So general question, what happens when Magic is Sciencified?
Imagine a staff that shoots lighting. Now imagine a gun that shoots electricity arcs.
Imagine a fireball. Now imagine a rocket launcher that launches incendiary rockets.
Are we looking at an eventual obsolete-ification(???) of magic here? Because if so, that would be an awesome challenge for Astarte.
Could always turn to alchemy. It also depends on the culture of the people. What if they hold magic in high regard? What if the pros of the Magic outway the Pros of weapons? While we shouldn't look to FMA for inspiration and such, look at how Alchemy far outway the uses of firearms and even mortars. Even tanks were no match for Alchemy. If Astarte plays here cards right, makes the right friends, innovate magic, then it will never grow obsolete.
Look at you all, having fun there with your demons and your magic mambo jumbo.
Without me. T_T
What! Hey, I have an idea. What if Nicel gave Sin a few angels to work with, out of the kindness of her heart? I think we can all agree thats a good idea. Got a collab ready and everything. Maybe 1000 angels would be sufficient.
@LokiLeo789 Actually demons are now under Vestec I think... Which is a bit of a problem no? Recent events considered and all that.
@Double Capybara@LokiLeo789 Actually, demons were always under Vestec, considering they were created inside his Realm of Madness when he dropped Mammon in it :/
Dang Vestec, always thinking of stuff before I do and hording them. Hate Chaotic beings. Well, nothing hurts in actually asking him, right. Or I could use Astarte again, they still have a deal pending.
Edit: I could also invest I Morality as a Portfolio and make my own. Maybe plain Evil would be better. Sounds more like an all encompassing Portfolio though.
Alrighto. I think my questions have been answered, thanks minna-san.
<Snipped quote by Cyclone>
One thing I notice in these new forms of Magic is that they are usually derivative from other primal energies.
Amartia's Alchemy seems to be just Logos's power in a stone. And the Shamanism I have been building up is basically just humans dreams mixing with animal dreams.
Though once I get into song magic (by turn 56 at this rate) I will need to go for the ritualistic and occultic forces, as there is no base in Dreams alone that justify the creation of such thing.
Elementalist magic (not to be confused with elementals) and Destruction magic is Astartian in nature right?
The proper term will be; 'Manifest'. Rolls off the tongue better. Khoshep will be remained sickle blade.
@Vec I understand that, but as I said, some systems like The Occult had direct influence of the god.
To give an example using my character:
If Ilunabar died I imagine stuff like the Raka and her kind of Shamanism would go on. Stuff like the Grand Parade however would be different.
And I think there is some aspect of Magic that is like the latter. Though it can be explained, like minor demons taking over The Occult's sacrifice deals or an automated system being created.
DEMONS!! Why haven't I invested time in them! Oh my god, there just there, with no leader! No deity! That my niche! I could spread sin so much easier!
@poog the pig@Vec@Cyclone I'd first like to thank everyone for thier input, your feedback will go far towards helping me become a better writer.
Now I'd like to start off by saying that I never meant to come off as edgy. I applied Termite's words and chose to walk that thin line, but not cross it.
@poog the pig The thing is that you're wrong. From what I got, child sacrifice was ESSENTIAL to the plot in this case. It was BECAUSE they sacrificed children that they were able to create and enchant their weapons and armor, and in their belief, protect their tribe and people.
Even with that, and not any other justification, I'd say that there's no problem with it being in the post and ofc it belongs in the story. There would not be any story if no sacrifices were made.
I feel that @Vec hit the nail on the head for this post. My intention was to create a tribe whose whole lives revolved around the Harvest and the Occult. While maybe a child may have been taking it to far, I feel that it appropriately dispalyed the levels as to which mortals were willing to go in this would due to belief systems.
While I disagree with you on the fact that it had no place in the story, I can't help but see it from your point of view. To argue your view would be me basically spitting on your face when all along you set out to help me.
I will look to make less use of this style of writing, as I took, hate Young Adult Novels.
