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Ever-Rising The Ever-Rising just watched the massacre unfold, his eyes glazing upon the centuries-long effort. War was supposed to be more fun, wasn't it? Yet the usurper isn't a fun woman to deal with at all. This was starting to... bore him, something that didn't happen ever since he was stuck in that horrible prison inside her body. Perhaps that's what made her so abhorrent to him. This new 'mother' is too boring. So he perhaps might do better to end her as soon as possible. A large psychic wave emits from the Ever-Rising's mouth, a scream that echoes through space in a few seconds, a scream that awakens something within all sentient creatures in the galaxy. Hatred. Sheer hatred. A hatred for Ciliatrix, a desire for her destruction, a wish for her death. All that is wrong in their lives, all their sorrows, all of their grudges, are now completely focused on a single target. Perhaps this is enough motivation for those feeble mortals. Increasing Passions to +6 and using it and Driven +2 and Loyal +2 from the cult to help Palayon's propaganda efforts.
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May 12, 2018 15:20
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Victoria Various points about the Galaxy Getting down to the end here, wasn't it? Victoria had one more gift for the universe before she lost a huge chunk of who she was. However, she wasn't as depressed as she thought she'd be. With the chunks cut off Mommy dearest, Victoria was at the height of her power. The things she couldn't do nowadays was far smaller than when she escaped Tatarus, or even at her pre-rebellion height. Still, when it came to rewriting rules of the Universe, it would pay to have help. "...and that's the general idea." Albina, who had been listening, nodded carefully. It would require work, but if they all managed to survive this, might tip the scales in their favor. And so, like the color Glory, Song-Battle entered the universal experience. The idea that song and dance could change the fate of society was as old as society itself, but for whipping up frenzied mobs, causing storms, lightning falling, all sorts of fancy pyrotechnics, and more. Victoria didn't exactly set concrete limits, she was interested in what mortals and the divine family could come up with. It was an inherently social activity that favored enthusiasm over talent. An actual talented individual could wield it like a scalpel, but a huge crowd of surly drunks screeching it at the top of their lungs used it as a sledge hammer. Those with skill AND numbers, well. A military band might now be its most potent weapon. quote:Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Witch; Come get some, mother. -Creating Song-Battle (think skyrim dragon shouting that scales with the number of people doing it.) Per GM, getting Albina's help in [Sound+4] and [Pain+2], and adding Vicky's [Witchcraft+6], [Strength+6], and [Space+2]. Using the Cabinet for [Alcohol+4], because yes, this scales with drunken singing too. Sucking [-4] from Velm usage last turn. so [+20] total. -Giving up [Espionage+2] and a +2 of [Strength] for the vat thing. -Vicky's current stats, I believe are [Witchcraft+6], [Strength+4], [Space+2], along with Velm's [Sabotage/Technology+4], This Chitin's generic [+2], Heart Seeker's [Love+2] and/or [Death+2], and Godhound's [Cybernetic Commandos+4] and [Medicine+2]. Ronwayne fucked around with this message at 18:40 on May 13, 2018 |
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May 13, 2018 18:01
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Ysa and Victoria - Facility Yitzgul; Central Sacrifice And Control Plants burst from the walls, birds sing in swamps built over batteries - now bubbling with algae and heat. Mushrooms burst from lamps and fill the walls with glowing. Across these forests, these babbling brooks blooming from steel and wire, songs form. Victoria and Albina’s work buries itself deep in reality. Music and sound become a magic. The whole facility sings to dull the pain of what is torn out, the hollow feeling in their mouths when Incus takes their hands and helps me up again. She says nothing, but squeezes both of their hands after she lifts them out. Vines wrap around the machines as soon as they step away - cracking them into a thousand pieces that they consume. “Alright. That’s it.” Incus says. She leads them to the Great Skein, where Glory-Gold and Ysa-Green threads are woven in. Each makes the universe richer and brighter. ------------- Ever-Rising, Palayon, No-Joke, and Vauhalpa - The Other Side She falls on the last of your lines, screaming and incoherent. No-Joke remembers, the screaming and the sobbing and the babble. Then darkness, tearing. Her cultists streak across space in terrible colors, flying banners that crack the minds of all mortals that seem them. Mist pours from her mouth, chewing through what is left of your line in weeks and months. Ships crumble, DSGs whimper and die, their claws twitching on dead worlds. “He tried to stop me again, but he couldn’t escape. No one escapes in the end. Not even me!” She cracks open another ICN Dreadnaught, The Hotspur, the screams of the crew are lost to the dark and the cold. “Don’t you understand?! This needs to happen! The cycle is good for everyone!” Cilliatrix throws the shards at a planet, cracks run along the surface and waves rise from it’s oceans. The edges of all of them begin to blur, and soon there is only a ball of mud and meat and steam. “No, you’re the most ignorant children. THE MOST IGNORANT I’VE EVER HAD!” She tears into a ship full of Ever-Rising’s fanatics. Her hand dives into the core, past great choirs desperate to knit their ship back together. It finds the heart, a tiny shard of the Dead Flame itself. That is all the thread she needs. She tears Ever-Rising from his perch. A great avian scream and he disappears. Cilliatrix laughs, the broken, sharp laugh of someone tired of everything and everyone. It is a laugh each titan remembers well. “Don’t worry, I’ll still help you understand.” ------------- Ever-Rising - Taking A Ride The elevator dings, and the doors open. Cilliatrix-purple water floods the room. The ocean behind is full of silver lights, blinking in ornate patterns. The water drags you from the elevator, into the sunless sea. It takes you to another elevator, scratched and dangling from a great blade of seaweed. The door opens, revealing a smiling Cilliatrix. It’s Cilliatrix the Servant, to be exact, the loyal and quiet