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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!

I've been here on and off for almost as long, and have GM'd a bunch of different things to varying success.

Discord: VMS#8777

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God of Death, Prince of Astral Fires


His mind and vision were engulfed by madness. A ringing reverberated incessantly from all around; there were dancing flames within that strange place just beyond the corner of his sight, but even so there were sharp lances of icy pain that pierced his mind, and there was a familiar scent that conjured hazy memories of panic and terror. Some overpowering blunt force had struck his mind and shattered it like glass, and now there were only shattered memories left swirling about in the schism that remained. All of the trauma and the pain was still there, but now it was oppressive and omnipresent.

What is this? What am I?

A name--Katharsos...

I am become Death: Preserver of the World, Keeper of the Cycle, Guardian of Life.


Katharsos blinked sharply, and just like that, he reclaimed his lucidity and was suddenly made aware of his surroundings.




The concussive pain and the strange sensations that had wracked his mind until that moment hadn't left him. No, they had only grown worse. With his stupor broken, the garbled and distant ringing was now accentuated by the vivid screaming and wailing of too many souls to count. They voices of billions of lost souls in varous states of agony mixed together into a maddening cacophony, and there was no escaping from it--at least, not for him. He heard them all. He sensed their collective misery and pain so acutely that it was as a burden upon him, too.

There were other things, too. Something was inside of him. He felt it, the foreign object, inside the fiery prison that was his mouth. The scintillated light of a strange crystal shone through gaps in his teeth, reflecting brazen glow of his own body (a massive, detached head made of writhing flames, he realized!) as it propelled him onward. At first he felt bewildered, but understanding came within the span of a few instants--he had been summoned here by a great Enlightened Being alongside many others. But whilst those others were still manifesting or bickering or coming to grips with their reality, Katharsos had been so driven by his instinct and his purpose that he had leaped onto his awaiting crystal and left the Architect's palace before he had even truly become cognizant of what he was doing.

What was he doing?

Saving the spirits, of course. The souls were his to watch after. He swore an oath!

When? What oath?

His reverie ended as he rocketed past a wailing collection of spirits. Immediately he wrenched his head around with enough force to shift the crystal such that it began carrying him to the left, and then back around to circle towards the stray souls. But when he looked out to where they had been, they were all gone!

He summoned even more of his strength to twist his head farther around, and upon wheeled all the way back the spirits came into his vision once more. They were right behind him, being swept along in his wake. Of course they were. He was a shepherd of souls, and any such spirits in his vicinity could be made to go where he directed them. That would make this long task easier.

He soared back and forth through the cold and dark depths of space, collecting a dozen souls here, one or two stray ones there, sometimes great groups of a few thousand all huddles together as if for warmth. He could hardly blink without gathering another one or two, but still, there were so many that awaited his call. And these were just those that remained adrift in the cold of these upper Spheres; there were untold millions cast into all other far corners of the universe as a result of the diaspora caused by the Great One's careless expulsion of all the lesser souls.

Katharsos looked down to the blue jewel below, a place that he instinctively knew to be the most perfect and balanced of all Spheres. seat of this universe's future, the inevitable origin of mortal life--Galbar. It looked even more beautiful in the light. The God of Death turned his gaze to observe the distant sight of Heliopolis' blinding radiance. Already the other gods were making progress with their works. Soon they would have need for souls if they were to create any forms of life to populate and glorify the world, yet all of these souls he gathered were broken.

"Ahahaha, ahahahaha!"

From the great throngs of wailing dead that were swept along by the warmth of his wake, Katharsos witnessed with crystalline clarity the apparition of a single man that laughed maniacally, chanting strange and unknowable words between cackles as he lashed out at all behind him.



There in the crowd were all manner of ruined forms. Spectral reflections of beast, men, and things altogether alien were all congregated before him. There were some that remembered what they had been, and warped their appearance to take on such favored forms. Others appeared as they had when they succumbed to death. There were some with horrific wounds that still seeped ethereal blood; perhaps they were warriors who fought and died in a place so distant and far into the past that it was may as well have just been the stuff of fevered dreams.

"Ask the great bright One! He'll know," he heard one childlike voice whisper among the deafening tumult.

