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[nuker w]

The Wanderer watched with growing interest as the two armys colided in war and watched in wonder a sibling of his made the sky above them flash with lightining and the loud thunder, of which urged them to stopped. He hopped that the urge to stop from the sky would be ignored, as should the battle continue, it would make a wonderful time to ambush the survivors and drag them back to the corruption to work for him. But knowing that joining the fray would not aid his cause at all, he waited for the chance to strike.

[ed boy]

Terron returned to the citadel with a troubled mind. In the world, there was war. It might not be directed at him currently, but it could in the future, and war it prone to harming those not involved in it. Worse still, this was a war of the gods.

As he walked among his people, he was amazed at how fragile they were. With such a small amount of force the bones could be broken, the organs punctured and the life lost. Mortal tools already existed that could tear the flesh and spill the blood, yet it was the gods that were worrying. Mortals could be killed in turn, but these people could provide no threat to one of the other gods.

As he passed by one of the elders, another thought struck him. The elder once had been the most cunning and perceptive of all in the tribe, but now age had dulled the mind, clouded the eye and weakened the arm. The ravages of time were just as much of an enemy as any flesh and blood foe.

Terron ascended the top of the tower and sat on his throne, preparing himself for what was to come. He had a plan, but it would take much of his energies, and he would be drained for some time afterwards.

A pulsing light began to spread throughout the citadel. At first it was dim, but with time it grew and grew. With it came a vibration and a low humming noise, the intensity of which rose and fell with the light. These grew until they reached a cresendo. The light forced all those in the area to screw their eyes shut and shield them, and the humming was loud enough to drive all thought from their heads.

After a few second maintained at this level, it stopped abruptly, though it took some time for those nearby to uncover their eyes and look around. As they did so, they saw a change - previously, the stones of truth had been three clear cyrstals, one in the forehead and one in each hand. Now, though, the stone in the head had disappeared and in its place were four others - a green one, a red one and a blue one formed a triangle, and in the centre of this triangle was a white one.

In the throne room of the tower of light, Terron was slumped in his throne. After a few minutes, he managed to sit upright. This done, he spoke, his voice amplified so all nearby could hear it.
My people, you will have noticed my latest act of servitude. There is war afoot in the world, and with the new stones, you will be better able to weather the hazards that conflict brings.

The first stone is the ruby of vitality. With its power, your bodies shall not fail you. They shall withstand any disease and they shall grow strong. As long as you live, every injury shall heal, though some ones may take a very long time.

The second stone is the emerald of sustenance. With its power, you will not be saddled with the need for any intakes. Food, water, sleep and air you will have no need of with the emerald of sustenance.

The third stone is the sapphire of time. With it, you will be be unwearied by the passing of years. Children shall grow to maturity, but shall not pass into the weaknesses of further aging. Those of you already past that point shall recede in age. Your mind, too, shall be free from the instability and dullness that comes with time.

The final stone is the soulstone. Within it, your soul and very consciousness are contained.

Terron gifts his people with rubies of vitality
Terron gifts his people with emeralds of sustenance
Terron gifts his people with sapphires of time
Terron gifts his people with soulstones

[Evergod41]

The time was approaching, it was practically here, Khan's people sufficiently out-numbered the invaders, but the invaders sufficiently out-talented His people. He didn't have much power after creating His Underling, but hopefully enough to create a supplimental troop. One that with the godly inspiration of Rahisael, would be able to defeat 'The Chosen' without too much more of the suffering that war brings...

Khan landed outside the gates, soldiers inside awaiting the enemy, some out in the fields charging them.

"My people of Dordrath, hear my call, for those of you clad in armour, and wielding weapons, shall gain the experience of a veteran soldier who hath survived many a wars. There is naught more I can do at this time, but may the strength of your own arms guide you to victory!."

Khan also put on a show whilst creating more, familiar, ghostly apparitions. They sprouted from the ground, faceless men, weilding long-swords and tower-shields. They would not last long against a direct hit, but they were skilled with the shields they bore, and could deflect many hits. Feeling these apparations now deserved a name, for being used a second time, and more numerously, Khan entitled them, The Kagemusha.