mother who served her children with compassion and dignity - until she died in a cold war that went hot very quickly. She breaks one bone in your wings, takes it between her fingers, and pops it in her mouth. It happens a million times over, another elevator, another Cilliatrix. Another part of your wing gone. “We know what truly matters to you.” One says. She tears off feathers, shoves them in her mouth. “Your pride, your ambition, your self-assuredness.” Another says. She tears off a the last of your right wing, carves it into a blade, and shoves it in your chest. “And so, we take heights from you. So you may never dream again.” ------------- Everyone - Facility Yitzgul The line is gone. Cilliatrix tears through Ysa’s body, screaming and vomitting mist. She tumbles into a universe of soil and steel, streams hiding cold blades of obsidian. Groves of oaks grow in her path, she cuts them down with a scowl and a snarl. Cultists of every stripe, gods, goddesses, and deities from across the universe form a shield against her from their voices - trying to prevent her from the Skein. The Great Celestial Choir drowns out her mind, for a moment. Just long enough for a wrecked skeleton to tear it’s way from her belly - screaming from a hollow, boney beak. Victoria and a dozen cultists slam blades into her back, and she finally falls to the floor. ALTERNATE TIMELINE CONSTRUCTION COMPLETE, BEGINNING INSTALLATION IN 5..4..3..2..1... ------------------- Everyone - In Filum Everything dissolves. Fingers, faces, eyes, skin, steel. There is nothing. It is the Beginning. In the beginning, there was nothing. And then there was Ciliatrix, the first thought, the first idea, the first thread. A great thread of purple and silver, woven from the fabric of everything and nothing. Then there were Six and One. Seven threads of creation that rose from her. Six made, and one that should not have been made. They race through a million strands, runes and glyphs that hold together reality - towards the newest, most delicate strands spliced in. It is the Beginning again, the Last Beginning. Voices rise among the threads, vibrating inside each and everyone of you. And a great mass of purple and silver lurches through everything, towards possibility, towards the strands. It tears everything in its wake, trying to stomp out the voices. Lines blur, and the moment arrives. The last moment of one timeline, and the first of another. If you can stop her. ------------------- OOC: Ever-Rising has Passion +4 reduced to Passion +2 and loses the gift of flight now and forever. All other titans take +2 Vauhalpa: Stories +2 or Ink +2 Palayon: Law +2 or Justice +2 No-Joke: Desperation +2 or Confusion +2 This is it. The last turn. The altered timeline must be protected while it is grafted into reality. You are at the Beginning. There is Everything. There is Nothing. The Unlife Aquatic fucked around with this message at 20:25 on May 13, 2018 |
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May 13, 2018 20:09
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Ysa The Ysa-green thread quakes and shivers, dancing just ahead of the purple and silver as it races through the void opened in the wake of Creation. The universe remains burned into her mind as it was: rampant with Life, from the lushest worlds to the tiny rocks of space, from single cells to vast societies. In spite of all the carnage and danger, in much of the Universe, in the last moments, there was no Ciliatrix, no titan of any kind, just… Life living. Ysa’s mark was everywhere - and in every sentient mind, a world of it’s own, trillions of worlds each different from the other. This is her legacy, and allowing herself some bit of pride, it is greater and grander than anything Ciliatrix has made. Even as it all unravels and spins out of control, the green thread weaves itself forward, Ysa’s thoughts echoing out to Ciliatrix in this post-Universe-pre-Universe, as she evades the First Titan’s destructive grasp. We’re almost there now, mother. Can you feel it? Does this frighten you? The chance that maybe, just this once, you won’t have your way - and maybe not ever again. Our failures are tools by which we learn - if we succeed, I wonder what you would learn? But we are all out of time now. I was once your left hand The Ysa-green thread swivels around a purple and silver thread, then ties tight, cleaving that limb off. Not anymore. The Ysa-green chord lurches toward the future, beckoning to it’s siblings, the other six, beginning to weave the framework for the reconstruction of the tapestry of Creation, It is time to end this cycle. Brothers and sisters, we will remake the world without her. We do not need her any longer. It is all very metaphysical and abstract. Ysa will increase [+2 Her Children] to [+4]. So with the donated domains, she is currently at [+4] Life, [+2] HHH, [+4] Her Children, I think? Either way, Ysa will do everything she can to keep Ciliatrix’s touch away from the Reconstruction. However that works.
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May 17, 2018 10:34
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Vauhalpa Boundaries. Pesky little things, boundaries. The underline of reality, enabling to distinguish what is from what isn't. A lynchpin, fundamental yet often forgotten. And the sole purvey of Ciliatrix, who guarded her ladyship over them jealously, going so far as to never spawn more than six titans. During his brief-yet-eternal experience in the machine, Vauhalpa understood why: six titans are too few to estabilish proper boundaries. There'll always be a loose point, a snag, a threadbare patch in the fabric of reality, undoing everything, every distinction, and making Ciliatrix required to keep everything distinct. But the titans aren't six anymore. Albina gives them another anchor point, a whole new axis on which to draw. And it might just be enough. Vauhalpa starts to do what now he has always done: he draws new boundaries, in the seven colors of the titans. A Vauhalpa-Crimson line is drawn between Dream and Reality, Palayon-Gold underlines the difference between Right and Wrong, and ink from the two lines then intermingles, and slashes a new line between Order and Chaos. Many such lines bloom from the starting seven, shaping new boundaries that always were there, and putting the Titans as their fixed points, obsoleting Ciliatrix. This is something worth sacrificing for. Taking a +2 in Stories. Drawing new boundaries, centered on the Titans. Using Ink [+2], Stories[+4] and Dream [+6].
