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[forsaken1111]

After what seemed an eternity, but may have been only moments, Death turned to stare at Mahet... and then the curious creature standing to the side. How fascinating, a being without a soul. It was almost invisible to Death’s eyes, so accustomed was He to viewing and identifying those around Him by the details of their essence. As His oft-disused mortal vision came into focus, He examined its form and was pleased. It would fit nicely into His realm, but whatever was its purpose?

I see you Mahet. Have you completed your task? What is this... entity you have brought before Me? And why is it clicking?

Death realized Mahet had spoken a moment ago, while He was engaged in directing the Throne’s power. He reached back through the minutes and brought forth the echo of Mahet’s words, allowing them to ring through the throne room again.

Ahh... you are ready then. I shall summon the host.

Death stood from the throne and slammed the butt of His scythe into the flagstones. The sharp rap of its contact echoes through the cavernous hall far louder than it should have, and immediately the citadel is filled with a wailing howl as souls are drawn in from the entire realm. Very soon every visible surface, every mote of empty space, every nook and crevice and cranny is filled with the buzzing energy of milling souls and still yet more are streaming in. They come through windows, they are drawn through the crack beneath the great doors, they seep through stone and rise from the floor. They alternately howl, moan, gibber and plead for help in a variety of languages and tones, they speak in such numbers that their damned chorus would overwhelm the senses of a mortal mind immediately.

Finally, it stops. All sound ceases. The room is so full that the packed souls seem like nothing more than a thick grey fog... and then you remember the mists outside. There couldn’t be that many souls, surely, to blanket the entire realm? So many dead?

I am prepared, the Host has been summoned. Proceed, dreamer, and Isra’s soul is yours.

[Digital Hellhound]

It took him what seemed like an eternity to speak again. Mahet stood stunned in silence, shielding himself from the terrifying, beautiful energy surging throughout the room, brushing his body as it passed, nearly blinding him with sheer incredible amount. To a mortal, it might have appeared to be nothing but dense fog, but he saw what they could not, the wild, primal Essence contained within these tormented minds. There was a sound, soft but so very, very loud, like the waves of the ocean. It took him too long to realize it was simply billions of overlapping voices, the souls of all mortals howling as one.

He could somehow make out individual souls in the pulsing mass of energy filling the room, like stars on the night sky. Each one burned brighter than any star in the world. Confused, pained images battered his mind. They wanted him to understand their pain, to feel it like they did, but he could not.

'Enough.' Mahet whispered, willing the dead to stay back. 'I must focus.'

With that, he began to work. This was not the World of Dreams, but a part of him always remained there. It only took him a few seconds longer than usual to begin weaving the dream. Reaching out, Mahet's mind passed through the walls of Death's grim palace and outside into his realm. He went as far as he needed to, spreading a silvery net of divine power behind him. He moved slowly, taking his time with every soul, to make sure they became linked into the dream. He forced himself to ignore the seemingly endless amount, focusing on one at a time. He wondered how long would pass in the mortal world. Time moved strangely here. He had been gone weeks in his last visit.

The Shaper shuddered every time a new soul was added under its gaze. It was not tiring for Mahet. After all, all the work would be done by the Shaper. He was only here to let the souls into the Final Rest. It was not intelligent enough to be harmed from it, but he could feel it growing more focused and more silent every passing second.

For countless days, perhaps weeks, Mahet worked, his mind burning, focused to the point of insanity. The Final Rest grew and grew. It looked so beautiful from up above, an endless network of golden sparks, held together by the Shaper's hand. He had never seen anything like it.

Mahet abruptly realized he had reached the last free soul. He blinked hard, finally awakened from his stupor. He could understand now why the God of Death cared little for mortals or their short lives. In the end, no matter how fascinating or great they had been, they became just another tiny speck of light in this dark world, of no importance to anyone or anything. He feared he would turn out the same if he stayed here for too long.

He drew close the dream, releasing control over to the Shaper. It looked up at him for one last time. Mahet could not decipher its intention from so far away. Perhaps regret, or fear.

The dream filled each corner of Death's realm, hanging over them like a golden shroud. Then, as one, countless new worlds were born, the souls scattering all across the Final Rest. When they opened their eyes, the saw nothing of the bleak realm they had called home. Some fell to infernal suffering, some to paradise, some into seemingly normal lives. Mahet had given the dead what they had lacked for so long. A reason for existance.

He returned to Death's throne, facing the cold god. He said nothing, simply fixing Death with his gaze. If the creature even just thought of breaking his part of the bargain, Mahet would end him, no matter how much power he held.

---

The Final Rest is created and the Shaper begins its work

[forsaken1111]

Death had not moved during the time Mahet was working, still standing before His throne and observing the Shaper. When the deed was done, Death descended the tall steps leading from His throne and stood before Mahet. Standing so close, Mahet could make out the thousands of moaning faces and twisting figures which made up Death's cowl and cloak, though the space within the hood remains stubbornly shrouded despite Mahet's divine senses.

"You have done as I asked, Dreamer. I see within your eyes a certain understanding and, perhaps, new appreciation for My duty. Take your prize and return not to My realm, should you have need of Me, Isra can reach Me."

With that enigmatic comment, Death sweeps away from Mahet and strides with purpose through a set of doors leading out of the Citadel's main hall. Tendrils reach back from His cloak, shadowy appendages which wrap around the Shaper's form and drag it along behind Him. It gives Mahet one last forlorn look as the obsidian doors slam shut, and their sound echoes through the hall.

Over the last few minutes, no longer subject to Death's summons, the souls of the dead have been seeping out of the room. Now the mists have receded and only one soul remains... the misty translucent form of Isra floats before Mahet, still seeming to be in a deep and gentle sleep. Next to them both, a portal opens... a way back to the mortal world.


Elsewhere within the Citadel, the Shaper is dragged ignobly behind Death as He moves through the halls and down into the depths of the Citadel.

"I do not know what went into your creation, but I have another purpose for you than that for which you are intended. You will guide and keep the Final Rest, it is true. You will also serve as a conduit to My self. Those who sleep have no need of the power their souls generate within My realm, and though the amount of each soul is pitiful, they are a formidable power in legion. The Final Rest will keep them dormant and in torpor while you channel their power to Me."

Death glances back at the uncomprehending skull face of the newly created being, but His heart was as ice and His pity was nonexistent. As they neared their destination, Death threw open another set of heavy obsidian doors. Before Him lay a large sarcophagus hewn entirely from a single piece of onyx, inlaid with silver and gold tracery and etched with runes of power. The metal tracery extends from the sarcophagus out into the Citadel's stonework like veins, and runs through the floor and up the walls like some strange growth.

Without preamble or further explanation, Death lifts the heavy lid with one hand and hurls the Shaper into the sarcophagus. With a last look down at the creature, the lid slams shut. Focusing His power, Death stands before the Onyx Crucible and bows His head and begins to implement His own plan.

As Death pours divine energy into the Crucible, the Shaper is fused with the device. A strange purple light fills the chamber, though it has no discernable source, and a pulse of violet energy extends out from the Crucible. Across Death's realm, the golden net of the Final Rest shudders and pales, itself pulsing in time with the Crucible - the heartbeat of an entire plane - and power begins to flow in towards the Citadel. As it nears the Citadel from all sides, it builds in intensity manifesting as a golden lightning discharging from he mists and into the massive ironwork and statues of the Citadel's walls. Beneath the cold obsidian of the outer walls, more metal tracery glows and the energy flows in.

Mere seconds after its activation, an arc of black lightning strikes out from the Crucible and impacts Death's Scythe, channeled down the haft and into His body. The connection made, Death releases the Crucible from His grasp and it continues pulsing on its own like some blasphemous organ, leeching essence from the souls of the dead and returning it to its master. This causes no harm to the souls, though it keeps them in a stupor and ensures they do not wake from the Final Rest.

Death returns the soul of Isra to Mahet.

Death fuses the Shaper with the Onyx Crucible.

Death uses the Crucible to bind Himself to the souls of the dead, drawing strength from their numbers.