Khan gives the soldiers within Dordraths walls experiance of soldiers who have been through many wars
Khan creates more faceless soldiers, now called The Kagemusha

[Lordinquisitor]

Rahisael sighed.

The Charge came to an halt again. Seemed like Khan wanted to help his soldiers after all; And now it seemed impossible to follow through with his old plan. He briefly considered raining down fire and brimstone on Dordrath, but quickly dismissed that thought.

Now it was time for a new plan. Again. But this plan was even better than the ones before.

It now seemed virtually impossible for the men of Dordrath to lose the fight. So, if they were going to win anyway he could at least put up a show.

The unnamed soldier disappeared and Rahisael appeared in front of the soldiers, wearing his blood spattered armor and brandishing his blood dripping spear. He was at least three heads taller than the biggest soldier on the field. The Din of battle filled the air.

"And you brave men of Dordrath have my favor, too. I, Rahisael, support your cause. Those cowards hide there, too afraid to attack the city for they are weak. I despise weakness. We will drive those cowards from your home. Take heart! Take your weapon! Take Revenge! Take lives!"

Rahisael could see that more and more soldiers were leaving the city, lining up for battle. This time they were no disorderly mob, but a disciplined and well equipped army.

He produced a spear; Aimed into the sky and threw it with godly strength. The spear came down and pierced one of the lowblood skirmishers waiting for the attack. The wind carried his cries of pain to the city and the soldiers rejoiced. Now was the time to attack.

"Attack Soldiers! For Dordrath! For Freedom! For Bloodshed!"

[Caesar]

Worran was a champion. A life dedicated to honor and to combat had turned him into a walking myriad of old wounds and missing fingers. Among the greatest warriors he stood like a giant, his head and shoulders protruding above the mass of bronze-clad soldiers. In one hand he bore a short sword, forged by order of the king himself. The other arm was bound in bronze scales over layers of leather and cotton. At first sight his arm seemed eerily similar to the scaly arms of the monstrosities they would soon fight, yet when better looked at, one would notice that the hand itself went covered by nothing but a thin bandage.
It was what had made him famous. Worran was not only a fighter, but also a tactician at heart. He used dirty trick after dirty trick to fell his opponent. With his scaled arm he would deflect blows. With his hand he would gouge eyes, disarm enemies, and put pressure there where it hurt most. With his sword he would then deal the final blow. It had took years both to develop and master his technique, and only few had been able to produce anything remotely close to it.

It was suicide. Gods would help them, and beings even he would have a hard time to take out would aid them, yes. But he knew something was not right. The outcome was determined beforehand, and the battle was engineered. Worran fought for glory, not for blood. Why? Why would he suddenly feel the urge to taste it, then?

You have been deceived..
As one the soldiers turned to the source of this whisper, and their eyes were met by a gruesome sight.

Worran knew her for what she was. The other soldiers, they did not. Look at my face, warriors of Dordrath, and tell me what you see. Silent, she moved her left hand, pointing a finger at the Chosen that were gathered at the river. You will see yourselves. You will see the bringers of justice! At the last word, she clenched her fist, raising it above her head.

Warriors! Look into my eyes, and witness your murdered comrades, your raped women, your shackled children! Witness.. She paused, leading her blind eyes over the crowd. .. a trampled crown and a mutilated king.
They have already taken so much, yet they crave for more! Drywall- Greenfold- Now, these names are forgotten, along with so many more! Their people are lost. Some of you lived there! Some of you left their beloved in these villages when they came to Dordrath. The Lord of Death now holds them in his clutches. Yet feel no spite, for you.. You- are- Justice! Look into my eyes, and see that I am righteous! Look into my eyes, and listen to my words, champions! Strike them not. No- Punish them. Do not give them the embrace of death until they decide it is time to die on the stones that build your wall..

Take from them what THEY took from you! Shackle their children, claim their women! Feast upon their weak flesh, and give them the hell they deserve to live in! Warriors! You are Justice, and I am Righteousness!


Take their hearts!

Worran listened to her words, and he felt how his companions fell for her false righteousness. He witnessed her, and he realized that she indeed was what she portrayed: The girl was self-righteous and blind, like hate. Her pride shielded her from her mind, and she played judge, where judge she were not.

