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 Tartarus; Blackness You don’t know how long you’ve been in the dark. Sunlight, the way stars glittered in the sky, the sound of worship. They all seem like pale myths. Sometimes you try to dream about them, but now all that appears in your mind is darkness. Dreaming offers only one respite - a temporary reprieve from the embrace of your prison. You are bound to something fleshy and moist, yet so stiff that you can’t move. It’s almost tight enough to choke you. Time no longer has meaning. There is just noise. ------------------- Palayon For you, it is the sound of chaos. A long, hissing scream so disorganized you haven’t heard the same sound in the time you’ve been here. It is like knife through the cloth of your mind, tearing apart every building plan and every crop harvesting schedule. All that’s left is a running loop of your sins; so far away now. And then, when they’re thin as gruel, you feel the spasms. Something around you begins to shudder. You can feel a rhythm for the first time since you fell into the dark. It’s something you can hold onto, focus on. ------------------- No-Hope For you it is a choir. Each voice joined together in uplighting harmony, a sound of hope like fire in a library. It burns up everything it touches. You have forgotten what desperation feels like. But you can still just barely feel something else, the sensation of forgetting. As this place slips from mortal memory it becomes a sound of its own, or to be more correct it is the absence of one. For eons it has gained volume against the choir, and now it begins to drown it out. You start to feel your mind clear. ------------------- Ever-Rising A single note; unwavering. So dull, so lifeless, so static. Nothing that moves, and nothing that burns. It moves through you like a cold needle and salted thread, wrapping itself tight around your essence and squeezing it out. The only relief is the rare murmured prayer that drips in, your children are still out there, they remember your warmth. That is, until another noise begins to rise. It is pounding flesh, you can taste something acrid, heavy. Fear, pure fear. It is a repeating loop, one of Ciliatrix’s many memories playing out across a strange medium. ------------------- Victoria In the dark, you begin to forget what combat ever felt like. The only thing you can hear is mewling, begging, and crying.. An anthem of the pathetic and small. Sometimes its hard to remember that you are seperate from it. Weren’t you once the Hero of Heroes? That seems like a strange joke now, drowned in this sound. And then, something shifts. Not quickly, but you feel the substance against your fingers, your whole body, begin to become watery. It becomes a thick, grainy slush. With great effort, you manage to twitch one of your fingers. ------------------- Ysa There is nothing. Nothing but the sound of wind singing through empty bowls and cold hearths. Once, prayers managed to get through. Small, begging things. You cherish their memory. It sustains you against this noise, and for a very long time you turn them over in your mind. And then...another comes...and another. The music of starvation strains against them, trying to reach new volumes to drown it out. For a time, it works but then your prison shakes and shudders. The volume begins to decrease. ------------------- Vauhalpa The sound of conformity chokes you. A little tune repeated over and over, without a single variation. This jingle slithers through your soul, swallowing potential and leaving only what is - dead, banal blackness. You cannot even dream. Until you begin to feel...water? Against your feathers. It churns, and you churn with it. A current begins to form, and you can begin to feel your mind moving with it. ------------------- Welcome to Titanomachy! Your +4 is still disabled, but you access to your +2 and Flaw. In the past they haven't been enough, but something has...changed. Your prisons begin to falter. The Unlife Aquatic fucked around with this message at 20:37 on Dec 27, 2017 |
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Dec 27, 2017 20:29
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 Palayon Palayon twitched. This was not a new thing, she knew. In fact, she had done far more than twitched, in the past. Writhed, shaken even. But that had been so long ago. Or at least she though so? She didn't quite know, for time had lost meaning to her. Had it been centuries? Millennia? Even longer, perhaps? She did not know. Nevertheless on the exact lengths of time that had passed, she had given up on such movements long ago, surrendering on the face of this infernal din. So what was happening now? Something must have changed, she would not have so reacted from her torturous slumber otherwise. She twitched again, she closed into a fist and then opened what she thought to be her right hand. What was it, that caused such reactions she had thought lost to herself for so long now? Ah. It took her mind, torpid from ages of constant screeching assault, to wake enough for it to grasp the straw handed to it. For it to hear the strange