Cyclone
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Lord Zee
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Bio
Back when dinosaurs ruled the Earth, I got started with writing online on the Spore forums. Man, those were the days. We're talking like 12 years ago 2010-ish!
I've been here on and off for almost as long, and have GM'd a bunch of different things to varying success.
I've been here on and off for almost as long, and have GM'd a bunch of different things to varying success.
Word of my splendor:
Most Recent Posts
I'm interested as well.
Yes. If Lugubrious will take your construct, feel free to go ahead and do that.
You'd be a bit behind, but at this point catching up wouldn't take long. I think Viktor is the only keeper to have even gotten to level two creatures yet. And in any case, I'd be cool with a Keeper of yours advancing with some rapidity, until they get caught up.
If Lugubrious' idea doesn't suit you but you're still interested, my Keeper Shaige could also corrupt your character in some fashion.
If Lugubrious' idea doesn't suit you but you're still interested, my Keeper Shaige could also corrupt your character in some fashion.
I would start as a Keeper. Later on if you want a Rogue Being you could make one and it would be fine, but if you don't start your Keeper pretty soon you will be behind the rest of us.
As in for playing as a corrupted human, I don't have a problem with it and I doubt the other GMs would either.
As in for playing as a corrupted human, I don't have a problem with it and I doubt the other GMs would either.
Cold. Dreary. Lonely. Monotonous. Maddening. None of those words came close to described the Carver's work, yet words meant little to the Carver. For a being quite literally as old as this universe itself, toiling without pause for millennium was nothing unusual. No living thing could do this work. Mortals, fragile and temporary as they were, couldn't even comprehend the celestial being, much less understand what its powers and holy duties were. That, combined with its business and an apathy to the plights of life, meant that none of the millions of Elysium's denizens even knew of the Carver's existence.
The Carver did much to deserve their praise. Sophist had sewn the ground with seeds and cultivated the crop, creating this plane of existence and shaping Elysium. However, without constant vigilance, the crop never could have existed for this long; some opportunistic creature would have found and eaten it, or it would have eventually yielded to entropy and died of its own accord. The Carver was to thank for neither of those two things happening, for since the moment it sprung into existence the being had been tasked with ensuring that the universe continue to exist. Any gratitude or acknowledgement from the meaningless mortals was both unnecessary and unwanted; duty was the only thing that the Carver knew, and distractions could induce a rage in the otherwise peaceful and solitary servant.
An unimaginable distance away from Elysium, far, far beyond even the most distant of stars, there was a light. It was a single orb of cackling, vernal light. This was the Carver, a celestial being whose body was nothing more substantial than a cloud of magical energy. Though its form would be huge by human standards, perhaps the size of a building, it was nothing compared to the vast emptiness. Here, on the very edge of the universe, empty space and utter darkness were the guardian's only companions. The Carver saw, worked, and even existed in a dimension higher than other beings could grasp. Trying to explain what the Carver was doing would be like trying to explain depth or volume to something that could only see or think in terms of two-dimensional objects. To put it simply, the Carver was carving, polishing, and filling in the cracks of a wall. This 'wall' was the sole thing that separated Elysium and its entire universe from the infinite, desolate, and strange Void that was beyond, ever eager to swallow up an entire plane of existence.
Using magic to strengthen and maintain this wall through various means was what the Carver was created to do. In the dawn of time, when Elysium was still freshly created, the Carver had met the Creator-God of this dimension. Sophist, as he was called, had warned the Carver of demons from the Void and other parts of the Multiverse. Sophist had implied that such monstrosities might somehow breach their way into the Universe and attempt to destroy it from within. However, that was a long time ago, even by the reckoning of a timeless being. The Carver had encountered neither Sophist or any other extra dimensional beings since then, and had of late been wondering if there was any merit to the Creator-God's warning. Demons skulking about and interfering with the Carver's divine duty was not a pleasant thing to think about, and the ever questioning guardian had to wonder if it was worth worrying about.
The Carver's thoughts abruptly stopped. There was some sort of ripple passing through the Universe, a wave of eldritch and destructive magic the likes of which the being had never before sensed. Instantly the Carver's mind was sent scrambling. Being a creature of habit and instinct, not knowing what to do was a daunting and new prospect. Still, the being's mind was far quicker and superior to that of any physical lifeform, so within the span of a moment the Carver had decided what to do.
