Slowly almost reluctantly Magma poured forth and rose upwards but then stopped halfway up the vent.

Lessi was spewing Volcanic Ashes into the air, darkening the sky.

And suddenly the Air was filled with a sound familiar to the people of Lessi:

The ceaseless sound of Hammer upon Metal.

Wieland had work to do. He searched for perfection. Something to make his life whole. And so he did all that he knew. He started smithing. Swords, Shields, Axes, Armours. Of Bronze, of Iron, of Steel even of Metals unkown to Man and some thought to be not workable.

And each time he finished his work, far beyond anything a mortal smith could ever achieve, he deemed it imperfect and threw it behind him, out of the vent and somewhere on the slopes of the mountain.

And as First Days, then Weeks and Finally Years passed Lessi's slopes looked like an ancient battlefield, strewn with weapons and armour of different metals and different styles. But they all had one thing in common, they were of a craftsmanship beyond anything a Mortal could ever achieve. To Wieland they were imperfect.


Wieland uses his Hammer to turn Lessi into an active but calm Volcano.
Inside Lessi he sets up his Smithy and starts creating Weapons and Armour of any Metal he can find, beyond any Craftsmanship a Mortal can achieve. Once finished he looks at each Item he created, deems it imperfect and throws it behind his back out of the vent and the item lands  among hte others on the Slopes of Lessi, which slowly becomes cluttered by a Myriad of Armors and Weapons.

[Harbingerjm]

The defenders of Heleph fell, beast and man joined in death. Desperation gripped the few who remained, their homes, their city, their people being forced to bend under under the will of the Invader.
The army of Nessaiie, of Hakkaros, surged forwards in victory, their wills fixed to their leader's, their dedication driving them forwards into the furnace of war.
Cries for salvation, grim determination to fight to the last, jubilant expectations of victory... Wills clashed, and strove against each other, till the world itself groaned under the pressure. And when the pressure gave, reality snapped into a new form, the shockwaves of the event reverberating throughout existance, the repercussions beyond mortal understanding.
For where a man had led, now ruled a god of war.
And where pure devotion had smoldered inside mortals before, now it burned with The Golden Flame.

The newborn Radiant Sarthisyn studied the world around it, watching everything it considered relevant with obsessive attention. What it saw both pleased and disturbed it. There was much of which it approved, but far more of which it did not- conflict filled the world, pitting one against another in constant tests of worth, but many of the contests left much to be desired, and their aftermaths left all too many crippled in mind, body or will, yet still among the living.
So Radiant Sarthisyn gave something new to the world. A new way for mortals to contest amongst themselves, and a new tool to shape the world around to their wills.
Radiant Sarthisyn created the Purifying Flame, an aspect of itself tasked with allowing mortals to fuel miracles by the strength of their devotion and drive. All those that do not worship other gods or use magic can call upon the Purifying Flame, though the more Radiant Sarthisyn approves of the caller and their purpose, the better their results will be.
Of course, mortals cannot touch the flames for long without consequences, and the Purifying Flame is no different...

Radiant Sarthisyn creates the Purifying Flame, a form of magic fuelled by willpower and devotion. Heavy use results in physical signs, though these can be suppressed by the user- if they so desire...

[Shootandrun]

In the city of Heleph, two swordsmen fought a duel. Around them, a battle raged and the city burned, but the chaos did not reach them. As they danced, lesser men could only watch in awe before their martial skill; those who tried to intervene were soon cut down.

The first swordsman was a Helephian general, and the second best warrior in the world. In his generation, he alone had been able to stop the might of Nessaiie, and he alone had managed to slow down the advance of the conqueror which ruled it. He had not won the war in the end, but he had dragged it out for decades, even as his armies were slowly ground down by the Nessaiian war machine. He was a brave man, and a good man - he was virtuous and charismatic, and well loved by all who met him.

The second swordsman was the ruler of Nessaiie - the Storm King. He was the best warrior to have ever walked the earth. He was Hakkaros, the Red Wolf, the Killer amongst Killers. No man who had ever met him would have called him virtuous or even remotely good, although he did have some charisma of his own. All those who had met both warriors would have agreed that it would be better for the world if the Helephian won that fight.

The duel lasted roughly half a minute. The moral high ground possessed by his adversary did not stop the Red Wolf from cutting his arm off before eviscerating him with ease.

As the last man worthy of challenging him bled out on the ground behind him, something shifted in the victorious king. He felt a blinding pain - the greatest he had felt in years. As he looked down, he saw that his armor was starting to shine with the red glow of heated metal. The pain increased with the glow, and soon his universe was reduced to a blinding agony.

Hakkaros was reborn that day as a God of War. He was left weak, barely more powerful than he had been in his mortal flesh - but a divine being all the same. When he started to understand what had happened, he left. He was still inhabited by a searing pain, and he was tired. He slumbered, for what seemed to be a short time in his new  form. When he woke, the world had changed.

Nessaiie's might had fallen. He was not surprised - he had shaped the city, and without him, it was only another spot where mortals had assembled and built. The borders of the nations had moved, and those he had known while he lived were all long dead. Uncaring, he stared at the world for a long time. Once he had seen all that there was to see in this new era, he stirred. There was war to be had, and he knew how to start it.

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

He came to Karestria on a storm night. As the mightiest tempest of that year raged over the city, a man in a black armor walked into the palace. To mere men he looked like a warrior, although any scholar could have recognized the red wolf emblazoned on his breastplate. He shrugged aside the guards who attempted to stop him, and did not stop until he stood before the city's throne. There, he kneeled, and took a blade still in its scabbard. He held it before him, presenting it as a gift to the city's king, and laid it on the ground. When the ruler took it, he smiled, and vanished with the next roar of thunder.

The king stared in disbelief after him, before something made him jump in surprise. The sword he held was of a beautiful craftsmanship, made of black iron with a red wolf carved into both sides of the blade... And it was speaking to him. He considered throwing it away, but decided against it almost immediately. The words it spoke were too beautiful to be silenced.

Nessaiie and Heleph are weak... Embroiled in a war too old for either of them to end... The God of War's favor has fallen upon you... Rise, King of Karestria, and take what is rightfully yours...