[Humaan]

It had been more than a week since Kath had began his sessions with the second son, the mortal whose destiny shall be determined by the night. The day lead to the son having to work for the tribe. The afternoon, he slept. At night, Kath awoke him and began his teachings. At dawn, the boy yet again rested. It was difficult to understand the mortal speech, the mind which had granted him shape. Yet as a mind shaped him, he could shape the mind. Alter it. Find new ways of learning. The boy was bright, but had no concepts of what he was to teach. Math, he knew of counting. Simple problems, counting up, were what he could understand. The tribe was a tribe of counting when it came to math. That was it, and yet lacked what was necessary for what he sought. Nothing was difficult or easy until someone says it is such; therefore Kath would never mention difficulty.

That being said, Kath had difficulties of his own teaching the boy. It was not a hard task, to be fair, but how it was to be mortal! Time had always been, always has, and always will be, but there is never enough time as a mortal. Yet mortals had limited time to achieve great things with little power, yet a god had infinite time with much power! The ironies of the world would keep sinking into the depths of the mind of the god, continuing to give shape to his understanding of the lords of the lord which rules over the first. It would many years before minimal progress would be made. That being said, he felt he chose the right boy and would teach the right subjects, and he would one day benefit from the interactions with mortals. Yet again, it fell back to time.

----------------------------------------
It would be much longer, when the cold winter changed to the mind summer, that he had heard, or indeed saw, his gift in bloom. The plant he envisioned was simple, but was seemingly a gem in the forest around him. He had seen the plant, the Icefern, a few fully grown, the original planting. Yet a few more grew still, a few not planted, sprouting in the clearing. It would be a matter of months before they also grew to be like those planted, and a cycle would continue. Within years, they could engulf the clearing, and enter the forest. He had known these plants were to help the destiny he sought. Yet they remain a secret from the world, any eye beyond his power. These were the fruits of civilization, and he would guard his harvest.

His student had also progressed, as the plant grew in the forest. They were almost mirrors, in a sense, growing with the plant, blooming with the plant, bearing his knowledge like fruit. Yet he still was not ready to finish. What he had learned was the math of many, the math of multiples, the math of the world. He was a one-eyed man to the tribe of the blind. Yet he still was young, and much more to learn about the math. With the plant, yet another lesson to teach. The plant itself would be the center of this lesson. When night came, he knew, for the boy was awake before his meddling. He stared at the moon for a moment. Time was truly infinite. Could he continue this forever?

The boy was quiet when Kath arrived. He was usually quiet, in day or night. Kath had to wonder what was in his mind. Regardless, he had lessons to teach.

“You are awake already, I see.”

The boy turned towards Kath upon that statement. The boy was still dazed from his slumber, so a new input startled him more. The boy opened his mouth, as to say something back, but had soon silenced himself.

“Nothing to say, Mithio? Come, it is time for a lesson much different from the rest.”

Mithio stood up, obviously still dazed from his short sleep. He was already ready to leave his home, to leave the warmth which he had slept in. He was clothed, and followed the dark figure he knew as Kath to a clearing, barely seeing into the night, despite it being as twilight is to him. He followed the figure, but soon realized it was walking farther than they usually were during the lessons. He still followed suit, but remained nervous as to what would happen next. It was not long before he entered a clearing far away from the village, to the point where the village was barely visible.

“This,” Kath paused for a moment, allowing Mithio to catch up, “This is the clearing which I carry for you, the second gift.” Mithio had immediately perked up to pay attention after mention of the gift. “This plant,” Kath gestured towards a nearby bush which Mithio had never seem before, “is the Icefern. The second gift, as it were. I come here to show you how to grow this plant for yourself, and the village, for that matter.”

Mithio stood still. He had only one thing to say. “Why?”

Kath, yet again, was surprised by the response of the mortal. It was a good trait, to be questioning. Why though, did this come up so suddenly? “Simple, Mithio, for the world around you is where you are and will never be able to leave unless you learn. I can only teach you so much, Mithio, for I must rest eventually. You may not understand my intentions, but you must unite with the land you rest on before you can truly leave for paradise.”

“What if paradise is not for me?”

Kath had only suffered an onslaught like this fifty years before. “Then understand the world. You are not an ordinary human, Mithio, you are a thinker. What I teach you is tools for you to understand the world. However, it is up to you to use these tools, to think about why, to create more tools. One day, you will grow old, and once again you will need to teach someone these facts. Maybe not one, but two students, and they will continue the cycle. Don’t you see, Mithio? I teach you so you can teach yourself about the world. At times, you will be wrong, but an answer is better than an empty question.”

Mithio had blinked at the statement. He would watch has the plants release their seeds. He would learn how to cultivate these seeds. He would learn.

[ragnarok97071]

Requiem of the Valkire //Launch//
Lavos descends upon the site of the fallen weapon of his champion, and looks upon it with a mix of anger and regret.
"Destruction is not served as well as it could have been through this... rash action.
You lived as the Fire of destruction. Now rise and serve again as My Wind.
You shall go to do my word wherever you are needed, seeking those who are worthy of my blessing, and leading them to me so they may become better able to serve.
Rise, and take a new name.
Rise, Fralija, First of the Valkyries."

Lavos raises his first servant to serve as a Valkyrie, and charges her with the task of finding those worthy of serving him.

[Caesar]

Important! Wiki experts: Please add the artifacts, changes to gods, races, relations, tribes and other creations made during this turn to the wiki. Important!

Turn two: Race to Power


The Lady teaches Elti the skills of serpent-calming, venom-milking and a trick to preserve venom for use. - One act
The Lady gives Elti her final tasks. - No acts

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

- Elti is to find three girls in the Sunset Hill, Wind Rock and Grey Lake tribes and teach them the truth about and worship of the Lady, and to instruct them to spread the false religions of Cawpaw, Parrot God of Splendour; Tirchid, Deer God of Nimbleness; and Mangang, Monkey God of Rage.
- Elti is to teach these three girls the serpent-calming, venom-milking and venom-preservation skills Elti was taught.
- Elti is to deliver The Lady's prophecy of doom and exodus to the Viper Tribe.

Mahet follows Isra's soul into Death's realm as it passes on. - No acts

Droth'Allor creates The Monument of Madness in the midst of the village of the Tribe of the Wolf. Many of the huts in the village are destroyed as a result of the menhir's creation. Vjorn, the strongest warrior of the village (save the Wolfmaster), is the first to receive its gift. - One act

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

The Monument of Madness is dark-green in shade, and both purple and yellow veins course through it.

Touching it grants Droth'allors greatest warriors the gift of Ironclad, which sheds them in a divine suit of iron that protects them in battle and can never be removed. The Ironclad grow about a feet larger. All Ironclad will receive a blessed iron shortsword. Those deemed unworthy of the gift are burned to ashes.

Altair shows his more human form to his people, along with some theatrics. - No act
Altair teaches the current Artificer the art of writing, and of farming plants and animals. - Two acts
Altair challenges his people to be more than they think they can, promising a reward for good effort. - No acts

Death slays a self-proclaimed high priest, who sought to usurp a god's place, and curses this priest's descendants. - One act

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

The descendants and family of the priest will never know Death's peace. Death refuses to take the soul of any descendant of the high priest. While they will still age, they will never die.

Death marks Annya, a sacrificial girl, with his touch, manifesting as a small black teardrop upon the shoulder. The mark will persist in all born of her line, though it confers no special power. - No acts

Mahet meets Death, and they negotiate a deal. - No acts (Duh)

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

Death will return Isra's soul to Mahet in exchange for the creation of an everlasting dream for the dead.

Chlorine attempts to intimidate or impress the Daughter. He fails miserably.
Chlorine gains the title of 'The Preposterous'.

Alcinoe instructs the Chieftain of the Raven Tribe to expand, to create a small alliance between their nearest neighboring tribes, or to subdue them with war if necessary. - No acts
Alcinoe performs a spell to ensure success in the coming conquest. - One act

Kath creates the Icefern plant near the Owl Tribe - One act

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

The icefern plant is, in essence, a small bush. When the plants seeds are initially planted, the plant takes about 4 months to grow to a adult form. Once reaching its adult form, the plant enters a cycle which lasts 2 months. About 1 month into the cycle, the fern starts developing fruit. This fruit grows in approximately a week. At the end of the cycle, the fruit metamorphosis into a seed pod, which catapults the seeds across a distance. The seed pod carries approx. 10 - 20 seeds. The fruit given by the icefern in only of average nutrients and has little sweet flavor. The plant will get around 4 fruit on average. It is to be noted that the icefern is quite cold resistant.

