SillyGoy — Roleplayer Guild

Tower of Broken Dreams, Ceyr ————————————————————————— Snarling mildly for but a flash at seeing Voana's figure in the distance, Thirianna stepped back to receive the newcomer, and her sapphire-like eyes met those of Hiraga, but frowned at the feigned cordiality. Vaul took action first to return the guardian's greeting, dipping his head in a deeply respectful bow, his long, platinum blonde hair pulled away from their usual place behind his shoulders and encouraged to fall over his obscenely baroque breastplate. "Hiraga," he rose, his chin tilted slightly upwards in that Elven manner when they were genuinely happy, if the smile that curved his thin lips and reached his bright eyes wasn't enough to convey it. "Your dryads continue to keep the Forests of Ulthanesh and Eldanesh so lush and beautiful. On behalf of the Elven Pantheon and the mortals we call our children, I thank you sincerely." In contrast to the smith god, the guardian arch-angel's reply was cold in its insulting shortness. "Good to see you too, elder sister," she said, as her eyes wandered all over the disgustingly fake body Hiraga had chosen to take. The firstborn was a shapeshifter, and proclaimed herself to be Guardian of all Ceyr. How pretentious. But none of these venomous thoughts showed through Thirianna's convincing-enough smile. "I hope you've been keeping well." But Varavana found himself ignored by Thirianna, even when he bowed and spoke at some length. He was right in the tension that filled the air, as the the second-born tried to spark conversation with her elder sister with an extremely generic "How have you been?" The only attention the upstart got was from Vaul, who looked at him for a second, decided he wasn't interested, and returned his gaze to Hiraga. If the smith god noticed Gaon, he made no effort to show it. Indeed, the ancient spirit that helped to shape and form the greatest and most terrible mortal race to ever conquer great swathes of continental Ceyr would be just as cold to the third upstart who was taking his sweet time in ascending the steps.

Godhood A Tale of Deities

Centuries have passed since the War in Heaven, and Ceyr's wounds have only begun to close and scar. Great canyons forcibly gouged out by powers incomprehensible still crisscross the planet as it tries to get rid of them, but that would take many millennia. Mortal civilizations were utterly destroyed during the climactic battle between the Golden One and its great and terrible children, and even under the wisdom of gods they still cannot compare to the greatness of their ancestors. Where are the skyships they used to conquer the very skies? Where are the great arcologies, with societies where one might live amongst millions but still find genuine fulfillment of self? They are gone, and some for good. Humans, dwarves, orcs and elves and other races have meekly crawled back to the surface from the deepest caves, holding only scraps of the legacy of their great grandparents. In their desperation, they scurry around the ruins of once-great cities, finding ancient knowledge to rediscover and remaster as they begin to reforge what was lost. But it is not only the mortals who have suffered from the death of their creator, the Golden One. The ancient spirits used to be able to crack whole continents, but now can only destroy cities -- and even that takes whole minutes to complete; for all magic was and still is tied to the essence of the Creator. What few are left of the great body count the Golden One's scythe reaped from their numbers during the War in Heaven feel regret, from killing their Mother and Father; remorse, from their inaction when their brothers and sisters took up arms; or sorrow, from not having done enough to protect the Golden One. No mortal inhabits the new realms of Aett, Realm of Love, and Hades, Realm of Hatred, for these are the domains of the spirits. Angels in the former want to see the Golden One live again, but neither the gods nor the demons believe it can be done. The gods of Ceyr, Realm of Life, have decided that they cannot dwell in the past, and must forge on to a new future, however bleak it is; but the angels and demons believe this to be foolish, for what are they without the Golden One? And the demons create the most terrible of artifacts and dabble in creation -- something which only the Golden One could do -- in an attempt to emulate their Creator, and perform the most gruesome and disgusting of magics to meet their goals, arguing that the end justifies the means; but the angels and the gods believe this to be blasphemy, in addition to simply being repulsive, arrogant and insufferably pretentious. But for all their conflicts, the ancient spirits have one clear desire in mind: a return to the glory they once knew, when the land wasn't cracked and rivers of light still flowed from their benevolent Creator onto Ceyr. Only five dozen ancient spirits remain, out of many thousands, and they are all so weak. Survivors of a conflict that should not have been. Doomed to a forsaken future, haunted by a happy past, and living in a depressing present. But there is hope. There is a summons to the Tower of Broken Dreams, a gargantuan, ancient structure of glass, marble and sapphire on Ceyr once utilized by a close group of ancient spirits in an age long forgotten. Who they were and how they used the place is irrelevant, but it is remarkable that the building still stands, given the War in Heaven, and the tithes demanded by time as it goes by. The message, conveyed by Thirianna, figurehead of the angels, invites all the children of the Golden One -- her fellow angels, the gods, the demons and even the upstarts -- to discuss the future. She claims the dismembered corpse of the Golden One stirs in the void between the three worlds of Aett, Ceyr and Hades; she claims that the Origin's magnificent soul is reforming. She speaks of the impossible, that the Creator is rising from its grave. Indeed, this is something to bring the fractious natures of angel, god, demon and upstart together as simply Spirits united under Its All-knowing Gaze. As a spirit, a direct child of the Golden One, it is imperative that you attend. Journey to the Ullanor Wastelands, enter the Tower of Broken Dreams, and take a seat. Fate needs to be discussed.