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

The following night, far away, he appeared in the city of Lessites. In much the same way, he strode unchallenged to the palace's heart and kneeled before the throne, where he gave the city's king a sword much like the one he had given in Delatheia - before disappearing with the thunder of the storm that raged outside. And, once again, the king was surprised to hear the sword speak to him - and once again, he decided to keep it, for its words were sweeter than any he had heard before.

The Mountain rages... The Smith casts away all that he makes... His anger is great... Put his creations to use... Restore the fires of the forges... Create a war machine like no city has seen before... Hakkaros will guide your hand... And with his favor, nothing will stop you from satisfying the Smith's wishes...

Hakkaros creates the Storm Swords, Thunder and Lightning. He gives Thunder to the king of Karestria and Lightning to the king of Lessites. Two essence.

Spoiler: The Storm Swords (click to show/hide)

The Swords are indestructible by mortal means, but have no other interesting physical properties. They are inhabited by a part of his essence, however, and advise whoever holds them with the knowledge of the God of War. They greatly increase the ambition of their owners and make them refuse to give up the weapon, but do not change their personality in any other way.

The Swords will give advise to their owners in the ways to wage war, and will subtly encourage them to embrace Hakkaros's faith and to spread it. The more faithful and fanatical the owners becomes, the more the Swords give advice (and the more this advice directly reaches the owners' minds, instead of being analyzed or second-guessed). If an owner becomes fully fanatical, he will possess the military genius and leadership that Hakkaros himself had had when he was a mortal. The Swords do not put any importance on whether or not that faith is shared with other Gods, and may even use the owner's faith in others to advise him.

The Swords will naturally drift to a worthy owner if the previous one dies or abandons them somehow. This process can normally take mere minutes (a soldier takes the sword of the dead man in front of him), but may easily take centuries if they were hidden away in an improbable place. ((Basically, if they fall in the ocean they won't stay lost forever, but it will take a damn long time for them to surface again without outside aid)).

[Caesar]

(Oops.. Ignore this post.)

[vagel7]

Sitting on his throne Yahkuz felt a slight unease in the essence. It's being manipulated, the gods are acting. He exhaled slowly, the sound echoing in the great throne room. He though of what to do. If the other gods are stirring then it is also his time to intervene in the lives of the living, for not even a god can truly feel at ease when divine matters are taken into hands. Finally reaching a decision he called out to Zherlack with a booming voice.

"Bring me The Thirteen Prohvets, Zherlack!"

The humble steward moved out of the room to bring his master The Prohvets. The Thirteen were immortal creatures of the underworld. They live purely on souls and are one of the few creatures who possess the forbidden art, necromancy. With this they are able to manipulate the dead as puppeteers, cast curses and diseases on the world, steal souls and use blood and soul magic. Finally the liches have arrived from their dark cells and bow before Yahkuz, their master and provider. Apart from their antique clothes they all look like men, before the transformation carried out by their black magic. All of them had been powerful and wise men, kings and thinkers who strived for that forbidden trinked, immortality. They achieved their wish but were forever bound to serve Yahkuz for all eternity. Each of the carried with him a trinket to which his sould was bound to, this could be anything.

On his command the liches rised, their piercing deep grey eyes fixed on Yahkuz.

"The gods are stirring and the world will soon be a battlefield. I have summoned you once more to gather support for me within the ranks of men. You will each be sent to different corners of the world to fulfill my task, do not fail me."

With this The Thirteen exited the room, starting their journey of gathering support for their undead master.

Yahkuz unleashes The Thirteen Prohvets to the world of man. Each of them to a different location in order to gather support for their master. They are immortal and masters of necromancy.

The pawn is moved

((Please ask if anything is unclear.))

[Fniff]

In the swamp waters, deep down... Darkness all around, only the feeling of damp and the smell of dead plants for sensation. Water inside, yet not drowning. Someone needed to help him, but the water was so deep he doubt anyone could if they knew where he was. He would scream, but he found that he was unable to move.

Somewhere within the waters, something glowed yellow.

*

Nambe fell from the vision. It was not a dream as he did not sleep, but when he felt overly tired he would slide into a vision. Sometimes he saw the world of flesh, beyond the veil. He would see swamps and steppes, the peoples of the world fighting and breeding and dying and being born. Other times, he saw through his real eyes. The swamp waters. The drowning.

It had been some time since his sacrifice, but he was still getting used to his post. He had a very important job now: the guardian of the spirit world. He tamed the spirits and brought them to their new bodies, hunting those who attempted to escape. Of course, they occasionally suceeded, but they could only do so much damage and you had to make some mistakes.

He looked out at the spirit world. You could call the spirit world a corruption of reality, or reality a corruption of the spirit world. The memories of swamp trees and the tight feeling of fear and death clung around him as he walked through the spiritual swamp in his robe, bow in hand. The Kanskians, his former tribe long slaughtered, still hid in this forest as rogue spirits. They occasionally manifested in this world. The result was not pretty. As he walked through the forest, Nambe felt a wave of tiredness wash over him.

He felt tired more and more, and he had only just got started. So much to do, too many spirits to wrangle. Now that humanity had secured it's place, there was more lives then ever. The spirits of animals and plants were easy to handle: they were just like the hunting of his previous life. Humans were a wilier foe. They hid and fled and even sometimes fought. This was a difficulty, and he was getting tired of it. He needed something to ease the pain.

Delegation?

The idea made him stop in his tracks, as the imaginary green water attempted pointlessly to drag him down with hands made out of moss. Delegation would be a good idea. But who to pick? He saw a human spirit fly above him, the faint image of a human female. He caught the image in one deft motion, then held her close. She irradiated fear and terror, but he soothed her. With spirits, there was no talking, emotions were the only way of communication.

He didn't know what to do precisely, but he slowly created an image of an eye within his hand. He reached inside with the hand and left the eye, then reached out and dropped the spirit back into the ground, to manifest in the real world as something else. That should make things easier, thought Nambe.

*

"Rasata is strange." said Yanaj. He wore a thick coat with a hood, the traditional wear for a worker. There was classes within the city of Keluss: first came the most noble and elite. Then came the businessmen and other merchants. Thirdly was the yeoman and the middle class. Fourthly was the noted scholars and the bohemians. Finally, the workers.  The workers walked the city through the tunnels and hidden passageways, never being seen except when needed by the populace. "She is nervous."

