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[Ardas]

The pace quickened. For the enternal being such as him or his celestial bretheren time did not matter, but mortals seemd to be more and more active, doing more within their short lifespans, now that the other gods decided to throw their dice. But the instability also grew. The dragons, the Glasslands, wonders and horros being born in the unseen depths and the hidden chambers of the earth.

Alone in the maelstorm of the new creation, stood the humans. These mortals, the examples of what it meant to be a sentient being trapped in the physical realm, were both mundane and unique for Ardas. They were free spirits that could forge the mightiest of tools and magic but also could be satisfied with the most basic dwellings and the most simple meals. the sheer maleability and their potential intrigued Ardas. They were a resource but also a force thart most gods overlooked in their exploits. But Ardas was bound to preservation of the order, so he decided to guide inhabitants of the mortal plane for the task at hand.

Many kingdoms and heroes arose in the post-Apocalypse world, and many already turned their attention to the worship of other gods or use of magic. But a simple farming folk of the hills of Tirem were the ones that attracted the attention of Ardas. They knew the basics of life and lived in peace with the rules of nature. They were unspoilt by any ideas and abided by the lot that was handed to them, but fought the injustices and preserved their little society when they had to.
But they would not grow in that state. They needed the knowledge of Order and the desire to make the world at large theirs. Their balance was to be destroyed so that the balance of the world would be built on their shoulders.

So Ardas set upon his task.
He descended upon a household of a young farmer, Karran, and appeared in his form: A tall man, two feet higher than any mortal man, clad in a splendid armor of burnished bronze and gold. His head covered with a hood, face dark and invisible under the hood. Order was impersonal, and yet to be shaped by the experiences of the mortals.

There he spoke to the man, warning him of the world at large. Their idyllic existence would be destroyed inveitably, as the numbers and hunger of the others, both mortals and the gods' servants, incerased. It would take millenia, or maybe centuries, but places like that tiny village of theirs will dissapear in a blink of an eye, and all it takes is a moody god to end their existence.
And to help him and his people with the task at hand, Ardas bestowed traits of extreme wisdom, charisma and dominating presence upon Karran, urging him to become a leader of his village and unite all people of Tirem land into one.
Ardas then went from village to village of Tirem, bestowing gifts of invention and knowledge upon various craftsmen and elders, and of the message given to Karran. Soon enough Karran united the Tirem under his hand and through the gifts of Ardas, people of Tirem begun to grow. Those ideas were small: how to settle a local dispute most efficently, how to get water to a distant field most efficiently or how to construct a solid and usefulroad from one town to another. These ideas soon turned into grand projects, through the inventivness and abilites of humans themselves: aqueducts, highways and civil codes and laws. Tirem grew to be a powerful kingdom, fending off raiders and forging stong alliances, a shining beacon of Order and industry.

Ardas was pleased with his work, as he did little himself. He merely sparked the interest and put the cogs of the human mind to work, but guiding every king and every engineer with a silent whisper or a gentle stroke of a pen.

But that was just the beginning. They needed to be affected by the world at large, something that would force them to put their efforts to fighting and expansion. And that something that Ardas was reluctant to bring to them. He could only watch them build and grow, and it was the humans themselves that had to figure out the rest, as it was Ardas' way.



Raise Tirem, a human kingdom. They specialise in efficent and strong government and are known for their engineering skills.

[Karnewarrior]

I am.
I am Midas Memorum.
I am the All-Knowing.
I am searching, gathering, absorbing knowledge.
I am.
I will.
I will grow.
I will not take part in petty affairs that do not concern me.
I will be.
I will become.
I will, because I will it.

There is a tree, in the grounds of Vas'Us, the Floating City, that sways. It has always been there, if you ask any mortal. They would be wrong.
The tree is a god, and at the roods of that god sits a bush, a small thing, hardly remarkable. It grows melons, rather mundane, all things considered. But the bush is intertwined with Midas Memorum, the Eldest God. The God who knows all.