rhythm. For it to feel the tremors. And for a moment it hesitated, a faint psychological warning to not get too excited over what could prove mere transient phantasms making itself manifest. But the warning was a weak thing, a nearly silent din, on face of the growing desperate need of a starving person. For the Titaness of Law, such an ordered rhythm after ages of naught but chaos was akin to the sweetest nectars to a man wasting of thirst in the middle of a desert. And similarly to such a situation, there was little thought here, little planning or reason. All there was, was a mad dash to claim, to grasp this wondrous thing after so long. No thought was there, but the desperate need to get more. OOC: Using Excess [+2] to focus on these tremors and rhythms, and amplify them. Grasp them and amplify them as far as possible and then a bit beyond it so that Palayon can relish in the rapturous relief of getting to enjoy something orderly after so long to her heart's content. Theantero fucked around with this message at 02:59 on Dec 28, 2017 |
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Dec 28, 2017 02:57
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 Victoria Groggy, and not in a good, soused, way, but in a permanently hungover and miserable method, Victoria carefully flexes her hand and then gave the goo a good yank. After who knows how many years she had one thought paramount in her mind: "I need a drink." Let's test our bonds.
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Dec 28, 2017 04:13
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 Ysa After the anguish and tears and rebellion, she'd almost been glad for the solitude, the quiet. At least here there was not smoke stinging the eyes of her mortal form, or flames licking the boughs of her branches, the lamentations of children - the rebukes of her other children. Her verdant river valley, the heart of her faithful, put to torch and scourged. She welcomed the darkness and silence, and cursed the prayers she still heard. She felt tired, bone weary in ways a titan should not be able to feel. Then the guilt crept in. How had she let this happen? How had she failed so completely? The other titans' children had risen up too, and Hakkan had always been headstrong - it was his nature, as she had made him, but this? Abominable. And yet, his sins were her sins. So much pain. And here she was. Could she break free? Maybe. Did she deserve to? That was harder to convince herself of. If she was free, it would only bring more conflict... Time passed, her mind as much a prison as the place itself. Ysa could not see the way forward. No-hope would relish the sight of her, if they were in any position to. But the anguish of others still lingers. Ysa hears them now. More than ever. Furtive pleas in the darkness. There was still suffering. Whatever the state of the world, this would not be it's final form. And if Hakkan's transgressions were her own, then it was still on her to account for them. Maybe there had been a time when she ought to have used a lighter touch, but her son had taken that option away. She had erred, that is certain, but the nature of this coup demonstrated in itself that their children were not yet worthy shepherds of Creation. She wanted to talk this over, mend this rift - but first, the rebellious upstarts would have to be brought to heel. They hadn't listened before, and they certainly wouldn't listen now. She needs to fix this. To set things right. To show them. Maybe they thought they no longer needed their mother. But they were wrong. And she would show them this. But not from in here. She is the third titan. Only two came before her, and while this prison may be of her mother, it was not Ciliatrix who placed her here. And her children need guidance. There. Again, the sound comes through. She collects her will, steels herself against the desperation, and clings to the prayers. I am stronger than this prison. I am needed. I am Ysa. She doesn't even know what physical form she wears, if any - but with her consciousness, and her titanborn will, she reaches out and pulls at her prison. Sorry for the overwrought verbosity. I wanted to use [Flaw: Overbearing] as a [+2] positive trait to try and a reach out and tug at whatever flaw might be emerging in the prison. Ambivalent fucked around with this message at 12:43 on Jan 1, 2018 |
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Dec 28, 2017 06:21
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Vauhalpa Current. Motion. Water. A wave. A glittering school of fish, their scales playing with the light.  Light? What's light? A far-fetched dream, this currrent of light. But it's a dream, and it's a current. Currents can be followed. Currents go somewhere. Anywhere is better than here. Swim. Like a cormorant.  Nice birds, cormorants. Used to follow in my wake to catch fishes confused by my shadow. Maybe I should be a cormorant, and catch fishes confused in this shadow. Maybe I'm the confused fish, and this is the cormorant coming. Either way, I need to move. Swim. Go. Using The Sea[+2] to try to follow and strenghten the current.