He nodded to the hooded girl in the corner, barely an adult. She looked around at the room with quick and unusually colored eyes. They seemed to see the truth, which eyes don't often do.

"She is your daughter." said Rajak who was dressed similarly to Yanaja. "You must discipline her yourself. If she is strange, the strap or the stick will do."

"But she does not give up her petty fantasies no matter how many times I scold her." said Yanaj. "I fear she is mad."

"A girl who does not bend to the whip? Unusual. What is the content of her fantasies?" asked Rajak, leaning back. "Princes and magic?"

"Darker things. Death hanging in the air, monsters walking with men. No childhood dreams, it is far less pleasant." said Yanaja. "She said, when her mother died, she could see the spirit drift up out of the room with her dying breath."

"She is mad, then. You may have to take her... away." said Rajak.

"Could I do that to my daughter?" said Yanaja, shaking his head. Before Rajak could answer this question, Rasata stood up and walked out of the room. Yanaja and Rajak looked at each other with worried eyes, then Yanaja stood up and ran towards the door where she had left. He saw her approaching the door that left outside. Before he could grab her, she slipped through the door. He cursed and went into the dark corridor, grabbing the handle and only with a moment's hesitation opening it.

Outside, a nobleman stared at Rasata meanly, while a servant lurked nearby. Rasata stared with her eyes-wide open in the direction of the servant.

"Well?" asked the nobleman. "Why are you bothering me?"

And then, Rasata screamed as loudly as she could.

*

Nambe jerked back as he heard the scream. He did not anticipate it to be that loud! Immediately, he rushed to the source of the scream and held out his bow. The system worked. Where a servant stood, a spirit whose former body was secretly murdered by the nobleman lurked inside. Nambe held back the bowstring just as the servant was about to strike the nobleman with a knife, then fired.

*

The servant jerked back, screamed in pain, then fell to the ground as his eyes glowed a dark blue. The nobleman looked at the servant, then at Rasata, then at Yanaja.

"She saved my life." he said blankly. "She saved my life."

Rasata smiled weakly. "It was the least I could do."
Nambe creates the Sirens: spirits who go into humans, animals, and plants. Whenever a rogue spirit goes near them, they emit a piercing scream which causes anyone in the vicinity to be disabled and allows Nambe to know the location of a rogue spirit.

[Atilliano]

Deiklios drove his wagon across the paved roads of Nessaiie. The city had been in disarray ever since they heard of the demise of their king
and the defeat against Heleph. Their great leader who had led them into war with the other city state, had died. It was not a normal death however,
for he had dissolved into an explosion of light. Or so the soldiers told them.

It was late afternoon, and he was returning home after selling his wares, mostly milk, cheese and meat, to the populace. Deiklios was a simple man,
his was the typical life of a farmer, born and raised in one of the many villages surrounding the city.
He had a wife and three kids, two boys and a girl. He, like most others, believed that their king had ascended to godhood.

He and his wagon passed through the city walls without much trouble and the guards let him go on his way. As the paved roads of the city
turned to the typical dirt roads of the countryside, he was already thinking about dinner.
Luckily his village was only a couple hours of walking from the city, which meant he wouldn’t have to walk
very far to get to said dinner. Nessaiie was thriving at the moment, meaning that he was coming home with a lot of money
to show for his and his families’ efforts.

Deiklios passed a small hill and was met with the familiar sight of his home. Something, however, felt wrong.
He quickly descended down the hill and into the village. As he entered he was met with distraught townsfolk
running from one side of the village to another while his daughter, Ladaeia,
ran out of the house and towards him. ''Father! There’s something wrong with the cattle! They’re dying!''
Several other adult townsfolk were also shouting similar things to each other
while running towards their own herd. Deiklios quickly jumped off his wagon
and picked the six year old off the ground and into his arms.
''What do you mean, dear? They can’t all be dying, now can they?'' He replied.
''But they are! All of them!'' She answered.

Deiklios looked upon what was left of their herd. Many of the livestock were already dead,
and the survivors didn’t look like they were going to last very long. The same was happening
to all the other villagers’ cattle. ''What are we going to do without the herd?'' His wife, Tanaia, asked.
He did not answer her, because he had no answer to give. All of them knew what would happen if their herd was gone.
He had made that perfectly clear to her and every one of his children. They would starve. And if theirs wasn’t the only village
with which this was happening, all of Nessaiie would, too…


Delatheia curses the Nessaiians, spreading a disease over their livestock, causing them to die on a massive scale.

[Azthor]

Flames set alight darkness immemorial, reaches not touched by light in millenia, as a shadow, ancient and terrible, casts a great obsidian crown. Long had He observed, long had He planned and prepared, and now that the other gods act, the time has come for Him too to make His move. But what would be a fitting opening move? Those humans, entertaining as their deaths may be, have yet to achieve much; the odd city dots the sparsely populated landscape, tribes and city-states murder each other over crumbs of land, as they always have, and yet he hungers for something more: destruction taken to greater, nearly systemic, sophistication, atrocities committed in the name of hatred, disguised under the guise progress, at last, horrors born of their own hands. After much contemplation, He concluded that, before it could be culled, the herd had to be fattened, and He knew just the way to accomplish that.

The higher they rise, the more they must fall before they are done with. And so, before order and civilization can be taken from them, leaving them with nothing but the knowledge of that which they've lost, order and civilization, prosperity and security, must first be bestowed upon them. An Empire must form so that an Empire may fall, and yet, those mortals, already a stagnant lot, probably did not have it in them to accomplish that on their lonesome, not in this eon, at least, and with the other deities acting, time grew short. Thus, the Archspawn decided that he'd sow the seeds of civilization and, with them, the seeds of its future downfall, the seeds being but a crown, one fit for an Emperor and yet, at the same time, but one fit for a madman, a crown that would grant a man control over his peers, but in doing so, have him forsake control over himself, the Crown of Imperium.