Alone and broken in the heart, he returned through the gates, to seek his children.

The Sisters of Wrath attempt to coerce the infuriated part of Dordrath's army to, instead of fight the Chosen, go on a campaign to destroy Seyth.

[Humaan]

Aarrook had to continue if he wished to stop this fighting. He could not tell what the Chosen were doing, but it was quite clear that the army of Dordrath faltered only for a mere second. How could it be, Aarrook thought. Then he remembered the first question he needed answering. The god of War was behind this, and only he could have caused this. How, then, did he create this battle? How did he get these soldiers to fight when they had the disadvantage?

He had felt a slight energy gain, from Dordrath’s army. The key to the first question?  It had to be… after all, Dordrath has no mages at its disposal. Whatever it was, it was quite clearly affecting the soldiers.  That was the cause, what is the follow-up?

He couldn’t waste a second in thought. Both armies were still stunned by the bolt, and the iron was still hot. “Armies… soldiers… generals, you have all been deceived! Not by anyone you can recognize, but by a fool of a god! He seeks to use you, use all of you, as entertainment for his own devices! His name may become a curse to you all; Rahisael. What he has done is simple, and ultimately going to destroy you all. He has planned an attack which is suicidal, by all means, in attempts to begin your suffering. He has lied, using magic to fool many! He will seek false promises to your downfall!”

 Aarrook had to pause, for he was not sure if that was all he did. “He has deceived you, and I shall add clarity to what you all are facing. What you are facing is a force equal to your own. If your sides fought, both would have heavy causalities, yet it would remain at a stalemate.  I seek to stop the needless bloodshed, so I demand to see your generals! But be warned, for if you dare attack while I wait… your people will suffer indefinitely. I will not cease to kill all your people if you don't follow this decree. Until then, I wait for your response!”

Aarrook had dared not checked how much time left. The thundering of his voice had ended. It was replaced by the thundering of soldiers. Time was, yet again, running out. Would his bluff work? He could not tell...

Yet there was still something which disturbed him. No matter how strong the god of war was, something else had be behind this war. While he was obviously trying to start a war, how long could he affect the world? There had to be a third party here, but Aarrook could not see where...

Aarrook continues to communicate via thunder.

[Digital Hellhound]

Ghuran felt a heavy load fall off his heart when the thunder-voice continued. Not their master at all. A false god. A lesser being, warning of yet another of it's kin. He had been afraid they had failed Lord Amparos in some way. Now he realized the foolishness in those thoughts. The Stormlord wouldn't have needed anything on the scale of a lightning bolt to speak with them, and was, naturally, behind them in this war.

' Do not falter, men. Do not listen to the lies of the false god!' he roared, watching with satisfaction as the army steeled itself once again. They had realized the same things as he had, no doubt.

The army stood hidden in the sparse woodlands, waiting for the signal from the scouts. If all went right, the skirmishers would have started their attacks now. Simple ambushes with throwing spears and bows, after which they would retreat quickly. They could not give the enemy time to react.

Unseen by them, the decoy force stood on the other side of the river, a collection of Low Blood warriors, some High Blood volunteers and a swarm of unarmed slaves, meant to give the impression of a large army.

A scout appeared on top of the hill and slid down, brushing dust off him before standing up to address Ghuran. He was another Low Blood, a scrawny youth with only a patch of scales just below his neck showing his Chosen heritage. He had adopted wearing the clothing of these people, no doubt not to raise as much suspicion if spotted by someone.

'My lord... the human army has... stopped. Some are returning to the city.' the youth said.

'What do you mean? What's happening?' Ghuran demanded. The youth took a step back in surprise, almost falling over. Ghuran cursed once again the weakness of the Low Blood.

'I don't... I'm not sure. Their attack is stopping.'

Ghuran cursed aloud. No doubt these false gods had frightened the humans into returning back inside their walls. There would be no glorious battle now. They had been robbed of their prey. Attacking them right in front of their gates would be suicide.

' You. What's your name?' he asked the scout. The youth seemed confused at first, then said; ' Turad, my lord.'

