TURN ONECasteth, thy seeds of magick,
May they bloom, may the rot,
Meaningless before the lord,
Whom taketh thine seat.
Hopefully you'll all be able to bear my lack of graphic design skills and use of MS paint. Haha.
- Maria 'Habitat' Violet -
Seed the island I’m on with life
FATE'S DECISION - SEEDING LIFE - 1d10 + 2 (Primary Aspect) =
3Around you, naught but dust. Countless eons of decay from the first rubble of creation, nothingness, lifelessness. . . You seek to make amends. Though perhaps the Throne beckons only for aggression, for battle, you center yourself to this colourless island where all is naught, you plant your feet firmly, letting the gravels nestle between your toes. Once perhaps, long, long, so immeasurably long ago all that was green and good sprouted from these dead lands, you were certain to make it so again. Gently, you pluck a stem from the verdance that is your hair, with three shakes of the leaf and a few mystic words, you kneel to the ground. Firmly, with purpose you plant the small leaf, and work your magic true.
At once, the dusty sediment reacts, almost recoiling to the change. A detestment of this alien seed you'd brought along with you. The earth itself cannot stop nature from taking its course however, and seeds yet more spring from the tips the leaf, fluttering away across the gray sand, dotting it so. Yet. . . Despite all your effort bent about bringing this land life, little takes strong root. This dry, inhospitable spit of dust wants nothing more than its eternal exile. Yet more do you envigor the seeds, you will not be shown up by mere debris! With great focus, short blades of emerald green grass spring about you, surrounding this small flat area with at last a fresh scent.
Small patches of grass begin to root upon the island! Though, they are not the healthiest of sorts. . .
- Dr. Unpleasant -
"This place is nothing but ash and quite, I hate it and I'm gonna do something about it!"
Gather some of the ash from the ground and shape it into several humanoid creatures and grant them life.
FATE'S DESCISION - SHAPING ASH INTO HUMAN FORM - 1d10 + 1 (Secondary Aspect) + 2 (Skill) =
11! FATE'S DESCISION - IMBBUING LIFE TO THE ASHEN FIGURES - 1d10 + 1 (Secondary Aspect) =
4You curse this land, you curse the Throne, you curse the very air you breath, having to share it with these other pretenders. The fools. It wouldn't be long before they see the machinations of Doctor Unpleasant! With your ever ensorcelling hatred, you weave the soot from the long dead land beneath your boots, you whip motes of the dust away from your coat and from your mustache leaving you pristine while your knobby fingers dance amid the stagnant air. Each delicate motion enrapturing a wind that carries and conglomerates the ash in one place, a proverbial block of marble, your magicks the hammer, your imagination the chisel.
In one powerful motion, your words, your thoughts are made manifest, the snap of a finger; excess dust sifts away leaving more than handful of statues that would rival the great works of Chivallie de Marq, the greatest sculpter of your age. . . You always hated his work. Yours is better! Perfect facsimiles of the human form stand before you, a mix of gray and black ash from wounds long forgotten, they stand as a testament to your ability. A final glare does all the rest, pouring a pound of your misanthropy, and a pound yet more of narcism, all imbued within those grand dolls. They spring to life at once, though no deeper thought is set within their clouded eyes. The Ashen Idols move with purpose toward their creator, without a hint of sapience within their empty heads. These puppets deign to do your bidding, and little else.
Population - Numerous
Stature - Average Humanoid
Notes: Perfectly sculpted men of ash and soot. While they are little more than puppets, their danger and use is made certain in large enough numbers. Given a false life by Dr. Unpleasant on Turn Zero.
Wounds - 1/1
Might - 2
Skill - 1
Hardiness - 3
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.
WATER SOLUBLE: These creatures' construction is disrupted by sufficient enough water.
LIFELESS FORM: This creature cannot regenerate lost wounds without great magicks set to do so, even then the process is tricky.
- Amon -
Amon smiles. And laughs, And laughs, And laughs... “What a delight! Although, I must say, It is quite boring. Might have to do something about that!”
Amon instills the concept of chaos, Life and loyalty into the stone around him..