When first an apprentice takes shade beneath his branches, Midas is bemused. This thing does not comprehend what he is leaning on. Then he grows mirthful. Poor little being, who knows so little. Let us see what you know. And he sees.

He sees iron-working, but no steel. There is writing, and language, but it is for the theological, not the scientific. Holy books on gods that may or may not exist. There are ideas too, in this little one, baby ideas from a baby head. But they are good, and they draw Midas' attention. A Council, elected from the people? A king, but with laws in place for a peaceful rebellion? What of this, money printed on paper, representative of the gold coins now used? Midas looks upon these ideas, and takes them into himself to understand.

The apprentice leaves, likely to do nothing important for the rest of his life. But Midas knows, Midas will share his ideas, so that this "Democratic Republic" shall come to be. And paper money as well! How novel! All those who sit below Midas will have the idea occur to them, and they will accept or reject it on their own merits. So is the decree of Midas Memorum.


Some time later, Midas wishes to move. He has little use being in one place. But the Univerity is good, and full of people. They must not see him change! So inside his wooden heart, he creates a tiny eye, hoisted upon tentacles, and fueled by his own vitality. They breed in the presence of good ideas, and Midas shall see whatever they see. The Humans will call the the EYES OF THE MAGI, and eventually learn to see from them as well. So is Midas' decree.

Memorum: I remember Democracy
Memorum: I remember Paper Money
Midas Act: I will spread these ideas to all who sit below me.
Midas Act: I will create the Eyes of the Magi

[adwarf]

The Making Walyin're, and the Guardians
Kain watched as the Seven Earth Kings went out into the world where they spotted villages, castles, and towns of all sizes within them he saw the humans, a weak, and fragile race. They were small, and seemed likely to die from the slightest touch, but they covered the lands with their homes, their walls, and their farms. They were hardy, but none looked strong enough to face the gods, or even face the Seven Kings, and that angered Kain. For a race that can not protect themselves from the Gods will die out when their wrath is unleashed, so Kain set about his work gathering power, and the rarest stone of the earth, the Heartstone, with it in hand he plunged his fist into the earth of his chamber, but instead of cracking it sank into it as if the ground was liquid.

His arm sank down into the earth until it covered his arm, and then he began to pull something up from the earth. First came the handle, a multitude of colors ranging from red to clear, and then came the blade, a blade made out of every metal, and ore that found its home in the depths of the earth. This sword contained the power to harm gods, and slay the Earth Kings, but only the righteous would be allowed to touch it, so he brought a chunk of obsidian from the depths, and plunged the sword into it as if it was butter, and there it sealed where only the strongest, mightiest, and the one chosen by Kain shall touch it. Still he needed something to guard this weapon from any who may seek to release it without the right. Around the stone rose nine statues each of a large hulking figure twice the size of largest human with seemingly no head, or neck, but upon there back were wings of stone, and grasped in their hands were swords forged from the strongest of metals, and stone.

These were the Guardians seemingly just statues, but if the sensed any thing enter the chamber other than Kain, or his chosen then they would spring to life their stone skin becoming that of flesh, and their wings that of black feathers. These beings were the best to guard the sword, Walyin're or Earth's Key, because they felt no pain, and would never stop their task until they could no longer move, or think. Though he hated making the creatures like this he felt their feelings, and they seemed happy to be there protecting the sword, and that puzzled Kain for he had never before felt this feeling.

Act 2: Create Walyin're
Act 3: Create the nine Guardians of Walyin're

[NUKE9.13]

When Nora first awoke, the world had been righteous. Death was outweighed by life, hate outweighed by love. The worst thing on the world was the dragons she herself had driven to evil.
But now, she felt others. Other presences, her equals, who awoke and sought not to protect or aid, but to cause death and suffering. Though the world remained- for the most part- a happy and peaceful place, the seeds of evil were being sown all around her, and the future looked to be grim. Unless someone stood against them.
She must stand against them. Righteous fire must purge the land of evil, before it has a chance to cause suffering.