Kath gives the tribe 3 more tasks. - No acts

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

They need to create interpretations of the world around them.
They need to stop moving around their home to make it a specific spot.
They need to alter the world around them.
They are reminded that they still need to finish the task of Intelligence.

Kath begins (via mortal teaching methods) teaching the younger son of the Owl Tribe's chief, Mithio. - One act

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

The focus of this teaching is mainly math and crafting, but will include uses of the Icefern once it becomes prominent. The tutoring sessions are at night and will be done for 5 years.

Anea creates the Woahk - Two acts

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

The Woahk are a non-sentient amphibious species, a mix between an anglerfish and a newt. These beasts live from the sacrifices on the cliff. In response they will kill the sea-gulls surrounding it and leave them for the peasants. If sacrifices are especially bountiful it might happen that several band together to kill and strand a whale. Their tongue reaches up to twenty meters and may pull a whole man with them. Woahks are intelligent enough to be trained like dogs.

Alcinoe makes her way through Kinaré's caverns, altering it with her subconsciousness as she goes. - No acts
Alcinoe reaches the central chamber of Kinaré's caverns. - No acts
Alcinoe and Chlorine meet. - No acts

Mahet creates the Shaper to maintain a stable dream-scape in the Final Rest - One act

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

The Shaper is a barely sentient being, which solely seeks to weave the dreams of the dead and replicate what these minds want.

Mahet weaves the Final Rest and the Shaper begins its work - One act

Death returns the soul of Isra to Mahet. - No acts
Death fuses the Shaper with the Onyx Crucible, aiming to use it to bind himself to the souls of the dead to draw strength from their numbers. - Two acts

Lavos raises Ahyra to serve as a Valkyrie, and charges her with the task of finding those worthy of serving him. - One act


Time was fluid. From her cave The Tainted observed the Gods as they planned, plotted and acted. Through the eyes of the mortals she viewed the results of their actions, experienced the consequences. Did she long to be like them? She doubted that. Did she envy them? No. They were doomed. Their lives were finite, they had an end. She respected this end, yet she despised it, since it took them from her. Some mortals truly developed into the most peculiar creatures. She respected these creatures.. She gave them the respect the other Gods would never grant them.

One of these mortals in particular she pitied. Her end was drawing near, and the woman realized this. She had realized this long ago, for she was born poisoned, infected with mortality. Her name was Elti. Her bones creaked, and her body heaved. Would the Daughter not know better, she would have believed that it was the great wisdom and intelligence this vessel carried that had made it so fragile and worn. Yes, Elti was her name.

She had tasks to perform. This false prophet knew that until these tasks were completed, she would have no rest, no respite. Thus she walked. She crossed the Jungles, and three tribes did she visit. The Grey Lake Tribe, the Wind Rock Tribe, the Sunset Hill Tribe; fishermen, hunters and warriors. First came the hunters, and the tribe of the Wind Rock accepted this grayed lady like she were one of her own. They listened to her tales of Tirchid, of his quickness, his wits, and his escapes. Never before did an animal dart across the undergrowth like the one with a skin white as the clouds. His hooves eluded every hunter. But his tracks would lead to bountiful prey.

Little did these naive hunters realize that it were they who invented the stories. Little did they know that the tales were of their own making. And when the hunters started speaking of the albino deer themselves, they had sealed their fate. Elti, on the other hand, had taken one more step to the inevitable. And while she drew closer to succumbing to her mortality, the Daughter was forced to take on another face. Elti was her name. Her pupil was called Hiana.

Next, she joined the ranks of the Tribe of Sunset Hill. Respectful of her knowledge these warriors accepted her knowledge, and her advice. Little did they know that when one takes advice only, they lay their minds in the hands of another. And with every well-intended truth, Elti fed them a drop of poisonous lies. When they realized that their fear and loyalties lay with a God of her creation, they were already too late. Thus, they surrendered. They accepted Mangang as their divine lord.

Elti had created two masks for the faceless Overgoddess. She had taught a second pupil, Wynne. Her Goddess would be pleased, and her people would be saved. Little did she knew of her mistress' true intentions, and her feud with an invisible opponent. Little did she know that this opponent wore the masks that she had created. She traveled south, to the Tribe of Grey Lake.

Ironic as it were, the fishermen she met greeted her with suspicion. Her lessons, her knowledge.. They were not welcome, for they already persevered using their own ways. Desperate with the time she had left, Elti attempted to introduce the last mask nonetheless. Little did she know that a snake can only bite the unsuspecting victim. She was beaten and banished.

With great interest had Kinaré watched this broken prophet during the struggle of her last task. Her legs broken and her body crippled Elti had crawled: without food, without water, without rest, her path led to the village of her past: Her home. Her pain hampered her, but it did not stop her. Feeble bones hid a strong will, and after three full days and nights she reached the Tribe of the Viper. The most important words in her live, were her last. And her final breath she uttered among the descendants of the people of her time. Nobody recognized her.

But her warning..? Her warning they remembered.


The wolves brought back great news; a successful hunt. Corpse after corpse was tied to the backs of the creatures. The faces deformed, the limbs torn, but they would sustain the village for another month. But Kenea'allor, the Wolfmaster, was not welcomed as she had expected she would. She felt something was wrong, and she was proven right. Upon entering the main clearing where the Chieftain's house was located, she was greeted with a sight unknown to her and her wolves. A pillar of rough stone, rising almost above the treetops. She felt it pulsate with divine energy, and her knees collapsed under her weight as she kneeled in fear. In her mind, however, she was already trying to find out how to possess its power.

"You have returned with a bounty most pleasing."
The Chieftain wore a sinew necklace, the teeth of his late son attached to it with care. It was custom in the tribe to wear the teeth of one's loved ones. Her eyes, however, were drawn not to the Chieftain, but to the figure next to him: He could just as well have been Droth'allor himself to her. Suited in a strange material, the man impressed her most dearly. Even more did he make her feel envious.
"We will eat for a month. Droth'allor blessed us with their demise."

The Chieftain had dismissed Kenea'allor, refusing to answer her questions about the menhir. Vjorn too had insisted that the menhir held no power, for he had a plan. He knew that Kenea'allor was still very powerful, and his distrust of her bordered on paranoia. After the council with the Chieftain, he had sought her out:
"The menhir offers great prizes for those favoured by Droth'allor, like I."

And with those words, the Ironclad left the wolfmaster to her thoughts, knowing he had sparked her thirst for power. On the dawn of the next day, it was he only who held the favor of Droth'allor, the wolfmaster and her pack at his feet.


The Artificer had often pondered the visit of their God. He had shown him secrets, and he had taught him the art of writing and the skill of agriculture. He knew he had to be thankful. He knew he had to be grateful. But he was not. Was it not he, the Artificer, who had to make new discoveries? He knew it had been true for the one before him, who had developed the barbed arrows. His God had taken from him the right to make his own discoveries. And by doing so, he had taken from him not only his title, but also his dignity and his worth in the tribe.

But Jeno knew that he was the only one possessing these secrets. He could pass them off as his own discoveries, and tell the tribe that he himself had made these discoveries. Or he could keep them secret forever, taking them into his grave. Did Altair not challenge them? Did he not tell them to be more than they think they were? Did Altair truly intend for Jeno to tell the tribe that he was a better Artificer than he truly was? No. Jeno would not do that.

Altair had given him two very practical secrets. One was to sustain themselves. The other was to record their knowledge. Jeno had to become better than he had seemed, and he would. He devised a plan to ensure that while he would not falsely claim Altair's inventions, he would not be forgotten. He left the village that very night, for the nearest river. There, he baked a clay tablet, like Altair had shown him. In this tablet, he carved words: He carved knowledge.

All the knowledge Altair had granted him was kept on this tablet. He would teach the next artificer how to read, and when it was time for him to leave the mortal plane, he would give him this knowledge for himself to decipher. Only after Jeno would be dead would they find out about Altair's discoveries. Until that moment would come, he would have the time to make his own discoveries.

