So once I have posted the CS would anyone be willing to suggest Alias's he could go by? I am awful at coming up with them.
I've found that they pop up nicely from interactions and creations. Nobody really calls Jvan by her titles, for example, because they're clunky- Instead she tends to get the most descriptive parts of them, 'cancer' and 'engineer', and she's picked up others from how she's perceived by mortals, 'mutilator', 'the Jvanic entity', 'the fae god', and so on.
So think of how your character would introduce themselves- their job title, so to speak- and how their creations or followers would refer to them normally, and there ya go.
I would suggest Jvan just make a deal with him, but we know that's not going to happen.
For real though Jvan doesn't want to steal something that's already showing an interesting development. When she realises that Vestec had a cultural plan for the undead army deeper than 'let's make one' she's going to be REALLY pissed, because even though she'll never admit it to anyone, it's actually too good an idea to spoil.
She'll probably do something petty instead.
Ed: Also, by resurrection I mean 'clone DNA harvested from frozen and fossilized remains of the last war'. In terms of souls and reincarnation and all that jazz, these are an entirely new batch of ice people, fresh out of the oven.
@BBeast I'm still behind, but I just want to congratulate you on an A+ representation of Sculptors. A little freaky, a little lighthearted, inquisitive, now chatty now solemn. Teknall judged them well.
noW FOR SOME DABBLECHEMY
(or I might develop Three Rosettes or Margos they seem nice)
The Guardians of Death follow the Avatar.
Speaking of! All this talk of Pronobii got me thinking about how I'm going to eventually resurrect them and let me tell you, cryomancy and biochemistry are a real interesting combination.
Jvan needs those bastards, there are all kinds of [ c o l d p l a c e s ] she wants to spread her influence into. I'm going to have her start sneakily re-activating before her allotted resurrection time so that I can get to the ideas I keep having.
None of Whisper's encounters with djinni were as taxing as the first, and she came to regret not consuming the vengeful sprite when she had the chance.
Not to say that any of them were easy. No elemental approached her with any sentiment more positive than a sick curiosity. A longing to reach out to the taboo and come back unscathed. Sculptors had always been a bitter rarity, and now there were even fewer. The fae blessings kept them safe but could not aid their regrowth. Deprived of any real object for their prejudice bar the (for the most part) still and silent lens that Urtelem so defended, the djinni she met expected a variety of strange things, holding- though they claimed to know better- superstitions not unlike that of the mortals.
That she would use metal wands to enchant any who looked upon her and reduce their minds into an infantile state. That she came from the moon Azmund-Y'Vahn, whose colours derived from stained glass, and was borne down in the belly of a gigantic, fattened grub. That everything beautiful she touched would turn to dust, and so she worshiped everything ugly.
The last one Whisper found oddly chilling, though she knew it wasn't worth dwelling on.
For the most part she got what she wanted out of the spirits. Allowing them to feel validated and powerful by not fighting back, even acting wounded, played neatly into the elemental ego, at least while they were small and foolhardy. Some simply feared or respected her enough to speak with her.
Those that were too cautious, or large enough to report to others without simply being absorbed like dust in the wind... She'd been in fights, all of which she had won. Whisper told herself to be grateful for the nourishment. And the scarlet rune iterated on.
Past, future, present, perfect. Indicative, conditional, imperative, subjunctive. All denoted by consistent affixes respectively before and after the infinitive stem- An adverb for continuity. Stems linked by phonetic and kinesthetic similarity to a noun of high association. If they feel confused, they can point to what they want... That might offend them.
...
Whisper encountered her next conversational partner entirely by chance.
Deep in thought and looking out for communities and spirits rather than lone wanderers of the type that rested between the lichenous boulders below, the change-eater swept over Zotash'e like a cirrus cloud of unnatural speed and colour, and she held her breath as it passed, exhaling only to see it turn and rush back before her quickened heart could slow.
It was no lie, found Zotash'e, that one's memories flicker into vision when Death grows near. Though she still leaned flat against the boulder as if to hide her shadow, she turned her head towards the Abomination and the fluttering, crackling hums that it made. And she raised her staff to it.
"Back," breathed Zotash'e.
Her wrist was shaking and she knew it, but the initiate only tightened her grip. "Get back," she repeated, mouthing, "for Zephyrion is with me." She went on. "And the children of Vetros do not die easy to such as you."
The monster seemed to understand, but it did not leave her. The cloud of black and blackening hues settled onto the earth and... Congealed, coagulated, into a cluster of misshapen bubbles. For a moment she thought she saw a flicker of deep red. It leaned in, and then-
Zotash'e screamed, and the thing receded from her. Quartz shards began to jut from her fists as she held the staff before her, now in a warrior's stance. It was a tiny flicker of a djinn, but it was the only one that followed her.
"You know Zephyrion?" came the whisper again.
"Yes!" yelled the initiate. "God is with me and He protects. And I know of you, too. I know the one that sent you."
"...Of course," said the thing, in its voice of perfect clarity, and, Zotash'e realised, a deep tiredness. "How?"
"...How what?" she blurted, knowing that there was some wise shamanic retort she should be able to give and lacking any idea of what it was.
"How is he with you," repeated the monster, "if he's been banished?"