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Dec 28, 2017 20:01
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The Ever-Rising The god laid completely immobile, its former golden body, resplendent with nigh-infinite energy and heat now completely black and mostly cold. But still deep inside his core, the embers continued to smolder and and burn, and they would soon erupt in a bonfire that would swallow all of the land. Any thing was better than this dull eternity, and even the putrid odors and promises of terror and destruction that this new dream brought to his mind made his body rouse, as a few sparks started to pass through the oily goop, ignited by the sheer hatred of the sun-bird... Using Passion to shake off the chains.
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Dec 28, 2017 21:41
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The Unlife Aquatic posted:No-Hope "shhh, cell." The voices, the restraints, and the cell itself belongs to No-hope now, at the moment that they can lose the choir in the sound of silence the warden joins the ranks of the forgotten, with the trash and dust. The words have power, and if anything else in the room has thoughts, likely they turn to confusion or even fear. No other being realizes the second it has forgotten anything, let alone when they have been forgotten by others. But when No-hope claims a being, they soon learn they are not alone! They've never been part of a larger community, always growing. "let go." Letting the prison know it falls under the umbra of +2 Trash.
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Dec 31, 2017 22:07
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Vauhalpa; Tartarus - Maze of Tunnels Your feathers and bones move in a quiet dance, like the current in your cell. They begin to mirror each other, the current inside you, the current in your cell. They gain strength so quickly, and soon the sound of your cell is just a distant memory. You can focus clearly for the first time in eons, you can feel all the possible states of your cell. You begin to realize one spot, near the very top, that is the weakest. It has rotted with a subtle rhythm through the ages, and it is so close to changing. All it would take is the right kind of force. And you just happen to have it right here. You charge it with the full weight of the current behind you, a tornado cast of concrete. You hear tearing flesh, feel yourself against it. And then there is light. Dim light. Something in front of you. Before you can stop the current, both of you slam into it. You fall to the ground, a pile of feathers and squawking. When your mind comes back you raise your head. You are in a narrow passage, cast from what looks like an airway. Your eyes go downward, not far from your body is a small bird shaped hole in the flesh. It’s ringed with a thick, yellow substance. Pus, you have been suspended in calcified pus for all this time. Congratulations Vauhalpa! You rolled a 6-6 and as a result are among the first to escape your prison cyst! You have regained use of your +4! ----------------- No-Hope; Tartarus - Maze of Tunnels You whisper to your cell; it is a sound like leaves against pockmarked concrete floors. And as you whisper, convulsions begin to take shape. They almost remind you of sobbing. And then you hear the sound of tearing flesh, followed by a loud squawk. Everything around you tenses, the convulsions get stronger for a few moments. They almost crush you, for a moment. And then...they subside. Everything in your cell just stops. The substance you’re in begins to liquefy, and you swim to the top easily, towards what seems like the thinnest part of this structure. It gives way without a fight, and you rise into a dimly lit tunnel system. There is faint clicking in the air. And you rolled just as well! You have access to your +4 again, and thanks to the brutal one-two punch of your escapes all other prison cysts have been weakened. All titans still in their prisons recieve +2 to their next roll to escape thanks No-Hope and Vauhalpa! ----------------- Victoria; Tartarus - Prison Cyst At first; they’re still pretty tough. You can still gain a little bit of traction, maybe swim against it with enough effort. And then you hear a loud squawk; and tearing flesh. Your own prison begins to twitch and shudder, the grainy substance you’re in begins to liquefy, and the mewling choir becomes a faint whisper. Average roll, but thanks to Vauhalpa and No-Hope you enjoy a +2 on your next roll because your prison is having an anxiety attack. Yes, really. ----------------- Palayon; Tartarus - Prison Cyst As you try to focus on the motion, you can feel it become more discordant. There is no longer a pattern, only the same discordance that you’ve heard for aeons. For a moment, you begin to lose hope. And then you feel something else move through the flesh, anxiety, fear, pain, loneliness. There is a loud squawk, and a wet thud. The scream in your cell softens, and you can feel your hands again. Completely meh roll, but the efforts of No-Hope and Vauhalpa have given your prison an anxiety