"W̴i̴l̸l̶ ̸m̵y̷ ̶h̶e̸a̴d̶ ̴g̴r̵o̸w̷ ̶b̷a̵c̷k̵?̵S̶̼̤͗õ̵̞̱̫m̴̩̲̍͂̑ȇ̸̘t̶̞͖̽̓h̶̡̫͛ị̴̼̝̄́͠n̴̲͕̆ǵ̵̠͕̥̒ ṙ̸͍̺̩͉͚͙͖̖̱͔͉̜͉̈͂̒̈́͊̈́̆̃̋͑̽̈́̅͘i̸̡̡͖̯͕̤̫̯̗̮͕̳͙͍̔̈͒́͘͜͜͜p̴̨͇̻̦̝̗̻̯̜̼̤͐͌̑͊̾̌̅̈̇̇̿̊͜p̸̘̝̖͈͇̻̥͎͓̖̳̪͓͐̈́̎̄̀͗̈̽͗͠e̶̦̠̫̲͔͇̲̹͍̜̺̰͠ͅd̸̢̦̻̮́̂̂̇̊̃͒̅͘͝͝ ̸̞͐͂͠ȉ̶̘̰̱t̴̟̚ ̵͇̽ȍ̷͉͝f̵̢̧̳̅̋f̵̯̭̒̿!"

Katharsos looked upon the speaker, the revolting husk of a girl that had been gnawed at and twisted by the terrible Things in the Beyond. The expression of his eyes flickered with the faint light of horror, and the crimson flames of his head withered and became a sickly yellow. He wept a single tear of ash, and then finally addressed the souls.

"I was once a great healer," he found himself saying. "My old memories are...returning. I know what can be done for you, what must be done to one day make you whole again...please, step into my light."

The fury of the fires within him swelled until it became so great that it cracked the crystal inside his maw. Odd astral fires, cold to the touch, raged and consumed the inanimate crystal. Katharsos opened his mouth and a great glowing ember of light came forth. Though she had no head and no face, the girl's spirit seemed to smile as it advanced to the front of the crowd. She was the first to lay a hand upon the golden orb.

"Ő̵͈̒͜h̵͈͐̏,̸̼̉̃"i̵̠͛͠t̴̡̝̮̿ ̸̗͉̳͐͝ͅf̶̙͗e̶̛͍̟̿́̊e̴̓ͅl̵͉̮͊s̴̰̍...w̴͙̟̘̎̽̏̕ͅa̴̹͉̓̎͒̐̊r̷͍̰͎̟̳̫̖̕m̸̌͂͂̔̉̕͠ͅ!

A sepulchral tide swept forward as other lost souls rushed closer in an attempt to bask in its warmth. And then there was a flash, and suddenly there was all aflame. A massive inferno roared to life and engulfed them all in its dull light. Some struggled for a few moments, but then the astral fires began to eat at their memories, and their struggled ended. They squirmed like insects caught in a spider's web, shaking in cathartic spasms as they relived every flaming memory. Great plumes of sickly smoke billowed forth into the cold expanse of space as a byproduct of the burning souls, along with countless tiny flakes of near-invisible ash. The smoke was a noxious thing anathema to life--the very quintessence of death. So the god breathed deeply and drew it all about him lest it pollute the world. But the ash was just the opposite, being the metaphorical clay from which new life and new souls would be formed. To watch it drift down to Galbar and away into the other Spheres almost made Katharsos feel solace.

Almost.

He didn't know how many millions of souls he'd just condemned to oblivion. While the other gods feuded or played, sculpted or philosophized, Katharsos was alone in space left to dig graves and build pyres. He envied all the others--for who among them could ever claim to bear a burden as heavy as his?--but begrudged them not. Someone had to do this; it was the only way. Those souls had been so weathered and corrupted that they were far beyond the ability of his warm flames to ever heal, if indeed he still possessed such a potential to heal. But they were not beyond the capacity of his otherworldly fires to purify.

