TURN FIVEClash bone, clash teeth,
Spill blood, sea weeps,
Life anew spring forth,
Stone and sapling, 'ere morph.
- ? - &
- Hood -FATE'S DESCISION - ARMS, ARMOR, & ENCHANT - 1d10 + 2 (Primary Aspect) =
9FATE'S DESCISION - ERODING THE SHORE - 1d10 =
10!They will come, high on spirits, lowly beasts as they are, grateful still to the one whom rescued their souls from endless years of floating lost in the dark. And that Lone Soldier too, holding her head up high to the many spired Keep just on the horizon, having led these squalid souls now to greatness. Each they all deserve a reward for their soon to be devotion, and you intend to make it so. The leyline revealed to you deep within this ancient earth enrapture stone and ore, seperating metals from their materialistic bonds. With a will they are forged in darkfire, and tempered in the lake of shadow. Curiasses molded perfect to the forms of the Beastkin that wreathe them in an eternal shade, rendering their already significant sense of stealth yet that more potent. While blades of the void are cast just as well, weapons far superior to their Beastkin's simple bone implements, such blades are said to send any spiritual power they cut away straight to the infinite void.
As you wield your magicks, your company arrives, when at last the rat-like eyes of the Beastkin fall upon you, they are awash with awe. An understanding reverberates through their meagre souls that had never been considered before. The creatures bow to you, not in singleminded piety, but with a resounding respect and gratitude.
Your workings were not complete that day, you take a healthy dose of the gratiousness they've shown you, envigorating you even in these apathetic halls. A spell travels across the lengths of the void lines here in the east, seeding shadow and eroding the silty ground all about the intruding mystic in an instant. The land buckles, and the swelling surge of splotchy water amidst the inkfield surges in around them. Brilliant eyes gleaming forth.Population - Numerous
Stature - Slightly shorter than the average human.
Notes: Beings that were dredged from the void of loss and reconstructed by Woe's Den. On Turn Four, the Lone Soldier recruited a tribe of these creatures to aid their 'saviour' ? in anyway they could muster. These creatures are thin furred humanoids adapted to low-light and wet enviornments.
Wounds - 1/1
Might - 1
Skill - 2
Hardiness - 2
Willpower - 1
EQUIPMENT: These creatures bear curiasses of shadow that improve their stealth. As well as voidblades that can cut away spiritual powers.
POISON RESISTANT: These creatures are specially adapted to ward off many forms of toxins, venoms, and poisons. Whenever resisting such effects, they gain a +3 to their hardiness rolls.
STEALTHY: Stealth based actions gain a +2 to their rolls.
- 1d10 + 2 (Primary Aspect) =
6Armour of souls, Calimitous spear in hand, next is obvious, a shield to beat back any blow. At first you ignore the glimmering yellow eyes of the creatures just below the surface of the dark waters gazing up at you, considering them no threat to you on this dry land. With that in your head, you again extend your palm and radiate the powers of death and creation both deep into the earth. From which again the ground cracks and thirteen bony plates emerge, sand sifting from their surfaces. You drag the imbuded spear's spine-blade across each and every one of them, discarding the useless bones that crack or shatter until at last you've found the hardiest of them all. The size of these fossils betray the existence of great beasts in days as ancient as creation itself. . .
With the very same spell, from those cracks in the earth you call upon the masters of those ancient and forgotten beasts. Down below your magicks put together bodies like a puzzle, some unfinished, some with extra pieces. Climbing up from their earthen tombs, tall beings of calcified bone bearing an extra join on either their legs or arms compare to that of yourself, all with a certain haunch to their stride. They're hardly an army of the undead. But these laborers will do your bidding for now.
Yet all is not so pleasant. You feel a pulse that wracks up through your body from the earth itself. The magicks that enshroud this spit of land are not unlike the cold etherealness of the void, the very thought of being sent back their rattles your bones. From 'neath your boots, the sands and the shore shift, disappearing into the water without so much as a noise. And just so, those dark swells cast themselves onto land, greedily swallowing the silt and rubble before licking at your feet, before you and your servants are stomach deep in frigid sea water. Then, under the setting red sun you see them again, topaz eyes filtering the light beneath the waves as they dart from below toward you. No time is wasted, having your skeletons brace for impact, they each raise one of the spears and shields you'd created, and use their long legs to stride forth and form a bulwark.FATES COLLIDE! - HOOD & SKELETONS VERSUS LURKING SERPENTS - Hood - 1d10 + 3 (Skill) - 2 (Terrain Disavantage) =
6The Forgotten - 1d10 + 2 (Skill) + 1 (Longstrider) - 2 (Terrain Disavantage) =
4Lurking Serpents - 1d10 + 2 (Might) + 2 (Terrain Advantage) =
7The battle came upon you in swift, unexpectedly so. You've not even the time to consider how such a thing was possible, nor even what other mystic power may want to see you drowned in the depths of the abyss. All you could do was ready your shield and spear and prepare for the worst. Side by side with your newly formed skeletal companions, all your eyes can witness below that hood was the movement of the water and the glittering of eyes. Then, one of your servants are dragged thrashing down into the drink, then another, and one yet more before you all thrust your spears into inky sea hoping to meet their mark. One skeleton manages to spear one of the beasts, a twisting eel-like serpent bearing a prodigiously thick body and a mouth of a thousand knife-like teeth. The collective spears miss their marks in the dark water, denying you quick movement. With a great swing of your calamitous spinespear, the water blasts away in brief, alowing you gut a pair of the fish. Then a heavy pressure comes about your left leg, though no blood marrs the sea. Spirits that wrap your body let out a unearthly wail, protecting your flesh for now. . .