The Universe was one great block of wood, full of crevices, rough spots, smooth spots, knots, and holes. The Carver knew and felt every one of those quirks, because it had seen or carved or polished every single one of them at some point in time. The Carver reached out, sensing the ebb and flow of the energies in the background, feeling the grains of the wood, so to speak. The Carver found only tiny crevice that ran throughout the entire sculpture that comprised the fabric of this plane. And then, the guardian followed it. Comprised of pure energy, it was possible to move at the speed of light with next to no effort. The entity poured out its essence, abandoning the spherical mass of energy that it normally manifested itself as. Now, it would be even easier. One moment, the Carver was on the very edge of the Universe attending to the Barrier. That same moment, the Carver reappeared in orbit around the Source.
The Carver's first sight was horrifying: the Source had been the heart that created and pumped the magic that was the Universe's lifeblood. Now, the gas giant was no more than a fountain that spewed out entropy and destructive magic. Somehow, something had corrupted it. The once majestic, beautiful gas giant now resembled a crimson sea of fire and blood. The Carver did not have to look far to find the demon responsible; being so closely attuned to magic and the signature given off by this Universe, it wasn't hard to sense an extradimensional being. The Carver quickly manifested behind Zadok. The wretch's otherwordly appearance and aura, combined with how it stared at the corrupted Source marveling at what it had done was enough to instantly mark it as a demon.
The Carver created, reshaped, repaired. Never before had the guardian been forced to destroy, to fight. However, it did not take long for the being to devise a strategy. The Carver coalesced back into the form of a great orb of green light. Then, without hesitation it began to mercilessly bombard Zadok with blast after blast of pure magical energy, meant to bend and reshape the demon's body into a cloud of dust.
Zadok would likely be taken off guard once the Carver appeared behind him and attacked, but the Carver made no attempt to hide its frantic thoughts. They were broadcast telepathically, for any who knew how to listen and interpret them. Since Zadok had telepathically communicated with the Weaver many times in the past, perhaps he would be able to do the same with the Carver, and make the frenzied guardian see reason.
The Carver did much to deserve their praise. Sophist had sewn the ground with seeds and cultivated the crop, creating this plane of existence and shaping Elysium. However, without constant vigilance, the crop never could have existed for this long; some opportunistic creature would have found and eaten it, or it would have eventually yielded to entropy and died of its own accord. The Carver was to thank for neither of those two things happening, for since the moment it sprung into existence the being had been tasked with ensuring that the universe continue to exist. Any gratitude or acknowledgement from the meaningless mortals was both unnecessary and unwanted; duty was the only thing that the Carver knew, and distractions could induce a rage in the otherwise peaceful and solitary servant.
An unimaginable distance away from Elysium, far, far beyond even the most distant of stars, there was a light. It was a single orb of cackling, vernal light. This was the Carver, a celestial being whose body was nothing more substantial than a cloud of magical energy. Though its form would be huge by human standards, perhaps the size of a building, it was nothing compared to the vast emptiness. Here, on the very edge of the universe, empty space and utter darkness were the guardian's only companions. The Carver saw, worked, and even existed in a dimension higher than other beings could grasp. Trying to explain what the Carver was doing would be like trying to explain depth or volume to something that could only see or think in terms of two-dimensional objects. To put it simply, the Carver was carving, polishing, and filling in the cracks of a wall. This 'wall' was the sole thing that separated Elysium and its entire universe from the infinite, desolate, and strange Void that was beyond, ever eager to swallow up an entire plane of existence.
Using magic to strengthen and maintain this wall through various means was what the Carver was created to do. In the dawn of time, when Elysium was still freshly created, the Carver had met the Creator-God of this dimension. Sophist, as he was called, had warned the Carver of demons from the Void and other parts of the Multiverse. Sophist had implied that such monstrosities might somehow breach their way into the Universe and attempt to destroy it from within. However, that was a long time ago, even by the reckoning of a timeless being. The Carver had encountered neither Sophist or any other extra dimensional beings since then, and had of late been wondering if there was any merit to the Creator-God's warning. Demons skulking about and interfering with the Carver's divine duty was not a pleasant thing to think about, and the ever questioning guardian had to wonder if it was worth worrying about.