He let out a long and drawn out sigh, somehow oblivious to the faroff explosion of a Solar Furnace, the upheaval of entire continents on Galbar, the Architect's never-ending stare...he only saw the billions of souls that remained for him to gather and recycle. It was not feasible to fly about the cosmos gathering them all and herd them together to set aflame. He needed a more permanent solution, so he claimed the empty Sphere that he drifted through. It was a dark and cold and distant and abandoned one; only Melantha's equally gloomy lair seemed nearby. As none of his immortal peers wanted to occupy such a plane, it seemed a fine place for Death to lurk and do its work in serene quiet.

Over the course of some meaningless time that might have been mere hours or countless decades, Katharsos assembled a thousand great firepits. They sat suspended everywhere in his Sphere, wrapped all the way around the Galbar's plane of view and scattered across the night sky. At the heart of every pyre was a singular tiny ember. The embers themselves glowed far too dimly to be seen from below, but the blinding light of the gigantic conflagrations came closer than anything else to rival the brilliance of Asceal's own solar furnaces. It was only their great distance from the other Spheres, as well as the hazy smoke of death that was growing to shroud the entire Sky of Pyres, that obscured and dimmed them to the point that from Galbar's surface they appeared as nothing but distant stars.

And distant they were, but not so distant that their pull could be resisted! Unseen by the living or those that knew not to look, Katharsos had been softly stirring the fabric of the Spheres themselves. From what had started as soft ripples there had grown a great maelstrom that extended all the way from the Sky of Pyres down to the surface of Galbar, and then its pull reached through the other gateways to reach even farther. Slowly, but surely, stray souls were being gathered up in that maelstrom and swept into the clutches of Death. A thousand more of them arrived every instant, but Katharsos had pyres enough for all.

After setting aflame some odd billionth soul, he no longer felt quite so emotional about it (inwardly or outwardly) as he had the first time. There were hardly any more tears of ash that fell from his burning eyes as he witnessed the memories of the dead transform into nothingness. There was already plenty of ash raining down, after all.

@Cyclone
I did see it and once I did I removed my interest.


So to make sure we're on the same page, you're saying that you do not want to join, then?
@Dealdric

Hey, did you see the Discord link near the top of the first post? Come on in and say hi!


They took shape and scurried about so quickly...it was jarring to have so much motion, so much vibrancy, all of this life in his lonely world of dust and dark. But his one great eye kept track of them all, nonetheless. In the wake of the first one's departure the other gods began to gain their bearings, some faster than others; however, only one had the audacity to address him.

She had only a simple inquiry, "Why?"

His piercing gaze had already all but impaled her, but the moment that the word began to leave Melantha's lips -- or was it an instant before? -- the ancient god began to tense and shift in his throne so as to face even more directly at her, and by that point his eye was practically swallowing her whole. The depths of his black pupil were bottomless and unfathomable, yet even still, one could sense his anger in there without even seeing it. The very question had seemingly offended him.

'What could you hope to know of such things? Your mind could not fathom what I am,' the cyclops whispered without lips. Though she did not escape his eye, for none ever could, his stiffened body relaxed ever so slightly as he spoke louder, addressing them all. "My cause is beyond your understanding, but my instructions are not. When I give them, I expect that they will be obeyed."

As he spoke, there was one goddess wreathed in fiery red hair and equally fiery fury. Even as some other struggling divine fought to free itself from the red one's overbearing grasp, the fiery Seihdhara met his eye with two of her own. Her hands reached down to the ground, and finding no loose stones, used a titanic grip to tear free chunks of the palace's tiled ground. And then there was a whistling in the air as she hurled the first stone at his massive visage.

Her aim was true, but the stone never struck. By his will, it froze in the air and was suspended halfway through its arc, as was the second stone, and the third. And the god upon his throne was furious.

"I will teach you to respect your elder."

There was a slight flick of his wrist, and suddenly an explosion of light erupted from beneath Seihdhara. She tried to jump in panic, but that movement brought her into a collision with some unseen object. She flailed her arms, but they couldn't move, for the magical seals had enveloped her body and trapped her in what might as well have been an invisible sarcophagus.

A small stir of his finger made the cage contort in strange ways, and for a brief moment the air simmered and light bent as the barriers came to press into her long tresses of hair and become entangled.