Tower of Broken Dreams, Ceyr ————————————————————————— At the crests of the dunes, the desert breeze caught the red sand and made sprays of them that diffused elegantly with the hot air. Aun, mother star of Ceyr, looked on harshly through nigh-cloudless skies at the desolate landscape that belied little of its glorious past, when its sand was fertile soil, and made up rolling hills and plains instead of featureless dunes whereupon an abundance of wretched, low-bellied creatures like scorpions and snakes now crisscrossed their soft surfaces. Indeed, this was wild country that tested the mettle of even the hardiest of creations that tried to make a living here, as evidenced by a lone juvenile Ironwood tree in the distance, its dead, black branches swept with sand, and its body half-buried in the powder. Fitting that a kilometer underneath its roots, the ancient city of Roma, capital of the human Imperium Ferrum, lay in deathly slumber: the tree that they made a proud icon of in the past now marked their graves in the present. But breaking the monotony of sands and scattered, ominous objects in the Ullanor Wastelands was a gleaming tower of white that stretched almost to the clouds. Supported by giant buttresses that curved as they tapered towards the very top of the structure, Aun's light caught the rounded gemstones that regularly broke the smoothness of its surface -- rubies, emeralds, amethysts, but sapphires consisted the most of them -- and arrayed a rainbow of colors to anyone looking at the tower from any direction where they could see it. And at its foot, there was an obvious depression of the sand that surrounded it, obviously not a natural work but one that allowed access to the heavy double-doors that consisted much of its entrance. Made with marble as with most of the structure and gilded with gold, a book's worth of runes was etched onto the doors' surfaces, but the most meaningful ones roughly read: "Hope is the first step on the road to disappointment." While its superficial message was obvious, the unpleasantness that was life after the War in Heaven made Vaul muse for a moment of its deeper meanings, before gesturing with a flick of his wrist and setting aglow the runes, the myriad characters -- each not just a letter but a whole concept unto itself -- lighting up in clockwise manner. The Elven God of Smiths found his eyes following every activating rune, until blue luminescence covered the entirety of the doors, then was suddenly extinguished. He idly put a foot back a pace as the locking mechanism depressed the doors inward and finally parted them away and into ports in the walls, revealing a rather spartan foyer whose only eye-striking object was the beginning of a long, winding staircase that spiraled towards the the very top of the Tower of Broken Dreams. Vaul felt annoyance tug at the back of his heart as he activated the lumen globes that filled niches in the wall at intervals. His armor, made of the finest mithril and decorated with reliefs that portrayed in himself in baroque sculpture as he was written in the grandest of Elven epics, bent like a second skin and made no sound as he skipped every other step in his impatience, such was its quality. The lumen globes were the only source of light inside of the Tower, save for the opening at the very end towards where the staircase gently tapered towards, wherefrom Aun's light poured in rays. There were one thousand, one hundred eleven steps to make in order to reach the rooftop, but Vaul's feet, in his haste, landed on only half that number. And when he surmounted the final step, the frown on his face contrasted with the smile of the figure at the opposite side of the amphitheater of sorts, leaning against the colonnaded parapet. "Thirianna," Vaul said, the name uttered with ambivalent colors of hatred and jealousy, compassion and love, relief and regret. "I have never been a fan of bothersome theatrics." The angel but fluttered her magnificent wings and smiled wider into a grin. Crowned by hair of gold, locks exquisitely curled and long as they fell upon her back and ample chest, with a soft face, deep eyes, and lips whose smiles promise everything, and frowns inspire guilt and broken hearts, this was