But that was not enough, a crown without a wearer is no crown, and a wearer without a people would be of little use to Him. Along His many observations of the mortal world, the Archspawn had witnessed one people, the Talassan, who nor organized nor under any deity' influence, had the potential to, united, subjugate their neighbors and forge an Empire, though they would not do so alone. Left to their own devices, the Talassan may never have accomplished much, eventually becoming a footnote upon their would be conquerors' history, alas they had came under the Archspawn's attention and, however unwillingly, become His chosen people in his nefarious schemes.

And so did the Archspawn appear before a large host of the Talassan under the guise of the seemingly benevolent Galadrin, the Morning Lord, proclaiming them his chosen people. Charmed by the guise's awe-inspiring appearance, the gathered Talassan could do little but believe most profoundly in the words spoken; who were they, after all, to deny the divine? Galadrin spoke of how, though they stood separate, it was their fate and trial that they reunite their people and forge a mighty Empire, that they settle at that very same place as His holy site and offer Him their worship there, he spoke of others, spirits who who would seek to lead them astray, of their servants, who would try and hamper their ascendance, and of the other ignorant islanders, who, merely ignorant, would yet still stand in their way. More importantly, Galadrin spoke of the trials ahead, and times of trouble in the horizon, of how it'd fall upon them, and them alone, to see the world through.

"Though I must now depart, for this trial is your to see through, I leave with you with a single gift and blessing, an artifact of great power that will, should the odds stand against you, grant you the means to succeed in your mission regardless. Bear it with care and never let it fall in the wrong hands, for My very essence lies within. Malbran, My child, step forward, for among My children, you are the one whom I've deemed most worthy. I present you with the Crown of Imperium, for as long as it is held by a rightful Talassani, so too shall all of your enemies and lessers bow down before you as they bear witness to my glory. To you, I entrust both my greatest gift and the greatest of burdens: unite My people, have the surrounding pagans driven before you and erect a settlement at this very location. Only then shall I make myself known again. Go forth, child, and do Me proud"

His words spoken, Galadrin vanishes, leaving but a single obsidian crown where He once stood.


The Archspawn appears before a vast gathering of Talassani under the guise of a false deity. Clad in pure light, the shape introduces itself as Galadrin, the Morning Lord. Claiming them as his chosen people, He speaks of the adversities ahead, of how others, their own people even, will oppose their rightful rule, ignorant to their birthright, of how petty lesser spirits and their servant might try to sway them from the right path and how, most of all, they must persevere, lest they fall prey to the horrors of the world. As a demonstration of His might, He grants them a single divine gift to aid them in the long road ahead, a crown made of the blackest obsidian, adorned by five large spikes that tower above it.

The Crown of Imperium¹, a great obsidian crown, is created in the darkness deep below and gifted to Malbran, greatest among the Talassani and the first of Galadrin's chosen, so that he may unite his people under Galadrin's guidance. The crown grants its wearer a powerful aura of authority and awe; all but the strongest-willed immediately perceive the wearer favorably, misled by the artifact's glamour, whereas the weak-willed would have a difficult time not perceiving the wearer as their rightful ruler. Alas, under the artifact's power, the wearer will grow increasingly delusional in their pride and ambition; only one of unshakable willpower might be able to resist the crown's corrupting influence, and even then, only for so long.


¹cannot charm the divine and their direct servants. They are still subject to its corrupting influence, alas it must be worn willingly.

[Caesar]

Magnus creates the Source and the Dragon Lines, the foundation of magic in the world. – 3 Essence

Spoiler: The Source (of magic) and the Dragon Lines (click to show/hide)

The Source of magic lies underneath Remestes, embedded in the earth. Its creator is Magnus, and from it spread the Dragon Lines over the planet. Whereas the Source is like the beating heart of the magic of the world, the Dragon Lines are its veins, supplying magic to most of the world. Its power is under nobody's control, but Magnus will be aware of the use of the magic it spreads around the world.

Ode creates the 'Voice of Ode'. – 2 Essence

Spoiler: The Voice of Ode (click to show/hide)

The Voice of Ode is a large shifting abomination living mostly underground in the center of the main Astineii city. The top of the monster that is above ground appears to be a large tree with beautiful white flowers and dark smooth wood. It is capable of speaking the will of Ode in a deep soothing voice that reaches surprisingly far despite seeming rather quiet to all who hear it.

Ode sends a vision to the leader of the united Astineii tribes, making him swear fealty. – Included in the cost of the first act
Ode addresses the people of Astinos through the Voice of Ode, commanding them to bring the non-believers as well as the Astineiian tribal leaders before the Voice. – Included in the cost of the first act

Wieland turns Lessi into an active but calm volcano. – 2 Essence
Wieland smiths a large amount of weapons and armor of a quality far superior to that which was so far created by mortal hands, depositing it on the slopes of Lessi. – Included in the cost of the first act

Radiant Sarthisyn creates the Purifying Flame, a form of magic fuelled by willpower and devotion. Heavy use results in physical signs, though these can be suppressed by the user if that is what they desire. – Two Essence

Hakkaros creates the Storm Swords, Thunder and Lightning. He gives Thunder to the king of Karestria and Lightning to the king of Lessites. – 2 Essence

Spoiler: The Storm Swords (click to show/hide)

The Swords are indestructible by mortal means, but have no other interesting physical properties. They are inhabited by a part of his essence, however, and advise whoever holds them with the knowledge of the God of War. They greatly increase the ambition of their owners and make them refuse to give up the weapon, but do not change their personality in any other way.

The Swords will give advise to their owners in the ways to wage war, and will subtly encourage them to embrace Hakkaros's faith and to spread it. The more faithful and fanatical the owner becomes, the more the Swords give advice (and the more this advice directly reaches the owners' minds, instead of being analyzed or second-guessed). If an owner becomes fully fanatical, he will possess the military genius and leadership that Hakkaros himself had had when he was a mortal. The Swords do not put any importance on whether or not that faith is shared with other Gods, and may even use the owner's faith in others to advise him.

The Swords will naturally drift to a worthy owner if the previous one dies or abandons them somehow. This process can normally take mere minutes (a soldier takes the sword of the dead man in front of him), but may easily take centuries if they were hidden away in an improbable place. ((Basically, if they fall in the ocean they won't stay lost forever, but it will take a damn long time for them to surface again without outside aid)).