Pleased, Jeno buried the tablets and marked their location. Altair would surely be pleased with his intelligence.


"We will not bow to the Raven."
It was clear indeed how this man did not share his wisdom. He would have to convince him. Slowly he rose to his feet, looking around the circle of Chieftains gathered around the fire. He voice boomed through the hut: "Tribespeople! Look around you. You will see your enemies. The men who you fought with since you were born. Your parents fought them. Their parents fought them. And their parents? Yes. They too waged war. Do we not realize that our internal feuding has kept us weak? Do we not realize that now that we are gathered here, in my house, in my village, around my fire, eating my food, that we think and look the same?"

He had their full attention. Even his wife listened to him intently.

"Men of the tribes! There are some who say we are snakes. There are some who say we are weak. And they are right. We are weak on our own. But together.. Together we can grow stronger. Together we can banish them from our lands." The fire in the middle of the hut burned brightly. The men gathered around it were quiet. They were thoughtful.

"How will we know that one of us will not betray us?"

The Raven Chieftain laughed.

"We will not. We do know this, however: If one of us.. If one of you threatens to harm us still.." He paused, shadows dancing over his face as his eyes met those of the others one by one. ".. we will take revenge together."

"Tribesmen! Raise your spears with me! Nobody will stop us! Together, we will rule!"

And with that, a pact was made. The tribes of the Paw, the Oak, the Feather and the Golden Root all joined under the leadership of the Chieftains of the Raven. What had not been achieved through spears, was accomplished by words. The Chieftains of the Raven led this alliance to several victories, defeating their greatest enemies with ease. And with these victories spread the worship of Alcinoe throughout the tribes.


The Owl had given his tribe several daunting tasks. Under the current Chieftain's rule, however, there was little invention or progress on solving Kath's riddles. It was until he died in a hunting party that any ideas were shared amongst the tribe. Many believed that the silent Mithio would not be a good Chieftain. Their anticipations were proven wrong. At the customary burning of his father, an honor granted only to the Chieftains and their wives, Mithio challenged the tribespeople to tell him how to complete Kath's tasks. After receiving no answer, he started himself.

"We were told to change Nature to our hand. You are convinced that this is not possible, but I tell you that to conquer Nature we need only patience. One man can cut down only one tree a day using his stone axe. One hundred men can cut down one hundred trees. But there are millions of trees in these forests. The goal is, however, to change nature. Kath wants us to gradually claim our land. We will live in the forests so that our grandchildren, or their children will live on the plains."

Kath gestured widely at the forests surrounding the clearing, as if to show them the immensity of the lands.

"We were told to stop following our food. Perhaps it might seem hard to no longer follow our prey, but listen well! If we can no longer follow our food, we have to make it come to us! Men and Women of the Owl, I will show you the solution to this problem as well." Mithio took a fruit from inside his coat, swollen and ripe. He walked towards the now cooling ashes of his father's remains.

"Kath taught me that from death comes life. From ashes spring plants. And we can claim the fruits. He gave us the Icefern, some sort of bush. We will burn the forests, and plant the seeds in the ashes. The Icefern will grown from these ashes, and bear fruit every half year. If we clear enough of the forests, we will no longer have to hunt for our food."

And with these words, Kath tore apart the seed pod, demonstrating the newfound knowledge. He knew that there was one more task left, but that this one would have to wait. His people were not ready yet.


And after Kath's words, the Daughter turned her eyes to the first victim of the first curse. His father had angered a God, and he had paid for it in blood. His son was not as lucky. His entire family was banished from the Tribe of the Vulture, his death considered a sign from their God himself. As time had passed he had grown older, weaker and slower, but never did he die. An old, weary man, he had eventually traveled into the forests, hoping to end his life. He had placed himself on the ground, waiting to be devoured by beasts. Only when he realized that nor beast nor sickness nor hunger nor thirst would have him did he try to rise.

He had found himself unable. Time had seemed to crawl by, and he had thought it were mere days that had passed, while in reality it had been years. His body itself had been absorbed by the forests, his arms and legs covered in roots and bark. The only things that remained of him were his weakened heart and tales of pained moans in the forests.


One more tale was left to tell, and that was the tale of the Shaper. The being was mostly mindless, and it performed its tasks for years, motivated by its desire to replicate that which the mortal minds of the Final Rest produced. The Essence these souls contained was then absorbed by the Onyx Crucible, the coffin where the Shaper itself rested. Its need to replicate the mortals, however, continued to grow. And slowly, it siphoned power from the Crucible itself. First, it gained the ability to absorb the ideas of mortals. To remember them. Next, it learned how to form them, to twist the Essence.

So much did the Shaper desire to shape that from the confinements of the Crucible, it started shaping the creatures and beings in the dreams of mortals. Able to comprehend only the primal emotions of fear and rage, they were twisted beyond recognition, and transformed into the strangest of animals. Some mortals dreamed of a dark Abyss, and from the Crucible spawned shadows, which escaped into Death's realm. Some dreamers dreamed of endless forests, and the Shaper created forests of leafless black trees, oozing pure shadow. The Shaper's creations also sought to be mortal, and gradually they leeched onto the dreams of mortals themselves, parasitic and corrupting the Final Rest to a common nightmare..


Kinaré's cave was isolated from all these events. As time passed, the two Gods, Chlorine and Alcinoe, faced one another. Depending on their actions, the Daughter would bless or curse them. For now, however, she was curious..


About thirty years have passed.

Elti spreads the belief in Tirchid to the Tribe of the Wind Rock.
Elti teaches Hiana of the Wind Rock her secrets.
Elti spreads the belief of Mangang to the Tribe of Sunset Hill.
Elti teaches Wynne of the Sunset Hill her secrets.
Elti is beaten to near-death by the Tribe of Grey Lake.
Elti crawls for three complete days to make her warning to the Tribe of the Viper.
Elti dies.

Kenea'allor, Droth'allor's wolfmaster, touches the Monument of Madness and slaughters the entire pack before dying herself.
The Ironclad take the position as the most trusted advisers to the Chieftains of the Wolf.

Jeno feels internal conflict as his God took the honor of invention from him.
Jeno finally teaches the future artificer how to write and writes the instructions for both writing and agriculture on tablets that he hides to be revealed only when he nears death.
Jeno still lives today.

The Chieftain of the Raven convinces the tribes of the Oak, the Paw, the Feather and the Golden Root to join under his lead.
The alliance formed by the Tribe of the Raven defeats all other prominent powers in the region.
The alliance formed by the Tribe of the Raven ensures great spread of Alcinoe's religion.

The Chieftain of the Tribe of the Owl dies, and is replaced with Mithio.
Mithio introduces slash and burn agriculture to the Tribe of the Owl.
Mithio decides to complete Kath's last task when his tribe settles down.

The descendants of the false high priest of Druw'Lrunhike are banished.
The descendants of the false high priest of Druw'Lrunhike are all eventually overgrown by roots or joined to structures, eventually leaving only the forms or tracings of their bodies combined with moans of pain, inspiring the populace to avoid certain areas of the forest out of fear of angry spirits.

The Shaper starts shaping twisted variations of the dreams of mortals in Death's realm, drawing most of the power the Crucible collects to do so.
The creatures the Shaper creates latch onto the dreams of the dead souls in an attempt to be like the mortals, twisting them into nightmares.

Time in Kinaré's Cave was frozen, and Chlorine and Alcinoe still face one another.

Code: [Select]

Altair: 2
Alcinoe: 3
Anea: 1
Chlorine: 2
Droth'allor: 1
Druw'Lrunhike: 1
Kath: 2
Lavos: 1
Mahet: 1
Sei'imeri: 2
The Lady: 1

Due to time constraints related to being obliged to go to bed, this post might end rather messy. If you miss anything, inform me. I'll improve it.

[Iituem]

Elti pushed against the ground, felt the soft, mossy earth yield under her fingers.  There was the mottled warmth of sunlight on the back of her neck, and she could hear the soft rustling of leaves in a light breeze.  Somewhere, there was birdsong.  A perfect moment.

Elti pushed herself up from the ground and felt her age, her cares slip away.  The ancient, cracked brown skin and its wrinkles seemed to slough away, revealing the slender arms of her youth.  She stood and looked around.  The Lady's grove, but no Lady.  Just sunlight, trees, peace.  She turned her face to the sky and drank in the serenity.