But to intervene all over the world would be impossible. Instead, the world should be changed so that it can stand for itself. Mortals- mortals would serve as protectors, and warriors when needed. Ah, but sleep still clouded her eyes. She would not create some new being to serve her. The dragons had suffered enough in her name, and the beasts of the sea would not wield her fire. Then it must be humans. Though their hearts were not as pure as those of a beast, they could be as mighty as any creature, and wise beyond their puny forms. She would take their warriors, and make them hers.


((The following segment is pointless backstory for a dragon which I am going to kill in the next segment. Summary: bla bla, children killed by humans, never-ending revenge sought, bla bla.))

This is a dragon. Her scales are black, thick, stronger than steel. Her breath burns hotter than the greatest forge, and leaves its mark even on rock. Her heart is as black as her scales, and will not yield to mercy. She remembers... her children.

Once there was a jungle. She was the happiest dragon alive, and soared through the trees, with her three children behind her. They swooped and laughed and ate little fruits which spilt juice over their scales, and she laughed as she watched them.
There were humans in the jungle. They built little villages amidst the trees, and lived a tribal life, far separated from advanced civilization. Her children enjoyed teasing the humans; flying about their village, stealing their food, setting fire to their rooftops. They laughed as the humans ran around with buckets of water, threw their spears and shouted angrily. Neither she nor her children understood why the humans cared so for their silly huts, or their pet chickens which were so delicious. No harm was intended, and no serious harm was done. She laughed, her children laughed, the humans shouted.
Then, one day, the humans had something new. She had brought her children to play at the village, and they saw that the villagers had dragged a shiny silver egg into the center. They had dug it up from a pit nearby, and now they had cleaned it and put it on a pedestal, where it shone quite prettily. She thought the egg would look very nice in her nest, and her children went to take it, eager to please.
They fell as they grew close to it- their wings would not hold them up. They plopped to the ground, confused, tried flapping their wings, but they remained earthbound. The humans watched from their huts, confused. She herself wondered briefly why her children were not flying, but thought nothing of it.
They grew closer to the egg, and one of the humans mustered his confidence, and ran out, waving his hands, shouting for them to back away. Her youngest let out a quick puff of flame to scare him away- or tried to. She saw the child breathe in, and unleash the fire, but something was wrong. The flames shot out without control, and to her horror, her child screamed. A scream of agony as she had never heard before. The children would cry when they spiked themselves on a sharp plant, or hurt their legs with a botched landing, but this level of pain they had never known, and the scream froze her heart. Even the humans winced in sympathy.
The smoke cleared, and there was her child. It lay burnt, whimpering. The skin around its mouth had burnt away, and its skull was exposed. Blood leaked onto the ground, and it coughed occasionally, blood coming up in clots. She did not know it then, but the flame had destroyed its lungs, its throat, and the inside of its mouth- it had mere minutes to live.
It would not survive those minutes.
The humans rushed out of their huts, spears and axes in hand. The middle child tried a small flame as well, to similar results. The eldest, perhaps through wisdom, perhaps because it was paralysed by fear, did not use its flame, but swiped at the humans with its claws, and swung at them with its tail. But even these simple actions seemed sluggish, and though a few humans fell, it was soon over- her children were dead, their blood covered the ground, and the humans shouted in celebration as they waved their blood-soaked weapons.
She was stunned. It happened so fast, it seemed like a bad dream. Just then, however, she suddenly understood. As if a veil was lifted, she could see- this had happened, because of the Ardanium nugget, and its anti-magical properties. It was to be feared, because it would cause wings to fail and breath to burn the throat. The knowledge dropped into her mind, courtesy, she knew, of the god Nora, who wished to prevent dragons from dying in pain. All dragons had been taught this fear of Ardanium, as well as being granted the senses needed to detect and avoid it. The god invited them to avoid the metal, and the humans who might wield it.
...had this god made it known but ten minutes sooner, her children would be alive. She looked upon the village, and saw the minds of the villagers- only evil, she saw- only joy in the death of her innocent children. Hatred, was it? Hatred because their actions caused them a minor inconvenience? Well, that was an interesting concept. She might try that. She might try to hate the humans.
...it was easy. And it felt good. She hated the humans, and forgot the pain of her fallen children. But if she stopped hating, she remembered. She could not bear the pain, so she would simply have to hate forever.