Yahkuz unleashes the Thirteen Prohvets to the world of man. – 4 Essence

Spoiler: The Thirteen Prohvets (click to show/hide)

The Thirteen Prohvets are immortal creatures of the underworld. Each of the Prohvets carries a trinket with them to which their soul is bound. All of them were once powerful but mortal men, who had achieved immortality by mastering the art of necromancy. In doing so, they had forfeited themselves to Yahkuz, whose will is ultimately theirs.

All of them are powerful combatants, capable of manipulating the dead and spreading curses and hexes. Their powers are much stronger in the underworld than in the world of the living, but still significant in the overworld.

Yahkuz orders the Thirteen Prohvets to gather support for their master in several locations on the world. – Included in the cost of the first act

Nambe creates the Sirens. – 2 Essence

Spoiler: Sirens (click to show/hide)

The Sirens are spirits who possess humans, animals and even plants. Whenever a rogue spirit dwells near them, they emit a piercing scream which disables those in the vicinity and alarms Nambe to the location of the spirit.

Deletheia curses the Nessaiian livestock with a ravaging disease, killing their herds on a massive scale. – 2 Essence

The Archspawn creates the Crown of Imperium. – 1 Essence

Spoiler: The Crown of Imperium (click to show/hide)

The Crown of Imperium is a great obsidian crown, menacing with five large spikes of obsidian that tower above it, created in the depths of the Earth. The crown grants its wearer a powerful aura of authority and awe; all but the strongest-willed immediately perceive the wearer favorably, misled by the artifact's glamour, whereas the weak-willed would have a difficult time not perceiving the wearer as their rightful ruler. Under the artifact's power, the wearer will grow increasingly delusional in their pride and ambition. Only one of unshakable willpower might be able to resist the crown's corrupting influence, and even then it is but a delay of the inevitable.

It can not charm the divine, magical, or direct servants of a divine being. While they are still subject to its corrupting influence, they must wear it for it to take effect.

(I used your description of its effects in the end, not mine.)

The Archspawn appears before a vast gathering of the Talassani under the guise of Galadrin, the Morning Lord, and gifts one individual, named Malbran, the Crown of Imperium. – 2 Essence

Spoiler: Galadrin, the Morning Lord (click to show/hide)

Galadrin is a fake identity of the Archspawn, which manifests as a being of pure light. It is commonly known as the creator of the Crown of Imperium and is the patron god of the Talassani, claiming them as its chosen people.

Page by page is it written, chapter by chapter is it recorded. As time flows, so does the library, a never-ending sea of knowledge, of books, of stories and tales. What is actual now, is history when along does come the next moment. Truth, as I know it, is but a collection of memories in dusty books. But one creature knows all of the past, yet remains uncertain of the future. One being knows all the answers, and I serve him well so that I too may become a being of knowledge. The Scholar, the Collector, the Writer- Call him what you may, but no words do justice to the wisdom it possesses.

~The Keeper

Turn One: Ambition


Even as the candle blew out, the rustle of paper ceaselessly echoed through the hallways. A book complete, an archive filled, a shelf simply coming into existence- Rest nor pause did his master grant him, and the Keeper would not want it any other way. Lighting the candle, he thought of his student. His master had given him permission to teach, and so he had chosen a child who thirsted for knowledge, and taught him everything there was, as of yet, to know about the world he lived in, the world underneath which the Keeper lived. For as peculiar a being the Keeper was, he was not far from the mortal world; his greatest treasury was right underneath the waves the mortals revered, underneath the oceans the living claimed to be theirs. The child had shown promise, and after he reached the age of eighteen, the Keeper had shut his eyes and taken from him the greatest knowledge he had possessed; knowledge of the library itself.

The now young man had but an instinct that something was missing, that there was more to learn, and so it was that he had created a mortal man with a drive beyond that of mortality, a god among men. The Keeper smiled – if one could even describe his expression as a smile – and set his attention on the single book of the desk. "Nova Historia" – his master had always found a certain pleasure in using this long-dead language. It had been born in the first world, and had survived solely through the Scholar and, of course, himself. He turned to the second chapter, and started to read..

"Of a World Divided

An era of ambition, of war, has come upon this world – my world, and I find great pleasure in watching and noting these developments. War has always been beyond a concept, beyond the idea of cruelty and suffering as which it was often described by the humans. Little did they understand that humanity, in its essence, is war. For deeper than the wars waged between states, empires and cities, deeper than tribal clashes and rebellions, lies the war in each person's heart. Even the gods, who are themselves so close to perfect, find that they are subjected to a war within the depths of their soul. When it is not by fires and sword, by claw and teeth; when it is not an eye for an eye, war will find another way. Competition, trade, diplomacy- So devoted to coming out on top is the mortal man, the mortal woman, that from this ambition spring even peace, love and friendship. The strongest love survives, only the strongest friendship prevails, and only those who wield words like the swords they replace can preserve peace.

Dear reader, let me tell you of the wars that are, so that you may come to understand the wars that will be.

Some men are strong by their own account, others are granted that which they never had by the gods, and in some exceptional cases, mortal men are blessed twice, by both nature and divine. Daemos of Karestria is such a man: Strong enough to make the sacrifices he deemed necessary, he had managed to keep the peace with his war-like neighbors. The cost on his people was great, however, as they were forced to aid Nessaiie in its war-efforts, and as the famine struck even in supplying the food the warmongers direly craved. This all changed when Daemos learned that he who desires peace, should prepare for war. With Nessaiie at its weakest and the Storm Sword at his hip, he riled up the populace, brought blood to their lips, and promised them an influential Karestria. With unceasing advice from the sword, and his own acute mind, he offered a prayer to both the god of war that had abandoned his own people and the goddess of abundance who had fed them well. The mountains were mined, the sheeps were sheared, the forests were cut down, and a fleet was born. Disciplined, devoted, and with revenge on their mind, an army set sail for Nessaiie, scoring victory after victory.