Her long service was over.  She had worked, how she had worked to bring about her Lady's ends, but the prize!  Continuation for her people, salvation against eternity.  It was worth it, even against the price of her death.  The memory of the harsh beatings from the Grey Lake people, the days of crawling and her last words flitted around the back of her mind, but were silenced by the ever-spreading calm.

Peace at last.  She stood in the sunlight for an unknowable time, until she became aware of a presence nearby.  A young man, familiar in some way, stood watching her.  He smiled.

"Lady," he said.  Elti raised an eyebrow and looked down at herself.  She was garbed in smooth, red snakeskin clothing.

"No, not the Lady," she said.  "I am - was her servant, Elti."

"How strange," said the man.  "My daughter's name was Elti."

Realisation dawned upon the pair.  They embraced.

"Father," Elti whispered, feeling the water in her eyes.  "You cannot know how long I have waited..."

"Shh, little one.  I have waited also."  They released one another.  Utsu showed Elti a sliver of scarlet snakeskin, held in his palm.  "For you and another."

Elti smiled, though it was a smile tinged with sadness.  She looked away and wiped her eye.

"Perhaps we shall wait together, Father.  Father?"

Elti turned back.  Her father stared into the trees, watching something.  His hand was hovering over the flint dagger at his belt.  Elti's hand reached down to her waist, where that same dagger was bound there.

"There's something out there," he said.  "Something in the-"

The shadow moved with supernatural speed, leaping out of the trees.  Elti slashed at it to no avail, missing its flank as the black, inky jaguar caught her father by the shoulder in its jaws and carried him away.

"Father!" Elti cried.  The jaguar sped into the trees, suddenly darker than before.  She caught sight of two other creatures in the trees, a monkey and a deer, both ink black.  The pair fled, following the jaguar's path.

The warm sunlight seemed to grow sallow, and the forest around her adopted a foreboding darkness.  Not far away, she could hear the maddening howl of wolves.

[Digital Hellhound]

Exotic scents and spices flowed through the labyrinthine streets of the city, bringing with them promises of pleasures beyond imagination and sights of wonders. Street performers, gleemen, drifting musicians and artists all added their sounds to cityscape, their talents merging into one, vast song in the background. It was the sound of the city itself, her heartbeats the shouts of eager merchants, the laughing of children, and the pained screams echoing throughout her many narrow alleys.

Mahet led Ynara through the cobblestone streets. She stared in obvious wonder at the sights around her - though, knowing her, she was most likely trying to figure out how it all came together. There was nothing like it in the young world of mortals, nor would there be for a long time. That did not stop them from imagining such things, which Mahet found both endearing and somewhat amusing. He glanced at Ynara, who, like all of her tribe, wore simple clothing of furs out in the waking world. Here, she was clad in a fine, sprawling dress of dark reds that would've looked utterly out of place in her home. She had grown since he had last seen her, and had gained a knowing look to her eyes, her looks whispering of knowledge hidden to most mortals. There was a certain air of mystery around her now.

As they passed a street performer clad in a series of transparent cloths, dancing to a group of local youths, Mahet finally turned to speak to Ynara.

'Do many of your tribe worship me?'

Ynara simply nodded, as if she had been expecting the question. 'Some. There would be more, but I have been spreading your word outside, like you ordered.' she admitted, a hint of weariness in her voice. Their task was not an easy one.

'Yes, and I am thankful for that. Now tell me, does your tribe see you as one of them? Do they regard you as kin and friend?'

This took her by surprise. 'I... I suppose so. Most of them, yes.' she said, then added, 'I suspect Tyron has been... encouraging them behind my back.'

Ynara meant her husband, the son of the chieftain. Mahet had first thought she had manipulated him much in the same way as her teacher, but she spoke of him with remarkable fondness. The man worshipped him as well, though her attempts to teach him Dreamwalking had all failed. The man simply lacked the patience needed, allowing himself to be driven by his emotions without considering the consequences first.

'Do you think you could convince them to consider an alliance with another tribe, then?' he asked. 'Isra's tribe, to be exact.'

'I doubt it. Why seek the aid of a people high in the mountains when others live much closer? And I do not think they'd want an alliance with us either.'

'They would move.' Mahet said.

'You would command them to abandon their homes for a land and tribe they have never seen before in their lives?'

'If needed. But you would not need me for that. They will follow the word of a Dreamwalker even to their deaths.' he replied, giving Ynara a blank stare. She looked visibly uncomfortable, like she always did when they discussed acts of Isra that did not fit into the image she had of her teacher. The Tribe of the Lynx still carried the chains of Isra's actions, though only the elders now remembered her face. Mahet had no intention of letting it fade from their minds. They thought of her as his prophetess, sacred child, wife - it did not matter, as long as they connected her to him.

'They might consider it, then. Tyron would agree to it, and his voice carries considerable weight with the elders.' she smiled. 'Is this why you brought me here, into this dream? Do you believe this would be our future?'

'You would gain many new skills and ideas, at the very least. And if you combined forces, you would have the most warriors in the entire region. The chieftain would want to know that.' he paused, turning the street in front of them into a walkway of white stone in a lush garden. 'And yes, partly. I also wanted you to see this.' he said, indicating the garden around them. The city had disappeared alltogether in the blink of an eye.

'There is someone I think you would like to meet.' he said softly. A figure raised herself from the walkway wall, striding across to meet them. Isra smiled, her face youthful once again. When he had awakened her after returning from the realm of the dead, her skin had been abnormally pale and her eyes dead, but she could change her form freely now, and had discarded that soon enough. Her personality and mind did not seem to have suffered at all.

Ynara broke off into a sprint towards her teacher, eyes wide in disbelief, and Mahet let himself fade away from the dream. Ynara had taken the death of her teacher hard, and he saw it best to leave the pair alone. They would have much to talk about, and many questions to answer.

---
Mahet orders Ynara to create an alliance with her tribe and the Tribe of the Lynx and to spread their influence in the region

[Evergod41]

Time had passed, and Altair could sense that the knowledge He passed on had not yet spread further. He descended from the mountain once more looking over His peoples' village, He went to the Artificer's home, and waited for when he was alone. Time went by slower when He was watching mortals, Altair just couldn't figure out why this man would not spread His teachings. But, as He watch the man, who He was starting to refer by name now, Jeno, Altair realised that it wasn't simply being taught immediately, but still wondered why.

Apparating, Altair came up from behind Jeno, and placed His left hand upon his shoulder.

"Why have you come to me again, Lord? Come to take yet more inventions from me?"

Altair was shocked, and realised what stopped Juno from spreading his gift, pride, the aspect of a human to take pleasure in their work. And He had taken that away by simply giving the knowledge, instead of having it earned.

"No... not this time, but rather to ask you, why haven't you spread the knowledge that I gave to you?"

"Because it was not I who had made those discoveries, it had to be given to me by our God, and I could have taken the claim of the discovery for myself, but I did not want to take credit from our God. Instead, I recorded the information on a clay tablet, in the way you tought me, and hid it somewhere, I plan to reveal the location of the tablet before my death."

"Very well, I can see the logic in your plan, and the faults. What if you die suddenly? Or by something that prevents you from communication? How would you then pass on the location of the information?"

It seemed Jeno was confounded by this, he stood there, not knowing an answer, he attempted several times to find a way that it might work out as he planned, but could not find one.

"See? Do you now know why it is impossible to both hide knowledge and keep it known? You could tell your successor the location, and simply trust that he wont go looking for it before you die. Or, you could spread the knowledge now, so that you may still have time to improve upon the basic designs I have given you."

Jeno stood there, pondering the listed possibilities. "I'll consider your wisdom..... Is there anything else you wanted of me?"

"None, now I shall make my leave." Altair bows to the Artificer, then seemingly fades from existance. "I really do like your views on my challenge, and just remember it was your people who made the tradition of the Artificer, not me."

Altair then made his way around the village once more, He saw many people trying to create things, even some of the children. None of their inventions seemed to work the way they wanted them to however, and piles of failed experiments were begining to form. As He wandered around still, He found a small child who was stacking rocks up to look like a humanoid. Softly, Altair spoke as if He was behind the child:

"What is that?"

