TURN THREELife, so long forgotten,
These shores; barren, soiled,
Sprout thy seeds, emerge,
What futures doth thee hold?
- Maria 'Habitat' Violet -Now that grass has begun to grow, summon large grasshoppers and preying mantids, to not only start a proper ecosystem, but also so I have creatures to help me when the need arises
I know grasshoppers, left alone, will eat the grass, the mantids will keep them in check. Their carcasses will continue nurturing the grass. Both mantids and grasshoppers have wings and an exoskeleton
((To GM, do you like it when I put Maria’s thoughts behind why she casts her spells in italics so you know what the intent is?))
FATE'S DECISION - SUMMONING CREATURES - 1d10 + 2 (Primary Aspect) = 10!
At last! Strong, willful grasses. Soon the island-continent will be overrun with new life, and mayhaps these strands of thick green will twist into trees and mighty shelter. Much like the rest of the Mystics upon this Nameless World, you've decided to hunker down and build your power, truly there are no forces greater than a mage of your caliber who has time to prepare. Regardless, another leaf you pluck from your verdant hair, and place it gently thus upon the soil. Slowly, beneath that leaf does the sandy loam become sodden by the sprinkles of water from above, drops glistening as they trail down the tall grasses.
With a few words of a distant tongue, unkown to those beyond your green and wyld homeland, the leaf begins to shudder. It grows, expanding far beyond your expectation! There, hidden amongst this one beauteous pasture your magicks weave about the growing leaf to give it form. Rememberance of days spent amidst the green and good give the creation essence of life. First the leaf bends into a carapace, and from their its veins grow into huge legs and more. It is not long before a single grasshopper, about twice your size emerges from the magick you've cast. It gazes at your with insectoid curiosity, perhaps sizing you up as a meal, or perhaps simple admiring its creator. But you put upon yet more spells, splitting the large insects form several times over. A handful of large bugs, about the size of men leap into the thickets of grass and vanish.
Happy with your work, you set upon the next target, a certain blade of grass your eyes focus on, it glimmers under the red giant above. Perfect. With a single pulse of the natural abillity deep within you, the ground below coalescess, that very blade dredges its roots up, sharpens, scythelike in form. The twisting roots and mud fold upon itself, a long creature of brilliant green. A Great mantis to whom gazes down upon you, slavering all the while. Again you split the beast's form a number of times, thed mantid's taller than the grasses themselves dance into the fields, looking for food. Niether beast of course beasrs any form of loyalty toward you, rather a certain ambivalance, a distant insectoid respect that might just keep their mandibles from feasting on your flesh.Population - Middling
Stature - About the size of a human.
Notes: Large leaping creatures, the size of an average human, they resmble enlarged grasshoppers that leap through the fields of long grass. Food for Great Mantids
Wounds - 1/1
Might - 1
Skill - 0
Hardiness - 2
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.
LONGSTRIDER: Traverses land at a quick pace.
Population - Small
Stature - Taller than an average human.
Notes: Massive preying mantises that lurk amid the long grasses of the north, they prey upon the Great Hoppers with their scything limbs.
Wounds - 2/2
Might - 3
Skill - 2
Hardiness - 2
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.
- The Shapless Apparition -(Time to act now...)
Shapeless Being awakens from its long slumber, for it has finally has enough to plan. And to claim, both the throne and the very world itself. But not the way it may desire. It is aware that its particular form is very well at being stealhty. So it formulates a plan.
It turns into a solid cone, and then spins into the ground with amazing force. From here, it turns fluid again, and starts growing roots all over the nearby earth, seeding the first extensions of its soon-to-be-larger area of influence. It then starts to convert the nearby soiland rock into itself, growing its total mass.
It concludes its expansions after some time, and slumbers to see the later times.
Before sleeping though, it seals the hole it made to get down there, so other may not see it.
Get underground and grow inside like a potato. Then seal the entrance shut and sleep.
(Is this okay?)
FATE'S DECISION - ASSIMILATING THE EARTH - 1d10 + 1 (Secondary Aspect) = 3
You've observed, not through sight, not through sound, nor simply smell. The alien particles that compose thy body have shifted and twirled amidst the stagnant air of this place, attracting and analyzing only one thing - the winds of magick.
Now, you act.
