[center][img]https://see.fontimg.com/api/renderfont4/L3VxD/eyJyIjoiZnMiLCJoIjoxNTQsInciOjEwMDAsImZzIjoxNTQsImZnYyI6IiMxMjBEMTkiLCJiZ2MiOiIjRkZGRkZGIiwidCI6MX0/QWR2b2NhdGU/gondess-demo.png[/img] [h3][sup]A Collab Between [@yoshua171] & [@Commodore][/sup][/h3][/center][hr] Those imprisoned essences that within the Madness Presence dwelled had once rejected a god in passing. They had never spoken of him, never visited his realm, or sought to understand him for in the mind of that Thrice-Named Aspect it had been held in contempt. Yet, now where that whimsical, imperious trio had been there remained a fourth who reigned supreme within the vessel they had once called their own. This mind, it took in the world and where the others had held contempt, it found only intrigue. With this ideal held within its cavernous intellect, Mhaireann swept from its realm and cast out for another. Through Antiquity’s ever-shifting architecture did the Presence move, its form always shrouded in a sickly haze. To look upon it was to glimpse briefly the chaos of a mind wholly unbound from all reason. Though its effect would not last, it was a thing that might unsettle even gods. Yet, as he traversed that place between one such god did not see him. Briefly intrigued, the Dreaming God obscured itself further, mirroring the lack of perception that the goddess held for it. Its form swiftly became an insubstantial thing, barely a film of mist in the dry air of the place. The Goddess passed him by, and though they did not come close to touching, Mhaireann knew the taste of her kind. [center][i]Fresh Lifeblood.[/i][/center] Firmly pressed into his boundless memory were the sensations of every god he had ever encountered--or felt through the Endless Dream. This was one he did not know. Further, he knew naught of their influence upon Galbar. [i]‘Intriguing,’[/i] thought the Dreamer before he shifted states and drifted on. Perhaps soon he would investigate this figure whose presence so briefly he had glimpsed. The thought fled then as he reached his destination, a doorless gate, a portal into the domain of yet another god whose presence he’d never graced. Passing beyond the threshold of Thaa’s realm, Mhaireann stretched out its senses and its mind, questing through the mire with a dread mist of its own. While some might be offended by the sensation of this place--and indeed the Imprisoned Aspects were--the Presence found itself comfortable and quite at home. Nonetheless, it found the dense and writhing fog of the Death God’s realm to be quite difficult to counteract. So it did not, instead, Mhaireann relinquished its form and let drift its mammoth consciousness, its Lifeblood spreading far and wide. An undulating thrum rippled through its shapeless essence and with patience did it change to better suit the place. Vast and impenetrable. It was a final destination that could paradoxically not be reached. Twisted upon itself, yet constantly expanding--unending--its details hidden from his view. Some few foreign essences drifted therein, disturbing things only faintly. Mhaireann noticed, but remained complacent to those shifts. They were inconsequential. So too were the subtle changes and movements within the place. No, the only detail that stood out, was a thing he could not help but recognize. Life. It was nothing so ephemeral as a mortal. It was, instead, the signature of an entity whose mass churned and writhed much like the mists that made its home. Mhaireann smiled, but it appeared as a great wrongness in its facade, like cracked glass writ in organic flesh. It faded and was gone. [color=#234C5F][b]“Thaa,”[/b][/color] the Presence said, the name a call, but not a summons--its intent merely a request. This god was not like the others. He did not deal in emotion or the lives of mortals on Galbar. Thaa did not bend to the whims of others, nor did he bend their wills to his own. The land was largely untouched by his influence--yet every living thing would someday know of his power. Its pull was ever present and insidious. Men and mer pondered on it, knowing of its inevitability. They strived against it, seeking always to outrun its seeking grasp. Yet others saw it as release from the torments of the world. They were all right about its influence, though few touched upon the purpose of its existence. The Dreaming God knew little of its nature or its meaning. Yet, there was a subtle undercurrent to every action Thaa had ever taken. From the memories of those the Nightmare had overtaken it slipped free several slivers of insight. Thaa thought the others cruel, but life crueler still. Thaa, like few of their siblings, was truly neutral and could not be swayed from its intent. It was so little and this Mhaireann hated, though he did not let it show. To say the call echoed would be to misinterpret, it [i]faded[/i] to be more accurate, out into the reaches of Aquibeophates even as the Presence stretched in its exploration of the shifting dominion of Thaa. As it came low to nothing, the realm began to shift, receding away from the Dreaming God. The stone, the mists, the towers flowed through the twists and corners folding in upon themselves to become but a distant sight, like a star even as deific sense kept it in view. Approaching was nothing, quite literally, the realm itself shifting to bring the recent arrival closer to Thaa, his essence one of the few things becoming clearer and closer as all else flowed distant. Thaa and void, like that of before when the realms were made and the gods forced out of Galbar, extant with Thaa's domain and yet preserved. The Eye emplaced in the spike disk of Thaa awaited, faux-corpses shifting in the void as the realm shifted bringing them closer. He spoke. [color=Fuchsia]"You are unfamiliar and perhaps unknown, yet you have named me speaking volumes of your own."