Nessaiie, enemy of all, a power of the past, fought desperately to keep the region under its control, but failed. As their last fleet was taken to the depths, as their children cried for food, they did the unthinkable: The high command of their forces, the most promising warriors, the most cunning strategists, advanced on the royal palace. On the night of steel, the king was brought before his people and executed, with the nobility following suit. Their riches, their stores of food, were granted to the people, to the starving army, and these military leaders founded a council. But two classes of people would, from now on, be respected within Nessaiie: Those who fight, and those who feed. Half of the remaining populace was drafted into the army and disciplined in the arts of war. The Karestrian fleet approached, and the city-state of Nessaiie prepared for a final stand.

One might think that the city of Heleph was forgotten in this tale, but they would be wrong. For as a flock of crows descended on the city, so did the mightiest of Yahkuz' Prohvets. His name was Ka'er-thul, and he breathed death, carried wrath. With a terrible curse he put down the king of Heleph and took his crown, which turned black in his hands."Heleph!" His voice had shook the palace, "Bow to me." Those who tried to put the self-proclaimed king down met an ill fate, and the population of Heleph bowed. In the end, it was neither the people's loyalty nor their sympathy which turned this lich into a king- It was fear. The temple and numerous shrines to Radiant Sarthysin were destroyed or rededicated to Yahkuz. Worship, it was decreed, was limited to Ka'er-thul and his master, two gods who would one day rule the world above as well as the world below. Terrible as it may be, this being had in a previous life been a mighty general, and he watched with interest as Karestria slowly pushed back the Nessaiians. Their king had been wise enough to keep an army in their city, but that did not stop Ka'er-thul from declaring war on the city of abundance. He knew that if Nessaiie were to be destroyed, Heleph too would be destroyed.

So it was that the Nessaiians sailed out to meet the Karestrians for a final battle. Despite their military history, traditions and the hardening they had undergone, they were facing defeat, for they were heavily outnumbered. One could have compared the battle to a band of three-hundred warriors preparing to fight a horde of thousands. It was their misfortune, however, that they had no mountainous pass to fight on. They prayed to their god Hakkaros and promised him to fight to the bitter end. This end did come, for all of them, but their city was spared. For as the water slowly swallowed their last ship and their last warrior gazed upon the setting sun as he held proudly onto the mast of his vessel, a fleet approached. This fleet bore neither the colors of Nessaiie nor those of Karestria. It was a Helephian fleet which approached. The Karestrians who sailed victoriously for Nessaiie were taken by surprise as the foreign fleet intervened, ramming and sinking several of their ships. The battle that then raged was a violent and desperate one, for the Karestrians were unwilling to give up their victory, and the Helephians would not risk defeat and the wrath of their king. The survivors wer scarce, and all fleets were vanquished. The region entered an uneasy peace, where all three cities prepared for the inevitable war. But two ships sailed from Nessaiie that day, and of the thousands that had seen combat, but a hundred remained. Among them was Daemos, a man now fueled by hatred, with the whispers of a god in his ear.

Not one, but two Storm Swords had been gifted to the children of the planet. Whereas Daemos wielded Thunder, Testones wielded Lightning. Like the lightning after which his weapon was named, he was furious, filled with energy, unstoppable. He was also less of a strong-willed man, easily prone to the power his weapon promised him. With its whispers in his ear, he addressed his people, clad in the finest Wielandian armor. "Citizens of Lessites, for far too long have we heard stories of war, have we traded with the Islanders of the south whereas the gods have decreed that we shall wage war! We have stood idly by the sideline for too long. We shall clad ourselves in the armor created by our god, arm ourselves with the swords forged by his divine hands, and we shall take war to the uncivilized Islanders to the south!" With an amazing cheer, the crowd showed its support for Testones' words, and as the city armed itself, as the smithies produced that which was not yet supplied by the Crippled Smith, a storm packed above Lessites, which travelled south as did Testones and his army. The native people proved to be of little hazard to this army, as they showed themselves barely capable to puncture the armor the Lessitian army wore. It is said that despite the resistance, not a single Lessitian was lost in this campaign of bloodshed, but this is far from the truth. Of the several hundred soldiers, exactly three did not survive this short war: One died to a javelin, the second to a club, and the third broke his neck when he stumbled over a corpse. The populace that remained was enslaved, and under Testones' rule a new city was founded on the conquered island, called 'Testonea'. For now, the king remains content with his victory and bides his time as his people colonize their new lands. This peace can not lost long, however, as he has turned his eyes to the west, to the mighty but ill-defended city of Remestes.

Remestes, the city of learning, the seat of knowledge, and home to the Source of Magic: As potent as it was, the Source did not affect everyday life and for years the city's greatest treasure remained undiscovered. It was at an irrelevant point in time that a young nobleman named Adagnites discovered his own potential, and through it, the Source which fed it. The actual account of the story is that he literally felt his mind open to the possibilities of magic, after which he found that with enough concentration, he could subtly influence reality. Adagnites' own account, however, is ridiculous (and widely accepted) enough to be worthy of mention in this work: "My mother-in-law, true to her kind, told me that if I would not accept her inheritence – of debts, mind you! - she would invoke her right to abolish my marriage with her daughter. She then proceeded to explain how I was a worthless, penniless and dictatorial man. Of course, I replied to her that she was a lying snake, and as I spoke, I really did imagine that snake; a slithering, slimy, disgusting snake, wearing an ugly dress that only serves to pronounce the snake's ugly features! To be honest, this wasn't far from a perfect description of my mother-in-law as she was, were it not for the fact that her dress actually looked quite alright. Before my eyes, she turned into the snake I had imagined!" While this saddeningly widespread story of the discovery of magic is full of lies, Adagnites was right about not being penniless, for he founded a gymnasium in Remestes above the Source, found four equally magically talented individuals, and adopted them in his gymnasium. The small society of five is now dedicated to Magnus and the study of his magic, and is actually subsidized by the curious king, who would gladly make use of the magic their god has offered.