Your form, bearing no specific shape, 'tis nothing but a boon. However. . . Something about this strange and impossibly ancient world appears to disrupt your ability, at least at first until you truly assimilate to its wavelength. It seems difficult at first for your odd physiology to morph, yet you manage it regardless much like a drill your body first embeds itself, spitting earth out into the air as you slam with great force. Without muscles, you must use the innate magic of your form to spin, creating a port on one side from which a torrent of air bellows forth, digging you further and further into the ground.
Yet it seems even the land itself regects you, it is no mere soil and sand. Just a few layers deep, the firmament is nothing but hard fossils and harder gems yet still, ancient relics and ruins of creation at the dawn of time and space itself their history and power therin seems to halt your burying. Though you haven't descended nearly as far as you might have wished, still you are submerged in the rock. Though, the keen of eye might very well spot your entryway. This fact does not immediately perturb you though, especially as you feel the magicks of the of purple figure slowly goriwng more and more distant, leaving this massive continent to you and you alone. With that said, the difficulty of entry seems to have kept you from making any significant growth, the absorbtion of the land comes slowly, like all amidst this silent place. Regardless, your position is set, and your roots emerge. Only time will tell whether you are given it, to consume this land.
- Hood - Name: hood
Appearance: your generic human male
Map Color: red
Extra Info/Trivia: lost all muscle control to face.
Primary Mystic Aspect: destruction
Secondary Mystic Aspect: necromancy
Wounds:5/5
Might:3
Skill:3
Willpower:2
Constitution:2
Inventory: robes
I summon a spirit and turn it into a shield around me with my necromancy
I’m in.
FATE'S DECISION - SHIELD OF SPIRITS - 1d10 + 1 (Secondary Aspect) = 9
The sea is cold. . .
The sea is dark. . .
You choke, you sputter, black ooze trickles from your mouth. Only barely had you made it to the dusty shore where ink splotches churn on the surfaces of the quiet sea. Where are you? Where have you been? And how exactly is it that your form has gotten here? Excreted were you from the stuff of the void, a forlorn spirit unbeknownst to the cosmic struggle for divinity underway in this unknown world. All that you were, all that you havc been. . . Extinguished long ago, your soul has long been adrift on the black abyssal sea, only to have emerged here thanks to another unknown force. Perhaps thanks is in order. . .
Your being has been saved from obliteration by this infantessimally small chance in time. don't waste it.
You pick yourself up, water drains from your robes into the sand. You've escaped the undersea labyrinth, yet it is you who calls further upon its power. Your first thought is safety, protection. You bend your will upon the black sea that you've come out of, digging around for another soul like your own adrift in the void. you find just what you're looking for. A ghost of days long past. . . With magicks ingrained within you, it is warped about your very being, a haunting shroud across your body, as endless whispers torment away at your head. . .
The Continent of Monsters is before you.Your spirit shield is strong, and may protect you from minor harm and spiritual attacks!
- Amon -Amon tells the gazelings to EVOLVE.
Amon smiles and snap’s his fingers, Imbuing his flesh with the concept of Undying and resilient, Plus, A touch of perfection.
“I’ll have you know Mister voice, That I have been called a god many times by my sla-Playmates.”
(ooh, Evolution and self enhancement.)
FATE'S DECISION - GAZELING EVOLUTION - 1d10 - 4 (Lack of stimuli) = 4
FATE'S DECISION - SELF ENHANCEMENT - 1d10 + 2 (Primary Aspect) = 3
FATE'S DECISION - BoB's CHAOTIC NATURE - 1d10 + 5 (Master's Willpower) = 8 [REMAINS LOYAL]
Those little orbs they playfully roll about your moving island and the back of Basalt Beast without much focus as it drifts further and further from the western continent, toward the starlit throne. The oculus creatures gaze here, gaze there. Those that fall in the sea abaft dissappear into the still waters, perhaps they adapt to the movements of the sea, you kinger not thereupon. But those whom keep from clumsily leaping to the abyssal depths change little. Rocks, dust, land. . . There is little here that does not simply compose their extant beings, even those that set their sight upon you seem to remain as they are, something about your being repels their abilities.
They're amusing but. . . Their potential is stifled here.
So you turn inward, magick swirls about your fingertips, with a single precise movement, you pierce your own chest, blood again dripping onto the land below. The veins in your fingers pulse as spells work to change the very concepts within that flesh of yours. Some resilance comes perhaps, the air flow feels lessened upon your skin as it becomes ever so thicker. Yet. . . Undyingness. . . You feel no different, perhaps it would suit you to obliterate yourself and find out? Perfection? Again, no change. Your hubris is not so great to imagine yourself already as perfect so perhaps such illusory concepts are beyond you at this moment. Perhaps it could be worth another try. Or perhaps your time would be better spent destroying the seven other mystics in this world.
