TURN ELEVENCrash, the tide!
Quake, the land!
Loathe thy pride,
'Tis a Creator's demand!
- '?' - &
- Hood -FATES COLLIDE! - HOOD VS. '?' - ENTROPIC BEAM -- 1d10 + 3 (Might) + 1 (Secondary Aspect) =
10!NOTHINGNESS RAY -- 1d10 + 5 (Might) + 2 (Primary Aspect) =
11!Countless eyes now flutter through the bleak sky where little clouds of fungal dust settle from the explosive waves. The Chrome Bits sporadically dart towards the Abyssal Sailor, steadying herself with yawning gait. Bound by the Abyssal Sailor, the smooth-cut spheres of enchanted marble set their automized sights upon the earth below where their titantic foe rose from its inky tomb. At last its great footfall shakes the land, skittering off the vermin of Woe's Den, the Barrowhold Giant stands tall as the stuff of the abyss sloughs off its piecemeal bones.
"Reload, reload!" The Lone Soldier cries, commanding the ardent Beastkin aboard her vessel. Her gaze is not one to overlook, bearing witness to those devils of pure entropy, obliterating the sky as they move in swift toward the Abyssal Sailor. "Crew!" She barks in their tongue, "Ready thine swords, for her!" Another resounding cheer echoes through the hold of the pulsating stone ship, those reverberating voidblades are drawn! Then, just before the moment of their clash arrives, the Lone Solider's eyes widen, in the distance, back down upon the fossilized earth; a brilliant vermillion glow grows. It grows and grows from within the chest of the skeletal giant, all its makeshift ribs of ancient bone creaking and twisting, reshuffling to focus that power. She cannot even utter a word of warning, neither to the Beastkin, nor to one of the Chrome Bits to be carried on to their saviour.
Scarlett wrapped in the dusk, a concentrated beam, entropic in nature streaks out with all haste from the titan's chest. It sears past the Abyssal Sailor, setting the sky ablaze into a sea of violent colour. Her eyes trace it's path beyond them, near in slow motion, as the beam rips toward the many-spired keep. All the false-life was sucked from her face. . . Until so too had another concentratated pillar of magicks ripple from the highest tower of the stronghold, pumping arterial abysm through its master. The non-light of her counterattack, made with mere moments to spare, collided first with the destructive beam half-way past the quarry.
Like as not. . . Gods are they amongst men.
The struggle rivalled the explosion just before, and then quickly surpased it. Pure destructive energy meeting with the utter decay of nothingness above the Continent of Monsters threatened so to tear the firmament asunder. Back and forth did the billowing beams twist and twirl in amongst one another, a play at dominance, homeostasis between the unfathomable powers -- Should one overtake the other, woe begot for this Nameless World. The Abyss drunk in destruction as it drunk in the gaze, creeping further slow, further toward the coast, while the crimson glow rendered that void as naught beyond naught, and all that stood where the two spells entwined rendered its existence evermore. LONE SOLDIER RESISTS OBLITERATION -- 1d10 + 2 (Hardiness) =
8BEASTKIN RESIST OBLITERATION -- 1d10 + 2 (Hardiness) =
4CHROME BITS RESIST OBLITERATION -- 1d10 + 3 (Hardiness) =
7ELEMENTALS RESIST OBLITERATION -- 1d10 + 1 (Hardiness) + 2 (Composition) =
12!FORGOTTEN RESIST OBLITERATION -- 1d10 + 2 (Hardiness) =
12!BARROWHOLD RESISTS OBLITERATION -- 1d10 + 3 (Hardiness) =
9Under the immense duress of entropy and nothingness mingling with force through the sky, those marble spheres reoriented towards the stone vessel, the Lone Soldier turns about, "Bring this ship around!" She cried, yet half of her crew had vanished -- their souls and bodies unable to cling to this world where these forces met. Still the elementals dove after the Abyssal Sailor, albiet their path briefly interuptted. While unable to move, should Hood's spell be disrupted, the Barrowhold Giant remained firmly planted, it's bones ever slowly decaying as the crimson beam continued to ripple forth from its chest. The Skeletal Forgotten braced against their master's back, keeping the mystic steady, locked into this duel with the unknown foe beyond the horizon. . .Beastkin -- Population: Numerous -> Some