[/color] With lidded-eyes the Presence watched the shifting of the realm. It was familiar, perhaps even comforting, for it mirrored his own domain without the order held therein. Still, ever in control--if only of itself--Mhaireann coalesced with swiftness and as he arrived beneath the gaze of that baleful mass, he had once more taken on his shape. [color=#234C5F][b]“So unlike the others you are, brother,”[/b][/color] he intoned and it was meant as a compliment. Dipping his hooded facade in a sign of deference yet unseen, the Eyeless Thing before Thaa then introduced himself. [color=#234C5F][b]“As I have been known we are Àicheil. We are Ѻs-fhìreach. We are Neo-àicheil,”[/b][/color] he began, the miasma of his cloak twisting in a dance with the obscuring fog of Thaa’s realm. [color=#234C5F][b]“Together we are the Dreaming God, he who presides over all experience and thought. Together with our twin, Firinn, we are the Two-as-One. Yet now...apart….”[/b][/color] He trailed off and slowly, with the insidious, endless patience of death itself, the black pits of his eyes opened. [color=#234C5F][b]“I am Mhaireann.”[/b][/color] The miasma about him thickened and coiled in sick tendrils within which churned images and ruminations of a nightmarish sort. Yet, the voice of that Presence remained without emotion, struck still with an alien apathy. Like faint scars, the remnants of shattered cosmos drifted beneath the jet black substance of his form as if restrained. The scorched aspect twisted through every formation of stars and far off worlds...devouring, crushing, and warping them by virtue of its involvement. The brief flash and that cosmic light went out as if devoured by some horrid abyssal maw leaving his form utterly black once more. Only the eyes stood out, for while his god-flesh was a flat darkness, his eyes were more like pits into which light fell and could never touch nor return. Though there was no detail in them, there remained the impression of endless hateful depth and a malevolence held on a leash too long, despite its shortness. The Presence, as if unaware of its visage, continued. [color=#234C5F][b]“I came to understand,”[/b][/color] and in that interest it stretched out a single hand, palm up-turned, its fingers clawed and marred. Each digit was long and spindly with far too many joints, but perhaps the strangest thing was the discoloration that dwelled therein. For while the rest of its visage had become once more an abyssal black, there remained a sense of some terrible wound that had been left upon his form. As distanced from the doings of his kin as Thaa was, he would be unlikely to know which of their siblings had left upon the Dreamer those terrible scars. Nonetheless uncaring, the Presence awaited in silence the response of that baleful God of Death, curious at its nature. Thaa replied in calm tone as a myriad of arms reached from his collection to meet the Dreaming God, [color=Fuchsia]"Àicheil and Firinn. These are names I recognize, guardians of the 'Weave' in an aspect."[/color] His lone eye wandered over the form, taking in each aspect and detail in slow motion of his gaze. [color=Fuchsia]"Understanding is good, few reach well into important matters. One can be as good as many with proper application, I hope for a moral accord to be reached."[/color] The arms grasped at once in connection, from human to vrool, grasping out. [color=#234C5F][b][i]“An accord,”[/i][/b][/color] it said, a smile cutting across its features, before vanishing in a seamless moment. The ripple of its passing spread down the shrouded vessel of its form and as the two gods touched it blossomed into something else. Mhaireann’s eyes widened and its awareness was blinded by an unseen light. It rose forth from deep within those colorless voids and cut through even the obscuring mists of Aquibeophates. With their essence entangled the vice-like grip of the Presence was briefly culled, Thaa’s mind briefly ending its ceaseless malice-reign. Together, their minds expanded beyond all limits, bursting with experience and knowing. Where before the thoughts and lives of mortals would have been held apart from his deific essence, now they briefly writ themselves across his blood, etching themselves in endless iterations. Yet, this too faded, replaced swiftly with an image of a thrumming triquetra, prismatic in its hue. [center]It spoke, but its words were beyond hearing. It was felt, but its texture could not be fathomed. It was tasted, but all sensation of its nature fled awareness. It was seen, but it twisted and expanded and contracted all at once remaining utterly unknown. Still, its words were known to the God of Death, though their meaning was unclear. [quote][color=#234C5F][i]“Marred by a sibling, the tides of hate and rage consumed. Twisted by our power, we grasped it nonetheless. Abandoned by our latter half, we were left alone and grieving. “Yet we remain, uninjured. Yet we remain, but filtered. Yet we remain. For gods do not die in Truth.”