"His name is Golum, he likes to smash things."

The child turned around to see who asked him, but saw nobody. When he looked back at golum, it was as big as him, and was mocking the movements of passer-by. It stopped when the boy shreiked, and stood there, frightened itself.

"Don't be afraid, he wont hurt you. He's alive just like you, and can do anything you want him to, so long as you know how to do it."

Several people now gather around the creation, waiting to see what it will do, one of them holds a spear towards it waiting to strike. Golum then starts clicking, tapping bits of iself with other bits, attempting communication. Altair gives it the knowledge of morse code, so that it's clicks are more regular and eventually learnable.

Altair knew the creature would not stay like this, and He would not be able to sustain it forever on His powers alone, so He turned once more to the versatile and abundant obsidian stones. Enscribing the same insignia as on the Stone of Ingenuity, this stone was of smaller size, and simply collected the trace power from the environment and from light, then giving the power to Golum so that it may stay alive. Altair then moved the stone and put it as a chestpeice on Golum.

Apparating once more, Altair confronted the people. "Do not harm this creation, for he is of my own, and belongs to this child. It's name is Golum, and will listen only to whom it trusts, it does know language, you will just have to learn it." Altair then touches Golum's head-stone and fanishes once more.


Altair confronts Jeno, the current Artificer, and tells him to consider releasing the information sooner, hopefully immediately.

Altair finds a small child creating a humanoid pile of rocks and animates it.

Spoiler: Golum (click to show/hide)

A small anthropomorphic being made of obsidian stones, knows a form of Morse Code, about a meter tall. It will only listen to people it trusts, who it trusts depends upon the child.

Altair creates a stone simmilar to the Stone of Ingenuity, but is smaller in size and serves as a powersource for Golum, collecting energy from the environment and from light.

[Digital Hellhound]

'Mistress,' whispered one of her servants, 'your guests have arrived.'

Isra nodded, eyes still closed. She had no intention of getting up, enjoying the heat of the sun on her skin. The tropical air was humid and still carried faint traces of the morning rain in it. It would've felt uncomfortable, but this high up the wind helped refresh her. If it went away, her servants would be ready with fans and shades. It felt good to be alive again.

Hearing footsteps, she sighed and stepped up onto the cold stone floor. The tower was old, a remnant of the ancient South Temple. The land - her land - spread out everywhere around them, the city continuing far into the horizon. Isra's palace lay below, an extragavant display of gold and bronze. A huge, intricate statue of her stood above the entrance, reminding her visitors who exactly they were dealing with. Great walls of stone surrounded the complex, visible even from the farthest reach of the city.

The footsteps stopped at the top of the stairs, but Isra didn't turn to face the visitors. Her dress hid little. Isra had found that her opponents tended to underestimate her based on appearance alone, a fact she had used to her advantage countless times. A smile began to form on her lips. This was another group of governors and border princes, coming to ask her for more rights and freedoms. She intended to give them none, and would enjoy tormenting them with the little secrets and lies they had thought hidden from her.

'Her Divine Majesty, Empress of the Three Realms, Daughter and Prophetess of Techtlan and Mistress of the Two Thousand, commands you to rise!' her chancellor proclaimed to the arrivals.

Isra turned, smiling. And froze.

Behind the few plainly-clothed lords and ladies and governors towered the Dreamlord, drawing her gaze immediately. There was a hint of a smile on Mahet's lips as he studied the world Isra had created for herself. She blushed, realizing what all this would seem like to him.

'I... I, err...' she stammered, then snapped her mouth shut. She closed her eyes, and the world around her disappeared. She sighed. This was idiotic. She had no reason to be ashamed. Mahet would've known what she was doing in any case, and she could create whatever dreams she wanted.

'I was just... living something I failed to accomplish in the waking world, my lord.' Isra said. They were back in the void of the World of Dreams, a vast black canvas filled with sparks, like shards of glass, the dreams of mortal.

Mahet nodded. 'You did well, Isra. Ynara's followers swell in numbers every day. You laid the foundation for her, so to speak.'

'I appreciate that, but we both know that isn't true.' she replied. Things were... tense between her and Ynara right now. The girl had not been pleased to find out what she had done to the Tribe of the Lynx in her youth. 'Now, was there some reason you came to end an old woman's dream?'

Another nod. 'I'm afraid I need your help again.' Mahet said, looking somewhat uncomfortable. 'I will do it myself if you do not wish to.'

'Of course, my lord. What do you need?' she asked quickly, discarding all remaining thoughts of her dream-world.

'This... might sound familiar.' Mahet said, smiling dryly. 'I need you to return to the Realm of the Dead. The Final Rest I created for the lord of that place in exchange for your soul - it's been... corrupted somehow. I fear it might be His handiwork, for reasons I cannot fathom, which is why I doubt Death would do anything if I confronted Him about it. The Final Rest has been turned into a series of nightmares, their original form and purpose forgotten. This is not what I intended.'

He paused, looking at Isra. She nodded for him to continue. Isra remembered little of that cold world, though Mahet's descriptions had given her a good enough impression.

'I want you to enter the Rest and find the source of this corruption, destroying it as well if possible. If not, you are free to return. You will need to be careful. It is not a normal dream.'

'Very well.' she said. Mahet looked surprised at her quick answer. Isra chuckled. 'My lord, you brought me back from the dead. I think going back for a short while is the least I can do.'

Mahet seemed at struggle for words for a moment. Then he calmed down, allowing himself a slight smile. 'Leave as soon as you're ready, then. We don't have time to waste.'

She nodded in agreement, though she was not exactly looking forward to this task. If luck was with her, she wouldn't have to stay in Death's world for any longer than necessary.

---

Mahet sends Isra to investigate the Final Rest

[Acanthus117]

Alcinoe gripped Hrunting tightly, the all-too-familiar handle calming her somewhat.

Chlorine's lust for her blood was so thick, so tangible that it was like his hate and his fury had condensed into a noxious vapor, engulfing her. She was doing all she could to keeo her own bloodthirst in check.

One part of her wanted to rush right into the fight, to strike down her foe in a glorious duel that would shake the world itself.

Another, however, told her not to run right in. She had no idea of her foe's capabilities, what he could do. And that was no way for the Goddess of War to fight?

Trick him, she thought. Let him make the first move.


"Chlorine! I don't have all day, you know. Let's make this quick, I've more important things to attend to." She flashed a smile at the other god, lacing her voice with barely-constrained venom.

And now I wait.

[Iituem]

A story, a story!

Yes, tell us a story, old grandmother.  A story about great battle!

No, tell us a story about love!

Eww, no!  Let's hear a story about a place we've never been!


Very well, children.  A story about battle, about love and about a place you've never been.  Have any of you ever been into the Great Jungle?  No?  Then let me tell you one of its darker secrets, a tale of love and rejection, of strange and long-gone peoples.  A tale of betrayal and battle.

Once upon a time there were three young girls-

Were they sisters?

Not as such, but they shared a fate.  The first of these girls was Hethesla, daughter of the wise woman Hiana of the Wind Rock tribe.  Hethesla was the fleetest of foot, the quickest of arm and eye in all the jungle.  Not even the best hunters of her people could match her with the throwing spear, could stalk prey as well as she or move as quick.  She was fair, she was skilled, she was the envy of her tribe.  Yet for all her speed and skill she was proud, vain and presumptuous from years of flattery by her kinsmen.  Many sought her hand as wife, but none could meet her standard.

The second girl was Aenna, daughter of both the clan chief and Wynne, the wise woman of Sunset Hill.  Though not as fast, not as fair nor as loved as Hethesla, Aenna was reknowned and feared as the greatest killer in the jungle.  With spear, knife and handaxe she had led her people on dozens of vicious raids on neighbouring tribes during her short youth.  What she lacked in grace she made up for in sheer rage - commanding the absolute respect and terror of her people.  Yet the fear that surrounded her isolated her.  Aenna was lonely and unloved for all her respect, a truth which caused the fires of rage that made her such a powerful warrior to burn even hotter.