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May 17, 2018 11:51
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Palayon (2 FP) Palayon-golden filaments in the shape of the elaborate filigrees she had always so enjoyed extended in a grid of unimaginable complexity akin to beautiful fractals, their form distinctly ordered yet the order impossible to grasp unless you knew of Law and the Word. They extended parallel to Vauhalpa's boundaries, they wormed across the expanding skin/point of the Universe itself, in spatial dimensions as well as temporal ones. Wherever they set their borders, wherever the other Titans left their mark, Palayon's filigree was there to consolidate the ephemeral. She was there to give structure and righteous purpose to the fabric of reality itself, wherever it was, whenever it was. She was there to clearly delineate that which was to be. To demarcate that which ought to be. To cover and fix that which ought not. And most importantly, to cast out and lock out with righteous indignation the being whose presence would not be allowed. Now, or ever. They had had their chance too many times already. And Palayon's judgment would show no mercy. OOC: Taking +2 to Justice. Law [+4], Civilization [+4], Justice [+4], as well as tapping Righteous Fury once for +2 to prop up the metaphysical structure of reality itself. A scaffolding or underpinning, if you will. Also doing bugfixing and installing new locks on the door.
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May 17, 2018 12:13
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No-Joke Seeing Cilliatrix lose her cool for even a moment makes No-Joke grin like a maniac: She wasn’t ready for this. They chew on a piece of divinity while sitting in the driver’s seat, contemplating the final move. Never liked just filling dead air, but we still got some time on the set. Let’s see, already did the crowd-work. Best way to end is with a nice callback. No-Joke suddenly bangs their fist against the car horn, making an awful unbroken hooooooooooonk that drowns out their proclamation of “That’s It!” No-Joke blusters through Kismet’s lab and runs back out with the first invention she made for the Titans, the kitchen-sink launcher, some modifications made during Kismet’s downtime in the war against Cilliatrix. Without pause No-Joke grabs a paper-weight, some duct tape and a long grabber arm toy before heading to the Flying Dutch once more. Once No-Joke enters the expanse of space they tape the paperweight onto the gas pedal, as well as taping the sink launcher to their right hand and bracing it against their shoulder. They roll down the window and start ghost-riding the divine Yugo (after 10 minutes of awkwardly trying to get out of the window hole with a giant science thing taped to their hand), grabber arm at the ready for steering. It takes a bit for No-Joke to get a handle on it (especially with the weird threadiness of their car) but sure enough they are good enough to sputter along at dangerously high velocities through the cosmic highway. No-Joke taps into the hairs left in the known universe to get a bead on Cilliatrix’s position. They circle around her and aim the first volley, a series of kitchen sinks that only contain knives, all aimed at her back. Bobbing and weaving, No-Joke makes a general nuisance of themself in this bizarre one-fox guerilla warpath. [i]Decided to take +2 Desperation from that scuffle and will be using that alongside +6 Humor, +4 Senses, +4 gently caress You Mom from the flying dutch, and +2 Tech from my old pal Kismet, rounding up to a total of +18.
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May 18, 2018 00:42
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Ever-Rising His wings clipped, his flesh reduced to nothing, his bones consumed by only darkness and decay, the Ever-Rising's mind starts to change. Long gone is his oppressive cheer, his tyrannic impatience, his burning boredom. Instead, the only thing left within him is... Ennui. An all-consuming, always present Ennui. He doesn't care about his mother. He doesn't care about his siblings. He doesn't care about his children. He doesn't care about the mortals. And most of all, he doesn't care about reality and himself. Floating through the void, the crippled avian Titan ignores all that happens, and instead heads to the hole that he pored to the Outside. Using the last of the strength remaining within him, he opened a small hole, enough for his consciousness to slip within. It was there that Ciliatrix's mind would be sent once this was all over, and even though he wanted only to be alone for the rest of eternity, he won't mind taking watch over her. He closes his eyes.
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May 19, 2018 01:01
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Victoria Facility Yitzgul; Central Sacrifice And Control At the end of the day, end the of the universe, Victoria has finally been forced to confront not just the challenges in front of her but who she was. Untold millennium just slogging through the fields, digging through the ditches/burning the witches, etc, had been something to do, and maybe she has been shallow enough that it had been fulfilling. But now that she had time to think about both what a poo poo her mother was and also how she was the one most like her was a painfully unpleasant experience in self-awareness. She still needed to address her siblings about this issue, when there was time, and there WOULD be, domains aside, she was the still the Titaness of Victory. And woof, there was poor Every-Rising, crawling about like that. Victoria for the first time in a very long while, felt a pang of fear, and now, at the end, was alive more than ever. Two blades circle in her hands. Shes' wearing Alitna's dress, dyed Glory, because if you're going to go out, why not go all out? Hi, again mommy! Bye, forever mommy!  .Using Song-Battle along with [Witchcraft+6], [Strength+4], [Space+2], along with Velm's [Sabotage+4], This Chitin's generic [+2], Heart Seeker's [Love+2], and Godhound's [Cybernetic Commandos+4] and [Medicine+2], and why the hell not, tagging [Overconfidence] twice for [+4], bring us to a total of  [+30].