' You already look like one of these pathetic humans. Take whatever you need to look like one of their soldiers. There should be more than enough lying around here.' he paused, as realization spread across the youth's face. ' I want you to join the human army before the gates close and go inside their city. Find out everything you can about their troops, their defenses, weakpoints in their walls. It seems we will have to take the fight to them after all.'

The youth stared at him in surprise and fear for a moment, then rushed off without a word. Ghuran looked at him hurriedly grab a bronze helmet and a scabbard for a blade he didn't even have and pull on a pair of boots. Ghuran could tell he was afraid, but knew the youth would obey him.

Turad left the camp, and began to look for the quickest way to the army unseen. He could not fail Lord Amparos.

A Low Blood scout attempts to get inside Dordrath with the rest of the human army

[Demantiae]

The Gods of Passion.

Civilizations clashed and the gods were laughing. Was this all just a game to them? They toyed with the mortals as if they were playthings and goaded them into battle with one another. Neshara's mind raced as she witnessed the game play itself out. She was horrified by the prospect of the violence but she couldn't deny it excited her too. Everywhere she looked there were gods, pushing, prodding, pinching their creations to see how they reacted. What Neshara didn't understand was why?

But it wasn't the battle and it's pupet masters that held her attention. It was the thing in front of her, the thing that spoke to her. Was it a god too? It pulsated with desire, with craving for sustainence, with greed for trinkets, with demand for possessions. It was pure desire, it was avarice, it was Hunger. The way it spoke confused her – eloquent, mocking, completely at odds with the burning deep within its soul. She dared to speak to it.

“You are a creature of instinct yes? I can feel your desire, it stings my flesh with its intensity.” She paused for a moment adjusted her senses. “Your children crawl within my belly; like ticks they feed off those around them. I feel their pulse, distant, faint, flickering with life. They aren't like the chidren here, they do not beg the gods for favours nor rely upon them to prosper. They live for themselves. Were it not that more of the chidren could claim the same?”

Neshara's pulse began to quicken and her flesh took on a deeper ruby tone. Deep within the earth something shifted. By the time memory if it had reached the surface it was naught but a shudder, a tremour of the most minor sort. Most didn't feel it, however the Lords of Hunger and Magic Unrestrained felt it without question.

“What do you think is going to happen here? Are these beings to be sacrificed on the alter of divine ego? Will civilizations and cultures be exterminated to settle some deific game?” Intrigued Neshara watched on.


The Beast of Blood.

There wre many things within Neshara's realm most of which even the goddess knew nothing of. It took time to become acquainted with all these things and Neshara hadn't walked The Womb long enough to learn them all. One of these things was Samal a riverine spirit once loyal to his master Ampharos. Like his kin Neshara had been unaware of him. She knew there were spirits beneath the earth but not sentients and certainly not sentients who served one of the other gods.

But destiny would change his situation for Samal was destined to become known to Neshara. She had felt him as he suckled on her vein, was drawn close as he consumed her life and finally became one with the spirit as the transformation of her blood took hold of him.

To the outside world Samal had had his mind shattered. But Neshara knew this to be false. What had been shattered were the fetters that tied the spirit to his watery master. Gone were the shackles of Ampharos, the chains of servitude. Now he was free, free to pursue his own desires. Like most slaves granted freedom Samal knew not what to do with his newfound state. He craved more life, more blood for how could he go back to sustianing himself on simple water? He had tasted life in its purest form. Now nothing less would do.  Instinct took over his entire being. He must feed, he must have life – raw life, he must hunt.

Tendrils snaked around sensing out the path before him. He could feel the hum and the beating of the earth all around him but he could not find the veins. It drove him mad. If only he could dig his tendrils into one of those veins he could feed forever on the energies within. But such was lost to him. He cursed his mind for being unable to resolve his desire. He would have to make do with second best. Into the darkness Samal slithered his rock body bending like clay as he crawled over rock and crevice. He would slither until he found life. And then he would feed...

Neshara opened her eyes and was met by inpenetrable darkness. At once the craving came over her, blood, she must have blood. Quickly she realized these were not own thoughts, or her own eyes. She chose to explore deeper.