The Lurking Serpents continue to swarm about you, now outnumbering your skeletal companions, the sea still seems yet to rise about this shore reaching your chest in no time. What will you do?Hood -
Suffers a wound! Avoids a wound thanks to his Spirit Shield! (1d10 = 2!)
The Forgotten - Population: Some -> Small
Lurking Serpents - Population: Unchanged
Population - Small
Stature - Slightly taller than the average man.
Notes: On Turn Five, Hood dredged ancient beastmasters from the deep earth on the Continent of Monsters and equipped them with shields and spears. These skeletons bear additional joints in their arms and legs.
Wounds - 1/1
Might - 1
Skill - 2
Hardiness - 2
Willpower - 0
MINDLESS: These creatures bear no mind, nor will of their own. They cannot think for themselves and respond only to their creators rudimentary commands. Magicks affecting the mind will automatically fail against them.
LONGSTRIDER: Traverses land at a quick pace.
EQUIPMENT: These creatures bear shields and spears of bone.
Population - Some
Stature - Thick eel-like sea serpents. Almost the size of a man.
Notes: These creatures emerged from the Inkfields, and bear thousands of sharp fangs. With no purpose other than to feast.
Wounds - 1/1
Might - 2
Skill - 1
Hardiness - 2
Willpower - 1
ANIMALISTIC: This creature bears the intelligence of a common beast, and often acts on instinct. However, it may learn to obey a master.
AQUATIC: These creatures gain a terrain advantage when doing combat in the sea.
- Clesydros - &
- Maria 'Habitat' Violet -FATE'S DESCISION - CONESENTING TRANSLOCATION OF ANOTHER - 1d10 + 1 (Secondary Aspect) + 5 (Skill) + 1 (The First Slate) - 2 (Distance) =
9It is hardly the first time you've beset your spatial sense half-way across a world, and it will hardly be the last. Focusing on the mathemagical, your homonculi of pristine crystal move with mindless intent at your words. Their joints gliding over one another without even the faintest of screeches or scratches, and to the circle they form; the other Mystic shall soon be. Yet this time, the incantation proves more complicated, you're not sure whether it's the stillness of this dead land's air, or the overwhelming power of the Cosmic Throne throwing off your initial calculations, but you press on. The green nature of the other Mystic is unique amongst the beings here undoubtedly, life as it were, is not so common a primary school for the ever self-centered and ego driven mage of your home.
THERE!
There can be no other place, she stands there, across this still world watching the setting sun as she waits. You brow twitches as your knobby fingers contort, a teal warp in space appears briefly where you intend to send her, then in an instant it crackles, like a chain reaction burning down a fuse across the world.
FATE'S DESCISION - SCRYING & MARKING - 1d10 + 1 (The First Slate) = 5
Just as you close your eyes Maria, witness the final motes of red light from the supermassive star vanish into the nebulic dust of the open space above, you feel. . . Strange to say the least. Not wholly unlike the feeling when you'd rent yourself from your verdant home into this ancient place. Your eyes open, they are blinded ever so slightly by the last glimmers of light condensing within the bodies of the massive Kruovios, compounded by the fields of growing crystals across the hard rocky isle. You see the man in true, his thickly robed figure is embezzled by clocks, watches, sundials, and other devices of unknwon mechanical nature. Perhaps the figure is a bit ecentric, but what mystic isn't? There's the lightest air of tension between you, knowing both well what this cosmic game entails. Yet with a spring in your step and a purpose to your voice, the situation is disarmed and you follow him toward the sapling.
It's a pitiful thing to be sure, its few leaves nearly wilted, its size rivaling that of your knees and little more. But there is an air of intrigue within it, is there not? The Anomolous Sapling is unlike the tall grasses you'd sprouted upon the isle you'd been sent to, it has withstood this world's stillness for untold aeons, yet it does seem to be upon its last legs.