Wherever your mind takes you, it is clear that your magicks have borne little fruits.
- Dr. Unpleasant -"So it seems I'm not alone here, but why out of all things make yellow squirrel out of squares?"
Ignore the squirrels for now and go back to preparing my troops, by creating mighty steeds for them to ride into battle, these steeds should be built from the same stone that was used to create the weapons and look like armoured horses.
FATE'S DECISION - CREATING STEEDS - 1d10 + 2 (Primary Aspect) =
12!FATE'S DECISION - IMBUING LIFE - 1d10 =
5Yellow squirrels? You pay no mind to such nonsense, although in the back of your head, the idea that a mystic weaving such utter nonsense could have found themselves engaged in a struggle for godhood is unsettling. You push the thought aside; your army requires yet another advantage. . .
The black shroud of your coat ripples in thermal air, as you step deeper into the first caldera. Perhaps there is energy to this static place after all. The warmth is somewhat pleasant upon your skin, better than the sticky humidity in this still place. You find the perfect pillar of dacite, hard volcanic rock that it is. Your mind is focused, your hate for this world instantly shreds the first stone, mere moments before the shape of a great horse is stamped from the earth. Then another, and then another. It is soon enough that your puppets of ash, each bearing their own arms and armour, are equalled in number by these beast of burden.
Stone steeds stand still for their soot masters whom at your command, mount them in unison. But that is not all you do, remenant power within your hands arcs into another seepage of lava long ago that has turned to obsidian of deepened black. It carves sharpened blades and affixes them the legs of the Gray Horses, like scythes to cut at those they charge. You look upon your army of earth and ash, satisfied.Ashen Idols are now MOUNTED: This created sits upon a steed, [Gray Horses]. They gain the ability to traverse land quickly, as well as bonuses to battling units who stand smaller than the stature of their steed. - In this case, large horses.
- Clesydros -Just go back and read me why don't ya??
FATE'S DECISION - ISLAND TRANSLOCATION - 1d10 + 1 (Secondary Aspect) + 1 (The First Slate) =
5In one moment you gaze upon the crystalline bodies of your perfect golems. Still sucking in a calming breathe for the struggle you'd put upon them. As light warps through their motionless body, it reveals another land just upon the horizon. It requires focus some, yes, the smallest hill makes itself clear in the warping vision. You blink once, and there you are. Drained some as it were, having no detailed memory of this place. You thank your lucky stars that twist about the Cosmic Throne for just moment, glad to not have materialized in the earth here itself.
That earth. . . Your eyes refocus, hazy from the transport, upon it. From behind their veiled hood, the sight they are shown is one quite different from the island stripped bare. Here there is substrate infact, dirt so to speak. It has weight to it, the semblance of life. Dry as it may be, you follow the threads of being deep within it, the center of this small island reveals something unexpected to you. There, where nothing else grows, the smallest of saplings, just barely green suffers under the red sun. It begs for death, yet somehow has clung to existance. You decide without hesitation that this is where you'll center your magic.
It is not your greatest speciality, but with the slate in hand and ambitions for creation, you weae the strange threads that twist between the still air of this nameless world. A thousand, a thousand upon a thousand, a thousand upon a thousand upon a thousand, and evermore, these are the intwined webs of particles, the neurons of the Nameless World from which you travel. It takes time, time enough for the Red Giant to begin its slow winding down, and yet, you find it. A great ubble expands from your body, an astral blue, it covers much of the land. Then again you at last blink those eyes, and with it, the isle is split with a massive upheaveal. Yet in the next moment again all is still. You again look upon your homonculi, yet have merged the landmasses so. It seems the weak sapling is yet unharmed. Most unsettling of all, you're unable to percieve its future.
- ? -Give a hand to the one within the Abyss.[Recruit: Give unto them a measure of the unknowable within, to one who has withheld loss, known it, but not succumbed to it.]
"I was, and am not, But what is lost need not be mourned. In this world there are those who seek that title, however I have no use for it. One who has fallen, will you join your will to mine?"
FATE'S DECISION - RECRUIT LONE SOLDIER - 1d10 + 1 (Willpower)=
11!She is despondant at first, there is no magick known to mortals that could possibly divine what untold aeons the regal soldier has withstood under the infinite durress of the abyssal void. Yet. . . The fact that she has not been consumed by it tells of the strength she once bore. A hand outstreched is a hand taken. The strong features upon her face melt away as your grips interlock. Yours is being of emptiness, and yet, as you help her to her feet, you feel a swell within you. It is minute however, merely a drop that sends its ripples up your voided consciousness. Perhaps the first moment that makes you feel truly alive, even across this dead plane.