attack and you a +2 to your next roll. ----------------- Ysa - 1 FP; Tartarus - Prison Cyst As your mind reaches out, the prison becomes aware of it. You can feel the sound of starvation reach new highs, drowning out even your prayers for a few moments. Then there is a shudder, a loud squawk, and a wet thump. Your cell spasms, and neurochemicals rush through its walls. The oldest ones, fear, pain, isolation. The sound dies, and you can move your limbs again. A real stinker of a roll, but fear not. You get a +2 to your next roll for free due to your prison freaking out about how lonely it is despite not having a brain. ----------------- Ever-Rising; Tartarus - Prison Cyst You try to flap your wings, but the motion dies at your wingtips.Your prison chitters, as if laughing at you. Then you feel something, terror - the most basic terror of all. The terror of being forgotten. You become drunk on it, and almost don’t hear the sound of tearing flesh. There’s a loud squawk a moment later, and the terror intensifies. The sound of your cell is completely forgotten. Another stinker roll, your prison is having a huge anxiety attack that’s giving you a rush of power. Take a free +2 on your next roll.
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Jan 1, 2018 01:20
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Palayon No. NO! The strange feeling was fading to static once again despite her best efforts, the faint glimmer of hope retreating once again in a show of reality's cold uncaring cruelty. It was not fair. Why was this happening to her? Palayon did not know, her mind too fragmented for her to remember. She clenched her fist in anger, and a variety of other strong emotions that suddenly had entered her without summon. Her fist... Her fist! She had a hand! Two hands, she waved them around, reveling in forgotten sensations found anew. She felt what she thought was walls, she felt what she thought was herself, her face in particular, there were things there she thought she recognized. Things that brought upon flashes of memories of sensations she once had. And all around her, a strange substance. Palayon did not know, could not begin to guess at what it was. All she knew is that... the substance was somehow familiar. Why? She tried to concentrate on the why, but all she did was hurt her head, so she cast those thoughts aside. But there was a sense of familiarity about it, whether brought by taste or smell or some other thing she did not know for she didn't have a good grip on all her senses yet. But still, though she felt a... wrongness about the substance, as if there was something bad in the fact she was immersed in it, something ugly and distasteful, those faint feelings of familiarity were still the sweetest thing she currently had. The only thing she had, and could bring her focus on. Thus, she wished for more of it to be. OOC: The strange substance Palayon finds herself in is somehow familiar. And though there is a strange sense of wrongness about it, it is still the only thing around that makes her feel anything. Thus Excess [+2] and the additional +2 to summon more. Much more. Enough to burst her prison, hopefully. Theantero fucked around with this message at 01:57 on Jan 1, 2018 |
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Jan 1, 2018 01:43
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Victoria Some progress. Think of it like tearing a dragon's head off except its holding you with goo instead of teeth and talons. And no one is yelling at you for torturing your metaphors. Okay, one and a two and a one two THREE. Trying this again with the [+2] bonus. Not sure how I'd tap my flaw to get out of here.
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Jan 1, 2018 01:54
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Ysa Hands. Limbs. Illumination. She knows more now of her base durance, this contagious prison. As before, she is as much a prisoner of her own design as this place. She must convince herself again - that she is necessary. That she is yet vital to her children, with a role still to play. The titan is herself a fundament of Creation, and they could inter her, they could conceal her, but in this form, or another, she would rouse from this carceral state and... and... she knows not yet - only that she is needed. The prayers tell her this. She is the Mother. And her children need her. It is the base of her soul. Hang on, kids - I'm coming! I guess I'll take another FP for a total of 2 FP... [+2 Overbearing] +2 from previous attempt. Ambivalent fucked around with this message at 13:23 on Jan 1, 2018 |
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Jan 1, 2018 13:21
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The Ever-Rising There MUST be someone else here. Have the others left already? Have the sound of prayers gone? Petulant children! Have they forgotten the light and life that his solar disk brought them? Puny whelps! The fire grows in intensity alongside resentment. I will leave this place, no matter how, the Ever-Rising thought to himself. Using Selfish this time with the Bonus!