Cleysdros directs you to hold on to the slate stone in his hands, carven on it are words in starlight in an indecipherable language. Yet as your fingers graze it, they imbue within you a sense of creation that lingers in your magicks. With its power you close your eyes again, and send your sight down into the earth. Weaving vision across the prodigious root system that retains the poor sapling's life, twisting and turning down the deep deep tree you feel the vestiges of spores, scattered so thinly here and there. Even despite their limited nature, you know full well that all it takes to coax life can be but a single seed. For now, it will do. An all permeating scent of pleasant earth is left therein, a scent that any being could follow their nose directly to the source. It seems your hopes were warranted at the very least.
- Amon -FATE'S DECISION - GAZELING EVOLUTION - 1d10 + 2 (Chaotic Nature) =
11!Your seething fury, a clear disdain for this magick resistant world, seeps into the ground beneath your boots as you bellow out. You jump up and down, and up and down, as the island is constantly swam toward the Cosmic Throne. The little roly-polys that are the Gazelings seem to take an intense not of your wild hopping. They spin about as if to join you in the little ritual, fleshy balls with central eyes circling you as your fury turns to a mad spell. The stimulation seems enough for at least one or two of the little beasts. At first, flat pads resembling your boots emerge from what seems to be their bottoms, then after fleshy tubes, then joints! The Gazelings are then all of a sudden growing legs proportional to their basketball bodies. All in efforts to just join your wild jumping and tantruming. It's. . . Endearing. But hardly enough to win you the powers of creation.
FATE'S DECISION - IMBUING LIFE - 1d10 + 2 (Primary Aspect) - 3 (Stretching Magick Thin) = 9
FATE'S DECISION - IMBUING LOYALTY - 1d10 + 2 (Primary Aspect) + 5 (Willpower) - 3 (Stretching Magick Thin) - 4 (Chaotic Nature) = 3
FATE'S DECISION - IMBUING ASSIMILATION - 1d10 + 2 (Primary Aspect) - 3 (Stretching Magick Thin) = 9
FATE'S DECISION - IMBUING ADAPTATION - 1d10 + 2 (Primary Aspect) - 3 (Stretching Magick Thin) = 9
FATE'S DECISION - IMBUING MUTATION - 1d10 + 2 (Primary Aspect) - 3 (Stretching Magick Thin) = 8
FATE'S DECISION - IMBUING POWER - 1d10 + 2 (Primary Aspect) - 3 (Stretching Magick Thin) = 2
The sea breeze is powerful here, where the stars and nebulic dust twist eternally around the Cosmic Throne, you can hardly see beyond it to where the seat of power itself is sat, but it seems the Beast of Basalt has down well bringing your island here. And so, with your great musing, you force a new power therein; the concept of assimilation takes strong hold! Mixing with the chaotic genome that the creature bears, almost in an instant their stony body melds perfectly with the remaining half of the island you spin upon. Becoming fully one with it.
You zap the now bouncing Gazelings with POWER, again the concept does little more than knock one of them far off the island beast into the sea. Such insignificant little creatures they are. . . Your steel blue eyes round and round until they at last fall upon the immense pillar of ancient marble before you, one of the eight that surround the Throne. Perfect! With all the strength of your will, you manipulate the extent makeup of the pillar's very being like rearanging building blocks. The first clicks into place, and the still sea shudders at the mere thought. The pillar bends toward you and your isle, its mere movments rocking great waves across the waters. Then mixing two, the madness of your wild magic beginning to drain on you, adaptation and mutation find their mark perfectly within the mortar and brick of this immense work of creation. The sheer flat face from which a mystic once stood upon bent toward you morphs in shape, it elongates to that of a massive jaw from which moss hangs like slavering spittle. On either side two great ridges emerge, neath burrowing holes for infinite hollow eyes, they gaze upon you with only curiosity. Such a beast, Such a beast! The magnificent wyrm of marble looms over you, yours to command! A great wave you send out, mystic in nature washes across the creature and pitters out to nothing. Loyalty does not come easy to such a monster. . . You strength is spent upon the now whole Beast of Basalt, your legged Gazelings gather behind you, as if to hide from the new living monstrosity.
Population - Solitary
Stature - A small Island's size
Notes: A creature composed of stone, granted a chaotic life by Amon on Turn Zero. It bears no solid shape or countenance, merely a mass of basalt that moves with some animalistic purpose. On Turn Five, Amon instilled in it Assimilation, to which it absorbed the rest of the isle.
Wounds - 12/12
Might - 5
Skill - 1
Hardiness - 6
Willpower - 1
CHAOTIC: There's no telling when this creature might do the unexpected. It's loyalty is difficult to maintain.
ANIMALISTIC: This creature bears the intelligence of a common beast, and often acts on instinct. However, it may learn to obey a master.