[/i][/color][/quote][/center] To each utterance was paired a shifting tapestry of meaning. With the first and fourth were revealed threads of blackest purpose. They coiled atop the shifting woven essences, impossible to ignore. With the second and fifth were shown patterns like bars and chains woven from the blackest malice of the first. With the third and final were revealed a depth of loss and sadness yet unknown to other gods. Yet, at once was revealed a mystery hidden beneath the many threads of blue and satin grey. This last weave revealed a bond. It spoke of Peace and balance. It was completion and contentment both. Woven throughout that intimation were the whispers of many other things. The displeasure and withdrawal of an unmet god. The loneliness of another. The fierce purpose of one who sought to align and expand existence unending. And yet entanglements go more than one way, for all the mysteries and reason brought upon by the dreaming god came back reply from the being of death. A drop of memory, mortal and old. Older than many deities even. An animal, gasping, dying in its own birth, lungs built for air when none was present, collapsing in on themselves with no hope or help. Body bloating, the sickening feelings of its body collapsing, crushing and exploding within itself as it still lived. Nonetheless held, watched even as it knew not by who or what, it thought not, it knew only pain and was gone almost as quick as it had been alive. And then another drop, fungi freezing, curling upon themselves as their existence came and went in grave distress. And then another drop. Each came and went, one by one by one, a testament to pain, drop by drop, brick by brick, life by life. It sped and more came, the drops became a blur, plants and animals, little and large, sophonts and the most basic lives. Burning, freezing, starving, bit by bit living and dying as an endless beat, names and feelings and ideas of self weaving a grand idea of what life was. But that wasn't all, far from all. It was made and flowing, these memories and ideas of life, but not random, patterned. Forming an idea more than an image or word, change in a raw form, a driving need, a pressing want. Great change, an idea of reality not being what it should or what it must, settling for lesser conditions being beyond thought. Anger at the past, antipathy at the present, a drive for the future. This idea came and flowed through others, conceptions of persons, gods, events. But all coming back to that idea. Then, as if they had never been, they collapsed and vanished into a blinding haze of black...then white...then empty colorless nothing. Left in the wake of these things remained only the entwined ruminations of two gods. One in silent repose, the other a shifting mass of effervescent thought. While Thaa watched, the shining cosmos that had briefly shone upon the skein of the Dreamer’s form, became once more scorched and blackened. Where the eyes had shone true with prismatic dancing colors of every hue and texture now only endless emptiness remained. His miasmic shroud--briefly purified to aspectless grey--returned again to its sickly pallor. Within Thaa’s mind there was the briefest flash of rage, then nothing once again. Yet, that empty void somehow twisted. It held within it currents that warped and altered all which moved through them. So it was that when the Presence once more spoke, Thaa would perceive an echo of emotion where before emptiness had reigned. [i]Fear. Grief. Flight. Annoyance.[/i] [color=#234C5F][b]“My apologies,”[/b][/color] atoned the black-eyed god. [color=#234C5F][b]“Twas but a lapse in focus, brother.”[/b][/color] [i]Rage and Hate and Control.[/i] These were worse than the others and they were mirrored in the tapestry which into Thaa’s mind had been delivered. They spoke of something that needed these things to hold fast its fragile state. Still, with confidence, the Presence pressed on, unaware of its unspoken confession. The break in its facade. [color=#234C5F][b]“Your quintessence, it is a beautiful thing, would that I had known it sooner.”[/b][/color] Through the influence of Thaa's construction, a great many things crystallized within him. For though he was experience unbounded, each god lent to him a simulacrum of meaning. Yet, in the emptiness of his maddened mind, all that resounded was a twisted echo of these things. Nonetheless, an idea was birthed within him. [color=#234C5F][b]“Perhaps through observation--both mortal and divine--we might forge a better system,”[/b][/color] pondered the Presence. He cast out a hand, his godflesh writhing as if many living things stretched against his skin. [color=Fuchsia]"Perhaps so, it has always been my goal to make reality better. Some of your own work has been of great interest to me, at least what I believe to be your own. The ones of mind and slippery being, who feast upon the terrestrial touched beings across Galbar."