The god that embodied confusion began to offer some riddle, its quick clicking and jabbering coinciding with a momentary pause in the Architect's speech; however, there was hardly time for her to contemplate its puzzle even if she'd wanted to.

The Enlightened One leaned forward in his throne, watching Seihdhara squirm. 'The fortitude of your frame, the blood in your hair and flesh, the very air that you breathe. I gave you all of this! Before I brought you here, you were nothing but a worthless echo, a formless shadow, doomed and trapped in the Beyond. Such a waste.'

With a shearing pull that painfully tugged at her hair and tore a few tufts free, the seals shattered. The force of their breaking threw Seihdhara onto her back, on the cold hard tile of his palace floor. The Architect's eye told her to flee and thank the stars for his mercy, but perhaps that was simply a projection of her own imagination.

Quickly the Architect's expression once again became unreadable as he followed the motions and doings of all the other gods, even those that had departed.

Help! I don't know what's happening!


Timespan: 55 to 110 years since the Soul Heist

It is now the third age, where each god gets 8 Free Points per turn.

This is the Age of Lords. The chaos of the wilds is still a terror to the mortal folk of Galbar, but as they grew, it has also become a challenge. The lands are ripe for the birth of civilizations, great and small. The start of a mighty empire may require only the smallest boon from a god or two. The Architect awaits the blossoming of the worshipping peoples with anticipation.

This Age, FP can be used for the following acts:
  • Create an Artefact (Limit 2 each, must be left in the hands of mortals)
  • Create a monument (Limit 1 each, must be on Galbar)
  • Form a holy order
  • Teach an idea or technology
  • Bestow a one-time gift to mortals beyond their ability to craft
  • Bless or Curse (Groups of mortals only)
  • New act: 1 FP - Create an impressive and/or fantastical landmark or piece of architecture (Limited to the size of a large citadel or a small town, give or take. Basically a variant of the one-time gift above)


TAKE NOTE: Azura and Asceal's broadcast via the Alma to present all mortals with the choice of their fate after death has constituted a world-wide, high-impact event! This is a landmark in the passage of time from which years shall be measured, until such time as a more appropriate event takes place.



A blast from the past! Everything below here is now outdated.


A singular droplet of water seeped through earth and stone before tumbling into the void below. It fell and fell in silence. Then, the sound of its splash suddenly and finally echoed through the cavernous expanse of a bleak hall which lay beneath the empty shell of a barren rock, which itself was perched upon the very boundary of existence as it overlooked a singular pristine jewel, which was the world called Galbar floating dark blue amidst a black sea of nothingness.

The Architect slowly rose from his throne and clenched a fist. His body's strength was fleeting, but like a faithful companion it still returned whenever he called upon it. He stood alone on a great dais. An island in the center of the flooded and utterly dark hall. Up from the deathly still waters jutted massive columns of stone. They rose to soaring heights before they finally tapered to the earth above. The Architect turned his head upward and raised his fist.

'Part,' his mind wordlessly commanded, and the earth shuddered, and a great gash opened in the ceiling as the stone above slid away. A dim attempt of light spilled into his ancient palace, spread thin; the sky outside was devoid of any sun or star save that of the many great glowing seals and bolts of magic that held the Barrier together. Where before there had been but the smallest drop, now a thousand mighty cataracts of water sheeted down from aquifers above to cascade down into his hall between the columns.

This would provide ample enough space.

The ancient reached into the unknowable nothingness of space and came to rest his hand upon one of the many intangible seals that he'd erected to protect his creation from interlopers. He faltered for a moment, but then dispelled his doubts. He had only one eye, only one ambition, and so he knew that there was only one perfect path to follow. He had meditated for many aeons and seen that this was the shortest path.

So it was with an indomitable resolve that he tightened his grip enough to shatter any matter as if it were glass. However, the seal still held firm, for it was of his making and his works were not so easily broken.

'Open.'

In the very instant the command had been conjured, the water’s fall ended to shout away the hall’s quiet. A rift opened a blinding flash of radiance. Primordial Light, Fire, Ruin, and Chaos wreathed the Architect’s weathered hand as the boundless energy of untold hordes of souls surged through the gap and into his world. With a voracity greater than a thousand raging waterfalls they billowed outward. His palace heaved, but by his will it endured and was preserved from the raging power of the Beyond.