FATE'S DESCISION - INSTILLING CHAOTIC LIFE - 1d10 + 2 (Primary Aspect) =
5FATE'S DESCISION - INSTILLING LOYALTY - 1d10 - 4 (Chaotic Nature) + 5 (Willpower) =
7That laugh resounds across this empty plane, with little more than the still ocean behind you. Just as you say, dull is the perfect word to describe it all. To think, a struggle between Mystics with powers that could tear any reality asunder, one would hope their arena to be a bit more. . . Inspiring than such a drab place. You are certain to change that, just as all the other Mystics believe the same. So from within the most elemental form of the miniature outcropping on which you stand, you pick and prod; indecipherable words fall from your mouth. Inanimate becomes animate, rigid becomes malleable. . .
The ground shudders, the island creaks. As the stone warps under your odd magicks, the land lets out a great cry, like something deeply profane was taking root. A massive shattering split fills the air with its cacophony, the wall of basalt shears off into the sea with another tremendous bellow, the first waves this world has seen in unfathomable years reverberate off. There, from the now minuscule spot of rock you stand, you bear witness to your creation; floating. . . No, swimming about the isle, a beast of basalt lingers. Composed of those octagonal pillars, it hauls itself just upon that rocky shore, as if to await its master's heeding. Its body warps and shifts at an almost constant rate, the seed of chaos is deep within, only time will tell how long it obeys you Amon, but that's nothing you're not used to.
Population - Solitary
Stature - Half 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.
Wounds - 8/8
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.
- ? -
From the abyss, weave a magic of great works, seeding this land with dungeons which will produce monsters. These will overflow with time, forcing them out with regularity. And these monsters will die, and give birth to rot. And as with all things, that rot will turn to life, green growing from the new soil and allowing monsters to survive. Such is the cycle. The Continent of Monsters.
? What is a name, what is the end? This world is stagnant, empty, unchanging. And so to give meaning to the abyss, there must be variance for life to fear the end of all things. In the end, all it takes is a name to give something power. Without it, there isn't a meaning to the endless, is it?
FATE'S DESCISION - DUNGEONS OF THE ABYSS - 1d10 + 2 (Primary Aspect) =
12!FATE'S DESCISION - DUNGEON MONSTERS - 1d10 + 3 (Dungeon Quality) =
5You whom are without name, risen from the murky black void pull all manner of darkness alongside you with your passing. Yours is a trail of brilliant emptiness awash across the sky, those whom dared to gaze up to the red heavens that night bore witness to its streak, and no doubt shuddered at what it could mean. Your passing scattered shade and nothingness across the wasteland of fossilized grasses, black seeds of unknowable form and purpose embedded themselves within the earth as meteors, erupting as soon as they found their forever home in the rock and silt.
Three realities were borne of the abyss thus, the first, a hovel of infinite detritus, shadowy, sneaky vermin and every kind of pest called it their home, 'Woe's Warren', taking the land to the north west. The next found itself embedded in the worn away cape that fed into the ocean upon the eastern shore, here the shadows and void twisted amongst the sea encapsulating inside that submerged bunker, the 'Inkfield', where sickened beasts would soon flood the empty sea with nothing to eat. The last seed of the abysm took refuge just below where the Nameless One hung silent in the still air. Fifteen concentric spires burst forth from the dead silt, claws grasping toward the sky. A castle therein oozed a life-opposed substance back into the infinite pit from which each they came. This was the 'Keep of Black Apathy'.
Poetic, should it be that a nameless, fallen god is the first to grant the honour of a name to the ancient land below them. 'The Continent of Monsters', and so it would be. Though none of the beasts still molting amidst their black dens knew yet of the mother who bore them. Only time will tell what this great magick will spring into existence, and whether the beasts therein give thanks for their creation or detest their own very being.
- Yellow Pixel -
"Yay! I'm on the squirrel-shaped island!"
"I shall people it with plenty of pretty happy peppy yellow pixel squirrels!"
FATE'S DESCISION - CREATING PIXELATED SQUIRRELS - 1d10 + 2 (Primary Aspect) =
6It seemed that on this scarred 'squirrel' shaped island while a dastardly doctor plotted their next moves to claim the Cosmic Throne by forging golems of ash and soot, so too did the inexplicable floating concept of the colour yellow, decide that it must create as well. At first, the yellow splotch grew. It grew and grew, swelling with magicks that gave its intentions away. Then all at once, the vibrant yellow light that composed the Pixelated mystic was scattered across the barren ashes.