LUST...
HUNGER...
POWER...

Only the blood of the living would do. Beasts would slake her thirst for only a short time, she needed that spark of life present only in the sentients of the world. Her senses, dulled as they were by ravenous hunger and madness expanded around her. She could not see but she could hear and smell and taste. And then there was her other sense... At the edge of her preception she detected them, innumerable creatures scrabbling about in the earth. She moved towards them eager to feed...


Dreams of Murr and Stone.

The cavern was filled with Murr. It was enormous, sculpted out of living rock. Trickles could feel the beat of the cavern BADDUM-BADDUM-BADDUM! The Murr moved in time to the beat. Some swam in the crimson waters of the pond at the heart of the cavern, bathed themselves beneath the falls that seemed to pour straight from the roof. Some sat eating rocks as if they were chunks of meat scavenged from the surface. Some painted images on the walls, celebrations, mournings and mysteries yet uncovered. Some moulded the stone with their hands, sculpted it as if it were clay. All around the cavern there were statues, ornaments of stone, metal and gem. The Murr here were masters of their environment. They did not adapt to the place as they did at the surface, the place adapted to them. Was this the future? Trickles didn't know. One of the Murr spoke to him “welcome, we've been expecting you...”

Trickels awoke in the strange cavern and looked around disoriented. The glowing of the fungus pulsated to some invisible rhythm Red-Green Red-Green Red-Green. The stream snaked across the cavern floor constantly changing direction and finding new courses across the smoothed stone. Trickles heard a noise behind him and spun around. The earth rose, a boulder a little larger than he slowly emerged from the earth. Desperately Trickles looked around to find his Murr-Cricket and escape. The animal was nowhere to be seen. Panicing Trickles stood and watched.

The boulder unfolded itself like a sleeping Murr waking from a deep slumber. It in fact looked like a Murr except that its flesh was made of living rock and moss covered its back where fur should be. The rock Murr rose and deep red eyes fixated upon Trickles motionless form. It spoke to him in the voice of his mother, wizened with great age and experience.

“Don't fear me my child for I am the mother of this grove and you are welcome. You have found the life that teams beneath the earth, you have discovered the blood that shapes the world. Everything you see here is infused with the pure essence of life. Drink of the waters and you will grow healthy, eat of the rocks and you will become strong, taste of the moss and the veins of the world will be shown to you.” The moss on the back of the Rock-Murr began to glow a deep red. “There are many mysteries within the earth that await discovery. Your brethren scrabble around on the surface and dig their tunnels through the soil but they are blind to the true wonders of the earth. Only by digging deeper, by feasting upon my treasures and by abandoning the surface can you truly discover the power of the earth. Tell your clan, tell them to come and feast for none shall go hungry in my realm.”

Trickles couldn't tell if he was awake or sleeping. Had this all been a dream? Or had he seen the future? Sometimes curiosity led the Murr to newfound riches, sometimes it lead them into destruction.


Neshara speaks to Trickles through a dream (and possibly face to face but the ways of the gods are mysterious!). She shows him a Murr paradise beneath the earth and tempts him to bring his fellow Murr deeper than they've ever been before.

[Ghazkull]

Lord Hunger considered the being in front of him for a moment. Although she was confused by what was happening down there she wasn't as naive and fragile as Nativa was. In all respects she was a being quite more intriguing then Nativa and although no Overgodess...quickly the Maw closed this thought away in the deepest parts of his mind where not even the Overgodess could reach. He brought his mind back to the question of the Unkown being.

What you see here my dear is nothing more then Nature. The gods down here are only following their restraints given to them by their own followers. They are gods of desire. They want war and the Gods of War are working as catalysts to their emotions strengthening them, feeding them for one single purpose: to gain power. To follow their Nature. A God of War can't decide to live in peace or to further peace at all. It's against their nature...they would whither and die. What you see here is a clash of desires my dear...the two mortal armies are the reacting agents and the gods of war are the catalysts. What comes out is power for the gods of war.

Contrary to this somebody seems to be against this battle. I don't know this god nor have i ever seen him but he is either a god of Peace or somebody who has a grudge against the god of war and tries to take his sustenance.