"I too had a name once. . ." Her voice trails off, dispersing from the balcony into the pit. All crests and regalia have been stripped from her shadowy armour, and even so a strong identy lingers within, one that your onyx hand has seemingly awoken. "As you say, it is meaningless now. But, may I call you something?" She asks, the words fall off her age-worn lips, "May I call you a friend?" Those are all the words she has to offer, no true answer to your question, and yet her intentions are sharp and clear. She stands beside you, a strength welling within her, one that perhaps told the story of legions, of wars, of royalty, long and distant now, no more than a shrouded memeroy. But her strength yet stands. She is the first monster to be borne of your dungeons. And her will is as yours.Population - Solitary
Stature - Average Humanoid
Notes: A woman whom bore the torment of purgatory across the void. Her world consumed by it in days long ago. She walks with a regal bearing, and bears deep strength within her. On Turn Three, the voided god '?' befriended her, and their wills entertwined.
Wounds - 3/3
Might - 2
Skill - 3
Hardiness - 2
Willpower - 4
EQUIPMENT: This creature bears well-crafted armour, wreathed now in shadow thanks to her days swimming in the soup of Ephemeral souls that is the void. On her side, she bears a long estoc, whose emblem has long worn away.
LEADER: This creature can rally others to her cause, when commanding other creatures, she gains a static +1 to rolls.
- Yellow Pixel -"At present, a jolly natural habitat for the yellow squirrels is gradually emerging, wich is good. But it is a very slow process, and the multitudinous rattles of my small pals ask for bananas, heaps of bananas! And they want them now!"
"So I shall make a giant pixel banana tree spring up from the ground under me, and it shall become the safe and succulent haven of the .squirrels! Besides, it will also provide a magnificent vantage point over all the world around!"
FATE'S DECISION - GREAT BANANA TREE - 1d10 + 2 (Primary Aspect) = 4
What are your adorably yellow subjects if not for a glorious seat of power? As bananas begin to take root, emerging as mangroves upon the shores of this island, you begin your working for something greater. In your 8-Bit mind, you intend to empower your creations, and just as well gain sight over the world. The Creator of Creators long ago set this painful, meaningless excistence into fruition. Now, as the most distant ancestor of the beginning here in this Nameless, still, World. You are certain to make the next attempt at creation one of wholly goodness.
You force yourself into the earth, you the boxy little yellow pixel becomes the seed. Your .squirrels halt their playful jumping and climbing of the two dimensional trees in order to join hands, surrounding your mystic body in a circle there in the little savahanna you've created. In unison, they joyously begin to hop and dance, and sing their little hearts. The magic therein their lovely nature emboldens you in slight, yet much has been taken out of your power with the creation of the groves and creatures.
Still you bend your will upon one sight, a mighty tree. Then! There at once your body splits in two, your consciouness enwrapped by one side of the pixely yellow box. The other grows tall, and taller still, and yet it does not emerge as the massive tree you had hoped. Merely another sapling, yet one alone with great promise. As you and the .squirrels admire this sight of new life, the bannana trees you'd planted before just barely begin to fruit.
- The Nameless World -The Red Giant begins to set. . .
The first night you mystics experience upon this still world comes soon.FATE'S DECISION - MONSTERS OF THE DEN - 1d10 = 2
FATE'S DECISION - MONSTERS OF THE APATHETIC KEEP - 1d10 = 3
FATE'S DECISION - MONSTERS OF THE INKFIELDS - 1d10 = 10!
The lands to the east remain empty, yet deep within they fester.
However, just beyond the shore, where Hood has emerged from the black sea, it seems their prescense has disturbed something from the furthest reaches of the void. Hood can bare witness to the massive swell of the dark waters abaft, though he cannot tell what lurks below. Nor do they wish to truly know. Whatever there lies, great waves at last break upon the Continent of Monsters, soddening the eastern most firmament, wetting the long fossilised grass for new life. . .
(( Forgive the great delay everyone, my short errands turned into an eight hour sojurn in repairing a friend's truck. But, now that I'm covered in grease and sufficiently inebriated, I offer you this humble post! ))
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Topic: The Cosmic Throne: A Magic Battle Royale -- TURN 14 (Read 25694 times)