The color congealed about motes of dust and soot, much like Dr. Unpleasant's magic had. This time however, the ashes were compressed, dyed, shaped, then flattened once more, until the shapes of little yellow squirrels emerged and joyously skittered about. The creatures each were perfect copies of one another, though their width left something to be desired. . . Indeed much like the Yellow Pixel, these creatures consisted entirely of just two dimensions! It was almost nonsensical that such a thing could bear life, and yet here they were, gathering about the floating yellow box, sharing a kinship, and happy to dance and play about their creator.
Population - Numerous
Stature - The size of an average squirrel
Notes: These creatures bear no differences from the average squirrel you may know, however they are exclusively yellow, two dimensional, and boxy in shape. They seem to always be joyous and playful in nature.
Wounds - 1/1
Might - 0
Skill - 2
Hardiness - 1
Willpower - 0
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!
- Clesydros -
A Blind Pull! I shall reach blindly as far into the past as i can hope to reach, in hopes i'll grasp anything of note and drag it here!"
"No doubt i'll just grab more emptiness and silt, but perhaps a mountain of it can make a fortress. Or maybe stretching my arm into the past once more will fill me with inspiration. Or i'll pull some horrible reality from the past unknown. Anything but this... nothingness!"
FATE'S DESCISION - REACHING INTO THE PAST - 1d10 + 2 (Primary Aspect) =
11!Clesydros, indeed perhaps you are out of your element in a place that time has forgotten. Your greatest strength, when one considers it, is history and the promise thereof into the far future. But here? You feel an irregular stillness, the moment truly puts into perspective the vast breadth of all time and space. And perhaps for that moment, you are stunned by the thought beauty and terror intertwined, if six other mystics just as great and powerful as thee were not dead set on a permanent demise for you here, then you might just spend another eternity pondering it. But surely. . . You've not fortold your own end here in this empty world. So surely then, the Throne will become yours and yours alone? Some might take confidence there, but you are not so foolhardy, the threads of time are far more fickle than the average enchanter might come to realize.
You toss all that aside, feeling the twisting magicks of your would-be rivals erupt all across the disparate lands. Now was the time for actions, not daydreams! Your arm disappears into thin air, traveling incalculable eons, to a time when reality was still young and nascent. It is beyond even the greatest of all scholars the many ages your magick pull there traveled, but eventually through the nothing it came upon something. Something cold to the touch, carven, perfected, yet powerful, enigmatic. The touch surprises you, something about it almost frightens you to pull it back to the present. And you nearly leave it. . . Before you know it Clesydros, you've taken hold, and another infinite millenium passes by before it arrives with your hand; a chunk of slate stone, there on carven and illuminate in the light of stars was the Divine Grammar, words that would take a hundred of you to decipher with all the days in the universe. And yet you clearly understood them. Whatever this chisled piece of stone is, it bears the mark of the Creator.You place it down in the sand for but a moment to collect yourself and feel a great weakness sifting through your body, your hair grays in slight, and your knees buckle. When again you wrap your fingers around the slate, you feel renewed. . .[/i]
Notes: Pulled from the beginning of time by the mystic Clesydros on Turn Zero. Bears the 'Divine Grammar' thought to be chisled by the Creator of Creators themself.
Effect: So long as you maintain the First Slate in your possession, you gain a static +1 to all rolls when casting magicks.
- The Formless Apparition -For the time being, your strange body of twisting magicks enters a certain form of stasis. Perhaps it is your nature, to wait and observe the state of the world before acting upon it. Whatever the case, other Mystics would find it quite difficult to locate your shapelessness for the time being.
(( With more than 48 hours passing between now and turn zero, I've decided to move ahead. I'll say again, that I'll try to stick to this max 48 hour time window unless faced with specific circumstances or especially pitched battles that require more time to be fair.
As we move on, for reference, you may want to keep your allies/creations like the Ashen Idols or Basalt Beast marked down, as well as concurrent effects, such as a magical buff like stoneskin or such. But it's totally up to you what sort of bookeeping you want to do. I'll try and keep track of everything regardless! ))
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Topic: The Cosmic Throne: A Magic Battle Royale -- TURN 14 (Read 25663 times)