TURN NINESee you, oh mystic,
See thine blood spilt,
See this game sadistic,
Let one bear this guilt.
- ? - FATES DESCISION - CARVING BLOCKS - 1d10 + 2 (Skill) =
5FATES DESCISION - ENCHANTING THE STONE - 1d10 + 2 (Primary Aspect) =
9That nameless Lone Soldier raises a shadowed hand in salute, her sharply featured-face is not one that shows any hint of fear for the onyxian, fallen god that she has chosen to follow. In moments she is barking at the quarrying Beastkin in a facsimile of their squealing rat-tongue. And just the same in a few moments more, they've gathered what great slabs of fossil stone they could muster from this place and begin their workings. Though precise tools avail them, it seems these tribalistic cavern dwellers are the crafty sort. Despite that of course, having never truly seen a ship, at least nothing the likes of what '?' has in mind, their grasp on creating the most elegant of designs eludes them. Still, with the aid of the Lone Soldier's leadership, they've come up with a crude rendering, pieces of one that the regal soldier once knew.
The silvery-haired mystic gazes upon the work of her followers, perhaps not as massive as one would hope, only so much can be expected from the forlorn souls of these beastmen. It will do. And so, with the wriggling of her fingers, the mystic's magicks are beset upon each chunk, rippling veins that stretch out over the hull, the bow, the mast and so on, each stone taking on a mockery of organic life. Their organs as inky pustules within the rock, their blood flowing as the void through arteries. Together this web of abysm strung the ship into one great piece. The Abyssal Sailor, to whom all of this Nameless World would come to know. Easily it could stow the numerous Beastkin as '?'s magicks deigned it to rise, a thin veil of black, like silk stretching across its masts. It drank of the sky and was christened forth above the quarry for its maiden flight.The Abyssal Sailor; can store a population of 'Numerous' as it's 'crew' though it seems to require a magickal connection in order to be piloted beyond the means of a normal sailing ship.
- Amon - FATES DESCISION - GAZEY GROW STRONG - 1d10 + 1 (Luck) =
8FATES DESCISION - CONCEPTUAL IMBUING - 1d10 + 2 (Primary Aspect) + 1 (luck) =
8"Stronger. . ?" Does the colossus question, it's rumbling voice vibrating throughout that basalt form. One might even say it took a tinge of offense to its master's words.
"Amon. . . Whom hath wrought mine eyes, I cannot make something of naught." BoB's tone is not the agressive kind, merely stating its mind, newly expanded as it has become.
"Shouldst thee choose thine words more a careful sort, lest ye forget whose back thou art upon." As the mystic enshrouded in purple continued his work putting together a more livable shelter upon the beast's back, sweat beaded down his brow.
"Ooh don't listen to this ol' sourpuss boss!" called out the Gazeling as he focused upon you.
"I'll show him, it's simple!" His massive cyclopean eye did not budge from watching you work, taking in the full breadth of what such toil meant. When again you turn to look upon Gazey, their mass has swelled, their stone-skinned legs now imaculate and muscled like the marble statues of antedeliuvien heroes.
Gazey's might increased by +1!At last, BoB's ceaseless movements have crested the three of you to the top of the immeasurably tall stone plataeu. It is withered and cracked by mosses and ivy grown in a specular shade of indigo. From here, far above the land, your sight can take in all of this Nameless World. Scattered islands and continents long eroded by time's march. Once perhaps great nations, the first of creation. Such a peaceful, overwhelming sight. One that many a traveller could ruminate on for ages at a time. Yet you've no such desire, Amon. Here high above you can feel the great emnate powers of the world struggling now for dominance all around you, below in the Nameless World where they conspire, each and all their blood must be spilled should you wish all the power of the cosmos. . . The throne stands even taller, crude perhaps, cruder a construction than one would have expected. Little more than a few massive slatestones shaped to the form of a seat, it's size rivaling the Beast of Basalt, a titan's throne no doubt. There, upon each surface of the throne does sit countless a carven tome, each indecipherable text aglow with starlight. A missing chunk meets your gaze at the seat's height, damaged perhaps in wars long forgotten. Here, before the Cosmic Throne, it's unknown power awash, you do just as expected of thee, and beesech it with thy will.
First you magicks cascade from the top of the plataeu and rain down an unrelenting dust across the seven pillars surrounding this height, dominion, ownership, such fickle subjective terms. Even as you feel strengthened here, emboldened by the sight of the Throne, you cannot discern any changes to this place nor to your servents. So then of course those piercing eyes of blue fall upon this seat of universal power. The very moment you weave your spell, is the very moment you are rebuked. Blown back with force so great as to shatter the form of lesser men by sheer mysticality alone. Gazey plants one muscular stone leg firm into the ground, managing to catch you before your descent with the other.