- Clesydros - The mighty Kruvios continue their work uninterupted, block after block, stone after stone, with nothing but a mere image in your mind for the construction's foundation, the diamantine servants have put it to action unceasingly. But that's all they were, puppets of your will. Puppets of immutable form and strength yes, but puppets nonetheless. So again your thoughts turn toward the crystalline Kosmites, whom serve much of the same purpose as their larger kin, if just on a greater scale. It seems almost criminal not to further differentiate them, and eve nmore so. . . Not to test out the enchantment you weaved, channeling the might of this realm and of the tablet. So, with your mind set on the task, you open the Timepiece--
--eceipemiT eht nepo uoY
2 = (etalS tsriF ehT) 1 + 01d1 - TCELLETNI GNIUBMI - NOISICSED SETAF
FATES DESCISION - IMBUING INTELLECT - 1d10 + 1 (The First Slate) = 7
With the slate in hand, you've designs on a web, an extent psyche to be shared between the many. You raise it above your head, casting a portion of your mind into it and attempt to channel the spell outward upon the crystal men. Yet. . . Now, in this moment you feel the toil of their labor, sense the gliding of their solid joints, the thoughts of primative emerging minds. Nothing like that of you own, crude, instinctual, yet all shared. Shared through their mirrored bodies, shared through the echoes of time, shared through you. There is not some grand upheval at these nascent minds, no, the Kosmites continue to work without delay, slowly does their excavation techniques morph, keeping the sand and soot from burying their progress. You've no doubt that through you, these creatures could expand theis hive mind so to speak, to access the mental records of one another, of you. The Kosmites gain the COLLECTIVE INTELLECT trait and lose MINDLESS; These creatures are mentally bound to one another, able to learn from their collective experiences, as of yet this the full potential theeof is untapped. You stumble, Clesydros, nearly falling to the ground as you tightly clutch the Enchanted Timepiece. The memories of your spell pang in your head with a slight pain, mixing with the strange connection you have to these creatures. After being drained so, you find it difficult to muster the same strength to cast magicks yet more. Regardless, it was a good test, even if unecissary. It would seem that the Timepiece will shine brightest under duress.
Otherwise of note, it would seem that the Time Crystals have begun creeping up the base of the Anomolous Sapling, which thanks to Maria's aid, seems to have doubled in size and bears a healthy glow.
- Shapeless Apparition - FATES DESCISION - GAZELINGS RESISTING ASSIMILATION - 1d10 + 3 (Hardiness) =
4FATES DESCISION - FLAMES WITHIN - 1d10 + 4 (Hardiness) =
9Still the azure fires wrapping each of those little fleshballs signe and bubble within you semi-solid body, painful to whatever nerves float through that shapeless form. But as of yet, no more than an inconvieniance. Still, you've no telling of what information they could possibly relay to their creator, let alone how they'd gotten down here below the earth. No better a time to be rid of them. With one great push and concerted effort, the density of your body increases and increases, billowing out any aeration, crunching inward like a great vice. First smothering those mystic unquenchable flames, and then the Gazelings. In a few moments more all their particles are dissolved within you, each little molecule stinking of an unknown foe's magick disperse into your being. At first, all is well.FATES DESCISION - RESIST CHAOTIC SURGE?! - 1d10 + 4 (Willpower) =
13!FATES DESCISION - SPAWNING BUDS - 1d10 + 1 (Second Aspect) =
7Then, as your body settles and expands once more, the briefest tic shudders across that evergrowing mass. Such. . . Awful food were those Gazelings, in a sense they give you a sort of integestion, but quickly does it subside. Then, in their form do you expel sphereoid blobs much like them. Rolling about this ruined collesseum, the blobs idly roll about, having no true motive or will, yet their emergence does reduce your total size to some degree, regardless these creations are very much what you'd desired. Still from on high above, through the cavern ceiling your body fell through, a number of pusling strands continue to pump yet more of the earth into your shapelessness. Shapeless Apparition's Wounds become 10/7!Population - Numerous
Stature - About the size of Apparition before its growth.
Notes: Small rollying blobs of gray matter that listen to the commands of their parent body. While they possess no will of their own, they can still work out basic solutions to problems they encounter.
Wounds - 1/1
Might - 0
Skill - 3
Hardiness - 0
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.