LIFELESS FORM: This creature cannot regenerate lost wounds without great magicks set to do so, even then the process is tricky.
Population - Solitary
Stature - Massive pillar-like body that can extend from above the surface into the bottom of the sea.
Notes: On Turn Five, Amon imbued life, adaptation, and mutation into one of the great eight pillars of ancient stone that hold up the center of this world. It's immense body's mere movement could send waves all over the earth.
Wounds - ?/?
Might - 7
Skill - 1
Hardiness - 8
Willpower - 3
CHAOTIC: There's no telling when this creature might do the unexpected. It's loyalty is difficult to maintain.
LIFELESS FORM: This creature cannot regenerate lost wounds without great magicks set to do so, even then the process is tricky.
MUTALISTIC: This creature's form is constantly at flux, and adapts with speed at will.
INTELLIGENT: This is no mere animal.
- Shapeless Apparition -FATE'S DECISION - MORE NODES - 1d10 + 2 (Primary Aspect) =
10!Much like a cell, you set your amorphos body to split, and to split. The mass you have gained is sent away through the earth, if only temporarily as you burrow here and there, collecting fossils and forgotten trinkets within, though nothing more interesting than that makes itself known to you. Four nodes yet more connect to your central being with the same thin, liquid strands, forming a strange organic web of material, all being sucked away from the western continent and added to your mass. You have time on your side most definitely, it would seem none of the humanoid mystics are even slightly the wiser about your slow yet steady growth. In time you will emerge to take your place at the spearhead of creation, but for now you rest. The continent as a whole seems to weep as its lifeblood is drunk dry by your pasrisitism. It shrinks and shudders with each passing moment.The Shapeless Apparition grows in size. Your wounds become 8/7 ; The additional 'current wound' is not counted as part of your body's natural maximum.
- Dr. Unpleasant -FATE'S DECISION - MINION'S DIGGING - 1d10 + 2 (Worker Might) =
3With orders barked, the Ashen Idols oversee those dwarfed burning ash-zombies and their work from atop their stone steeds. Ash and soot immediately filled the holes from which the mindless statues emerged, and so they set themselves upon it. Yet the work is mostly slow going, the immense mounds of ashen material continuously tumble in on itself, filling in holes and reversing work. But your servants aren't the sort to question their hot, laborious conditions, and continuing sifting through the earth in search of their once great nation. Unfotunately, little in uncovered as of yet, though your creations manage to finally gain a good foothold and begin something of a makesift mine, though their tools are most definitely lacking. Still, your attention can't help but be brough to the east, in moments it seemed, a strange yellow structure had propped up just over the horizon, first it was the squirrels, and now this. You can't even begin to imagine what the other mystic is planning, but undoubtedly it is your demise.
- Yellow Pixel -FATE'S DECISION - FALCONS AND FEEDERS - 1d10 + 2 (Primary Aspect) =
6When it came down to size or number, the pixelated magicks you wield struggled over dominion. But ultimately size won out, figuring that you could always bolster their number in the future, but for now getting the shape down perfect was the most important! First, you and your .squirrels collected a good handful of excess bananas from the now well growing mangroves. A good pile the lot of you set down, and their you worked your spells into them. The bananas first grew and they grew! Large enough to rival a whole hippo, of course your little companions eyes grew eer so wide, thinking the banana-y bounty was all for them. Not so.
With one good spell thereafter, the hippo-sized bananas peeled, two side becoming broad and feathery like great wings, while the others wrapped its body in a strong down that could batter away storms. The Pixel Falcons emerged from the pile of discarded skins and took flight with a great cry that echoed across the land. Meanwhile you got to work on the Happiness Feeder, a device that could output a great store of feed for the titanic birds of prey. All across the empty halls of the Banana Castle were assorted tubes and perches that would allow a falcon to feed no matter their station. When at last you looked upon the walls of the castle, dotted with falcons each gazing stoically into the distance, you let out a wistful sigh. Your attention is quickly torn away as a .squirrel grabs your pixel body. Together you both hop back to the center of your grassy savahanna, the Great Banana Tree had sprouted tall! It was still in its adolescent stages, but even then the creation towered over the rest. Filling you with nothing but happiness.Population - Small
Stature - The size of a hippo
Notes: Great falcons made of pixels, these birds of prey guard the banana castle, and eat of the Happiness Feeder.
Wounds - 3/3
Might - 2
Skill - 2
Hardiness - 3
Willpower - 1
ANIMALISTIC: This creature bears the intelligence of a common beast, and often acts on instinct. However, it may learn to obey a master.
TWO DIMENSIONAL: This creature only exists in two dimensions, bearing just height and length!
FLYING: This creature can fly.
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Topic: The Cosmic Throne: A Magic Battle Royale -- TURN 14 (Read 26190 times)