(I did enjoy the debate though, very interesting to read thru.)
@LokiLeo789 Overall I really like the post, but...
The part with the priestess talking about THE moon felt like you were forgetting this is not Earth. Galbar has multiple moons, therefore saying "every full moon" makes little sense.
Also, Dragons don't exist out of Ull Yang's plane, you won't find any in Galbar. (Unless I'm missing something.)
Thanks for the feedback @Double Capybara. God, if theres like seve, that would be a sacrifice like every week if not every four days. The Aleani would die out quickly.
I'll have to write that in, assuming there is seven moons.
On another note, never mind the dragons. Which sucks since I remember having alot of fun with them in Mk.1.
Hey guys, this most recent IC post is kinda of new to me. I'm trying to switch up the way I write abit. Instead of having Amartía be he focuse all the time, I'm trying to use others to convey feelings and sights that Amartía can't.
I think it worked well. I left alot to the imagination, but if anyone is confused to what happened; Amartía basically found Occult Magic to be extremely interesting and desides to experiment by attacking the Village and rounding up its occupants. Then he has a Priest preform a ritual and kill each an every one of them. Amartía creates stone golems in which he binds thier souls to. Basically turning them into stone marionettes.
Would like some feedback, anythung that would help me grow.
Acat took his daughter into his arms, holding her shivering form close to his chest and hummed to her the tune her mother had sung many moons before. The stone steps of the Sanctuary were illuminating, from top to bottom, as the moon rose over the far peaks. Her quivering stopped after a while and she looked up into his eyes.
"Why father?"
He had spoken with her many times before, but now, with the other assembled parents communing with their children for the last time, he could not bear to lie to her. The ivory bands around his neck marked him as one of the clans higher arbiters, but even he was not immune to the Harvest.
"The Gods have been very merciful to us, have they not my eldest?" he asked. Ixtab nodded. "When the forest folk came up to the mountains, with their power, did we not survive? And when the Purifiers scorched the land, did we not successfully defend against them?" Again she nodded. He took her hand.
"In return we build the tombs and the traps in their honour, and the Sanctuary so our prayers can be heard. And," he squeezed her hand tightly, "they take our children so our warriors can fight."
"They took your mother too. Each septem full moon, when the heat of the forest rises, the Priests come. Your sacrifice means the village survives my daughter."
Ixtab nodded one last time and hugged her father. The warriors of the tribe began rounding them up, leading them to the highest point of the temple. There they entered the cool darkness, twelve children, descending into the maze of passageways and tombs that their ancestors had built to the Gods' designs.
Finally they reached the sacrificial chamber. Twelve stone beds lay around the central dias and without speaking they each took their place. As the silence came over the room Ixtab did not shake. As the Priests shuffled into the room, the sound of thier bare feet echoing off the stone walls, she did not look. As the Priests began to light candles, thier shadows casting itself onto the ceiling, she did not murmur. Even as the Priest's began to chant, silently, then then growing louder with each second, thier voices flowing in unison, orange flames now glowing green, she did not think.
“Esh’na’shta! ‘Oa ‘tan kua aysh’shou. Mash’shta. Olua our’ma e elua’shta. Our’ma. E’la e mash’shta.
And as the Priest's gleaming blade was plunged into her heart, it was too late to scream.
----
"I despise the moons." a voice murmured pointedly.
The words belonged to She'ma, a Priest of the Aleani Tribe. From the moment she was born, in the forested plains of her homeland, she was trained. Trained to become a Priest; a follower of The Occult and masters of the Dark Arts. She'ma hated it, hated it with a passion. From second she was came into the world, under the sanguine glow of a blood moon, her life had been planned out. She would be a prodigy, her connection to the Occult would be untold, she would be the one to replace the High Priest. But she did not want this life. She hated the fearful gazes of the people. They were not saviors or providers, but they were killers, and family destroyers.