The Carver's thoughts abruptly stopped. There was some sort of ripple passing through the Universe, a wave of eldritch and destructive magic the likes of which the being had never before sensed. Instantly the Carver's mind was sent scrambling. Being a creature of habit and instinct, not knowing what to do was a daunting and new prospect. Still, the being's mind was far quicker and superior to that of any physical lifeform, so within the span of a moment the Carver had decided what to do.
The Universe was one great block of wood, full of crevices, rough spots, smooth spots, knots, and holes. The Carver knew and felt every one of those quirks, because it had seen or carved or polished every single one of them at some point in time. The Carver reached out, sensing the ebb and flow of the energies in the background, feeling the grains of the wood, so to speak. The Carver found only tiny crevice that ran throughout the entire sculpture that comprised the fabric of this plane. And then, the guardian followed it. Comprised of pure energy, it was possible to move at the speed of light with next to no effort. The entity poured out its essence, abandoning the spherical mass of energy that it normally manifested itself as. Now, it would be even easier. One moment, the Carver was on the very edge of the Universe attending to the Barrier. That same moment, the Carver reappeared in orbit around the Source.
The Carver's first sight was horrifying: the Source had been the heart that created and pumped the magic that was the Universe's lifeblood. Now, the gas giant was no more than a fountain that spewed out entropy and destructive magic. Somehow, something had corrupted it. The once majestic, beautiful gas giant now resembled a crimson sea of fire and blood. The Carver did not have to look far to find the demon responsible; being so closely attuned to magic and the signature given off by this Universe, it wasn't hard to sense an extradimensional being. The Carver quickly manifested behind Zadok. The wretch's otherwordly appearance and aura, combined with how it stared at the corrupted Source marveling at what it had done was enough to instantly mark it as a demon.
The Carver created, reshaped, repaired. Never before had the guardian been forced to destroy, to fight. However, it did not take long for the being to devise a strategy. The Carver coalesced back into the form of a great orb of green light. Then, without hesitation it began to mercilessly bombard Zadok with blast after blast of pure magical energy, meant to bend and reshape the demon's body into a cloud of dust.
Zadok would likely be taken off guard once the Carver appeared behind him and attacked, but the Carver made no attempt to hide its frantic thoughts. They were broadcast telepathically, for any who knew how to listen and interpret them. Since Zadok had telepathically communicated with the Weaver many times in the past, perhaps he would be able to do the same with the Carver, and make the frenzied guardian see reason.
But overall, BBeast is doing a fantastic job with the Compendium. Props for even going so far as to continue expanding the information on Paterdomus.
Dawnon, I checked out your RP. I'm still on the fence about joining; I like nation roleplays and have never really been a big fan of just controlling one guy. It seems like you might be walking a middle ground though; once you make an OOC or elaborate on how it will work, I'll decide whether or not to join.
Dawnon, I checked out your RP. I'm still on the fence about joining; I like nation roleplays and have never really been a big fan of just controlling one guy. It seems like you might be walking a middle ground though; once you make an OOC or elaborate on how it will work, I'll decide whether or not to join.
We don't really have a hard rule for how long it takes to change your avatar like we do for making new creatures and constructs. It's not too early to make a few changes, so long as they are within reason. Lugubrious already did this in a way, with Clotho stealing the powers of the Biomancer pendant.
I didn't forget the red sun, I'm just not quite sure how to go about mentioning it. 
Much progress was being made, even without Shaige's direction. The imps were abandoning the tiny cave that had been their dungeon up until now. The makeshift altar they built was destroyed, the chalk glyphs along the walls and floor were wiped off, and everything of value, including the vial that was the dungeon heart, was transported to the Mutig tribe's redoubt. Their underground city was more defensible, more isolated, and far larger. With empty and unexplored sections of the cavern, expansion would also be easy because there would be no need to excavate more space.
Fangir reluctantly oversaw the erection of a shrine to his tribe's new patron spirit. The room that had been chosen was the deepest one, within the bowels of the earth. A stone altar was etched into the wall of the chamber. The space dripped with water in the two back corners, forming tiny waterfalls that rushed down some ways before flowing into an subterranean river. The altar, situated between the two largest waterfalls, was adorned with a figurine chiseled into the shape of a cloaked stranger. The idol's bleak, featureless face of stone was enameled with twin amethysts. How the sculptor managed to create such a disturbingly accurate depiction of the shadow was beyond the archdruid's understanding.