"I-I don't know about this boss. . ." He remarks, wavering,
"My eye. . . It's blinding my dang eye!"[/i]
- Maria 'Habitat' Violet - FATES DESCISION - GROWING ALGAE/KELP - 1d10 + 2 (Primary Aspect) =
5Great Hoppers and Mantids alike continue their eternal dance of predator and prey among the tall, fast-growing grass quickly overtaking the entirety of this isle. Their populations, though in flux here or there seem to be remaining stable, slowly growing if that. Knowing this, your conjecture makes it clear that provided conditions remain the same, the light drizzles, the verdant fields, and no booms occur, this homeostasis should result in both the creatures' populations increasing to the next tier. It's a welcome thought when ominous magicks continue to grow to the southeast, perhaps soon to come into conflict with yours.
So, after a brief delay of consideration, you move away from the time crystals which now sit in this island's center, moving to the healthiest blades of grass you can find. To your knees you fall and begin digging away with your hands. Moments later, a bundle of good strong roots are within your grasp. To loamy shores you traipse, to your catalyst you blow a single breathe, then cast the roots into the quiet sea. Honeyed words imbue the waters with green life. The seeds of an algal bloom, a buffer before the oncoming abyssal storm. Just as your disappearing back into these shaded groves, you come across a little bud unlike the tall grasses. It must be the new type of flower you'd seeded! It grows low to the earth, about the size of your fist at that. Your sure it'll bloom when next the light of the red sun is ast down upon it!
- Clesydros - FATES DESCISION - KRUVIOUS EXCAVATION - 1d10 + 5 (Might) =
15!!The numerable Kosmites continue their digging, their elongated pick-like arms of shimmering crystal making sure work of the silty earth below, yet without any proper structure to their job, the work is still slow-going. At the very least, it is passive progress. Uncovered here or there are a number of the ruinous dwellings, ancient marble hovels in which all but rock has long rotted away. Whom here once drew breathe? Whom stood as the few of creation's first, ancestors in the oldest fashion. But whilst the Kosmites do their job acceptably so, it is the Kruvios that prove their worth in crystalline weight. Showing full well all the mystic focus beset upon them, these great transparent hulks heft perfectly hewn blocks of the olde marble from which composes these ruins. In no time at all, long forgotten homes are taken apart at the mortar and gathered in swift to the east. Then, where no more marble lay for the Kosmite's respectively slow digging, the Kruovios take to shattering their earth under foot, casting great boulders up from the sand and soot and putting those to the pile just as well. [/i]
FATES DESCISION - ENCHANTED TIMEPIECE - 1d10 + 2 (Primary Aspect) + 1 (The First Slate)=
9It is not long at all before your servants have gathered nigh-on a towers worth of material, before even the silver light above dare wanes. As your eyes have comfortably set on their beauteous forms, your mind works on other endeavours, a handful of the inversely growing crystal in your palm. With a will you gaze upon the dense structure of this elusive material, seeing in it the countless aeons it has crossed through to return to you here in this present. How far back will the spell's cascade travel you wonder? Will the Creator of Creators themself look upon a nascent timecrystal gathering motes of debris to it? Your areas of expertise beg such questions, time and space drip with infinite possibilities. And thus you feel you must put to the crystal in your hand such concepts. Crushing the dense component in your hand with force, it's shape becomes that of a locket, or an image of one at least. As you opne that palm and look upon the perfect oval, like that of a delicately cut gem, it gazes back at thee. And to those sunken eyes it grants you again the sight of your mighty Kruovios dredging stones from the untapped earth. When you blink, you find that you are watching the same event play out before you, as it had moments ago. As marble blocks and boulders are hauled to the east. . .Clesydros has created the 'Enchanted Timepiece'! This artefact allows its holder to re-roll a 'FATE'S DECISION' from the turn prior within a limited range. This effect is NOT limited to actions made exclusively by the wielder. Whatever the direct outcome of the original effect is will be replaced with the newly-rolled effect next turn, as well as all the butterfly effects that occur therein. NOTE: This is considered a magickal action and will count against 'stretching thin' should the wielder attempt anything else that turn.
- Dr. Unpleasant - FATES DESCISION - RUBY-EYE STAFF - 1d10 =
7It is just as you say, the dwarf-like embered zombies do not even have the mind to consider the pain as the grasp the thick metal chain wrapping the gem stone. It is torn away with little effort, further searing their already ash-like bodies, doing little more than to fill the stagnant cavern air with a further burning stench. In one of the Enkindled's hands, the ruby sets them searingly alight, though no damage comes to the creature. At last you set your eyes upon a cermonial spear of olde, held by one of the honored dead you've risen. It's haft a pure oxidized bronze. Using the emnant heat of the artefact, the spearhead is re-forged into two tines that are twisted and clasped about either side of the gem. A staff no-doubt, a locus of firey magicks from a by-gone era. From glowing white to dull metal at the end of the constructed piece, this 'Ruby-Eyed Staff' is still hot to the touch even as heat disspiates down the full length of the haft.FATES DESCISION - CLEAR WEATHER - 1d10 =
10!Such details do not concern you of course, good Doctor. You retreat from the caldera temple, up the twisting halls where now a slide of muddy silt has sunk in thanks to the constant downpour. Again you are soaked by the detestable rain. Before the water's onslaught you focus and furrow your brow one great sweep of the arm casts away all manner of dark cloud on high, allowing the pearlescent light of the moon to cast itself down upon you.
