The Grey Dust Member

The Imperial City of Avalad, the splendor of the realm of men, a city which breathes between her walls. This was the home of Syrah 42, the riftsplitter, who had ascended with his adoptive father into the upper echelons of society by their means of wealth. Through trade and exchange did his old man accumulate the coin for their mansion just outside the market district. It was a small sanctuary, tended to by the staff who managed the flow of business partners and venture associates seeking to penetrate the markets beyond their current routes. It was always in the old smoking room did they and the old man conduct business, smelling of liquor and fragrant ash, yet for all the petty talk and exchange of vows, the old man always closed the deal within Syrah's study. There the mage drew up the business contracts, replicating them in dwarven and elven, cordially asking the parties to affirm their business as each signatory reads the terms and condition set forth by his father. But Syrah never cared for all the business and talk of coin exchanging hands, preferring to return to his annotated books and sketched diagrams of folding space as soon as the paperwork was sealed. While his father's business did allow them to live rather quiet, privileged lives, often times Syrah found it necessary to venture outside the walls. The mage would open a portal to enjoy the quiet whisper of a running stream in the forest of the elves, or read his book by the glowing embers of a dwarven forge, perhaps see the tower of Avalad from atop a distant hill or lie back upon the cool waters of the oceans. The possibilities of travel were endless, for all roads lead to Home. Syrah finally gazed up from his book. He had chosen to walk to the guild hall to allow him more time to pursue his latest interest in architecture and construction. He had arrived surprisingly early, or perhaps even late by the presence of the other mercenaries floating about. A few days prior, some mercenaries had visited the mansion and signed an agreement such that Syrah would work for them on their jobs. If he was out of place in his white, accentuated jacket over his dark runic robes amidst the crowd of men, it hardly concerned him as much as the diagram of a great dome and the process of building the scaffolding needed to support it. It was only after the elf king and a few other mercenaries, a large piece of armor and a probably intoxicated dwarf, spoke did he return to the present setting. "_I am Syrah, your Majesty._" He spoke in an articulate, but soft elven speech as to not offend the elf by being equally boisterous as the inebriated one. What brings a king here, perhaps he is the patron of the guild seeking their services? Surely he was not here to become a mercenary, surely the royal coffers of the elves of Dumir were not empty. Syrah remembered the last visit to the forests to oversee a transport of silvered bowstring to be delivered, he found their kind quite handsome. The unnatural airs of their fey beauty in the natural forest shade where the sunlight stretches down past the canopy made their graceful forms a delight for the eyes to marvel at. And this king was not at all far from his kin. But ah, what is this? A clever use of geometry to create parallel weight distribution across the beams? Apologies my lord, however your beauty does not surpass those found within the illustration on the next page... Although perhaps under the moonlight...

Well the forces of destruction should be more active. Synn will observe and eventually introduce social order to usher in the age of kings.

I'll wait a bit for the others before posting.