Tradition dictated that every septem full moon, twelve children were to be sacrificed to The Occult, to replenish the magic power of the Priests, and in turn, the gods. Weapons and armor were created from the souls of the dead, serving as a catalyst for the magical reaction. The very spear that She'ma held in her hand, was forged through this method. The Ritual was simple, yet complex at the same time. Items had to be procured, candles lit, sacrifices chosen, blades cleaned, Priests prepared, prayers made, chants spoken, and hearts stopped.
It was all tradition.
She'ma let out a ragged breath as she gazed up at the many moons that crowded the night sky from her perch on a tree. Only a few moments had passed since the Harvest had taken place. Even here, on the outskirts of the village, she could feel its dark energy, the clammy and glutinous touch of deaths hand sliding its icy finger down her spine. It disgusted her. She couldn't take it anymore. She never could. Every Harvest for two-hundred and eighty-eighty septem full moons, she had vowed to leave, and every time she failed to do so. She was chained to Aleana, she was chained to the Priesthood.
From her makeshift watchtower, She'ma watched sadly as father sobbed loudly, ripping off his ivory beads. The Harvest took someone from everyone. Even She'ma had lost a family member or two. But the greatest loss to her had been that of the sister she never knew, taken years before even she had been convinced. She had only been six when the Harvest chose her. Her parents had watched helplessly as the Priesthood took thier firstborn from thier hands and shoved a knife into her heart. It was funny how the Priesthood singlehandedly severed her family in half. Her sister was taken for The Harvest while she had been taken to become the very people who had taken her.
"She'man! She'ma! SHE'MA!!!" bellowed a voice below her. She'ma eyes widened as she snapped out of her trance. Quickly, she responded to the voice.
"I am here!" she called, her voice unnecessarily high as she searched for the owner of the voice. Gazing up at her with an exasperated look on his face stood O'rin, a fellow Priest and a childhood friend.
"A watchman is trusted with protecting thier people from danger, yet here you are, staring off into space. O'rin sighed, his mohawk dropping as he shook his head.
She'ma grinned sheepishly. She knew O'rin was only playing her, but his words did ring true. She had a job to do. "I apologize O'rin, I was only dwelling on the past."
Immediately, O'rin's eyes darkened. He to had lost many to the Harvest, his own mother had been taken from him. A blade was forged from her death.
"We cannot change the past She'ma, we only serve to change the fut-"
O'rin suddenly fell silent. In the distance, thier was a thwack and a whirring sound from off in the distance. Then there was a close-up thunk. O'rin turned pale and looked confused.
She'ma's eyes widened as she stared at her friends skewered form.
An arrow, as long as her forarm, stuck sickeningly out of his chest. Like a stone, O'rin fell to the floor.
Immediately, She'ma let out a call.
"AR'MI'A!!"
Her voice carried throughout the village, alerting everyone to danger and calling the warriors to arms. Quickly, She'ma leapt off the tree next to a motionless O'rin. Tears formed in her eyes as she ripped the arrow from his back and turned his body over, praying for him to say something, anything.
There was nothing. All life had left his body. Just like that, the Harvest and claimed another soul. She'ma's eyes grew hard as she closed her fallen Priests' own. She then rose to her full, impressive height. The forest folk would not survive her wrath tonight.
Quickly, She'ma took off into the village, her glowing spear marking her as a Priest. Soon, warriors began to join her. At first, only a few came, then dozens came to her side, all ready to follow her orders. As she neared the southern gate, the commotion soon reached here ears, then, she finally laid eyes upon the enemy. Dozens of her brethren lay strewn about, killed by warriors in white.
The Aleani were outnumbered, She'ma knew that. She also knew that there would soon be reinforcements.
She'ma, took a deep, inward breath, raised her spear, and screamed into the air;
"MASH'SHTA!!!"
The warriors screamed in unison, and sprinted into battle, thier own spears and tomahawks glowing. She'ma didn't have an opportunity to watch over her brethren, as she did not fight like they did, she was a Priest.