- Yellow Pixel - FATES DESCISION - AVATAR OF JOY - 1d10 + 1 (Secondary Aspect) =
2How you struggle so Yellow Pixel! Thrown off perhaps by the abject disgust that these decayed undead have wrought upon your banana castle, from which the remaining few dig their nails and bony claws in-between pixel block after pixel-block intending to see the structure fall. Some still being caught up in traps, while others ramble on through the bottom levels searching for fresh .squirrel meat to get their fill. All of these utterly negative emotions brought on by the nasty creature disrupt your magicks of joy and happiness. Even as you weave all that you possibly can from the support of your pixelated creatures, you can manage no more than a small orb of light. This sun-like mote floats delicately above the heads of the last remaining zombified creatures, doing little more than casting a pleasant yellow glow upon them. The power drained from your square body has given the Hateful Dead a chance to reach for you!
FATES COLLIDE! - HATEFUL DEAD ATTACK YELLOW PIXEL -
HATEFUL DEAD ATTACK - 1d10 + 2 (Might) = 8
YELLOW PIXEL AVOIDS - 1d10 + 5 (Skill) = 13!
Though your happiness fueled magicks have been draned by the sight, you still manage to escape the filthy grasp of these skeletal ancient dead ones, leaving them for the many traps of the Banana Castle. Unscathed, you attempt to regroup with the .squirrels who've hidden themselves above.
- Hood - FATES DESCISION - RAISE DEAD - 1d10 + 2 (Primary Aspect) - 5 (Stretching Magick Thin) =
7FATES DESCISION - SUMMON ELEMENTALS - 1d10 + 1 (Secondary Aspect) - 5 (Stretching Magick Thin) =
1FATES DESCISION - RECONFIGURE GIANT - 1d10 + 2 (Secondary Aspect) - 5 (Stretching Magick Thin) =
7(( Yes, you rolled three tens, but still keep in mind that attempting more than one dispirate magickal action will result in heavy modifers against you, or even outright failure. Remember this fact going forward. Physical actions are not neccisarily affected by this within reason, but also consider that travel does take some time, which is why though you were able to cross the land quite a ways, you could not begin to sail all in one action. ))
Barely having escaped the threshing jaws of the Lurking Serpents, you've managed to get off mostly unharmed. Your leg still rumbles with pain, though you're certain it's at the very least not been crushed to dust. So you and your few remaning undead continue onward, north from these Inkfields. Along the way, you feel the pull of long forgotten souls pulsing deep within the fossilized earth of this place. Precisely what you need to bolster your force once more. With a crackle of energy, you thrust that spear of yours into the ground, it's power cracking the rocky soil and breaking open the deep, deep tombs of the dead. A good score of skeletal figures creep and climb their way out from the bedrock, elongated limbs and extra joints much like the first of the dead you rose. Their numbers swell again to their earlier size.
It's then that you consider you might need even more power should you hope to face the other mystics. Ephemeral forces of oblivion, elemental in form, in another life you'd seen their worth for the scouring of now forgotten world. But. . . You cannot seem to muster your destructive aspect here and now. Whether its the drain from your earlier spell, or the pain from your wound. For now you settle by re-aranging the bone hull of the Giant, having it reach down and lift you and your little squad into it's chest. The Barrowhold Giant bounds across the coast, yet as it does so, you take note of a dark haze in the air, falling upon all this land. . !FATES COLLIDE! - VOID SPORES -HOOD'S FORTITUDE - 1d10 + 2 (Hardiness) = 7
Firmly you keep your breath held in, unknown to you is the dark haze that drifts with the slow winds across this soiled land. But you do not dare seek to find out. Whatever it is, these snow-like falling spores stink of the infinite dark you'd arrisen from hours ago. Even more the reason to escape this land.
Forgotten: Population -- Few -> Some
- Shapeless Apparition - This one is silent, inert as the odd eyeball creatures dance around in utter panic, immolated by the everburning blue flames of this great subtereanean colloseum. Still it grows, still it schemes.
Author
Topic: The Cosmic Throne: A Magic Battle Royale -- TURN 14 (Read 25874 times)