[/color] [color=#234C5F][b]“Oh?”[/b][/color] the Presence queried, curious, [color=#234C5F][b]“...you are the first to speak of my children, the Chomhlionagh.”[/b][/color] Though bent and reshaped by the weft and warp of the horrid emptiness within him, the words still rang true. There was a certain joy to his words, though he remained entirely composed. [color=#234C5F][b]“If I may ask, what of them pleases you?”[/b][/color] Thaa's great eye remained constantly centered as he replied, [color=Fuchsia]"Oh many things, often their briefer interactions are quite moral in all aspects, the longer ones less so but imperfect instruments are needed to improve an imperfect world. In truth beyond that their forms and existence is more palatable than most, even ones who actions are moral are typically constrained by their own inherent immorality of form so created with them. "[/color] [color=Fuchsia]"The Chomhlionagh you called them? Yes they are most favored in their existence and actions upon the world, you see Life has made dying, that transition from life to the most preferred state of death, an utmost torture, the Chomhlionagh are in that way merciful keepers of the great mass of souls and minded beasts of Galbar. Through what I believe must be your 'weave' they are most proficient and moral of action and being. I must confess that they are likely one of best creations Galbar has ever seen. Although I admit my understanding of your creation remains not entirely as complete as I have of so many of our fellow deities, you are truly to be commended on such children as these, you have my respect for that."[/color] At first, that Dreaming God, he found himself indelibly pleased by the praise of this, his elder sibling. However, as words filtered through the cavernous expanse of his mind, he found that each brought him more confusion. He did not like it. The miasma of his shroud spiraled out around him in a display of his emotions, before splitting into many threads, which cut with viciousness through the air. Not one touched the form of that colossal entity, but each spoke of agitation. As did the Presence itself, confusion writ into its words--if only faintly. [color=#234C5F][b]“Moral?”[/b][/color] For, though it irked the dread god, Mhaireann had no proper knowledge of this thing. It was not for lack of its existence or exposure to its like, but simply because the framework of morality was alien to him. It required Truth and this was not yet a thing he possessed. Displeased, if only with himself, the Presence’s many cutting threads coiled inwards and back around his form. Where before Thaa could have sensed the twisted remnants of emotion as they drifted through his sibling’s mind now even that disappeared. It was as if the physical restrainment of his shroud had constricted his emotions, cutting them off like a serpent would its prey’s air. [color=#234C5F][b]“Ah, the pain. The agony,”[/b][/color] mused the Presence, [color=#234C5F][b]“...they do not mirror your desires. I understand.”[/b][/color] He did not, but no such thought crossed into the great Thaa’s mind. [color=#234C5F][b]“Then, perhaps this might intrigue you. My children, I have long desired that their presence might grace the world,”[/b][/color] he paused as if for effect, but the silence was swiftly filled with a spreading cacophony of color. All were muted in their hue and shade as if drained of something essential. In spite of this they danced into arrangements, depicting the eldritch forms of those dream borne entities. Twisted glass, refracting thought, coiled horns and long fading tendrils. Limbs of many form and function. Scales of bronze or brass or fire. Eyes of steel and ice and hunger...endless hunger. The visions spun away and in their place words filled the fog, laden with intention. [color=#234C5F][b]“Forms of substance to my children I would give, so that they might spread their mercy unto others. For with lifeline’s severance, peace and contentment can be achieved.”[/b][/color] Turning his gaze to meet the scalding eye of Thaa, the abyssal glares of that eldritch pair remained in line for but a moment. Though the words remained unsaid, the swirling miasma of his intention, echoed through Thaa’s realm. It asked of the Death God a simple thing, if one which required more than mere attention. His aid it did request and though Mhaireann’s own nature seemed like a nightmare given form, there was something deeper in the request. A solemn truth, a hidden subconscious entreaty. From deep within the Dreaming God, stirred the imprisoned Three. [color=Fuchsia]"'Forms of substance' so you say, and yet what should that be. In part what makes them so moral is their particular home and nature of existence, so any such attempt would have to stay such desires to merely copy from the flawed book that most life of Galbar shares."[/color] Thaa thought silently on the words and his own considerations. [color=#234C5F][b]“A worthy question,”[/b][/color] the dread god answered, satisfaction in his tone. Raising a long-fingered palm--his shroud-threads cutting harsh curving lines up his arm and over the surface of his fingers--Mhaireann revealed a mortal entity. A demon, it was called. [color=#234C5F][b]“Into dead flesh will these colonies be sown so that they might sup upon the mana which has been interred in their buried homes. With time, they will be gathered and when the moment comes, their simple minds will then be struck by that of my children: the Unfulfilled.”