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May 20, 2018 02:58
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Everyone - In Filum There is no time now. It hangs like a limp thread among all the others, shining in the dark. No time to think, no time to feel, only motion. Greedy lavender threads skitter, crawl, and dash towards the new skein. They snap a thousand stories and throw them as spears, a storm that slams into Palayon’s body. She does not feel the pain. Only the fury. The part of her that was Kaneru burns brighter. The threads scream, flow past her pinned form into wild, verdant gardens of green and blue thread. Brambles dripping with nightmare-ink rise around them. They scream and writhe, nightmares turn violent, lavender and silver, strangling their parents and racing towards the skein again. Until a storm of kitchen knives, taped to kitchen sinks and flying at the speed of thought slam into them. A thousand cut threads become a million, each squirms on it’s own. Towards eternity, towards the beginning of the cycle. Victoria slices through them, cursing and hexing and screaming in a thousand witch’s tongues. None of it works, they almost reach it. Almost touch it and end all your dreams. Almost. What Mother stole still remembers Ever-Rising, still exists scattered in droplets across each and every thread. So he tugs on it, tugs on all the loose ends. All the screaming pieces sing in his shattered ambition, hope, his dreams. There is a bright flash, emptiness. The universe is still. So still. You can only hear the threads, all of them. Each and every one of them. The skein begins to grow, touching the other threads and blooming into them, each grows into a n- ---------------------- In the Beginning, there was Nothing. And then there was Cilliatrix. She breathed out, and the Ever-Rising was born.  And he brought light to a lifeless universe. Into this universe Ysa sprung from Ciliatrix's left hand.  And she brought life and growth to the universe. But the mortals were static, boring things. So she cut her hair, and Vauhalpa and No-Hope would come from it.   And they brought change to the universe. The mortals had purpose and life, but no guidance. So Ciliatrix tore out her tongue, birthing Palayon.  And so the mortals knew law, and built civilization. From Ciliatrix's first wound in battle sprung Victoria  And the mortals truly learned what strength meant. And lastly, from her shattered body came Albina  And mortalkind remembered what pain and joy were. Together, they would forge the universe. Together, they were betrayed. Together, they escaped their chains and retook what was theirs. Together, they stood against their mother and ended an eternal cycle. ---------------------- Everyone - The Present; Shattered Facility Yitzgul Each of the titans remembers it all. One glorious, horrifying second. Their lives play before their eyes again. Every decision, every triumph, every failure. Libra and Mercy clutch at their mother, eyes full of tears and minds burning. They have died, and yet they live. Iga and Ala are mute, floating dead between the stars. And Arbash… poor Arbash. “Where is Father?!” He screams into your minds. When he learns the truth, there is only silence. The remains of facility Yitzgul float in the void, cast in a faint red light. He can hear them through its song. ---------------------- Ever-Rising - Outside; The Eternal Vigil Her mind is here. It is inside of you. It crawls through your veins like cold water. It is the only thing you can feel. There is no light. There is no warmth. There is only her. But you are not forgotten. Arbash whispers to you, he misses his father. He tells your story, and billions, trillions, you cannot count them anymore, they sing to you. You can still feel their love, bright as the sun. They will not let you be alone in the night. Your vigil will be long, but at least it is not silent. At least you are not alone. ---------------------- Everyone In the coming days, each of you finds a letter. It has a seal in a shade of cyan you have never seen, with a single drop of black at its heart. Some find it in your temple sanctums, for some it greets you in the morning, one finds it on the dash of their car when they awake. You all open them. The sea. Rich, salty, sharp. You can smell it inside. The paper is just a sheet of water, an elaborate illusion set with delicate deep-black ink. quote:To Our Inheritors, No-Joke remembers the handwriting. ---------------------- Very far away, in a galaxy on the farthest rim of the universe, a man with one arm and one eye rises from his table, on the edge of an eternal sunset and the ocean. A dark-skinned woman with long fingers, rises to steady him. “Still so much to do…” He says. She smiles, squeezes his only hand. “I know, but can’t we take a break? Can’t we enjoy this one victory?” He smiles at her. So wise, always wiser than him. “Of course, of course.” He leans against her. “Do you think...we could swim? It has been so long.” She guides him down the slate steps, away from a little coffee shop and towards the sea. Together, they tear off their masks. A great wave and a small crash into the ocean. It is as if they were never there. The Unlife Aquatic fucked around with this message at 05:19 on May 20, 2018 |
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May 20, 2018 04:07