The third girl was Cybele, a girl of no great birth but possessed of a simple beauty.  Cybele was born of the Grey Lake tribe, a clan of peaceful and contemplative fishermen.  Though no great warrior or hunter, Cybele possessed a keen mind and a talent for seeing the truth in the statements of others.

One day, Hethesla was hunting alone in the woods when she spied a white doe, the symbol of the god that favoured her people; Tirchid, the Nimble.  Seeing this as a sign, Hethesla gave chase to the deer for many miles, though it always stayed one step ahead.

The very same day, Aenna was alone beneath the Sunset Hill practising with her spear and shield when what did she see but a golden monkey in the trees.  The monkey was throttling a bird, tearing it apart with its hands.  It gave a wild screech and fled into the deeper jungle.  Seeing this as a sign from Mangang, god of Rage, Aenna followed in pursuit.

Elsewhere in the jungle Cybele sat with her spear, fishing.  She caught sight of a parrot as bright and coloured as polished jewels preening itself in the trees.  The parrot called and hopped away a few branches, looking back as if to see if she would follow.

"Go on thy way, fool parrot!" Cybele laughed.  "Everyone knows your pride and showing-off will lead to your end.  Now begone, I must fish for my dinner!"

Cybele and her people all laughted at the parrot, for they knew it was the sign of Cawpaw, the parrot god that an old mad woman had once tried to teach of in their tribe.  They had stoned the woman to death and seen away such folly.

Cybele heard a soft rustle and looked up to see a scarlet viper where the parrot had been, the bird dead on the forest floor below.  The viper stared directly at Cybele, almost as if challenging her, then slithered away into the forest.  Now Cybele may have been no fool, but she was curious and the activity of these jungle spirits intrigued her.  She took her fishing spear in hand and followed the serpent into the forest.

All three girls followed the beasts until they found themselves in a glade where a young man stood, the most handsome man any of them had ever seen.  He wore bright, soft cougar furs and carried a great shield and spear, the mark of a great hunter and warrior.  They were amazed to find each other and asked who he was.

"I am Caeron," said the man, "chief of the Sunrise Forest people and chosen of Ogdi, the hunter.  I followed a cougar, Ogdi's spirit animal, to this place."

"How strange," said Hethesla.  "I followed the white doe of Tirchid to this grove."

"And I the monkey of Mangang," said Aenna.

Cybele, being wiser, said nothing of how she had come to the place, but was first to sight the lady in red.

Somehow, without any of them truly seeing her approach, a woman garbed in scarlet snakeskins had appeared in the grove.  Her face was comely, but her eyes were colder than the grave.  She bore a golden apple in one hand, which she placed in Caeron's hand.

"To the fairest, this is due.  Choose," she said, then turned and stepped into the wood where she seemed to vanish completely.  All eyes fixed upon the apple, for it seemed the most beautiful thing each of them had ever seen.

"The apple is due to me," said Hethesla.  "None of you can deny I am the most beautiful of us.  I am the fastest, the most skilled, and all of my kin in the Wind Rock know this.  Choose me, Caeron, and I shall teach you to be as skilled as I.  My tribe shall join yours and pass on the secrets of the hunt, of speed and skill."

"Don't be a fool!" said Aenna.  "Could you put up with her forever after boasting?  Whatever she might say about her features, I have more passion.  What is beauty without life?  Choose me, and I will take you as my husband and fill each of your days with passion.  More than this, you will have the aid of my tribe.  Surely you know that there are no more feared warriors than the Sunset Hill?  Choose me, and together we could conquer all of the Great Jungle!"

"All I will ask is that you choose wisely," said Cybele.  "I make no claim to great beauty or passion.  I am but a simple fisherwoman and so are my people.  But I will ask this, that none of you would - why have you been given this gift to give?  You say your gods led you here.  Is this bright apple the reward for devotion, or a serpent's snare?"

"Do you doubt my faith?" challenged Aenna and Hethesla, and both girls began to berate Cybele.

"Enough!" said Caeron.  "I have made my choice."

It was Aenna, wasn't it?  I'd pick her.

No, duh.  It's going to be Hethesla, isn't it?  The woman said 'the fairest', and she's the most beautiful.

Come on, it's obviously Cybele.  She's the wise one, they always pick the wise one.

"It seems to me that there is only one choice, my friends.  Only one is wise, brave, passionate, fast, skilled and beautiful above all.  And that one... is me."

Caeron gripped his fist around the apple and all three girls saw the gleam in his eye, the glint of greed stronger than even Hethesla's pride or Aenna's wrath.  Seeing him turn to run, Aenna struck out at Caeron with her spear.  He deflected it expertly with his shield and kicked her legs from under her before taking flight.  Hethesla gave chase but found him fleeter even than Tirchid's doe and though she ran for hours her breath gave out before him.  Cybele merely watched the trees for sign of the lady, then departed to finish her fishing.

Weeks passed, but memory of the grove would not pass from the girls' minds.  Hethesla, rejected for the first time in her life, could not sleep for anger at her wounded pride.  She mistreated her suitors even worse than before and flew into wild tempers at the thought of Caeron and the apple until she swore that she would have his heart for slighting her.

Aenna was not angry as she was used to being, but found her thoughts returning to Caeron's handsome face.  She realised that she was smitten and began to dote to such an extent that even her vigour for battle was fading.  Above all else, she desired Caeron's heart.

Cybele thought not of Caeron in the slightest, though her mind worked furiously to understand why the four of them had been brought to that grove.  She packed provisions in a leather bag and set out through the jungle, travelling from tribe to tribe to ask about the lady in red and the three tribes of Sunset Hill, Sunrise Forest and Wind Rock.

One day, Cybele came upon a village of a people she had never known of, yet strangely only three days' journey from her own village - the tribe of the Viper.  Hunters and gatherers, these people prayed to a secret god; not Tirchid or Mangang, nor Ogdi or even Cawpaw, but to a Lady whose name they would never speak, but who was said to travel amongst them in the guise of a scarlet viper.  Near the centre of the village she saw a slender sapling with one enormously bloated root, its wood blacker than charcoal.

"What tree is that," Cybele asked, "that grows so black within your village?"

"We call it the Midnight Tree," said a villager.  "It grew from the grave of an old woman who died here many years ago, and bore leaves the colour of blood.  Seven weeks ago, the tree bore a single golden apple.  They say the Lady came and plucked the apple in the night, after which the tree shed all its leaves."

Cybele left the village, armed with this knowledge, and came face to face with the Lady herself.

"Why?" Cybele asked.  "Why call us together?  Why give that apple?"

"To punish and reward," said the Lady.  "To reward you for your people's wit, and to punish them for the stoning of an old crone."

"Of an old- but that was years ago!  Before I was born!"

"Three days before you were born, you stoned her.  Three days, she crawled in my service before she died.  As she left this world, you came into it.  Your people slighted my servant, and so you shall bear their punishment.  More than this, you will bear it of your own will."

"What curse would you put upon me, that I would accept it willingly?"

"The curse of power, of rulership over the hearts of men."

"I have no desire for power or conquest, Lady.  Your promises are as empty as Cawpaw's splendour."

"I assure you, the threat of the Sunrise Forest is not.  Have you not wandered these jungles as I knew you would?  Have you not heard of Caeron, how his greed has pressed him to enslave more and more of those tribes around him?  He would come for your people eventually, but with my gift that time will come all the sooner.  The apple is not all that it seems.  Beyond just a thing of beauty, the one who holds it is granted the power to speak with great weight; all who hear him will accord his words moment.  Caeron has not yet realised the power of the apple, but when he does he will raise an army from the tribes and lay waste to all the Great Jungle."

"Why would you do this?"

"Why?  Because I am the Lady!  I am Strife, I am Discord and Chaos!  Every ill word spoken, every wrathful thought or hateful action, every effort to strive to be better, or to beat the odds, I am there!  And because whether you stop him or no, it will punish you and him alike.  But you must stop him, if your people you wish to save."

Cybele fought back against the hatred she felt for the goddess, fearing it would only make her stronger.

"How would I save my people, then?" she asked.

"Go to Caeron willingly.  Offer him the free support of your people.  Offer him yourself.  Offer him whatever he wants but make sure he knows that the two greatest threats to his rule, the Sunset Hill and Wind Rock, will come to this village within the week, to meet and plot to destroy him.  Have him come to this place with all his men, to crush them whilst he can.  And when he arrives, when battle begins, seize the apple for yourself.  Once you have it you will have the power to stop this war, to end it with your words."