She flew a circle around the village, setting the undergrowth on fire. The villagers panicked, but there was nowhere to run, and the flames swept over them. And then there they were, nothing but crisp corpses, strewn around that hated Ardanium, strewn around the corpses of her children. She could not even go close to wish them peace in death, lest the metal kill her too. So she left, without a backwards glance, and killed, and burnt, and no man's spear could pierce her hide, no woman's begging would divert her flames, no child's tears would reach her heart. Her wings grew, her body grew, her flame grew, and her mind grew- but her heart shrunk, shrivelled and black like the corpses she left behind.


((The following segment is slightly less pointless backstory for a group of humans who will become Nora's warriors. Summary: Bla bla, dragon attacks, all hope is lost, Nora speaks to them, grants them courage, they win, become knights with dragonscale armour, dragonbone blades, dragonblood immunity to fire, and dragonsquick burning swords))

This is a small village of shepherds, nestled in the high hills, far from other villages. The people are those who fled the great flood, the last survivors of a great city which now lies deep beneath the sea. They speak still the language of the city, still practice its ways. They have regressed, slightly, no longer knowing many things of civilization, but they hold on to what the have with pride, and speak still of one day when the floodwaters might drain away, and they might return to their home.
The village's prized possession is a large, barrel-sized lump of Ardanium, found deep within a nearby cave, much envied by their neighbours. They hope that when the time comes, they can use the metal to buy back their homes, and rebuild their city. Until then, it serves to protect the village from monstrous beasts, and divine meddling.

Now the aforementioned dragon, slayer of hundreds, stands before this village. The villagers are brave, and organised. The young and the old have taken refuge in a sturdy stone shelter, and their warriors- which is to say, everyone else- has gathered before their Ardanium boulder. They know of its effects, and though they have never faced a dragon before, they are calm, for they know the metal will protect them.

The dragon has lived a long time. She has seen many humans, and has faced organised resistance before. Her sights have been set on this village, and even a piece of Ardanium of that size will not hold her back.
She draws a deep breath. Her chest balloons almost comically, the spark of hatred in her eyes flares.
She releases her flame. Not in a disorganised stream, but in a concentrated blast, carefully directed. It billows forth as a compact sphere, strikes the earth just before the boulder, and explodes. The fire sweeps throughout the village, but it does little damage- its force is spent, its goal achieved. The Ardanium boulder is sent flying, crashing down just outside the village, its form unharmed by the magical flame, but it lies to far out to hold back the dragon's rage.
Of the warriors, a few are killed, a few injured, a few sent sprawling. The damage is relatively minor, but seeing their trump card, the one thing that gave them hope, removed from their presence, they panic. They do not organise, they run and hide. Some try to flee the village, but the dragon awaits them, teeth bared, claws ready.
All hope has been lost, and the village is doomed.
And then a voice; a voice which speaks not in words, but in feelings. The voice is sweet, tender; loving, caring. It explains:

"Do not run. Do not be afraid. Dragons are mighty, but not immortal. She [the dragon] has spent almost all her strength removing your Ardanium; she is weakened. She now relies on you panicking and fleeing, so that she can pick you off one by one. If you rally, and show no fear, you will defeat her with ease.
Rally, now. Take your blades and end her misery. Feel not hatred as you slay her, but mercy. Forgive her, ease her pain. She has suffered more than you can imagine."

And their courage is restored, their fears allayed. They assemble before the dragon, who draws back in confusion.

