Ivy Carmine
You were the last of the Family to head through the Transgate, behind the most loyal retainers but ahead of the menial servants. As you hurtled through the techno-magical portal, you became aware of a burst of heat and flame as the palace behind you exploded, and everything went, bizarrely enough, purple.
You spent a moment, or possibly an eternity, in a vast purple space in which six candle flames popped into existence, one after another. Then everything went black.
You find yourself standing on an endless plain of grey sand, beneath an endless grey sky. There is something deeply familiar about this place, as if you've seen it somewhere before in a dream. You glance around. No sign of your family. Or anything else, for that matter. You feel a sudden pang of homesickness - your parents, your siblings, your favourite retainers, all gone. Your would-be Empire, gone. You can almost still see the palace around you.
Wait a minute. You can see the palace around you! Every tile, every tapestry, everything except the servants and your family. Except... the palace wouldn't look like this. Not if it had been destroyed.
The image of the palace melts into grey-ish white sand and crumbles back into the plain. Perhaps if you focused a little harder on it...
Your thoughts are interrupted by the appearance of a figure in blood red robes, clutching a walking stick of some dark wood. The robe has a sheet of gauze over the hood's face hole, obscuring the features within. The figure bursts into laughter.
Zorlock
At last! At last, you've done it! Oh, sure, you needed the ritual suicide of most of your cult (and a good serving of ritual murder as well), but you made it! The writings in the ancient scroll spoke true, the release of blood magic caused by seven hundred and seventy seven deaths, when properly channelled, would indeed be enough to bring you to a part of the land of dreams where you could rule as its single and undisputed -
Well, damn it. Looks like someone else is here. Short, pretty, wearing some sort of green and gilt dress and a crown. Bit of blood on her, at that. Well, nothing a little blood magic can't kill. You stretch out your hand and -
Nothing. Nothing? Nothing! Not so much as a tingle of magic. Everything's right, you've cast this spell a thousand times! Wherever you are, magic doesn't work! Or at least, not blood magic. You curse, wishing for the minions that served you before -
You find your thought process interrupted yet again! You appear to be standing on an island of concealed ichor, amidst a pool of warm, rippling blood. Two humanoid figures form from the blood, bowing knee to you. You are so surprised that your thoughts lose cohesion, and the whole thing crumbles into the same grey sand this whole place is made of.
You frown, tapping your staff against the sand. You feel the familiar pulse of magic within it, but faint, unconnected with the world. Perhaps a little trace of magic did come with you after all.
Huh. You glance to your left, where a figure in yellow robes with a white mask has appeared, clutching a staff of holly with a glowing green gem atop.
Hastul, the Lord in Yellow
The world parts, pulled apart by the demons at your call. Beyond the veil lies a plain of endless, featureless grey sand. You pass through the portal, the gem atop your staff burning with fierce green light.
Everything seems paler. The sky is grey. The land is grey. You glance behind you, and you see no trace of the tear in the veil of the world that brought you here. You look before you again and see two rather confused looking figures; some sort of nobility in a fine dress, and someone in a blood red cowl with a black staff - probably magical.
You glance to your own staff. The piercing emerald light of the staff's stone is gone, replaced by a weak green glimmer. You cast out your magical senses, receiving nothing in return - as if you were trying to see in a pitch black cellar. You feel something shift beneath your feet and look down - tiled stone flooring, similar to that in the cellar of your own tower. You deliberately defocus, and the floor turns to sand. You were briefed well enough on what to expect by the demons who sold you passage.
You cast your magic sense into your staff, and receive a tingle. Nothing more than a hint of the magic that was, but you managed to bring a little of it with you after all. You look around, waiting for the next figure to join you - rather surprised by the newcomer that does.
Grey
Meow. Meow meow meow. Meow. Prrrr. Mreow.
You were busy chasing pigeons over the slate rooftops of a world that for you was full of mice scurrying across dirt cart-laden streets and pigeons to be caught on roofs. Every now and again, the fat human with the table full of fish would throw you a small one. You like fish. There weren't any fish today, so you chased pigeons instead. You leapt after one, but misjudged your jump a little and scrambled down a slanted roof and fell down a chimney, which fortunately for you had recently been cleaned. You made it to the bottom unscathed, where you found a large room full of chairs on which humans in black clothes and tall hats were sitting, watching an older human with a moustache gesture to a large ring of metal and make sounds. Boring sounds that didn't involve food.
You glanced around the room and spotted a mouse on the other side, not fat from the big metal circle and the boring man. The boring man flipped some sort of switch, and you could see the mouse just behind the circle, so you scurried beneath the chairs and leapt after it to the sound of angry noises from the humans, reaching the air just as the big metal circle flashed with a brilliant blue light -
You land on grey sand beneath a grey sky. There are several humans here, but they don't have food and so are boring. You want fish. A nice big trout appears in front of you. You eat the nice bits, then forget about it. The rest turns into sand. Then another, really tall human appears. Boring.
Shaiguju, Wizard King of the Celestial Plains
A thousand years. You've been imprisoned for a thousand years since overthrowing the kingdoms of the Celestial Plains and becoming its Emperor. But that's fine. You've been imprisoned by powerful magics, but magic is something you know all about. You had time, and you had a handful of allies. It wasn't much effort to get ritual components smuggled to you, helpful minions in place to help your escape. The hard part was leaving the Celestial Plains - you didn't have the strength to take it back, so you needed safe haven. Somewhere to build up your strength. So you devised a plan.
Six seeds, spread across the many worlds, with a seventh in your grasp. A seven pointed spell, to tear through the Veil and into the realm of dreams. A septagram to seal and bind the dreamworld, to make it a plaything from which to raise your armies once again. To grow strong. To rule.
You complete the symbolic septagram on your end, deep within the prison you are bound in. Your captors arrive too late, too late to stop you. You give them a broad grin and vanish into the world of dreams.
You can actually feel the power leave you, the magic go. You stare down at four figures (two yet to come); a royal in shining garments, a madman in a bloody robe, a sage in yellow... a cat? Unexpected. To them you are tall, intimidating, shining yellow eyes and pale skin. But no magic. No unusual power.
Well, almost none. In the pouch on your belt are seven reagants, seven stones and herbs and pieces of power. Seven seeds for magic to grow.
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Topic: Wizard Kings of the Dreamveldt! [RP] (Read 9338 times)