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The Epilogue - Among The Endless Stars (Click for credits theme) Palayon - The Endless Crusade “They’re hatching.” Thraion’s head appears next to Palayon through a small portal. She can hear a single joyful scream just down the hall. Clem’s already gone by the time she can stand, pen spinning on her desk. Palayon leaves with a little more care, putting her new pen (the old went back to Libra) in it’s housing. Lights flicker across the Xianlin estate - Clem isn’t even pretending to be human anymore. She is shadow and claw, whispering gently to the hatching eggs. It takes hours, the shadows move across the room. But finally the first breaks free. She lets out a terrible scream, and feathers rush to her small body. Clementia clutches her child. Her mind churns with the Dream, so loud even the Dreamless Palayon can hear it. The other takes days, weeks. Reapers come by to make sure everything is alright. Thraion sighs. Clementia frets. The egg lets out broken croons and whimpers. Until finally Thraion relents and cracks it with his beak. A small, misshapen creature cries out in pain and Thraion scoops it up, whispering sweet things. They name the first Rue. Her gift is fear. She lives it, breathes it. Her mind is so warped by the Dream there is no difference between sleeping and waking for her. Under the best circumstances she would be a handful. But these aren’t. There is also Itzitz, the second child. Poor thing. The goddess of Paradox and Contradiction. She has her father’s heart; kind, sensitive, patient, but her mind is scattered across a thousand stars. Palayon often finds her just staring out the windows of the Xianlin estate. Clementia and Thraion fret over her. Leaving Rue to Vauhalpa. -------- And yet the Crusade marches on, with new enemies. In her final moments of consciousness, Cilliatrix scattered pieces of herself among her cults; demi-gods empowered to raise their sleeping mother. Libra and Clementia work together to provide a stick for them, becoming fast friends in the process. Mercy is the carrot. Everytime Palayon meets her gaze, she can see the trauma lurking just behind her pupils. The pain is always there. Remembering your own death is a heavy burden, but one she bears with grace and composure. She often joins Palayon and Kawm for tea, even Ysa comes by sometimes. The Crusade will never end; and neither will the Work. The Cycle must run; an example must be held up for mortalkind. Palayon welcomes the challenge. ------------------ Vauhalpa - Dreams Everlasting Albina and Alitna marry not long after the war, and it takes as much time for three eggs to appear in their home - sparking with white-red lightning and the sound of pattering rain. “Pay up, Dad,” Thraion says to Vauhalpa, the moment he hears the news. He has the biggest, smuggest smile. Another portal appears next to him, a little secretary-bird nervously walks out. Her feathers drip with liquid fear, and her mind has the loudest Dream Vauhalpa has heard since Alitna. “Itzitz is having a seizure and Palayon can’t spare any reapers right now, so can you watch Rue?” She smiles at Vauhalpa, her eye twitches just a little. He smiles right back. -------- Together with Kawm he burns a trail across Segurra’s Eye, raising champions and heroes among the pirate scum only to send them crashing back down. She laughs with delight, especially when Rue joins them. Her nightmares jump between minds like an infection, filling galaxies with existential dread and the deepest, most painful flavor of confusion. “I like you kid, you got style. You’ll go far.” Later, she’s standing with Whisper, Valkyrie, and Kawm when Pandemonium is born. Her nightmares carve themselves in deep in mortal psyche’s across the universe. Soon, more demons bloom from the landscape, machines cast in dream and terror. -------- Not much later, Alitna’s own eggs begin to hatch. The first contains a kookaburra. He speaks in tongues and prophecies. The Dream drips from his tongue. He is Oeama, the god of mental illness and prophecy. Albina strokes his feathers and raises her mask to kiss his head. “He’s perfect,” she whispers, tears in her empty eyes. The second is a shrike, a beak of titanium and feathers of steel and iridum. She is Reuio, the goddess of cold, blizzards, and metal. Snow falls from her feathers, and Alitna coos lullabies in her ear. And the smallest egg, but not the last, opens in a storm of spring rain and flowers. A little hummingbird crawls from it. He has a voice like honey. His name will be Valoris, the god of flowers and song and rain. He sings with Alitna, absorbs her favorite musicals with joy. -------- And the universe turns; a million different stories playing out across a billion different worlds. It is a dream that will never end, not if Vauhalpa has a drat thing to say about it. ------------------ Victoria - The Witchblade Eternal The second everything is over, when the universe is still and the ICN fleets disperse on patrol, Rilae collapses. She drinks herself sick and cries in Incus’s arms until Incus turns to Victoria for help. Her alcoholism is a quiet war; but one Victoria cannot back away from. With her help she stands on her own two feet again, and takes over general operations for Incus Specialty Engineering. Incus fades back into the background, exactly where she likes to be - except on boardgame night. Victoria and Palayon and Clem and Libra are all invited. Beers are drunk (by others, Rilae sticks to juice now - just to be safe.) and games are played. Stories are swapped, Libra and Incus strike up a friendship, and through her she eventually reconciles with Mercy, who joins them. -------- And for the greatest witch of all there is always another adventure. Another dictator to overthrow with Velm. Sometimes Kawm or Albina joins you, preaching hellfire and brimstone and whipping up mortalkind in the name of freedom. New potions are brewed, and the meaning of witch changes. Now they are spellblades and assassins, freedom fighters and revolutionaries. Just the way Victoria likes them. The Hair of the Dog becomes synonymous with liberation - or at least a great party and some rad-rear end potions. -------- But in the quietest moments, it’s always her and Rilae. They sit around a table, reminisce about the old days, talk about the bumps in domestic life (Incus is a terrible cook, it turns out). Sometimes they fight, usually with fists, sometimes with petty warlords and bandits. It’s how Rilae processes things. Just like her mother, under the collar. The battles will never end, there will always be more potions to brew and more bastards to light on fire for stepping on the little man. Just how Victoria likes it. ------------------ No-Joke - The Show That Never Ends No-Joke turns the letter from Fretem over in their hands, they think about it for a moment. If their younger brother wishes to be found, he will be. They and TItus, now content to be his divine chariot, streak across the galaxies. The gospel of laughter spreads with each stop. It is a quiet existence, exactly what No-Joke wants. Kismet joins them sometimes, now married to some corvin demi-god, for a little prop comedy before