The Astineiian tribes on Hiate remained true to their history of bloodshed, as a civil war replaced the tribal quarrells that had previously raged across the steppes. Interestingly, this war found its roots not in the division of the tribes, but in the effort to unite them. With the coming of the Voice of Ode in Astinos, a zealous chieftain had moved out to convince the other tribes to join him under one banner, or be destroyed. Some listened, others had to be put down. The Voice of Ode had a strong influence on the minds of men, and many were persuaded to join the zealots, growing the tribes into an ever larger united faction. This period of growth stopped suddenly with the coming of La'e-kat, one of Yahkuz' Prohvets, who united those opposing Ode under the banner of Yahkuz, and led them against Astinos. The use of his necromancy influenced many battles, and La'e-kat wielded fear as his primary weapon. Yet in his power, he grew arrogant. He rode forward to Astinos, where the followers of Ode had gathered to defend the Voice, commanding their surrender. When they refused, he declared that he would destroy them himself, and he ordered forward the undead he had gathered during the war. He himself rode in front, and he charged into the fray under the aid of a thousand hungry roars. He fought, killed, and slew those in his path, until he found that his arm was missing, his leg had been chopped off, his horse threatened to collapse. Far behind the enemy lines, he looked upon the Voice of Ode, and in his mind, it appeared to look back at him. The next moment, the locket that held his soul was hit by a mace, shattering and releasing his soul from its grasp. With a gasp, he collapsed, and so did his hordes. The Astineiian tribes roared in victory and destroyed those who had opposed them.

The unity of the Astineiians had cost many lives, including that of their leader. The heads of the tribes, numbering into the thirties, chose from among them the ten mightiest. These ten were to prove that they were the most capable of them all to lead the Astineiians. When none of them proved to be able to live up to this standard, however, it was instead decided that they should be king together, for ten knew more than one. The Council of Astinos was thus born, led by the strongest followers of Ode. When a decision could not be made, they would consult the Voice of Ode. The system adopted by the people of Astinos has proved to be efficient, and as the weakened tribes grew back their numbers and reclaimed the steppes they had fought over, but a single decree was left to be made: Necromancy, as it had been practiced by La'e-kat, was forbidden.

Elsewhere on Hiate, beyond the mountain range called 'the Vein', a people had been granted the power to forge an empire. Following the false god Galadrin, Malbran founded the city of Galadres. Malbran was neither an exceptionally strong-willed nor a very talented man, but whatever flaw there was in his rule was quickly overcome by the influence of the Crown of Imperium, and he led the Talassani into an era of quick growth. Where previously small villages had dotted the landscape, a large influx of immigrants, who were in awe of the Crown Malbran wore, saw that Galadres grew into a city, and finally a metropolis. Where once Remestes had been the largest of all cities, a new state had now started to expand, and Malbran turned his eyes to the north, to the south, and beyond the Vein that divided him from Astinos and Keluss.

Nambe's Sirens were creatures of myth, beings that alerted the young god to the malevolent spirits which had escaped the spirit realm. Nambe hunted them down, one of the few gods who did not sleep, but pursued his task effortlessly. Few spirits managed to elude the Sirens, and even less managed to escape once Nambe knew of their presence. It was a stroke of ill faith that one of the Sirens discovered Tae'kul, one of the Prohvets of Yahkuz. Sensing the magical potential in the girl the Siren had possessed, Tae'kul drew her deep into the woods, constantly giving the Siren something to hunt, but always just eluding the being. When the Siren was surrounded by the underbrush and the sun had made place for a full moon, Tae'kul appeared and twisted the Siren into a Banshee, a creature dark as the night, tormented in its existence. Tae'kul vanished after this deed, biding his time, but the Banshee hungered. She drifted between the realm of spirits and that of the living, always keeping to the forests. On rare occassions, someone wanders into the Banshee, and she screams as once the Sirens had done. Always, this scream comes with a curse, and the afflicted return home dazed, wondering what happened. In several cases, the afflicted grew an unquenchable hunger and eventually hunted even the living for their flesh in a desperate attempt to fill their empty stomaches. This is now commonly referred to as the 'Banshee's appetite'.

On Remestes a young man washed ashore. After he was nursed back to health by a family of fishermen, he introduced himself as 'the Apprentice'. Without a word of thanks or an explanation the man set out on a quest which spelled the end for three of Yahkuz' Prohvets. The Apprentice travelled from island to island, without logical pattern and, more importantly, at impossible speed. Near Nessaiie, without witnesses, he slew Nus'kul using the magic spread by the dragon lines. Nus'kul had stored his soul in an hourglass, and the Apprentice found a way to trap the lich in this object, using him to further empower his own magic. His next victim, Gaeze, died on the mountain of Lessi. Her soul had rested in a ring, which the Apprentice now wore and drew power from. Not merely the magic of the dragon lines, but even the Purifying Flame fueled the Apprentice, and he found his third and last victim, Biéme, on the Archspawn's Abode, inside the volcano that towered high above the island. The trinket he conquered from this Lich was a necklace, and this necklace too does the Apprentice wear. Those Prohvets that have not yet acted have gone into hiding, biding their time, whereas the Apprentice continues to travel the world, for reasons unknown to most mortal men.

Keluss, which has used the time of stride in Astinos wisely, has refrained from waging war, instead profiting greatly in this time of peace. While the city grew and ascertained its influence on the South of the continent further, its greatest achievement of the era is to be the expedition to the West. Hoping to discover new lands, an expedition of several ships set sail into the unexplored oceans. An approximate year later three vessels return, telling stories of an impenetrable mist. Those who return claim that the mist heralds the end of the world, and that it is caused by water falling off the edge. This discovery is often the material of discussions, and some men claim that the world is not flat at all, but round, arguing that the sails of a vessel are at all times visible before its hull, as would be the case when one looks over a hill. The mist itself is subject to speculation, and some claim that it is inhabitated by sea monsters, while others believe that the mist passes directly into the afterlife. The actual truth, in all accounts, remains a mystery."


The Keeper closed the book and stretched its fingers. It concluded with piqued interest that its master had deviated from his normal style of writing, as if he had been in a hurry to finish the chapter: Details were forgotten, descriptions were omitted and several stories were left untold. What could possibly occupy his master to the point of distraction, to the point of neglect of his library? The Keeper blew out the candle, and departed into the dark to do its duties.




Daemos, king of Karestria and wielder of Thunder, declares war on the weakened Nessaiie and scores several important victories.

Due to hardships Nessaiie loses a significant portion of its population and loses a great part of its influence in the region.
Nessaiie grows into a completely militarized state with but two social classes: warriors and laborers, led by a council of acclaimed warriors and strategists.