Fangir stood in the room with apprehension, watching it slowly take shape. A dozen of his tribesmen worked on it at any given time, smoothing the walls, creating pillars, conjuring magical lighting, installing great wooden doors, and such. Too late had Fangir realized that the moment he told his kin of their debt to the spirit that had offered its aid for nothing in return, he had surrendered all his authority to the shadowy apparition. The spirits that the Mutig tribe had revered before were no more than tales told to children; they didn't care about the fate of the tribe, if they even existed. This spirit, however, was both real and powerful. So the desperate people had instantly transformed into fanatical worshipers of this guardian that they knew nothing about, just as Shaige had known they would. Could Fangir even blame them? He had to admit to himself that they would all have been slaughtered if it were not for the Shadow, but that did little to comfort the archdruid.
He had been chieftain, respected by his people and responsible for all their decisions. Now, he hardly felt like a person. Nobody, not even his fellow druids and closest friends, would speak to him about anything aside from the Shadow. Had their guardian spirit returned yet? What exactly did it look like? What did it want the tribe to do? The last question was always the hardest. Fangir did not know what to tell them, since there had been no sign of the spirit in days and it hadn't exactly left an agenda to complete, anyways. So, Fangir had simply given out orders that made sense: continue gathering food while there were no signs of the rival tribes' warbands, expand the storage rooms and hallways, loot the bodies of the crusaders above and bring all the armor and weapons into the armory to be cleaned and repaired later.
The archdruid was still standing in the shrine room, thinking to himself, when Soran walked in. Garbed in a hooded robe of ebony, Fangir mistook the imp for the spirit, at least until it turned its head and spoke. The construct's smoldering eyes dimly illuminated the features of his face, even with the hood up. With flesh the color of blisters, several pairs of curling horns visible on his head, and an infernal visage, Fangir knew immediately that this was a demon. This demon had an air of power and authority about it, but it was nothing like the hypnotic, calming effect that heralded the Shadow's presence. The archdruid stared at the thing before him, slightly scared but not at all surprised. The others in the room continued their drudgery, too foolish or too zealous to be concerned that they worshiped a spirit with demonic servants.
A deep scowl appeared on the demon's face after a few moments. Soran rasped, his voice a diabolic rumble, "Well? Are you their master?" A yellow haze drifted out of the demon's mouth as it talked, filling the poorly ventilated chamber with the reek of sulfur and burned flesh. Fangir stopped gawking at the demon and opened his mouth, only to be interrupted. "There is little that I loath more than your ilk. Your pungent stench fills these halls. Alas, we must coexist. Our overlord demands it. My subordinates will soon arrive, along with fifty bound ghosts. The ghosts will be content to meander in the dark recesses of this cavern, out of the way. My kind, however, will make our quarters near this room. Our master will be content to live in this room."
The demon's sneering tone and attempt to take control had Fangir seething in anger. The archdruid hissed, "I am chieftain over these halls and woods and people, not you."
"You are no lord and you own nothing. We are all servants to our dark lord, and this entire world is his."
Rightfully concerned for his own well being, Fangir held his tongue. The demon scowled at him once more before pulling a small vial from the folds of his black robe. Soran leered at the archdruid as he placed the tiny container on the shrine, below the figurine, and filled it with his own blood. The archdruid's shock upon seeing the glowing blood was droll in a way, but Soran did not laugh. There was much work to be done, and it would be in his best interest not to push the poxy human much further.
_______________
Meanwhile, leagues away, Shaige silently drifted amongst the bleak buildings of granite slabs that made up most of Paterdomus. The center of the city was dominated by a mighty citadel that dwarfed everything in sight, and many a mountain as well. Two twin spires rose from the granite fortress, one tower white and one black: the homes of the water and fire priests, respectively. Something about the citadel was disconcerting; the whole place radiated a strange power of some sort. Sensitive to magic, Shaige knew that there had to be an object of great power within the cathedral's heart, but whatever it was had a holy aura. Its power repelled the Keeper and weakened him, even from miles away its effect could be felt to one sensitive to magic. So Shaige avoided the citadel for now, privy to the mumblings of guardsmen and hushed conversations of peasants, rather than the plans of the priests and high inquisitors within the fortress.