starting her own comedy show - Super Fantasy Theater 4000. Somehow, the opening episode blows up a convenience store. Thankfully, there’s no one inside. So everyone just has a good laugh. -------- Albina replies to every card with stories of her children. Growing little birds, her life is domestic now and she misses her older sibling. There’s always the open, unsaid invitation to come home. Stay a while with her and Alitna and Oeama. No-Joke never takes it. There’s always another joke that needs to be told, another spirit that needs to be raised. Titus understands, and never says a word about it. ------------------ Ysa - Life Finds A Way “Hakkan is gone,” Urran says. Her voice is full of worry. “In the chaos he...slipped a few of his own threads into the Skein. I am working to find them with Ala but… it will take time.” -------- Albina stays with Ysa, for a little while. Just until the marriage is official, then she moves in with Alitna. Ysa can’t resist a few tears at their wedding, Vauhalpa mostly swirls his wine glass and looks reflective. Meanwhile, Ysa works. The universe needs a safe harbor, for the kind and the soft and the wounded. She picks a ruined galaxy, the Arches of Night. Long ago abandoned in war and carnage, full of undetonated ordinance great and small. Khalasenze snorts under her breath, newly divine by Ysa’s touch. A cigarette dangles from her lips. “It’s a real fixer-upper, boss, I’ll say that.” (She hates it Khalasenze calls her boss, but cannot stop it) New children are born, and work with her to clear it - to purify it. Gardens grow over ruins, and refugees come, as they always do. They turn to their Great Mother, and their prayers heal her over the aeons, deepen her connection to her children. Soon the Arches of Night become so verdant it is renamed the Green Heart of Our Mother. Ysa cannot think of a better name. -------- Urran helps, but mostly focuses on her quest. She needs to find her brother. “What if he’s hurt? What if he’s lonely?” She approaches it with her eternal patience. Ala helps as much as she can. She holds much less of a grudge against Hakkan than one might expect, given she and Iga divorced almost the second they returned to life. But his threads are clever and quiet, just like he used to be. It is meticulous work, there are setbacks. But Urran never loses hope. “I think.. .I think I have found him. I want you to go in my stead, I cannot wear masks the way some of the others can, so I would be spotted at once.” -------- It is a cold planet, mostly taiga and tundra and ice cap. But here, as ever, there is life. Mortals trade in bones and ivory here, and the last stop on the long ivory trail north is Ysa’s destination. It is a small inn. A quiet place surrounded by tall, noble pines. There is only a simple sign above the door. “Karrak’s Inn” Ysa steps in, the wood creaks. Each board put together by hand, she can tell. Good carpentry. Before her is a wide dining room, with a great smoking fireplace. A few people eat at the tables. The rich, fatty elk-soup that is the preferred dinner in this part of the world paired with slices of bread. There is a small desk where no is currently sitting, but a small bell. She rings it. “JUST A MOMENT!” Him, even under the changes Ysa would know his voice anywhere. A tall, ruddy man steps out of the kitchen. He has a great flaming, braided beard. “Sorry about that, it’s hunting season. Most of the staff is out with their families, just me and the dogs right now.” Ysa says she has no coins, he only smiles. “That’s fine, everyone’s equal at my table. Will you need a bed for the night?” She nods. “Alright, let me get you some dinner. Then I’ll make up a room, will you be staying long?” Ysa doesn’t quite know how to answer. ------------------ Ever-Rising - The Long, Cold Vigil There is nothing Outside. It’s obvious to say, but it’s something you have to experience to truly understand. There is not even cold, Ever-Rising’s body only imagines it to fill the void of sensation. But he does feel the cold inside himself, Cilliatrix’s broken mind crawls in his stomach, between dream and waking. Only his will keeps it contained. Arbash speaks to him, raises up his cult to new heights. He always had a somewhat romantic vision of his father, and he spreads that vision among the stars. Ever-Rising becomes the Eternal Sentinel, worshipped by those whose flame would burn hotter than any challenge. Trillions sing to you, and Arbash confides how much he misses his Father, Estella before she went septic. “She was so sweet...it’s just a shame things had to end the way they did.” Ever-Rising wishes he could say something back to him, anything. But he cannot. There can be no risk of her getting back inside. The burden might be his, the vigil might be his, but at least he is not alone. ------------------ OOC: Thank you everyone. The story is over, but each of your titans adventures go on. If you would like to make a final post to tie up your own loose threads, or even livescene with one another to talk about something, this is your last chance. Feedback on my GMing should go in the OOC thread. In a few weeks I hope to release the recruitment post for my next project: Space Gods III: The Return
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May 21, 2018 20:58
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 Palayon It was a picturesque little knoll. It was out of the way from the main plaza of the third courtyard and the Obelisk for the Unforgotten that stood as its centerpiece. Now certainly, the Obelisk was a grand construction, a beautiful edifice of impossibly white marble that Palayon had personally etched and engraved with untold billions of names in her own signature color. All other descriptors it lacked however, there was no plaque or explanation as to its meaning or origin. Rumors abound, but the Divine did not speak of its nature when asked, it was for them alone to know. Yes, the Obelisk was beautiful indeed, and Palayon had to admit to herself in a quickly fleeting spark of vanity that she had not lost her sense for aesthetic despite her many changes. Yet she still preferred this secluded little knoll, with its emerald grass, well groomed lilies and the small, crystal clear brook that ran at its base. It was her favorite