[/b][/color] Flashes of images slipped through the Mhaireann’s mind, each easily visible to the deathbound god. A brief impression of deep caves, then of hallowed--cursed--land. There seemed to be a path nearby, often crossed by armies and travelers alike. [color=#234C5F][b]“In this way, many minds will be culled with mercy, to bring about the physicality of one such child.”[/b][/color] [color=Fuchsia]"A brilliant plan you have come to form here I must say, and one most moral in intents. It is good to have one such as yourself among our fellow deities, should you need aid from me for this task I shall try in earnest."[/color] Thaa thought for a moment in silence, fog beginning to curl around his eye before it was banished as his attention returned fully to the other god. Pulled into thought by the ruminations of his brother-god, Mhaireann briefly pondered what could be gained from their meeting. After all, Thaa’s offer was a generous one. Then, red sparks kindled deep in the endless pits of the black-eyed god. Like sputtering, furious embers they spun and writhed and spread. Like veins or vines they coiled and twisted outwards from the center of his blackened gaze, before--swiftly--he lidded them once more against the world. [color=#234C5F][b]“Souls,”[/b][/color] intoned the Presence. [color=#234C5F][b]“Give them souls to match their minds. Of many fragments and consumptions are such things born, let their quintessence be the same.”[/b][/color] The words were not enough to contain the depth of his many meanings and so he spun out his thoughts upon the fog. Where eddies curled, twisting colors formed, all embroiled in a greater construction. The smaller souls of the devoured could be felt in the illusion, as if they were truly there. It appeared as if, with time, all maladies and attachments were drained from mortals and unto the Unfulfilled. It was a process long and torturous, but to the Unfulfilled it did give a certain calm. He turned his head, meeting Thaa’s one-eyed glare, though his eyes remained hidden beneath their lids. [color=#234C5F][b]“All might gain of this boon, if you would give it,”[/b][/color] Mhaireann declared, his voice even, though his mind spoke of twisted echoes of pleasure and twisted glee. Perhaps deeper within, there was a purer emotion, held in truth by the Three. It was hard to tell. In his response Thaa ignored any such doubts, [color=Fuchsia]"They shall have souls then, to aid in all manners and to match their essential being and purpose."[/color] Fog began to coalesce between the two, tighter and tighter into a ball that turned a shade of shadowy red. [color=Fuchsia]"As you return to your own realm, take this with you and rend it thrice so."[/color] As he spoke dim clawed markings came, three points and three lines, all connecting together. These faded and the orb drifted towards the Dreaming God. He bowed his head but briefly, then stretched out two long spindly fingers and plucked the orb from Thaa. That shadowed red sphere, it coiled within his grasp, and though his eyes did not open, nor his facade break, the seeming of a smile appeared cast across his features. With an air of reverence, that twisted dreadful thing withdrew then from the Death God, seeking to retreat. [color=#234C5F][b]“We will meet again, revered brother. You have my gratitude...and further,”[/b][/color] he paused, the miasma of his shroud returning. [color=#234C5F][b]“...my respect.”[/b][/color] That said, the Presence turned and with great swiftness the shifting space of that realm did move as towards the portal Mhaireann did head. He took several steps, and with the twisting warp of Aquibeophates, he arrived before the gate. Stepping through, the Presence knew that his plans were well in motion. Yet still...there remained much to do. [hider=Summary]The dread Presence Mhaireann departs once more its realm, heading for Aquibeophates to visit Thaa. Whilst traveling through Antiquity, the Presence briefly passes a certain valorous goddess, though she does not see him. Moving forth with his business, Mhaireann enters Thaa’s realm and is soon given an audience with the somewhat reclusive God of Death. They talk briefly, attune--a message is given unto Thaa--and then they parlay. When Mhaireann departs, he does so with the power to ensoul the Chomhlionagh(Unfulfilled). Still, his plans are just beginning….[/hider] [hider=Might Summary][hider=Thaa][color=Fuchsia][u]Start:[/u] 5MP, 5DP. -1 Dp (2 Dp Extraordinary Ability Discounted) Ensouled The Unfulfilled (The Collective Soul) When devouring mortals the soul of said mortal becomes temporarily interred within theirs. Whilst there, the mortal's experiences and traumas are fed upon. Once these things are wholly processed, the mortal's soul passes on in truth, far less burdened than it otherwise might be. [u]End:[/u] 5MP, 4DP.[/color][/hider] [hider=Mhaireann][u]Start:[/u] 5MP, 5DP. No Might Spent. [u]End:[/u] 5MP, 5DP.[/hider][/hider]