(( Just go ahead and put it into Strik3rs template. ))
- Amon - 
FATES DESCISION - IMBUING LIFE - 1d10 + 2 (Primary Aspect) + 3 (Cosmic Throne) + 1 (Luck) =
15!!FATES DESCISION - IMBUING ELDRITCH - 1d10 + 2 (Primary Aspect) + 3 (Cosmic Throne) + 1 (Luck) =
16!!FATES DESCISION - IMBUING COSMIC - 1d10 + 2 (Primary Aspect) + 3 (Cosmic Throne) + 1 (Luck) =
10!You wipe the seepage of blood from your mouth, from your face, as the stone below drinks it dry. Though granted power, this power has come at a price, you feel weak in the knees as you stagger upright. Gazey looks on toward you with nothing but concern, while the Beast of Basalt merely sits unmoving, observing its master with an air of boredom. No grand wizard, nor mage, nor mystic or any of the like has ever become truly powerful without spilling a little blood, so you confide in yourself, a devilishly idea creeping across your face. Certainly, the true resoration of flesh and blood are magicks that transcend mortality, a concept that even the eight of you all must wrestle with, a concept that Amon believes can be overcome. . ! One open hand weakly lifts, reaching out toward the monolithic slatestone of the Cosmic Throne, the veins in your forehead buldge and burst, all manner of focus, all manner of your impeccable will put into this channeling. As if torn from a page, the astral words etched into the Creator's Seat warp with dismay, funneling toward and about you just as the starlight twists around this plataeu. LIFE! The Divine Grammar commands such a concept, integral to all that is, with a word it flows into your robes and your bleeding form, granting a falsity to the threads in your royal purple robes. At once the bundles of cloth from the upper half of you body unravels leaving your skin exposed to the frigid night air of the heights. As spools snake about you, Gazey can't help but look away from your dessicated flesh. Then, the threads pierce your wounds, flitting through you body wracked with pain yet more, stitching all the lesions together by the purple cloth of your robe. Amon regains 1 wound! -- (( As an aside, if you feel this doesn't meet the standards of a roll of 16, I did mention in the OP that healing yourself instantly can be quite a difficult task, possibly to prevent some forms of abuse. ))
Standing there, heavy of breathe, your flesh stiched back together, still you deign to call upon the Throne whom denies you so. Enraged by the ancient commandments of an unknown creator, you rend the stars and the space so warped about this aeons olde place, drawing all the power therein to your exposed flesh. The pain is even greater still than blood price demanded for your actions. . . "Learned thy lesson, have we?" Sarcastically quips the titan of stone, whoms words fall upon your deaf ears. From the tips of your fingertips it begins -- the cosmos itself, from the silvery shine of the moon, to distant galaxies and nebulae, their sight climbs across you and laquers your human form, it is like the searing of suns that cauterize your flesh below this exoskeleton of deep space. Then again you fall to your knees, unable to bear its weight for a time, your back ripples and shudders as if maggots squirm 'neath that star strewn skin. Four sets of grasping fingers pierce through from, tearing your back apart. These four arms join your own in unison, in this mockery of the Creator's shape you words and ambitions for the Throne have beset upon you. . . Amon gains a TRANSCENDANT ASPECT: ASTRAL -- When casting astrally aligned magicks, he gains a +3 to such rolls. This addition does not stack with the channeling of the Cosmic Throne, as it is much one in the same.FATES DESCISION - RESISTING THE THRONE - 1d10 + 5 (Willpower) + 1 (Luck) - 8 (Thirst of the Throne) =
4Your breathing continues to increase in pace, unable to catch itself. Your vision is near dead to the mystifying powers that surround you now. Such overwhelming powers that exceed far beyond your mortal understanding of magick. The merest words could shape universes, the most idle of thoughts bring them to an end. Your arrogance here in this place is your undoing, thinking that you could wield such raw potential by superceeding the Entanglement of the Eight Roots. Continually, the Throne takes back just as much as you'd embibed from it, draining away much of your lifeforce. Amon recieves two wounds! Yet. . . As you finally stand, time passing by, a certain calmness has overtaken you. Amon, your voice echoes ethereally across the land, whilst the runoff of this sacrificial spell ebbs down the length of the marble plataeu. Trickling into the lands deep below where Bedlam doth grow. No more than a drop of this starlight upon the sick hue of chaotic falselife spreading across the newborn land emulsifies it. Stone is softened to that like flesh, trees rip and warp out of the mulberry skin, twisting and gnarled are they whom imitate such life. Oozing from the pustules in the Bedlam are squat longarmed forms, horned, ridged, bearing sharp claws and fangs sharper still. They whom are spawned from the pits of this fetal land need no drink, need no food, yet they hunger for Mystic blood, a craving that demands be sated. They do not know you, their accidental creator, and you not they. Without even waiting to contemplate the meaning of their birth, they tear into one another, spreading the chaotic Bedlam. These creatures, these Methuselah, a name stricken in their guts, they are bound for a world of suffering. . .Population - Many
Stature - Nearly the size of a human.
Notes: Longarmed creatures spawned of the Bedlam, born of Amon's blood. These impish ghouls have no need for food or drink, yet bear an gnawing hunger and thirst. Only even satiated in slight by the taste of magick blood.
Wounds - 2/2
Might - 2
Skill - 3
Hardiness - 3
Willpower - 3
CHAOTIC: There's no telling when this creature might do the unexpected. It's loyalty is difficult to maintain.
INTELLIGENT: This is no mere animal.
MAGICK VAMPIRISM: This creature is emblodened and restored by magickal essence.