Still, Shaige was able to learn much even without entering the citadel. Just as the fire priests had launched a crusade against the tribes to the west that occasionally raided the hinterlands, the water priests were locked in a struggle of some sort against Paterdomus's ancient and worst enemies to the north, whoever they were. Shaige had felt it: the entire river to the north of Paterdomus had been cursed, or blessed, depending on one's perspective. At first he hadn't understood what the enchantment did, but it wasn't hard to deduce. With some awesome feat of magic centuries ago, the city had enchanted the river Suri. From the moment the river began enchanted, to the end of time, no man from the north would ever be able to cross the river without being smitten by the power of Paterdomus' gods of water. But now, the enchantment was beginning to fail, and the water priests were desperately trying to maintain the enchantment.
The Temple tried to hide such matters from the public, and so details were sparse. Shaige was still trying to learn more, days later, when the city's alarm was raised. Guards and priests were rushing out to the walls and sallying out to the fields just outside the city, ready to fight something. Upon flying into the air, Shaige saw plumes of smoke in the distance. The Keeper went out to investigate.
Shaige's Stuff:
Minions: Soran the imp construct, 9 imps, 50 pain elementals, Fangir the archdruid, 27 druids, ~300 Mutig Tribesmen
Resources: Several hundred corpses out in the woods above. Plenty of different tools and weapons, though they are generally of poor quality.
Infrastructure: Shaige's dungeon is a sprawling, subterranean city. The entrance is in the side of a rocky hill, in the form of a narrow cave concealed with magic. Down below are many twisting corridors and chambers or varying size. Magical lighting is used, so as to not suffocate everyone inside the poorly ventilated cavern. The cave system is massive, and much of it is unused and unexplored. Shaige's dungeon heart is in a shrine room, deep below the surface and all the other rooms.
Fangir reluctantly oversaw the erection of a shrine to his tribe's new patron spirit. The room that had been chosen was the deepest one, within the bowels of the earth. A stone altar was etched into the wall of the chamber. The space dripped with water in the two back corners, forming tiny waterfalls that rushed down some ways before flowing into an subterranean river. The altar, situated between the two largest waterfalls, was adorned with a figurine chiseled into the shape of a cloaked stranger. The idol's bleak, featureless face of stone was enameled with twin amethysts. How the sculptor managed to create such a disturbingly accurate depiction of the shadow was beyond the archdruid's understanding.
Fangir stood in the room with apprehension, watching it slowly take shape. A dozen of his tribesmen worked on it at any given time, smoothing the walls, creating pillars, conjuring magical lighting, installing great wooden doors, and such. Too late had Fangir realized that the moment he told his kin of their debt to the spirit that had offered its aid for nothing in return, he had surrendered all his authority to the shadowy apparition. The spirits that the Mutig tribe had revered before were no more than tales told to children; they didn't care about the fate of the tribe, if they even existed. This spirit, however, was both real and powerful. So the desperate people had instantly transformed into fanatical worshipers of this guardian that they knew nothing about, just as Shaige had known they would. Could Fangir even blame them? He had to admit to himself that they would all have been slaughtered if it were not for the Shadow, but that did little to comfort the archdruid.
He had been chieftain, respected by his people and responsible for all their decisions. Now, he hardly felt like a person. Nobody, not even his fellow druids and closest friends, would speak to him about anything aside from the Shadow. Had their guardian spirit returned yet? What exactly did it look like? What did it want the tribe to do? The last question was always the hardest. Fangir did not know what to tell them, since there had been no sign of the spirit in days and it hadn't exactly left an agenda to complete, anyways. So, Fangir had simply given out orders that made sense: continue gathering food while there were no signs of the rival tribes' warbands, expand the storage rooms and hallways, loot the bodies of the crusaders above and bring all the armor and weapons into the armory to be cleaned and repaired later.
The archdruid was still standing in the shrine room, thinking to himself, when Soran walked in. Garbed in a hooded robe of ebony, Fangir mistook the imp for the spirit, at least until it turned its head and spoke. The construct's smoldering eyes dimly illuminated the features of his face, even with the hood up. With flesh the color of blisters, several pairs of curling horns visible on his head, and an infernal visage, Fangir knew immediately that this was a demon. This demon had an air of power and authority about it, but it was nothing like the hypnotic, calming effect that heralded the Shadow's presence. The archdruid stared at the thing before him, slightly scared but not at all surprised. The others in the room continued their drudgery, too foolish or too zealous to be concerned that they worshiped a spirit with demonic servants.