Those Mortals down here would have fought anyway, even without the entrance of the likes of Rahisael and Khan, they would have clashed. Struggle is natural. It's survival of the fittest isn't it? You can clearly see that one side, those who look like a fish-human mix, will propably lose. This will either mean their end...or they will adapt. However the one trying to stop this natural process is clearly not aware of this simple principle. If he is doing this for the sake of the mortals he is doing it the wrong way. He is trying to stop a natural process but Nature can't be stopped, even a god can't stop nature. He can only change it... What you will see here today my dear is evolution...nothing more and nothing less. The winner gets the spoils and the crows the carcass of the loser. Good thing i am the crows...

________________________________

Trickles was zealous. a Paradise for Murr? in the center of the earth? He had to tell the others! But those wouldn't believe him. They told him that he hadn't enough sleep in the last days and fell asleep and only dreamt of that happening. Some laughed at him. Others ignored him. And no one followed him. His preachings went unheard. Often enough there were reports of Murr having hallucinations if they would dig into certain underground caves. Sometimes they even died in there. Such caves were usually collapsed and never dug into again. This case was no different. Although the Murr did everything to stop his brethren the cave was collapsed and forgotten like all the other caves before. Trickles was told that everything he saw was a hallucination and that he should forget it. Work went on as usual and the Undergut steadily expanded like before...

[Demantiae]

The Lawgivers Cometh.

Life had changed forever for the Dwarves. It wasn't long ago that they were barbarians, savages eking out a basic existence within their cavern-tomb. Then came The Three. They called themselves Artificers, claimed to have been enlightened by The Father of Technology. Encased in shells forged from the stuff of the earth they descended on the tribe. “All must heed our words for we come bearing the Five Secrets of Akiel.” The tribe had just watched on, puzzled by their appearance and the boldness of their claims. “Lord Akiel has given us these gifts for only we of all Dwarves were worthy enough to be his servants. We are the Hands and Mouths of Akiel. We shall share these gifts with you for that was the promise we made. But hear this: those not worthy of these secrets will be cast out of the tribe to live their lives in the wilds.”

A dwarf had approached The Three to question their intent. He had been a leader of the tribe, a chieftan in his younger days. Now he was merely a hunter but he still comanded respect and authority in the tribe. His name was Galor.

“Who are you to make such claims and demand that we follow them? I remember not so long ago you were no different to us. Why should we follow such commands?” He had stood defiant, dared to mouth the sentiments many of his brethren had. The Three moved closer to him. One bore a mighty axe made of blackened iron, the other a powerful hammer of shining steel and the third a wicked spear of bronze. “We have seen the world” spoke the Axedwarf. “It is a dangerous place full of hate” spoke the Hammerdwarf. “We must prepare our people. There's no room for dissention” spoke the Speardwarf. That was the first and last time The Three faced criticism to their faces.

In short order The Three had set about ruling the tribe of the Dwarves. It wasn't difficult, they had weapons and armour. They could punish whoever they liked with little fear of repurcussion. They alone knew the secrets of farming and husbandry, only they knew how to find the ores needed for the smithing they insisted must be done. And more importantly they were the only dwarves who understood the written word. In the most literal sense their Word was Law. A pair of stone tablets had been erected in the centre of the cavern upon which was inscribed the Dwarflaw. All dwarfs were required to obey these laws. Failure would mean expulsion from the tribe or worse.

Yes life had changed for the dwarves. No longer were they the simple hunter-gatherers Kain had intended them to be. Now they were learning quickly the secrets of the gods. But at what price? The Lawgivers as they now called themselves ruled over the tribe with an iron fist. The Dwarves were nothing without the Lawgivers. This point was hammered into the mind of every dwarf time and again. There was no longer room in the emerging dwarven society for difference. Life meant conformity, to the laws and secrets of Akiel and to the commandments of Kain. No Dwarf shall leave Kain's Cavern until they are worthy of Akiel's Grace. This was the final law incribed upon the tablets. This was also the first law to be broken...