Thirianna, the Guardian Arch-Angel. Clad in white sleeveless robes that fluttered mystically with the breeze, she held in her life-giving hand a long lance which she was using at the moment as a sort of walking stick, and it intimidated Vaul the moment he set eyes on the weapon, for he still remembered how it pierced through even his armor and drew his blood all those centuries ago... "You have done your siblings a favor: at least they will not have to bother with the door and the lumen globes. It is good to see you too, Vaul, after so many years." "Yes, yes," the smith god said quickly, eliminating the crease of his scowl. "But could you not have picked a more welcoming venue? The sand in the wind irritates my ears." "Ah, but there is no better venue," Thirianna said, as she set herself off the railing and walked calm steps towards the only other figure on the rooftop. "For this is where we recognized our sin, and this is where we shall begin our journey towards redemption." Vaul stepped forward as well. "So you dragged me from the Forests of Ulthanesh into the rough spot on Kharnath's arse because of symbolism?" The angel gave a chuckle. Were Kharnath still alive, he would not have taken that slight well. "Pretty much." There was a silence when they had come within feet of each other, and they both found their eyes examining the figure of the other. Their armor, their clothing, their skin, hair and ornaments. It lasted for a few seconds, ending with the two parties staring each other in the eye, and through the action communicating wordlessly. Vaul was first to break the stare, and looked and gestured to his left, where there were seats like ascending stair-steps fashioned from a single piece of marble and shaped into a wide semicircle that hugged the parapet. "I presume I am the first of my ilk to be here. But where are Aesir, Sophia, Sita, and Maugan Ra -- the other four angels?" Vaul asked, but when there was no reply after a few seconds, he returned his gaze to his elder sister, who looked at him with hurt. "What?" he was genuinely bewildered. "Brother and sister who last met wearing masks of death and stoking the flames of hatred in their hearts, now reunited after so long, and the former acts detached and cold." Vaul bitterly chuckled. "Forgive me, sister, but you tried to kill me." Thirianna shook her head in disapproval. "I had to. You were hurting our Creator, but the return of the Golden One heralds a new age, an era of reclaiming. Let us forget the sins and the selfishness and the grievances of the past, and instead forge on with love and understanding. Is it the lance," she lifted the weapon a few inches up, "that intimidates you?" "Yes," Vaul admitted, his lips pursing at the last syllable as he suppressed a feral growl, and quelled the reflex action to take the handle of his sheathed runesword. "And its wielder. The scars have not healed." "Brother," Thirianna beckoned, extending her free hand as she stepped forward. "Please forgive me. Embrace me." But Vaul merely held a palm up and retreated, not looking her in the eyes. "No, no. You know my memory is perfect. I cannot forgive such trespasses against me so easily. When I think of the War, Thirianna, I feel pain as your accursed weapon nearly tore me apart. Even now, my body aches as my mind relives that time. And you haven't answered my question." The angel looked deflated, and ceased her approach. With her voice lacking some color, she began to answer: "Aesir and the others are attending business regarding the Resurrection. There is no point for them to be here, as they already know everything." "Ah yes, because you people so jealously guard the majority of our Maker's corpse up there in Aett. So us gods and our demon brethren, while we feel our Parent stir, know only so little." "Mhm," Thirianna seemed unperturbed at the accusation, even proud of it. "But you forget to mention our younger siblings." "The upstarts?" Vaul raised a brow. "You consider them to be our kindred?" "Even Itone, yes." And at this, the smith god looked offended. "Now, hush, and let us continue our talk at the railings, where we might behold our siblings as they approach from below."

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