What is this? These humans, whose minds once showed nothing but monkey fear- they have changed. Their minds have hardened, her senses are once again pushed away. What she can see within is only fire. Not the minds of hairless apes- the minds of dragons.
The dragon is now the one which panics. She swings her head around, her eyes filled with confusion. She is backed into a corner between two buildings, letting off panicked puffs of fire, which harmlessly reflect of the human's shields. As they draw ever closer, her confusion at their resolve fades in light of a greater confusion- their eyes. She has seen many things in the eyes of humans- hatred, fear, terror, a silent begging for mercy- but never this. Compassion, sorrow, mercy. The confusion, and the overpowering confidence of the humans overwhelms her. She lies down, dazed, and does nothing as one man draws close, strokes her head, whispers an apology, and stabs his blade into her eye.

She dies quickly, without a fuss. The villagers themselves look around in confusion, wondering what made them act such. Their questions are answered shortly, when the voice returns. It explains that it is Nora. Nora explains that she is a god. She explains the nature of dragons, and the reason for their evil. She asks them for a favour. Be my soldiers, she asks, use the fallen dragon to arm yourselves. Forge blades from her bones, make armour from her scales. Coat yourself in her blood, as that fire will not harm you, and take from her chest the source of her flame, and coat your blades in it, as that they might burn when you so wish it. Learn from her fate that hatred solves nothing. Know what is righteous, and what is not.
When you are armed in body, I shall arm you in soul; I will give you the courage and mercy you had here, the drive and knowledge to serve as warriors of justice.
And then, I ask that you would go forth, and serve. Evil rises, and there is no good to counter it. Dragons will be a minor threat compared to the darkness that other gods would set upon the world. You would be my warriors, serve to hold back evil, to spread love and mercy.

The villagers are shocked. They speak amongst themselves; argue, worry. Some reject the offer. Some will not leave their families. Some do not believe themselves heroes.
But many accept, and even those who do not help them prepare. The dragon is butchered, and as Nora spoke, they forge blades from her bones, armour from her scales. They extract her flame, and coat their blades in it, and they bathe in her blood.
They stand proud, men and women, in their black armour, tinted red by the dragons blood. They wield knives and swords of bone, reinforced with bronze. No Ardanium, though, for Nora forbade it. Their blades will not burn in its presence, their armour will become as butter, the dragons blood which soaks their skin will let fire through once more. More importantly, Nora will not allow them to slay dragons with the metal. Even now, she would seek to spare the dragons pain.

Their bodies ready, Nora blesses their souls, granting them strength. And then they leave their village, speaking their tearful goodbyes, and go out into the world.


Warriors of Fire, they call themselves. They wander the world, marvel at its beauty. Where they encounter evil, they deal justice. They fight their battles with the strength of dragons, and none can stand against them. Most people are glad to see them, and shower them with praise and treasure after saving their towns from twisted dragons- for dragons are their primary foe, for now, which they fight on equal footing, and grant forgiveness and understanding- but they do not seek rewards or praise. Recruits, they do ask for. The dedication required scares away many, but some accept, and if they are judged righteous, they are admitted. The scales of fallen dragons are taken up, and many are armed with their dragonbone swords.
They recruit also from dungeons; where a man has fallen afoul of the law, but seeks repentance, the Warriors will request his release into their custody. There is no fear that such people might abandon the way of Fire, and return to crime, for the blood of dragons leaves a permanent stain, and those who abandon them are hunted down and... granted forgiveness.
The Warriors of Fire offer allegiance to no country, will not shy away from breaking laws if they have to, and their strengthened souls are nigh impossible to bribe or corrupt. Some would stand against them for defying their laws, or hindering their evil ways- the Warriors will fight them, eyes filled with regret. They attempt to leave them alive, if not unharmed, as that they might reason with them. The death of one who could still be rescued from their evil ways causes great grief amongst the Warriors, but if it is unavoidable, they will make it happen, as painlessly as possible.

The Warriors do not seek a land of their own. They travel the world, spreading themselves wide. When Nora calls, they will muster together, but for now, they wander in small groups, recruiting more to their cause, and helping in small ways to make the world a... better place.