'CLOSE!'


Within the blink of an eye it was all over.

The one-eyed Architect was left with a cacophony of wailing souls, detached thoughts, and stray memories. Formless though they were, many were already trying to manifest forms and inflict themselves upon his creation. Though loathsome to his senses, all of them were of use. Some more than others. He needed to separate the grain from the chaff.

"Baser beings, your place is yonder," he decreed, and suddenly the discordant choir was all but snuffed. All but a few of the greatest souls were banished from his palace into the cold space of their new plane.

'I must rest, now,' he whispered, barely audible, as he sank back into his throne. His one unflinching eye bored into each and every one of the remaining souls from the middle of his strange face as they took their natural shapes.

The air was laden with divine essence, and it seeped into the spirits assembled before him. It made them into something more.

He waited in utter silence, his brown flesh statuesque to the point of blending into the rock of his throne. He was entirely invisible if not for the power that he radiated, the air that simmered about him, and of course that unnerving oculus that seemed to dominate his skull, and indeed the entire room.

"I bid you welcome to the realm of my creation," his words finally resonated. "I am the Architect of this place, of these Spheres. I have chosen you serendipitous few to be my builders, my hands, the extension of my will. There is much work that remains before us."

Massive crystals broke the surface of the dark depths of the water. They rose up like creeping fingers from below, then floated like icebergs, and then slowly parted with the water and came to levitate in the air. "You know what must be done," he declared, and suddenly they did.

The first among, some floating face of fire, timidly ascended into the air and came to rest upon one of the crystal platforms a short ways above. For just those first few moments, all of them were one, at peace, and knew each other perfectly; they sensed face’s name, saw the turmoil in his mind, and felt his trepidation. But they also felt a strange fire deep within him that had been kindled--like a shepherd witnessing his flock's escape, Katharsos wanted nothing more than to chase after all those fleeing souls that had been cast out into space.

"FLY!"


With the ancient god's order echoing behind, Katharsos felt the crystal accelerate to some unknowable speed, the power of its binding him safely to its surface even as it soared through the darkness of the void.

Each of the remaining gods simultaneously became once more aware of the Architect's unwavering gaze. His sight had a smell, wretched, in thought and in body. And with it was little time left to comprehend further. That giant pupil defied logic and made eye contact with each and every one of the scattered gods at the same time, silently commanding them to take their places.
@LokiLeo789 for Anzillu
Ah, the long awaited IC is drifting closer. But first I've got to get two more quick reviews out of the way.

@Not Fishing for Kalmar


@LokiLeo789 for Enolyc


So is the universe being created from scratch again, or will the RP take place in an age closer to stone or bronze? Just curious for when I start fleshing out my demigod CS.


The universe is being created from scratch. The OP makes that part (and many others) quite clear, so read it thoroughly when you have the time.
Edit: Applying as a demigod would probably be best.


In the meantime, would you like to take a look around on the Discord? We have most of our bantering going on there.
This looks interesting, but I feel my writing skills might not be up to snuff, so to speak, for me to be able to participate.


I don't think it's a matter of skill so much as dedication. If you are willing to devote enough time and creativity to creating a character, you can make a good and unique one. If you are then willing to hold onto that same level of dedication as you go into the IC and write and edit posts and plan storylines, I believe it's possible for almost anyone with a decent grasp of the English language to make a post that would pass our threshold.

Now the question of dedication is a big one--I can fully understand and appreciate that since writing here is a thing we do for fun and as a hobby, many people don't want to "push themselves" so to speak. If you feel like you're up to the task, write a character sheet and we'll review it.

Now, I will say that the window for applying as a god has all but closed as I'd like to get the IC up tonight if not tomorrow, and I don't think you'll have time to write a sheet or that we'll have time to review it beforehand even if you did. Perhaps the solution here is for you to wait a bit, solidify some ideas in your mind, and then apply as a demigod in a few days.

As far as technology goes, our GM BBeast had a god that more or less did that in Mk. II. Here's his sheet, if you'd like to look it over for some inspiration: roleplayerguild.com/posts/3368493
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