One of the Thirteen Prohvets of Yahkuz, Ka'er-thul, deposes and executes the king of Heleph, proclaiming himself king.
Ka'er-thul forbids worship of Radiant Sarthysin in Heleph under punishment of death and decrees for all current buildings of religion to be rededicated to Yahkuz.
Ka'er-thul declares war on Karestria and destroys its fleet before Karestria can conquer Nessaiie, evening the balance of power in the region as all three cities are forced to rebuild their fleets and armies.

Testones, king of Lessites and wielder of Lightning, militarizes Lessites using the weapons and armors discarded by Wieland.
Testones conquers the people living on the island to the south.
Testones founds a city named 'Testonea' where the native inhabitants had once lived.
Testones seems temporarily content but will likely try to expand further soon.

A man named 'Adagnites' discovers his affinity with the Source underneath Remestes and starts researching means to harnass the powers of magic it promises.
Adagnites sets up a gymnasium in Remestes above the Source which is dedicated to Magnus and the study of magic.
Adagnites finds a total of four mortals with great magical potential, but little knowledge of how to use it as of yet.

Astinos grows into an actual city beyond the tribal gathering it had once been, centered around the Voice of Ode.
The Astineiian tribes, which had previously merely quarrelled, wage war with each other or join those under Ode.
One of the Prohvets of Yahkuz, La'e-kat, takes control over those fighting the followers of Ode.
Those following Ode defeat La'e-kat and destroy him, uniting the remainders of the Astineiian tribes.
The leader of the Astineiians falls in battle.
The Astineiians form the Council of Astinos.

Spoiler: Council of Astinos (click to show/hide)

The Council of Astinos, or 'the Council' for short, is led by the chieftains of the ten largest Astineiian tribes. When one of the many tribes outgrow one of the current ten, they may challenge the current councilman and if the remaining nine agree, replace him. This might cause a short war between both tribes, which can result in a third tribe taking the spot as the previous two contestants grow too weak to contest it. The tribe decides on matters that concern the entire confederation of tribes by voting, and if they reach a dead-lock consult the Voice of Ode. The Council has sworn to destroy necromancy as once practiced by La'e-kat where possible.

Malbran, bearer of the Crown of Imperium and leader of the Talassani, founds the city of 'Galadres', uniting all those living to the west of the The Vein (on Hiate). With a large influx of immigrants from tribes and villages, this city quickly grows to rival Remestes, which was previously the largest city on the planet.

Nambe's Sirens function well, alerting Nambe of renegade spirits on numerous occassions.
A Prohvet of Yahkuz, Tae'kul, who took refuge on Hiate, manages to corrupt one of Nambe's Sirens, creating a Banshee.

Spoiler: Banshee (click to show/hide)

The Banshee is a former Siren that was struck loose from the body she inhabited, and is torn equally between the material world and the spirit world. As of now she dwells the planet, where she always resides in deeper forests. She will not directly kill the living, but rather curses those that cross her path with a deafening scream. The curses are usually, while surely debilitating, not lethal, but in some cases the victims will start suffering an unquenchable thirst or hunger. The latter is called the 'Banshee's Appetite', and may even lead to the accursed attacking their friends and family in an attempt to find food to still the hunger.

A young man, who calls himself "the Apprentice" washes ashore on Remestes.
The Apprentice seems to possess knowledge of most every technology and magic as of yet discovered by mankind.
The Apprentice hunts down and defeats three of the Prohvets of Yahkuz called "Nus'kul", Gaeze and Biéme, keeping the trinkets that store their souls to drain power from them.
The Apprentice continues to travel around the world.
The Prohvets of Yahkuz which have as of yet not been able to act are move back into hiding, biding their time.

Radiant Sarthysin's Purifying Flame has its subtle effects on the populace, but none (besides the Keeper's Apprentice) are as of yet strong-willed or devoted enough to fully make use of this type of divine magic.

The city of Keluss mounts an expedition to discover the oceans to the West. The few ships that return speak of an impenetrable mist, accrediting it to the world being flat.
The theory that the world is flat spreads around the globe quickly. This is disputed by some intellectuals, and especially by experienced sailors, who state rightly that they always see the masts and sails of ships on the horizon before they see the hulls. Still, it remains the most commonly accepted conclusion.
The mist surrounding the known world is called 'the End', and it quickly garners a frightening reputation.

Code: [Select]

(Atilliano) Deletheia: 2 Essence
(Azthor) The Archspawn: 2 Essence
(Fniff) Nambe: 2 Essence
(Ghazkull) Wieland: 2 Essence
(gman8181) Ode: 2 Essence
(Harbingerjm) Radiant Sarthisyn: 2 Essence
(ragnarok97071) Magnus: 2 Essence
(Shootandrun) Hakkaros: 2 Essence
(Vagel7) Yahkuz: 1 Essence


[gman8181]

Ode watched the world intently as events unfurled more or less according to plan... up until that undead... thing... interfered. Brooding in the dark, Ode swirled about slowly and thoughtfully. The undead could potentially have been useful tools but an empire of the undead seemed less sustainable long term than an empire of the living. Not to mention most of them already had loyalties to another and Ode was no god of death. Something should be done to prevent another identical situation from arising again. Already, Ode felt more similar forces rising and setting to work nearby and even that was but one of many threats that seemed to be coming fast over the horizon... Of course Ode had felt the presence of other gods on the continent around before. A god came with a mysterious gift which led to a new city and faction arising. Perhaps a contesting Empire even. Another was a god of death but it worked towards keeping the natural order of things instead of breaking it. The same god that shared Ode's blood...

Nambe, I have been watching our shared continent closely... I have seen some of your great works as you may have perhaps seen some of mine. While our servants may be in conflict, it has occurred to me that we may perhaps share a common interest... Foreign forces have been interfering with our creations and our followers. Growing threats are making their influence known where they have no business. You and I however are in a sense related if you understand me... The same blood has given us both life and while our respective worshipers may recklessly charge into conflict with one another, I see no reason for us to do so as well. With shared interests and shared blood, it is only right that you and I join forces. Let us work together to drive out these rising threats, if not permanently at least for the time being. This continent is big enough for both of us... but no more.

Edit: Changing things purely for flavor. I can rarely stand to look on my past works without wishing to change something.