"But surely Caeron would oppose me, even as persuasive as this apple would be?"

"That," the Lady laughed, "will not be a problem."  She waved a hand and faded into nothingness.  Alone once more, Cybele found herself faced with a choice - to carry out the Lady's plan and use the apple to save her people, or to flee and risk eventual conquest at Caeron's hand.

Yet Cybele was not the only one with a choice to make.  The Lady appeared twice more that day, at evening and midnight.  At dusk she visited Hiana of the Wind Rock tribe.  Hiana, being a wise woman of the world, knew the Lady upon seeing her and prostrated herself in respect.  The Lady bade her rise.

"You have served me well over these many years," said the Lady, "and have prospered for your service.  I come to grant you a boon and in return place another service upon you.  Your daughter, it seems, is greatly angered at a man."

"She is, my Lady.  No matter how I try to calm her, she swears that she will kill him, yet by her own admission he is faster and more skilled than even her."

"Then go through the wood and seek out the village of the Viper Tribe.  Drive out the people who live there and look for a sapling growing from a grave.  Cut down the trunk of that slight tree - there is enough for you to carve a single spear from the wood.  This spear, when thrown or held, will always strike the target at which it is aimed.  With this spear your daughter cannot fail to kill the man she hates."

"Thank you, oh Lady!  But what is the service you beg in return for this boon?"

"A simple one.  Should the day ever come that your people no longer have need of you, you are to go into the world and seek out the people of that tree's village and teach as many of them as you can the secrets that your mistress taught you.  Should you do this, you must teach any apprentices you take to do the same."

In addition to this, the Lady taught Hiana a secret rite to allow her to determine the people of the Viper Tribe, just by looking at them.

At midnight the Lady appeared to Wynne, of the Sunrise Hill.  As with Hiana she enquired as to the state of Wynne's daughter.  Wynne complained that her daughter was in love with Caeron and could not cease thought of him.  The Lady promised her that if she were to go with her tribe and drive out the people of the Viper Tribe, they would find a tree with one bulging root.  If she were to dig up that root and carve from it a drinking cup, any person who drank from that cup would fall in love with the first person they saw thereafter.  In return for this boon the Lady commanded that if Wynne, as Hiana, should ever no longer be needed by her people, then she should search the world for the Viper Tribe and teach them what she knew.  To Wynne also the Lady taught the secret of discerning the Viper Tribe.

With all this done the Lady grew tired, but before she rested she returned to the village of the Viper Tribe and marked the blood of each of them.  Every one of these Viperkin would thereafter know one another as being of the Tribe on sight, and so would all of their descendents, no matter how far scattered their people might be.  She charmed also a nest of scarlet vipers and whispered to them their own task to fulfill...

With the Lady's seeds sown, how would it all fall out?  Well, that's a story not to be continued on an empty stomach!

Aww!

Worry not, we'll finish this tale soon enough, though your aunt seems anxious you eat whilst the food is hot.  And if a humble storyteller might have an extra plate?  Why thank you, very gracious of you.  But yes, we'll continue this story soon enough.

Did they take the Lady's offer?

Soon, soon!  But let us say that if they had, then Hiana and Wynne's apprentices might still be wandering the world to this day, trying to find the Viperkin.  You might never know those apprentices to look at them.  They might be priests.  They might be merchants.

They might even be storytellers.

The Lady causes the Midnight Tree to sprout from Elti's grave.
The Lady plucks the Apple of Discord from the Midnight Tree and gives it to Caeron.
The Midnight Tree has just enough wood to produce both the Certain Spear and the Cup of Seduction.
The Lady grants the blessing of Viperkin to all members of the Viper Tribe.  The blessing is inheritable.
The Lady teaches Hiana and Wynne a simple rite to detect Viperkin.
The Lady informs Hiana and Wynne of the location of the Midnight Tree and gives them a conditional instruction to pass on their teaching to the Viperkin (only if their own tribes no longer have need of them).
The Lady suggests to Cybele that she gain control of the Apple of Discord to prevent Caeron from eventually setting his sights on conquest of the Grey Lake.
The Lady enchants/instructs a nest of vipers living close to the Viper Tribe village such that, should the village be attacked, the vipers will lead the inhabitants in many different directions to safety.

Spoiler: Midnight Tree Artefacts (click to show/hide)

The Apple of Discord gives the holder the power of great persuasion.
The Certain Spear is a wooden spear of the same hardness and strength of steel that can be thrown or used in melee and will unerringly hit any target, provided it is visible to the wielder or thrower (and there is enough space for the spear to pass through).
The Cup of Seduction forces the drinker to fall in love with the first person they see.

Spoiler: Viperkin (click to show/hide)

The Viperkin can detect other Viperkin on sight.  This comes as a sensation of mild recognition, even if they have never met before.  This blessing confers no other powers, save to identify the descendants of the Viper Tribe.

[Acanthus117]

The Goddess of War did not have to wait long for her foe to react to her taunt.

Chlorine leapt towards her, his hands twisted into savage claws like that of some dire beast from the wilderness.

A torrent of mindless babble interspersed with curses and insults spewed from the mad god's mouth.

His mind is gone, thought the Goddess of War, her eyes widening. It would be merciful to end him.

Alcinoe sidestepped the wild charge of her foe with ease, dancing past his clumsy blows.

The stink of rage and bloodlust was pouring from him like a tidal wave, threatening to sweep up the Goddess with it. It made her mind spin, filling it with images of the world’s destruction, of corpses piled high in terrible mountains, a feast for the gore-crows.

For a moment, she was lost in the images, and she could almost smell the blood in the air.

A part of her relished these sickening images, relished the wanton destruction of which they spoke. The part of her that desired death reveled in the mountains of corpses, dancing over the dead.

She had to make a conscious effort to prevent his primal rage overpowering her mind and reducing her to his state of mindlessness. It was difficult, however. Alcinoe feared for her sanity, for were not War and Destruction all too similar?

The Goddess smiled widely in anticipation, despite her fear. She found comfort in the fear growing in her belly, knowing that if she survived this encounter, she would be all the stronger.

This mindless beast was but another obstacle on her path to greatness. She would overcome this insane God and ascend ever higher to unknown vistas of power.

The God of Destruction crouched low on all fours, like an animal closing in for the kill. A growl emanated from his throat, and he gouged little cracks into the marble floors of the strange demiplane.

Chlorine's smooth white mask opened up, revealing a grotesque maw of needle-like teeth. They were jagged, and appeared to be carved from the smooth ivory surface of his mask. Inside, the Goddess of War could only see darkness.

A soupy black ichor, as black as the Void itself, dripped from the nightmare maw, creating a soft, eerie hiss as it splattered against the smooth floor of the Cave. The hairs on the back of the goddess’s neck stood on end when she saw its effects.

Alcinoe steeled herself and let out a battle-cry of her own. Sword held high and heart pounding in her ears, the Goddess of War charged towards the God of Destruction.

[ragnarok97071]

Lavos almost smiles. Time to prepare for the future...

The Valkyrie stands before him, prepared to recieve her orders, and Lavos extends a hand, the scythe that she had once used appearing in his hand.

"Take back your blade, and with it your orders."

The blade passes to her, settling in her hand.

"You will travel to the Tribes of the world, and you will find those who are worthy of serving me in the highest regard... Find me my Destroyers. Seek them out, and recruit them. Mark them with my seal, thus."

His hand raises, and above it appears a symbol, a circle marked with the elements, and in its center, a scythe.

"Before you to, I shall give you a gift, a gift that will serve you to better reach the far corners of the earth..."

A hand extends, and the Valkyrie changes. Her shoulder muscles spasm, as a new slab of muscle comes into existence between them. She then cries out in pain as a pair of leathery wings erupt from her back, staggering to her knee.

"It is complete... Go now, you have a job to do.

The Valkyrie bows. "Yes, Lord Lavos" and departs on her quest... It would take quite some time... Though she does not worry, the dead do not worry about such things.

Lavos gifts the Valkyrie with flight, and charges her with gathering a group of Destroyers from across the Planet.