Akiel's uplifting of the three dwarves has upset the gentle balance of the dwarven. The dwarves are now a technocracy where only those who have mastered one of the Five Secrets (Farming, Husbandry, Mining, Forging or Writing) may enjoy status. The Three prophets of Akiel being masters of all five naturally rule the dwarves. They call themselves Lawgivers and make laws based on the teachings of both Akiel and Kain. All dwarves now live under the Dwarflaw which dictates what they can and cannot do.

[nbonaparte]

A figure in a black hooded cloak appeared outside the mountain. The figure moved forward, looking at its feet the whole time. As it moved nearer the dwarven home, a gaping hole in the wall exploded outward. Continuing forward, awestruck dwarves tried to decide whether to look at Akiel or the outside world as wall after wall crumbled before the god. Moments later, he had reached the center of the cavern, the throne room of the Three. As the wall of their chamber crumbled, they looked onward in a mix of worry, arrogance, and fear. As the cloaked figure dropped his hood, the Three's weapons, thrones, and armor crumbled. They were thrown into the far wall of the chamber. Regaining their footing, they looked upon the undisguised form of the Father of Technology. Skin like sunlight, intensely painful to look upon, but light which will never blind. He spoke with a voice like thunder, impossibly painful to the mortal ear, but never breaking an eardrum. Striding forward, he spoke.How dare you defy me. I gave you secrets beyond your meager imaginations and this is how you use them. You are prophets, not despots. You Will give everything you know to the dwarven people. You Will not hold my gifts against your people. You Will teach these people to read and write. You Will not forbid them from leaving this place. Heed my word, mortal, or face my wrath.

An explosion radiated from the point Akiel stood on, and he was gone.

[Demantiae]

At the Crossroads of Destiny.

The Artificers didn't understand. Why did Akiel punish them? They had done as he asked, began to teach the dwarves their secrets. But it took time. They weren't touched by the divine as the prophets were, they weren't able to hold all the secrets at once. Was it not right that they ruled over their people? They knew more of the world than their brethren, more of the technology gifted to them. If Akiel had not meant them to rule why did he give these things only to them? And why was he so eager for them to leave the cavern? Kain forbid the dwarves from leaving the cavern.

Since their time in charge the dwarves had grown from a superstitious barbarian tribe to a people governed by technology and craft. What would they have to do to prove their worth to the Grand Master of Invention? What must they do to keep the divine gifts coming?

The Three knew what they must do. New laws were etched onto the stones.

All Dwarves must read and write.

All Dwarves must practice agriculture and crafts.

Failure to do these things would mean expulsion from the tribe. Akiel demanded only the best of them. On the law of leaving the cavern however the Lawgivers were unsure. If they encouraged the dwarves to leave would Kain rain down his wrath upon them?

All this talk of divine wrath and punishment was becoming too much for some. It was time to leave before the gods destroyed them all.


Preparing to Leave.

In a dark corner of the cavern the Nesharanites met safe in the knowledge that their kin would not disturb them. This was a place of spirits, a place where the Shamans would come to practice their arts. It was considered taboo to enter this place without being invited by a Shaman. In these troubling times these sanctuaries of the Old Ways were forbidden ground. The Shamans ignored such Laws for there still remained some fear of their power. Recently the other Nesharanites of the tribe had begun to ignore such Laws too for they were becoming desperate.

“We can't live like this” spoke Zathra. “We are forbiden to speak our mind, punished for pursuing our painting arts, forced to work in mines so the Artificers can craft their weapons and armour. And for what? So we can be marched out of the cavern to wage war on the world? This is madness.”

“But what can we do?” replied Ordo. “The dwarves have become the playthings of the gods. We must follow or be destroyed. They care nothing for us they only demand that we obey. We fear the punishment of the Lawivers, we fear the punishment of the gods. Our lives have been reduced to fear.”

“Without the blessings of Akiel the Lawgivers are nothing. Without the protection of Kain we dwarves are nothing. We're bound to the whims of these Terrible Masters. What can we do?” spoke Marta.