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Jan 2, 2018 01:37
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Vauhalpa Freedom! Or at least, more freedom. Vauhalpa tries to stand up and wipe the ichor from himself, but his plans are thwarted by his lack of hands and legs. They locked him up in bird form? That's for leisure and comfort and lazily soaring on the sea winds! Extremely rude of them to eternally lock him in a cyst deshabillé. Undignified. Well, to be fair it would be extremely rude of them to eternally lock him in a cyst whatever form he took, but aren't prisoners deserving of a little bit of respect? Then again, one should not expect basic courtesy and etiquette from treacherous spawn. Once he has regained a bit of composure, his form shudders and shifts, and where a bird once stood now there is a towering, seven-winged humanoid, his features hidden by a shimmering cloak from which only a straight, harpoon-like beak protrudes. He feels around, and for a moment is assaulted by a deep sense of dread and anxiety, of being a meaningless speck in a vast and uncaring cosmos. "No-Hope! Where are you? Do you have any idea of where the others are?"
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Jan 3, 2018 00:39
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No-hope The hunched over titan makes their way to the sibling's voice, whispering all the way to the prison. It must now be realizing that its hour has come. No longer would it be able to exist to perform its forgotten duties. When the rest of its inmates inevitably escaped, they would be wrathful. But not No-hope. The question before the prison was whether to go down fighting for absent masters or to do something different. Vauhalpa, the other free titan, would surely also favor the Changed... Giving the prison a shot to throw its old orders in the dumpster and do something with the rest of its life, however short. Add Desperation and Trash to Changed and that's a big bonus... The siblings meet, and No-hope shrugs, "they will all reveal themselves soon enough."
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Jan 5, 2018 01:46
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Vauhalpa Vauhalpa feels his twin trying to twist the prison into something old and useless, and makes use of his newly returned powers to facilitate this assault to the psychological well-being of their prison. Even if the others aren't here, it still serves the prison right. A pus-filled cyst, seriously? Do they have any idea of how hard are feathers to clean properly? Using Change[+4] to help No-Hope change the prison into something that no longer wants or is able to hold their siblings.
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Jan 5, 2018 02:00
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Vauhalpa and No-Hope - The Left Lung of Cilliatrix, Filling With Pus Together you reach into your prison’s dead nerves, they spark and hiss with your mother’s memories. The prison cannot stop you anymore, it’s too obsessed with remembering what it was. It knows how much less it is now. You move through memories of routs, slaughters, and meat grinders all cataloged with the same clinical fascination. You reach deep inside, forming a mental map of your prison as you go. Space is torn and wounded here, barely extant in the way you know it. Some passages seem to exit back into their own entrances, and any attempt to scoop out a new hole in the maze creates a new entryway behind you. Your mother's lung has become a fractal pattern; sometimes you see a smaller image of yourself when you look deeply into a recess, wandering in its own set of smaller corridors.You can even sense where your siblings are, all of them are fighting to get out but one in particular catches your eye. It’s drawing so much blood now, and boiling hot. The prison doesn’t have the will to stop it anymore, and you try to guide your your own minds to ta- It explodes, you can feel it - a ripple through the flesh and another spasm. Then you smell it, something so rancid not even No-Hope’s mind has the words to describe it. The whole prison is venting all its energy into what you now realize is Palayon’s former cell. The flow of pus cannot be stopped anymore, too much of Palayon’s power has mixed with your mother’s. But there’s still something you can do, at the base of the lung there is something like a blood vessel powering this whole lung. Perhaps if you were to break it... ------------------------ Ever-Rising; 1 FP - The Left Lung of Cilliatrix, Filling With Pus You burn. Every lost prayer that belongs to you, the thought of Estelle’s laughter as she threw you down - limbs in chains and your most precious stars winking away on her cloak, as if they were waving goodbye to you. It all burns, just like you. The liquid around you begins to boil