- Dr. Unpleasant - FATES DESCISION - RAISING DEAD - 1d10 + 1 (Secondary Aspect) =
10!Just as you command, the stout Enkindled Ones, who perhaps bore some measure of skill in life, begin to quarry out the clay-like mud that you'd flash-dried moments ago. Thanks to their massively swelling numbers, these ashen zombies make short work of it. Battlelines are drawn between the castle and the caldera where your forces remain, trenches two-men deep begin to form and makeshift walls of the brick-like material are quickly stood up, with the Volcano tomb set as the innermost keep. That shelter will no doubt save you and your soldiers some time. So, as you await the refreshment of the Ruby-Eye, closed shut as it is, you cast another sweeping spell across the land. The powers of death streaking again deep into the earth where so many of the dead are encased. As before, the soil trembles, and new pockmarked holes are spawned where the muddy soot remains. Skeletal claws, hands, and hoofs all shamble up from their earthen graves to join you and your ilk in falselife once more. However, after your channeling subsides, and you take stock of newly arrived skeletons, each and all of them begging to destroy the beacons of joy to the east, you come to realize that much of this land's dead now is mostly likely under your control.Hateful Dead -- Population: Extinct -> Many
- Yellow Pixel - FATES DESCISION - JUMPING SPIDERS - 1d10 + 2 (Primary Aspect) =
11!There goes one. . . There goes another! Blocky spiders of yellow goodness and frenetic happy energy! Hardly the icky, spooky monsters one might normally expect from arachnids, no! Not at all. These beefy creatures hop and skip and flutter through the dungeon of the Banana Castle, crushing the already destroyed bones of the Hateful Dead under each leap. Soon, the .squirrels return to check on their happy king, and in seeing the new life borne, immediately being hopping alongside them! Its clear after some time, that the .squirrels make perfect riders for both the Jumping Spiders and Pixel Falcons in kind, should the need ever arise for them to be mounted of course. Then, grasping at your blocky form, one of the two dimensional squirrels appears to beg you to come to the battlements. Of course, you follow the critter alongside and eventually come out before the stoic falcons whom overlook the lands to the west. The sight beyond the horizon is that of your detestable foe preparing for war, their undead pawns growing more numerous by the moment. Looking back, toward the east, the frolicking .squirrels munching on bananas through the pixelated grass, the near-fully grown Great Banana Tree looming over the island. . . It all fills you with an overwhelming urge to protect these good things that you've worked to create.Population - Numerous
Stature - Larger than a human.
Notes: Spiders composed of many yellow pixel blocks bearing wide smiling faces, the same block that made up the Banana Castle. Their legs are composed of pure arcs of joy, and their leaps/kicks are incredibly powerful for their size!
Wounds - 2/2
Might - 4
Skill - 2
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.
TWO DIMENSIONAL: This creature only exists in two dimensions, bearing just height and length!
LONGSTRIDER: Traverses land at a quick pace.
- Maria 'Habitat' Violet - FATES DESCISION - CREATING CRABS - 1d10 + 2 (Primary Aspect) =
4You take in a deep breathe Maria, the air here is clean and reeks not of the stagnancy that is so prevalent in this Nameless World. For a time, you rest 'midst the grasses, watching both the movements of the sea and the fields. In that time, you nearly forget that this world exists now merely to host the bloodsports of different worlds, all brought together for the expressed purpose of creating a new divine being. . . Such a lofty thing, divinity. What is it that makes up a 'Creator'? After all, here you are granting new life to this dead place. The matters are put aside, coming up with a new idea to connect the ecosystems, diversity that can transition between the two. And so you set yourself to the sandy shore and collect a few strong smooth stones. Before long, under the setting light of the moon above, you've collected a good handful, and to them you speak firmly a few kind words, casting the stones gently into water, worms disperse by the disturbance. Yet. . . No beasts emerge, at least not yet. Magick most definitely emenates from the stones, but rather than take on the shape of great armored crabs, the spheres have transformed into a mound, a large clutch of eggs that shimmer, brimming with lives deep within. The sight doesn't dampen your spirits in the least, only a brief delay where this seed has been planted, much like the flower earlier. You're a patient sort Maria, much unlike many of the other mystics who now call this plane home. Then, the sea begins to pick up, for the first time the ocean crashes onto the rocky shores of your isle, brilliant light cascades across the horizon to the southeast where a destructive play is acting out, shockwaves of turmoil casting across the land. It's dire, such mighty power, yet at the least it's clear that whatever great mystics are clashing have no time nor focus to come you way.
(( Sorry I didn't put any of the new creatures in the neat templates, I just don't feel like doing the work on my phone to be perfectly honest. I'm sure you all can handle that part anyhow, I trust ya. Notably, I tried reconfiguring the map to be more legible in some regards, it was quickly getting out of hand, there will be a host of upgrades to it as we move on provided I can actually work up the willpower to do so, haha! Hope you guys enjoyed this one, it took surprisingly long for me to write certain actions. ))
Author
Topic: The Cosmic Throne: A Magic Battle Royale -- TURN 14 (Read 26639 times)