Syrah 42, the Riftsplitter. Human, Cambion Male  Backstory: Syrah, or rather “42” as he was referred by before he adopted the name, was one of the 66 magi bred into the world. As men breed dogs for function in the fields or hunt, so too did they breed mages for their magical abilities. By careful pedigree, magical bloodlines tracing for centuries back would flow down from each generation, each father passing on the powers of great magi past. Amongst his 66 half-brothers, 42 was bred for supreme magical affinity, the magical blood of seventeen generations of magi ran in his veins as he was conceived among the masses of surrogate by the intermediary incubus. Of the 100 children born that night: his half-sisters were sent away to become oracles and enchanters in Orindon, while he and his half-brothers were whisked to become sorcerers and wizards in Avalad. They never told any of the boys their relation to each other, as they studied the mystic arts and gleaned an arcane education. Like an esoteric boarding school, each student was raised steeping in the magical arts, coaxing them to demonstrate their abilities as they advanced through their years. By their 16th year, each would be tested and then placed into their respective areas of advanced studies. Or such was the plan for never did a boy frustrate their instructors as much as 42. 42 was inept at destructive magics, incapable of illusionary arts, barely capable of summoning and hardly fitting as necromancer. While the others found their particular niche and specialty, his magical blood was deemed wasted. On the day of their 16th birthdays, during the grand exam, he had failed to impress the council and perhaps even his unknown father who may have sat amongst them. As such, he was decreed to be unfit to contribute to the next generation of magi, as he had been unable to display the magnificent arcane powers within his veins as his other siblings had. That night 42 went to sleep as a failure, and the morning after, 42 awoke a eunuch. But by that same afternoon he escaped. Tearing a rift through the warded walls and guarded corridors, 42 unleashed his sorcerery throughout the cosmos as space bended and warped before him. Fueled by desire and despair, his bloodline was finally unlocked as his veins glowed hues of stellar blues and radiated their untapped potential through his body vessel. He tunneled though the other side, and saw it: a world beyond the books he knew. The market was alive, filled with people and obscure objects. Strange visions of the city as voiceless merchants shouted their wares and buyers haggled over prices. This was magical, another realm beyond those he had learned of. By the time the alarms were activated, 42 had seen enough and walked into the first portal he had created. Unfortunately, being the first portal he had created, 42 had created one high above the market tents where it went unnoticed for minutes, until stepped through to fall upon a merchant’s stall completely ruining his inventory of wine as the barrels broke his fall. While the merchant was furious at his loss by this rapscallion, dressed in his academic robes, 42 was not like any other street tramp which had occasionally attempted to ruin him. Maybe he was a wizard’s apprentice, and those wizards had money to go around wearing their fancy robes and reading their fancy books right? “What is your name, boy?” “Forty-two sir.” “Do you take me for a fool, boy? That is no name for a streetrat who ruined my stock of Syrah!” Taking him by the collar, the merchant intended to have the tramp’s master pay for the lost stock. Yet, what neither of them knew was this was merely the beginning of the partnership. Years later, 42, or Syrah as he goes by now, works for the new Merchant-King of Avalad. The old merchant gained an asset, and the boy gained a father figure. It was quite convenient to have a sorcerer wrapt around one’s fingers, especially one who could open a portal from one city to the next. Far-flung goods from around the lands were secured within minutes as portals to various cities were opened for shipments, allowing the Merchant-King to control stock and inventory at a ease without worry of troublesome bandits, time or tolls. With his portal mage, business was good, but when a group of mercenaries arrived seeking the assistance of portal mage, business was better. A service charge of 3% per job, of which 1.5% would be paid in advance, and a flat fee of 1% applied on top of the 3% to cover his mage’s own expenses and finally a 2.5% deposit for the safe return of his mage in “good condition.” These were the terms laid out to the mercenaries, which were accepted. “Syrah my boy, go make your old man some money so I can retire.” “So it appears, Father: I shall go, and I will wear the black band.” Skills- Keenly trained logistics, and learned in the arcane arts. Resourceful in creating novel uses for magics and versed in theoretical spellcraft. A linguist by travel of trade, fluent in just about any common trade language, including reading and writing the more esoteric scripts which he often uses to inscribe his spellbooks to privy his thoughts from the less learned. Magic/magical abilities- Portal Magic: While lacking in perhaps more conventional magic, Syrah tears asunder wormholes through space within moments. Lesser magisters could scarcely dream of forgoing the incantations and reagents needed to create a portal with a scant wave of a hand or snap of their fingers let alone direct the spatial tunnel as quickly as he may burrow them. Thus, with an unparalleled ability to quickly cast and create dimensional distortions, Syrah is quite the mobile spellcaster. The limit to his portal magic of course is determined largely by the distance between the two points of travel, as such, while local dimensional rendering may be instantaneous, creating fairly stabilize portals between cities may take a minute. The second caution when dealing with portal magics is the duality of the portal, which allows travel in both directions as long as they remain stable. Another caution to note is, in the event an object traveling through the dimensions should find itself caught within a destabilizing portal, such an object would either be sliced between the planes, or crushed between them depending on the length of collapsing precipice tubule and the position of the object. The creation of a more permanent portal is possible however, but doing so would require a physical anchor which counteracts the physical spatial collapse and an energy source to maintain the portal breached. Equipment- An enchanted spellbook which serves as a spell focus, also useful for hitting people on the head with in case of need for physical combat. Other:

> Well, I'm haveing trouble coming up with posts... When I can't do my thing, or make a difference by throwing a fecking planet at the cat. Well, this is actually the time for Chaos to have it's fun. As hinted by my OCC post, Synn is taking a backseat during this age, and less interactive for the time being. He believes he will allow Artis/Chaos and the other 2 forces of Destruction (Corruption and Absence) to have their turn at "creation." Thus maintaining a control over the balance of creation and destruction. Humans do need to have fire though... And perhaps they need to find a new goddess of knowledge... And again, what difference would it have made? You throw a Planet at a Goddess of Space? That is an utterly ridiculous move that, if you desire for it to be taken seriously, you ought to have specified which "sister" it was thrown at, and more important, why in the world would you attempt to harm another God (nevermind that you are throwing things of her domain at her) who is visiting another God's Realm in the Presence of Balsis? Sure you could say "it's part of his character." But that's not really a good excuse to do something stupid is it? Unless of course your character is just stupid, at which would probably explain why he sent a planet hurtling into a Goddess of Space in the first place not account for her ability to simply perhaps create an orbit around herself and send the planet back at you or perhaps merely teleport to your position to give you a kick in your god's shins before teleporting back... But anyways, yeah if you really wanted to play it out, I doubt Balsis would be too amused at his children's fighting. Hence I think for the purposes of the RP, it was sort of vaguely ignored. Also, what good exactly is throwing a planet at a god? What exactly did you hope to accomplish? The divine do not have truely physical forms. Would not the material planet merely phase through the cat should she decide to becoming a cosmic mote of astral divinity? Now that I actually stop and analyze it, I'm not really quite sure why you are all in such a fuss about having your planet-throwing ignored. It wouldn't have done much anyways, other than perhaps have Balsis sit you in a corner for the next few centuries.

Well I could write a short post about Synn plotting in his tower... However I feel this would be all too Evil.

I'll work on making a spellslinger then.

Utopia cannot last forever... I expect the four gods of Strife to begin their contributions. All this while Synn merely watches from his tower, petting his werewolf upon his lap while he sits upon his throne... I wonder of Velrus and Synn would visit each other, as both are connected. Velrus sees the timeline, while Synn weaves fate.

> >Although I think that would be something more along the lines of the entropic levels, as such, perhaps Synn will leave this balancing to the God of the Void or even the God of Chaos. > > I'm assuming that by God of Void, you mean Nihil. If that's not the case, ignore this. > > Nihil would not be quite suited to causing death. Death means action, whereas Nihil is a being that actively strives towards inaction, but constantly fails to achieve such inaction. Death is something that he wouldn't quite be attuned to, because, the way he sees it, there is no disposal. Nothing returns to the void, in his eyes. > > That is not the same as saying that he would not be welcome to dealing with souls, however, his dealing with souls would be closer to removing them from existence, destroying them in their entirety. I imagine that, if this were the case, Nihil would be seen as a demon of some sort, causing people to believe that he has a realm of hell that is infinite nothing. Obviously, that is not truly the case. > Actually the it would be the void in its entirety. The trophic levels generally have a so-call 10% rule in energy transfer. Such that 90% of the energy is wasted, thus input is required to be greater than output. Thus such a rule would require life/existence to strive for survival by or be swallowed by the entropic void. Such a rule would also put limits on the natural population growth such that humans would not abuse Ybris' Gift. Hence why Synn's Law of Death would balance out.

Not sure what to post so far. I think the remaining gods are mostly the Fundamentals/Concepts coupled with the 4 Primals. Should we agree on progressing the roleplay by doing a global time leap at the GM's discretion to create early civilization/tribes/nomads?