away away, the smell makes even you sick. But you can feel your wings again. All it takes is one strong beat. Flesh tears and falls away, and you rise into something that looks like the inside of a lung. You flap again to burn the pus off your wings, only to realize it’s beginning to fill the passage, just as the voices of your siblings rush into your mind. The silence is finally over. ------------------------ Victoria - The Left Lung of Cilliatrix, Filling With Pus Your fist lines up with what you guess is the weakest spot in your prison, and you pull back - throwing all your divine strength into a haymaker almost as great as the time you punched some minor goddess of corruption in the head so hard it rocketed it off and literally became a new star. There’s tearing flesh, and you see dim purple light above you. It doesn’t take much ripping and tearing to make a hole large enough for you to hoist yourself out into a tunnel that just looks like meat to you. It’s all meat in the end, really. The voices of your siblings rise in your mind, and you see yellow pus rush around your ankles. ------------------------ Ysa; 2 FP - The Left Lung of Cilliatrix, Filling With Pus They cannot keep you from your flock. Not Hakkan, not any of those disrespectful whelps that dare to call themselves your children. You focus all the anger into a razor sharp point, and point it at your prison. It begins to spasm violently again, you hear something tear and feel light flitter down through this odd yellow substance. The voices of your siblings slam into your mind all at once. It takes but a moment to pull yourself out after you reorient yourself. This is your mother’s left lung, you remember the scars perfectly - what you don’t remember is all the yellow pus you see dribbling down the hallway. Something is wrong. Very wrong. And you know who’s at fault. ------------------------ Palayon - The Left Lung of Cilliatrix, Filling With Pus Your cell groans and creaks. The sound that died comes back as a deafening roar. Your mind begins to mirror the waves of sound and liquid, and for a brief moment you forget who you are. You are the noise, you are this strange liquid. Then you hear something tear. There is light on your face. The sound of your siblings in your ears, No-Hope and Vauhalpa the loudest of them. Your cell twitches, and you realize what’s about to happen the moment you can’t stop it. There’s so much pus in your cell it’s become a fountain - and the pressure drags you out, slamming you into the upper wall of...something. It’s hard to tell what. You fall to the floor with a wet thud. The fountain is still going. You can’t stop it anymore, no matter what you try. ------------------------ OOC: Everyone but Palayon rolled brutally well; she just barely passed her escape check so I decided to add an interesting complication.
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Jan 5, 2018 04:39
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Victoria Arms straining and rippling, Victoria tears the remains of her prison piece by piece. She emerges from the gaping wound with a roar and a laugh. "WOO, take that fucker! I uh, I uh..." Victoria has a moment of realization and realized she has just sassed a probably non-sentient mass of meat*. Ordinarily that would be acceptable with an audience watching you or something but she's alone. Or not, she can feel the others in the back of her head, It would seem they busted out same as her. Victoria's not sure how that makes her feel. On one hand, its a family with all the inherent squabbling that goes on, on the other hand, there weren't many peers to comment on the awesome thing you just did, even if was howls of disapproval. Pus, that was something new. Not many things bled it, last one she could think of was that grease elemental fight and that had not been fun, even as a victory. She needed to find a way out, and while crawling through hell-scape dungeons was totally her thing, she probably needed help. <<Hello, anyone? I know you're there, where are you? Describe the nearest pulsating mass of flesh.>> *Something her siblings and/or daughter probably used to refer to her at one point. Ronwayne fucked around with this message at 05:37 on Jan 5, 2018 |
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Jan 5, 2018 05:01
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The Ever-Rising <<The Last Sister.>> Ever-Rising's booming voice sears through the minds of his siblings, the seething rage barely hidden within it leaving a taste of coal and ash in their mouths. <<You intend to regroup? A commendable idea. It's likely we follow the direction where our voices feel stronger, and once we join... I will make sure to burn a hole in this place so we can leave it at once.>> It sneers while cleaning the last vestiges of pus from its black and red feathers.