She'ma tuned away from the battlefield, yanking a skull off her belt, the contents sliding about within. As she had been trained, she poured its crimson content into the earth; the blood of a lamb. Immediately, she began to chant;
"Oleguash’ma." “Oan ohne suash’shta.”
The earth under her feet began to respond to her command, breaking apart and reforming, rumbling and swerving, but She'ma kept steady.
She had been trained.
The world around her began to grow, her garments formulating a sphere of protection, blocking enemy fire; her spear grew brighter, blinding those who looked right at it. Under her feet, a stone hand rose from the earth, slowly at first, but soon, a whole being ripped itself from the ground. A golem.
She'ma had barely broken a sweat. From her newfound height, she could better observe the battle. It was bad. Nearly half the men that had joined her were dead, and the invading army was still going strong. The warriors axes only managed to rip there armor, but nothing cut through. She'ma took to the offensive, throwing her golem forward, the sound of grinding rock pulsating throughout the battle field. Under her command, the golem launched a massive fist at the invaders, hoping to crush them completely. A large explosion changed that plan. She'ma reared back as her Golems' hand was incinerated to the elbow. She gritted here teeth, ignoring the sudden pain in her ankle as she through a second punch with here good arm. Twice over, an explosion stopped her in here tracks. This time aimed at her golems chest. She'ma barely heard this one as she was thrown like a ragball from her perch. Her golem fell to pieces, unable to keep itself intact. Above her, levitating in midair, stood a winged creature, his face distorted by the dirt and rock that washed over her as crumpled to the ground.
Blinding pain cut through her skull and then only darkness.
----
She'ma's head was pounding even before she forced here eyes open. When she did, shapes and colors blurred around her. She squinted and slowly things became clearer. She'ma lay exactly were she had the night before, surrounded by the rubble of the night battlement. The village stood silent, eerily so.
"So, you have finally awoken."
She'ma's head whipped toward the voice, here heart racing, was it a survivor? Did here brethren succeed in holding off the attack? Her hopes were quickly dashed. Sitting upon the head of her golem was the winged creature from last night, gazing intently at an Aleani Axe. She'ma remained unmoving before the creature who looked human, his stance was not threatening, it was welcoming in fact. But that did not pull She'ma from the edge.
"Who are you? What have you done?" she called with a shaky breath.
The creature simply smiled and turned to her. "Who am I? I am a King. An aspiring god. A conquer. A scholar. I am Sin itself. But as for you people-" the being visibly shuttered. "You'd be surprised how willing mortals are to resort to Treachery to save thier own lives. Worry not Priestess! Your people live on! Encased in stone!" he proclaimed, gesturing behind her. She'ma gazed into the eyes of the creature. His eyes were a fathomless onyx, bottomless like burning pits of coal. Cold and merciless.
Slowly, She'ma turned; her mind starting to fail. She couldn't formulate a thought. Teeth chattered due to a quivering jaw; clenching the teeth in an effort to keep the jaw still; dropping the jaw so as to breathe in more oxygen in preparation for what's to come.
Behind her, stood an army of stone creatures. They stood rigid, straight, unmoving; and they all seemed to be starring at her.
She'ma did not move.
"Worry not Priestess,"
She did not speak.
"you will join them."
She did not think.
"Soon. Soon enough"
She did not scream.
Introduceing a young child named Ixtab who must be sacrificed. But she she doesn't understand why.
Her father, Acat, begins to explain to her the Tradtion of the Harvest.
Eventually they must say thier goodbyes and with 12 other kids as killed.
---
Meet She'ma, a Priestess who hates here job and lifestyle.
As she thinks about her life, she baraly realizes she is being called to and finds her friend standing there.
There meeting is cut short as he is killed before her eyes. Immediately, she if thrust into a losing battle with an invading army of white.
She'ma tries to what she can but she is defeated and goes unconscious.
---
When she wakes up she finds Sin sitting next to her.
She confronts him, and he willingly gives her an answer. That leads her to find out the disgusting acts that had just taken place.
Member
Vec