place. "...but that's about it, I would say. The crusades continue as ever. The Work remains as ever. We persist, and I see no cracks", Palayon pursed her lips, but only for a moment, "Does that make you happy? It makes me happy." For a time her expression remained severe, but after a while it transformed into a grin. "Oh also, did you hear? Libra has a suitor. Yes, Libra!" Palayon laughed. It was a short, but beautifully resonant little laugh, "A fairly small god of Earth and Stability by the name of Chthon. She has no idea how to deal with the situation at all. I cannot help but to find it all quite adorable." A moment of silence followed. Serene instead of awkward. "Also, I've been working on the Amaranth again. I'm feeling rather good about it, I must say." "Haha." "No, it was not a joke, I assure you", Palayon spoke in a wryly humorous sort of tone, "I feel the Amaranth might actually have a chance! It's not as if the Aphelion is unbeatable, and I have learned from my past mistakes", for a moment, Palayon quieted down, as if in though. But only for a moment, "Though it cannot be denied that Incus and Rilae make for a team-up that's almost impossible to beat", the humor had leaked away from her voice, "They prop up each other, covering each other's weaknesses, being the support and supportee in equal measure." "Sometimes I wonder if this was what caused Mother's repeated failures. The solipsistic nature of her existence. The lack of outside perspective dooming her to repeat her personal failures over and over. Nobody equal to cover for her flaws, nobody equal to point out her mistakes." "Thus she could not succeed no matter how hard she tried. Because we are all flawed." "Because we all make mistakes." Palayon knelt down, and placed a wreath of her favorite flowers at the base of the modestly sized monument that topped the little knoll, depicting a sword and a shield, backed by a pair of regal wings. The wry little smile returned to Palayon's face. "Now, there's no need for excuses. Not by you. Not by me." "I know what you did." "And I forgive you." For a quarter hour still, Palayon stood in utter silence. Finally, she turned away, and started walking towards the Halls proper. An eternity of Work yet remained.
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May 21, 2018 22:38
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Vauhalpa Ongoing adventures in grandfathering, written as I come up with them. Should finish up in a couple of days. Reuio Vauhalpa is overseeing the growth a new branch of the Dreamwake, spanning the space between worlds to reach yet another system, when he is distracted by a quiet metallic flutter landing nearby. Reuio, his youngest granddaughter, in all her youthful awkwardness that she stoically cloaks with seriousness and duty. A spine of iron, that one. She is uncharacteristically fumbling with her words as she tries to address him, and Vauhalpa cuts to the chase: "If this is about that young bull you've been seeing, I'm pretty sure both your mothers will approve. He might sound a bit gruff, but he has a good heart." "What? No! It's nothing of the sort! And how do you know about him, anyway?" "Well thornling, first of all your Aunt and Uncle help run the greatest spy agency in the Universe. There's not much they overlook, especially where family's concerned. Second, I can taste youthful infatuation and half-formed dreams of love and romance on you from a mile away. Very zesty. Third and more relevant to the case at hand, your brothers couldn't keep a secret if you nailed their beaks shut." "...I might go and do just that, thanks for the idea Grandpa. But no, I wanted to ask you something else." "Well, I'm here and ready. Ask away." "It's about your hook. Why is it such a clumsy thing? I'm pretty sure I could forge you something better without even trying, or at least make it so it doesn't always hinder you. Why do you put up with it?" "Well, this is not about my comfort. A long time ago, and also never, I paid a great price. The hook is here, clumsy and unsuited to fine work, to remind me of it, so that the mistakes of the past won't be made again. It's a burden I willingly carry." "I... I think I understand. Maybe. But does it need to be so... weathered?" "It's rugged, thank you very much. I have an aesthetic to maintain. Honestly, between you and your uncle I don't know who has less appreciation for well-done theatrics." They keep bickering in good nature, as Vauhalpa turns the conversation to an improptu lesson on rune-casting, helping Reuio shape a small secondary branch of the Dreamwake. It is a cold, jagged place, and will in time house her greatest temple, where the Coldbriar grows and from the freezing flames that originate from its branches great works of smithing are made. Valoris Vauhalpa is in the middle of a particularly involved discussion with Elverova regarding the adequate tenses to be used when writing down Oeuma's prophecies, due to their tendency to warp causality, when a particularly excited blur interrupts them. "Grandpa! Auntie Rova! Something weird happened! I was tending to my garden while thinking of the new color you gave Reuio because she lit that weird cold flame, which is totally unfair by the way, but still, and I thought of the Dreamwake and of how pretty it is when the light is right, which is almost never because Uncle Anchor keeps it too dim, and I might have done something! Could you come with me and take a look?" "First of all, slow down and take a form that's easier to track, I'm pretty sure you're giving Rova an headache but she's too polite to tell you." Elverova wants to look indignant, but she has to concede the point as Valoris becomes a young boy, adorned in colorful feathers and flower garlands. He slows down for a moment, checking if the transformation went right, then resumes chattering away at Vauhalpa. The titan sighs goodnaturedly. "What do you say, Rova? Shall we pause for a few moments?" It is a short flight to Valoris's garden, a small island not far from Alitna's main wat complex, and there, in a brightly lit spot, some never before seen flowers are growing. They seem to have a variable number of petals, some have five, some seven, with the bigger ones going up to thirteen and seventeen in one