“There is something we can do.” The voice came out of the darkness, old and wise. It was a voice not heard in several years. It was the voice of Ogodon, first amongst Shamans. “We must leave the confines of this cavern. It has become a prison for us. We must take these things given to us by the gods – the mysteries of farming and crafting. Between us we have learned enough of these secrets to get by. We must take them and abandon the cavern. It's fate is sealed, forever doomed to be the plaything of gods. We must brave the Wilds of the Deep Dark. Neshara will show us the way.  Gather up your families and your belongings. We shall leave when the silver light next pierces the gloom of the cavern.”

Behind Ogodon stood Tishin smiling softly. She had known this day was coming and she was ready. There was a place deep within the earth set asside for them. She didn't know where but she was sure they would find it. Finally they would be free., Kain and Akiel be damned.


The Nesharanites prepare for an exodus from the cavern. They take with them whatever skills they have learned from the Artificers and head into the wilds of the deep underground. They believe a sanctuary awaits them deep in the earth and hope that Neshara will help them.

[Demantiae]

The Scarlet Lady.

“You speak life an alchemist Lord Hunger and your words are truth. Conflict is Nature, even the rocks of the earth conflict with one another for dominance but there are natural conflicts and there are unnatural conflicts. I see the hands of gods twisting and altering the natures of the mortals to suit their ends. I see the folly of a god who transmuted his followers into killing machines, I see the folly of a god who built a city of soldiers to attract such a conflict, I see the folly of a god who would demand with thunder and lightning that the mortals obey his every word. So many demands and conflicting agenda's. I see only one god in this conflict who does not twist the mortals into shapes of his own desire and that is the Lord of War and Hate. Where he encourages others demand, where he influences others force their gifts. And then there is the girl, I feel a deep connection to that girl like she were blood-kin. I feel her pain and her demand for justice but shedding precious life is not the way to do it.”

Neshara calmly gazed out at the soldiers unsure which action to take confused as they were by the contradictory commands of gods they could or couldn't see. She turned back to her companions.

“I wish to see within this city. So many are focusing on the conflict outside but what of the people behind those walls? Will you walk with me and see the city from the other side of the walls?” She addressed both Lord Hunger and the Wild Magus.

Realizing her natural divine form would not be suited to passing through a city discretely Neshara chose to alter her form. Her wstature diminished until that of a normal sized human and she shed her second pair of arms. Her skin grew softer though it still retained the most pale of complexions. Her hair maintained it's deep and lustrous shade of red though it now appeared to be natural. Clothes grew around her, a gown of the finest white cotton lace enhanced with threads of pure gold, gloves of the same lace and ring of ruby and gold and a a hooded cloak of rich burgundy lined with the pure white fur of some unknown subterranean mammal. Only her feet remained unadorned for hse could not bare the thought of being seperated from the earth for long. Neshara was fully aware she would not go unnoticed in Dordrath, it wasn't her intention to be hidden. She wanted to inspire the spirits of the inhabitants of the city, she just didn't want to be recognized as a goddess. The Scarlet Lady prepared to enter the city.[/i]


Neshara assumes The Scarlet Lady form, an avatar resembling a human noblewoman or wealthy artist. She uses this form to pass as a normal (though somewhat exceptional) human.

[Ghazkull]

My dear what you will see in there are the future victims of war. Those inside are those first to be consumed by the hunger for power and revenge. They are the first to be slaughtered, to be raped, to be burned and plundered. But if you wish i will walk with you.

Lord Hunger took his usual form, an old spent man usually representing a king but in this case he exchanged the crown for a helmet. His armor was rusted and old as the men who wore it, he seemed like a man who had spent his whole life for one purpose and failed. His hair and beard was white, whipsy and thin. But far more frightening was his eyes who seemed to burn with a desire that consumed his very soul. Rust was hanging at his side even more discouraging to people looking at him. Walking next to the Scarlet Lady he made quite the opposite impression. People would recognize him as her grandfather or as an old guard or an teacher. A sarcastic smile was flickering around his lips as he realized his impression on the city people.

[ragnarok97071]

I'll go with you, then.
The mage has only slight changes needed to seem normal, a simple toning down of his presence and causing his eyes to dull to normal colors.
Think we should decide on something to tell anyone who asks who we are?