"What?" More indignant confusion, but she knew she had to say something. "God is in all things. He is all-seeing, all-powerful, and no force could banish him, for He is righteous."
"..." The being flicked. Something told Zotash'e that it was not in fear. "I see." There was a pause, and she could have run, had she not seen the speed at which this spawn of Y'vahn had crossed the sky. "You know these things. Tell me about them."
No, the shaman-to-be realised, not without a touch of youthful hubris. No, she would not die today. This was not the thing that had bloodied Vetros. This was not the Emaciator that the good king had described. This was part of the other Y'vahn, the one that drove the possessed monks mad and made them into demons. But she was safe. She would soon be- She was a shaman. Zephyrion would be with her. Did not the writings say that there the path of the righteous is hallowed ground?
"...About what?"
The eye turned on her again and this time she saw that there were many of them. "That spirit."
"Oh..." The crystal spikes on her fists rippled. "This, ah, is a lesser djinni of earth. I've bound it to me by- Using the shamanic arts of my mentor."
Zotash'e realised that it might be heretical to divulge such knowledge to an agent of the Enemy, but the whisper was sharper than that.
"Shamanic arts."
"Yes. Of course. Don't you know of them?"
"Only heard," said the demon. Zotash'e got the strange and sudden impression that it was a foreigner. Which was, she supposed, accurate, but...
"It is... How those chosen by Zephyrion, and by His chosen in turn, exert authority over the world we have inherited," she began, repeating words usually taught to children. "The djinni come to know us by name and by voice, and we them. They lend us their power, if we treat them with due respect and- Fellowship, and sometimes perform certain rites that, um, please them. Sometimes the smaller ones become bound to our will, or develop a trusting friendship with-"
The creature's voice was as soft as a feather and as sharp as a knife.
"You earn the loyalty of elementals by just talking to them?"
Zotash'e saw a vision of her mother wrapping her bruised knee and gulped. "...Yes?"
There was quiet.
"Sing something," ordered the being. A kind of vocal fry had entered her voice. The glowing fluids within her were roiling.
"I, uh, I..."
Whisper writhed, no longer listening. The bubbles contorted and shriveled, and suddenly Zotash'e saw teeth, claws, spines, segmented tentacles- that spread and blocked the sky above and burned marks into the air and-
"I..." Zotash'e had fallen, had stumbled back under the weight of starved rage that flowed from the sprawling demon above and around her, and she was crying. And she knew that somewhere, deep in the light, under the stains, it was crying, too. "Sister, I-"
"How did she do this to us? HOW COULD SHE DO THIS TO US?"
No answer.
* * * * *
Today I met a girl of earth With feet of clay and bones of loam. I met her in a barren place Where solemn spirits roam.
I met her in the border land 'tween peace and war and lust and chaste. We sang together for a while Of hate and death and haste.
Tomorrow is another day That I must bear alone. My girl of earth knows not the sins For which I must atone.
One day beyond the final veil I'll meet my girl of earth again. A sinner's cross I'll bear no more And I will find her then.
I'm doing some subplots for Conata right now because I know that the battle for Xerxes is brewing and Lifprasil is going to be occupied during that time, so turning up at Alefpria might have Conata twiddling her thumbs for a while.
. . . . . . Two to the one to the one to the three, "I like good pussy and I like good tree." Smoke so much, it's like you wouldn't believe, and I get more ass than a "...toilet seat." eriworjeiworjoewr Two to the one to the one to the three, "I like good pussy and I like good tree." Smoke so much, it's like you wouldn't believe, and I get more ass than a "...toilet seat." Two to the one to the one to the three, "I like good pussy and I like good tree." Smoke so much, it's like you wouldn't believe, and I get more ass than a "...toilet seat."
Two to the one to the one to the three, "I like good pussy and I like good tree." Smoke so much, it's like you wouldn't believe, and I get more ass than a "...toilet seat." Two to the one to the one to the three, "I like good pussy and I like good tree." Smoke so much, it's like you wouldn't believe, and I get more ass than a "...toilet seat." eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee Two to the one to the one to the three, "I like good pussy and I like good tree." Smoke so much, it's like you wouldn't believe, and I get more ass than a "...toilet seat."
Aihtiraq and his reverse-haiqus indeed like to make people happy.
Is the Whisper you're talking about the same as the Diaphane Whisper change-eater though? Would she try to chomp on Aihtiraq? xD
She's on a diet.
Besides, Whisper's been kinda messed up inside since waaaay back when she was a side character. She doesn't even fight elementals by choice anymore, only for her sisters.
I have ~~plans~~ to make a Metera story that features societal worldbuilding without a bunch of semi-independent sections for once. Just one continuous drama that kind of gets the vibe across. Needless to say, that means I've had to actually plot something for once, which is pretty daunting. WE'RE GONNA HAVE INSTITUTIONALISED RELIGION, THOUGH. IT'S GONNA HAPPEN.
In progress, though? Whisper is rambling around Galbar trying to accomplish something constructive with her life. The planet isn't kind and she's getting a little depressed.
Think a run-in with our cheerful haiku friend Aihtiraq might cheer up the poor girl?
Vec
Timemaster