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Jan 5, 2018 15:49
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Palayon Mother. It had been mother all along. Palayon remembered it all now, memories flooding her long since emptied mind. She stood there, ankle deep in pus, gazing off into the distance, largely unheeding of the giant geyser of pus even while she was splattered by droplets of the rank excretion. Mother. So that was why it was all so familiar, yes. She stood, silent. Almost catatonic, even, some parts of her mind still apparently refusing to believe the vile reality of her current situation. ... Still she stood. But reality was not so kind as to allow her to just ignore it, so when a particularly nasty glob of pus hit her straight in the face, Palayon finally retched as she truly came to her senses. After purging herself, Palayon took a look to the left, then to the right, fidgety and animate, to find any possible key to solving this blight she had wrought. Unfortunately, none were immediately manifest. Well. That just meant she had to create one. But how? She was a guide, yet none to truly guide were present, and even if there were they'd have scarcely the time to do anything. She was no life-bringer either, she could not just create souls out of whole cloth. But maybe... Palayon traced her hand across the walls of the structure, a black sort of grime sticking to her usually immaculate fingertips. She peered at it closely. Just maybe. Maybe she could make a serviceable simulacrum? Simulacra, even. Palayon dipped the grime into the pus, and rolled the resultant mud-like batter into a little ball. She then fashioned it little hands, little legs, and two little eye-holes. Truly tiny it was, a multitude of them could sit on her hand with space to spare. But such a tiny thing, Palayon knew, could run on little Time as well (indeed, Mother was always telling her how space and time were interwoven), running an entire lifetime in mere moments. They could be fast enough to dam the pus. Create piping for the pus. Roll more grim and pus into others of their kind. They would create a society, Palayon knew. They would create ethics, religion, laws, philosophy and sciences. An entire cosmology based on this eternal font of free energy they found themselves around. They would ponder about it, debate its meaning. Ask themselves if such fonts existed elsewhere, if there was an elsewhere. Perhaps even question if it was possible for the font to stop, a frightful thought for creatures for whom such would mean certain apocalypse. The fact that they had been created for the sole purpose to momentarily halt the pus from inconveniencing other creatures wholly alien to them in thought and function would likely never occur to them. Not while they existed, and not when the Titans stopped the flood, causing their civilization to collapse and disintegrate back into the grime it was created from as they wailed to impotent gods for salvation. For a moment Palayon paused her work. Was this right? To purposefully create a whole civilization for such a selfish purpose? Well, they didn't have souls. Not really. They merely thought they did. And it wasn't as if real species in the universe they had created were part of some grand design either. Some were express built of course, but a throng of others merely arose by total chance. And all of them would die out eventually too, due to their own choices or outside cataclysm. Thus, was the banal purpose behind these golems' existence truly so abhorrent? The real universe was often banal too, after all, and what they didn't know couldn't hurt them. Palayon hesitated, but eventually steeled herself and continued the task of creation. There was a certain intellectual soundness to the arguments she had made to herself, and its not like she could leave her siblings hanging for this entire problem was her making to begin with. Yes. A certain intellectual soundness indeed. But regardless of the fact, when Palayon let loose her creations and turned around to find her siblings, all she could feel was a hollow sense of guilt. OOC: Civilization [+4] creates an accelerated civilization of philosophical-zombie pus/grime golems leading a pus-centered existence to redirect and utilize the pus in all their worldly doings to give the Titans some breathing room to deal with the issue. Also it makes Palayon sad which is clearly far more important Theantero fucked around with this message at 16:12 on Jan 5, 2018 |
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Jan 5, 2018 16:07