Ah. That took a while. Well, I had nothing better to do. I hope that the clichés do not overwhelm the senses too much. Trust me, I can be original. I just wanted these two things (dragons, dragon-based knights), because they really fit Nora, clichéd or no.

If you haven't the time to read it, know that it basically comes down to the following:
-Warriors of Fire. Nora's human servants. Righteous people.
-Armed with the remains of dragons (scale armour, bone swords)
-Bathed in the blood of dragons, makes them fireproof.
-Swords covered in whatever makes dragons firebreathing, allowing them to set their swords on fire.
-Granted inner strength by Nora, ie courage, determination, mercy.
-Wander around the world doing good, recruiting people, slaying (evil) dragons.

Act: Create the Warriors of Fire.

[Karnewarrior]

Midas Memorum senses power in the world.

New creatures? It would not make sense. Nature, in Midas' memory (and it was long), did not simply spontaniously turn into beings of godly power. Had they come from the ether, like him? Borthers, perhaps.

No, surely not. Midas had no brothers, no sisters, for Midas had no parents. But it was not a stretch to think perhaps, just perhaps, there may be one like him. A... What did the mortals call him, before? A God.

Midas sent out his Eyes, to seek this "God".

Midas sends the Eyes of the Magi to seek out the new Gods.

[adwarf]

Kain felt a presence stir, and grow closer seeking something after a time it closed in on his chamber within the mountain until he could feel its presence clearly, as it ... looked at him. He stretched out his hand, and from the earth rose a simply dirt throne which he took his place on before saying "Who are you to come into my home unannounced?" His voice echoed through the small cavern sounding as sturdy, and deep as the mountain itself. It felt as if the very earth around him had spoken the words, and not the figure sitting upon the throne.

[micelus]

The waters were the domain of the Lurker. It was his creation, his torment and salvation. He felt all that traveled along it, all that existed in and around, and for once, he felt shock. A strange thing traveled the waters this day...An eye. Just an eye, nothing more. His brethren had been as busy as Carathun himself, but this was odd. He sent his servants-the mighty krakens- to retrieve it and bring it back to what Carathun was beginning to call home, a maw of an abyss. Some time passed and soon enough the eye was brought to the god. He looked into it, prodded it, and knew it was a god's work.

"What do you seek in the Depths of the Ocean?"

[NUKE9.13]

In the sky, a bird flitting about.
In a rocky desert, a lizard baking in the sun.
In a forest, a river, a field, a city, a mountain, an ocean, wherever there is life; there watches an eye. The same eye?
Nora is surprised. She was not aware she had form, before. Yet this thing has found her, which it could not do if she was formless. She decides to humour the hard-working eye, and project before it something to see. A human woman, why not. With a dragons eyes, why not. Wreathed in flames, why not.

"Oh? Hello, little eyeball. How have you found me, when I am nowhere to be found? You are a clever little eye. I wonder who you belong to?"

[Ardas]

Still within celestial void, Ardas felt the presence of an observer. Magic, he knew it, the ripples caused by it in the physical realm carried over to the celestial sphere. He knew it was a servant of another, for it knew where to look. He would satiate the curiosity of the others for the time being.

"I feel your magic, seeker. You are merely a messenger, and a noisy one at that. Speak your piece and tell me your reason for being here"

[forsaken1111]

In the heavens, the constellation of the Baleful Eye blazed brightly against the darkness. Its gaze fixed upon one of the seeking Eyes, but it uttered no greeting. Instead, it communicated the essence of the Godmind and the Eye of the Magi felt a hunger so terrible that it was struck from the sky by the force of it and plummeted to the ground a shriveled husk.

We Hunger

[Sinpwn]

Othrelos was playing darts with a few of his revenants as the eye reached him. It seemed that the revenant of dart playing was winning. The god of chaos spoke in a voice that seemed like a chorus of demonic and angelic voices, but with each voice fighting to be the center of attention.
"Greetings, eye. I sense a god of much power and wisdom controlling and seeing through you. My name is Othrelos, and you are?