A deep scowl appeared on the demon's face after a few moments. Soran rasped, his voice a diabolic rumble, "Well? Are you their master?" A yellow haze drifted out of the demon's mouth as it talked, filling the poorly ventilated chamber with the reek of sulfur and burned flesh. Fangir stopped gawking at the demon and opened his mouth, only to be interrupted. "There is little that I loath more than your ilk. Your pungent stench fills these halls. Alas, we must coexist. Our overlord demands it. My subordinates will soon arrive, along with fifty bound ghosts. The ghosts will be content to meander in the dark recesses of this cavern, out of the way. My kind, however, will make our quarters near this room. Our master will be content to live in this room."
The demon's sneering tone and attempt to take control had Fangir seething in anger. The archdruid hissed, "I am chieftain over these halls and woods and people, not you."
"You are no lord and you own nothing. We are all servants to our dark lord, and this entire world is his."
Rightfully concerned for his own well being, Fangir held his tongue. The demon scowled at him once more before pulling a small vial from the folds of his black robe. Soran leered at the archdruid as he placed the tiny container on the shrine, below the figurine, and filled it with his own blood. The archdruid's shock upon seeing the glowing blood was droll in a way, but Soran did not laugh. There was much work to be done, and it would be in his best interest not to push the poxy human much further.
_______________
Meanwhile, leagues away, Shaige silently drifted amongst the bleak buildings of granite slabs that made up most of Paterdomus. The center of the city was dominated by a mighty citadel that dwarfed everything in sight, and many a mountain as well. Two twin spires rose from the granite fortress, one tower white and one black: the homes of the water and fire priests, respectively. Something about the citadel was disconcerting; the whole place radiated a strange power of some sort. Sensitive to magic, Shaige knew that there had to be an object of great power within the cathedral's heart, but whatever it was had a holy aura. Its power repelled the Keeper and weakened him, even from miles away its effect could be felt to one sensitive to magic. So Shaige avoided the citadel for now, privy to the mumblings of guardsmen and hushed conversations of peasants, rather than the plans of the priests and high inquisitors within the fortress.
Still, Shaige was able to learn much even without entering the citadel. Just as the fire priests had launched a crusade against the tribes to the west that occasionally raided the hinterlands, the water priests were locked in a struggle of some sort against Paterdomus's ancient and worst enemies to the north, whoever they were. Shaige had felt it: the entire river to the north of Paterdomus had been cursed, or blessed, depending on one's perspective. At first he hadn't understood what the enchantment did, but it wasn't hard to deduce. With some awesome feat of magic centuries ago, the city had enchanted the river Suri. From the moment the river began enchanted, to the end of time, no man from the north would ever be able to cross the river without being smitten by the power of Paterdomus' gods of water. But now, the enchantment was beginning to fail, and the water priests were desperately trying to maintain the enchantment.
The Temple tried to hide such matters from the public, and so details were sparse. Shaige was still trying to learn more, days later, when the city's alarm was raised. Guards and priests were rushing out to the walls and sallying out to the fields just outside the city, ready to fight something. Upon flying into the air, Shaige saw plumes of smoke in the distance. The Keeper went out to investigate.
Shaige's Stuff:
Minions: Soran the imp construct, 9 imps, 50 pain elementals, Fangir the archdruid, 27 druids, ~300 Mutig Tribesmen
Resources: Several hundred corpses out in the woods above. Plenty of different tools and weapons, though they are generally of poor quality.
Infrastructure: Shaige's dungeon is a sprawling, subterranean city. The entrance is in the side of a rocky hill, in the form of a narrow cave concealed with magic. Down below are many twisting corridors and chambers or varying size. Magical lighting is used, so as to not suffocate everyone inside the poorly ventilated cavern. The cave system is massive, and much of it is unused and unexplored. Shaige's dungeon heart is in a shrine room, deep below the surface and all the other rooms.
Yeah, sorry guys, but with a new sports season starting now as well as finals I've been really busy. This weekend and next week I will hopefully be able to resume as usual.
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