particularly striking case. But their most notable attribute is their color. It's an electric blue-green-red, with white and purple undertones, reminiscent of song and light rains. Vauhalpa plucks one of the flowers for inspection. "Would you look at that. And you tell me you did this because you were jealous of your sister's new color? Well, in normal circumstances I would give you a new color after something of this caliber. But I'm afraid it won't be necessary." "Why? Did I do something bad? Is this a lesson on how you shouldn't want for other people's stuff?" "What? Of course not, I'm worshipped by pirates for the Void's sake! Who put such outrageous things into your mind? Have you been around Palayon? No, I won't have to give you a color because you went and made one for yourself. Very impressive, wouldn't you say, Rova?" "Indeed it is. And it gave me an idea. I was just thinking of taking an apprentice, and I think this just solidified my decision. What do you say, Valoris? I could use someone with a good sense of beauty." Valoris is a colorful blur joyfully proclaiming his acceptance, flitting between Vauhalpa and Elverova. LupusAter fucked around with this message at 19:28 on May 24, 2018 |
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May 21, 2018 22:39
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 Having seen the universe, bare and unmade, it easy to recognize this man in front of her, and yet strange to see him all the same. Ever so carefully, her senses scrutinize his essence, feeling, remembering, every careful trace of his divinity and knowing it for what it truly is. It is a careful deception, but in plain view of her, it cannot hold up. A titan would know - a mother would know. The old woman’s mouth has hung open for long enough to be uncouth, staring at - well, whatever it was she had seen, before shaking her head, “No, no. Not long.” Unkempt grey hair shields her watering eyes as she graciously accepts the bowl of soup, “You made me too comfortable already, bless your heart - at my age, you stop moving and yer liable not to start back up.” She grins tightly, huddling under her heavy fur mantle, taking in the warmth of the meal, the fireplace and the whole establishment, before prodding Karrak with questions, “You like it here? Just you and the dogs? No missus? I’d say it sounds awful lonely, but I always liked dogs - my son too, thought the world of them.” The elderly woman chuckles to herself, “My brother… My brother said that outside of a dog, a book is man’s best friend, and inside of a dog, it’s too dark to read.” She chuckles, “Wasn’t really my brother. From my mama’s family before us. Sort of. You read much, boy? This seems like a good place to get yer reading done.” She sits and talks with the bearded innkeep into the night, the old crone peppering him with inane questions, drawing out stories from Karrak about the hunters. The ivory. His dogs. Her capacity for his soup is surpassed only by her nosiness. Belying her frailty, she drags this out long into the night. Eventually, when all the other guests are gone or have turned in, in the midst of one of her host’s longer tales, she nods forward, eyes closed, furs gathered around her rosy cheeks and red nose, and drifts off to sleep to the sound of his voice. She barely stirs when her host ushers her up to a bed. This was a good visit. Maybe she would stay for another day this time. The other thirty-seven times she’d come - in different faces every time - she’d only dared to stay a single night. It’s an awful risk but it helped to see him. She needed this respite. At dawn, she takes breakfast with one of the off-seasonal trappers, barely speaks a word to her host, and quietly takes leave, travelling with the trapper, until she too leaves him, and returns to the Green Heart. After all, this universe is young - younger than it suspects. She has many more children now, and so much to do. . Ambivalent fucked around with this message at 03:35 on May 22, 2018 |
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May 22, 2018 03:33
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Victoria Ascensus From here to eternity It had been a long, strange trip. At its start, Victoria had left the life unimagined, because there was no need for it. Favored child of Mother, no real responsibilities, her only true irritations were having a kid and shoveling off the parts that didn't serve her onto them. Things were a bit different now. The whole galaxy spanning war aside, Rilae using her surname was expected, but Incus taking it probably had a bigger effect than anything else in the whole drat fiasco. She has a family now. Well, like, a real one, now the same poo poo with coexisting with your siblings for all eternity. Most of them, anyways. Victoria simultaneously had a pretty firm and pretty lose sense of identity, so No-Hope going No-Joke was fine. They was better so you know, not really a loss. Ever-Rising, now that was a bummer. One of her biggest projects was a drink that could be transmitted via a prayer. Pouring one out for you, bro. Valkyrie was fun, which was good because her endearing, earnest, violent manner was necessary to counteract the fact she was a godsdamn flake who'd run off for a century or two with no notice, regardless of her protestations of ever lasting affection. This was a good thing, though, Victoria found purpose in work. Being a working witch was not just a career, but an Identity. From what she understood, prior to her interest in it, it had been tied to Ysa's maiden/mother/crone life thing. Now, for mortals, a witch was a probably single, probably childless working violence-mage, using a combination of cybernetics and magic to stay in a vague early middle age for a lifetime that could last centuries to 20 minutes, depending on individual competence . "Witchhunt" took on a totally different meaning, it was them coming after you, not vice versa. She squeezed the charm, blood oozed from it and spattered her hand and the floor, across the universe some rear end in a top hat's head exploded. She took a drink. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same.
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Jun 14, 2018 05:55
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