[Karnewarrior]

"Many voices." The eyes intoned as one. They were quiet, speaking in a hushed whisper as if in a library, and yet they could be heard by those miles away. It was the voice of ages, of millions upon millions of long dead philosophers. It spoke a thousand languages at once, from the Murrian from this world, to Greek, to Klingon, to a thousand forms of Common.

"I come to watch, nothing more, brothers, sisters, fellows. I, am Midas Memorum, as the humans know me. You number many, yet I know none. You are all... No... I sense one, I've known before." The crumpled, starved eye stirred again, and lifted it's orb to the heavens, to the shining stars above.

"Devourer." Said all the eyes at once. "You come early, Astra'Ath. There is little sustinence here. What might you hope to gain? Why are you so violent? I ask these questions, but doubt an answer."

"Othrelos. I wish you well in this new world, as much as I can any. I hope you keep balance between Order and Chaos, but should one side fall, seek no help from me. I bear you no ill will, but there is little to be learned from Chaos."

"A messenger am I indeed, God of No Magic. I know your name not, yet, but I sense much power in you, and a taste for remaining within boundries. Enjoyable, but dangerous. I will watch and see where this takes you."

"Lady of No Form Until Seen. Another name I wish to learn. Your demeanor is peaceful enough. When I create a domain, I would have you visit me. I sense a powerful ally in you."

"What I seek, Ocean Lord, is knowledge. The creature who carried my eye is familiar. Is this a creation of yours? Perhaps you are not as newborn as the others are. We have much to discuss, King of the Depths."

"And then there is you, God Who Stands Tall Below. You are a curious case indeed, God of Stone. Why do you feel for the people of this world? Caring is an emotion I am, alas, unfamiliar with. I see and observe the effects, but I feel no empathy for those I watch. I suspect it would do me well to have one of those close individuals to keep me from becoming what the humans would call evil. What do you call them? Friends. Yes, I would need a friend. It would do me no good to have the humans fear me; too difficult to watch them if they are hiding. I hope we can become friends."

And with that, the Eyes of the Magi attempted to recede into the background, to watch and observe. They would respond when a God speaks to them, but no more than that. They had no weapons, and would not protect or interrupt in any way. They simply... were.

Save for the Hungry eye. It stared at Astra'Ath, questioning.

There is nothing here for you, Brother. Why have you come?

[forsaken1111]

A voice like a thousand whispers carried upon the breeze:

A question?

An answer:

We Are, We Were, We Will Be

Always

The Baleful Eye watches the world and waits.

[micelus]

"Yes...we do brother. Know that while I have not participated in this construction of worlds, this forging of hearts and souls, I have watched. Watching provides all the the things I wished to know...And also that I did not wish to."

Carathun looked towards his creations...Kraken, squid, octupus, nautilus, ammonite, and the rest. Blood of his blood, souls of the old people.

"As for this carrier...Yes it is a creation of mine...So to speak."

"And now it is my turn to ask a question, who is this Devourer? An old enemy of yours?"

[Riccto]

Snik eventually heard work of the so called "Eyes of the Magi". The small magical eyes that seemed to speed all across the world as if searching for something. He heard suprisingly enough that many had originated from the city of his founding, Vas'Us. This prompted him to cease his deep jungle expedition and summon a small floating disk of which he was somewhat famous for traveling on, Simple things with a certain degree of flair and most importantly to Snik, Speed. He raised through the tree line with some protest from the local birds but that was no concern to him, there was something of power in Vas'Us and thats what was important. He muttered a prayer to the Betentacled as he rode atop the crests of waves as the tattoos on his palm formed a compass that lead him homeward. As he rode his disk intently he spotted one of the eyes flying off towards one of the Northern Lands, this was his chance to intercept. He created a small hand of force to snatch the eye out of the air. As he brought it closer he was able to smell this was no arcane work, this was work of a Divine. He bowed his head as he adressed it "Hello....my Lord....May I inquire as to which?" He said with a slight smirk as he kept his head bowed