Feros shuddered as ichor flowed from his wounds. The streams of red, invisible to the mortal eye, flowed away in the currents of the Endless Ocean. It was coming. He could feel it, the familiar horror. All would end, all would fall, and this time, he would not survive. The time of the wilds was over. The thought stung and whipped and burnt, but it remained.
'Teskort, you fool.'
Words have power.
'Was it worth it? DO YOU SEE WHAT YOU HAVE DONE?'
They can create - form. They can destroy - divide. They can change a heart. And Feros let out a cry, echoing between the worlds.
'I am sorry.'
The words of Neiden echoed in his head. The words of Teskort. The words of Psaras. But it was too late for prevention, now. Too late by far. And yet if they would not stand, who would? The pestilence? No. The Drake king or the sculptor? No. His first son? Perhaps. He might see what must be done. But Feros could not. He had been over zealous, single minded. the world no longer needed Feros. They needed the Sunfather.
The cry changed now, a command. Now was no time for subtlety. It rang out among the glades of the worlds, in their streams and mountains, even to the hearts of their cities, where parks and gardens resided. It rang out among the photospheres, free no longer. The cry preached not peace, not balance, but war. War against the end.
The cry reached the elementals, and they stopped, mid battle or mid labour, and turned. they began to build, growing trees of gigantic heights, caves of unending depths. And from these places, a single echo returned. Power.
The cry reached the Wildlings, and their bodies froze, unable to respond. through their minds flashed a series of images - the plaguesphere, rendered in two, a true evil drawing itself out; a temple, the first their kind would ever build, identical on every photosphere, with worship in sync. And a voice echoed between their ears.
'The Sunfather calls you, children. i show you our prey, and i show you our weapon. Join me, in this final hunt.'
The cry reached the Children, and passed almost unheard. Alone in his chambers, Neiden sat, bottle in hand, and he heard the voice, soft yet immovable, and gone as soon as it came.
'The Sunfather calls you Neiden. Let our conflict go, as I have done, and spread no more. Instead, build upwards. Temples, to all who would aid you. temples, to stop the end.'
The cry reached the Grand Temple, and the horrors held within. In its centre, among the branches of Zzdwi, it flinched, but spoke to the abomination regardless. Then it passed on, unheeding of any reply.
'Your growth is threatened, strange one. Build no longer for yourself, but for all. temples, not to a god, but against the end. The Sunfather asks this, for all's sake.'
The cry reached the world of the Drakes, and the god-made-flesh. It sought him out, and spoke to him.
'The world falls, Brother. You have been away from us for too long. Join our counsels, so that you may not face the end alone.'
And finally the cry reached Urdu, the living planet. It spread through the surface, down to the core.
'The end is coming. i ask you now to forget the traitor, Teskort, and instead join the hunt of new prey - the Ancient is coming, and must be stopped.'
And then the cry was gone.
Act: change the primary purpose of the elementals, excluding those on Urdu, to worship of Feros. provide them with complete free will if this is necessary to achieve this.
Non-act: Ask the Wildlings for worship, and to prepare for war.
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Topic: Kalpa: A Game of Divinity (Read 20976 times)