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 Ysa There is only one power they could have used to bind her and her siblings, so it is unsurprising to discover where she is. The great she-wolf lifts her head, the voices of her siblings carrying. Her own 'voice' is placid, warm softness, an earthy reassurance, <<I am here.>> Loping down the passage, she arrives at the site of her middle sister's latest work. She sits at attention, looking over the microcosm crafted here. The titan's lupine visage is impassive - perplexed at first, then inscrutably hard to read. However, as the Titan of Judgment, the Lawgiver, Palayon may probably get the sense that she is being judged here. Or maybe Palayon is simply reading too much into the wolf's guise her eldest sister is wearing. <<I am here with Palayon.>>
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Jan 6, 2018 06:59
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Vauhalpa Warm, boring steadiness. A smothering nag in the back of his mind. A petulant nag in another corner of his mind. Simpleminded violence and need for admiration. "Looks like everybody got out, we have a proper family reunion now. Just in time to be overwhelmed by pus. No-Hope is here with me, we had some time to get the lay of the land. There might be a weak point, I'll go there and send something to guide you to it. In the meantime, if somebody could staunch the flow a bit it would be greatly appreciated, getting pus out of feathers is quite the hassle. No-Hope, are you coming with me?" His spiel ended, the Titan of Change spreads his five wings and takes flight towards where the blood vessel should be. While he flies, feathers fall from his wings and change into white albatrosses and black cormorants, who take off to find and guide his siblings towards his destination. Going towards the blood vessel, using Change[+4] and The Sea[+2] to make birds that will show the way to the other titans.
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Jan 6, 2018 13:21
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Palayon Palayon turned towards Ysa and gave a small, respectful bow, "Greetings Eldest Sister. It is good to see you after so long." But though she spoke of joy, she did not smile, and though she greeted warmly she did not (perhaps could not?) look her sister in the eye. Instead, she turned to face away, and closed her eyes as she usually did when calling her siblings. <<I'm glad that you are all present, my dear siblings. I have taken... precaution to slow down the flood, but all this will merely buy us time until the source is destroyed.>>
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Jan 7, 2018 17:03
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The Ever-Rising "If that is a problem, then I shall ensure that the source is ended. Perhaps this will serve as a way to the outside as well." The Ever-Rising sticks its claws upon the fleshy ground, and the rot within it quickly accelerates, the decay of natural death spreading through the lung as a process that would take eons is compressed to a matter of seconds. Using Entropy!
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Jan 8, 2018 05:12
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Victoria Victoria pauses, "Oh! The pus, yeah, I got me an idea. Hey y'all, watch this." Somewhere, across space and time, entire civilizations involuntarily shudder. Victoria focuses. She really needed a drink, but not THIS badly. However, you made do with what you had, and a giant homemade still made of bone and ossified flesh later, the substance churns and bubbles. The smell would gag even the god of maggots. "Now, I'm not really that thirsty, but I'm gonna pour this all out, and all we need is a spark..." [Alcohol+2] and [Overconfidence] to brew pus-whiskey to a flammable level proof, spilling it toward the nearest lump of flesh blocking our way, and finding a way to make sparks or flame or something Let's do this. 
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Jan 9, 2018 00:52
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No-hope The hair-being mutters to themselves, "until the source is destroyed? we are the source." That's what pus was: the dead cells that had battled to keep invaders from contaminating the host, as the siblings wasted no time doing after breaking free of the liquid buffer. Unlike them, No-hope bore the prison no ill will. As another of Ciliatrix's body parts, was it not another sibling, like them? Perhaps that is why the whispers continued, repeating that the lung's only chance to persist was to cast off its identity as a prison. Let the prisoners escape and hope the damage they dealt was not irreparable. A desperate act, with no pretension of compromise, let alone success. Blame the absent judges and wardens who cursed the lung with this task, doomed to inevitable failure. Only two questions remained, whether the lung-prison submitted to the ugly truth and whether No-hope's powers were enough to protect a true disciple. Nothing was guaranteed, that was the divine paradox in play. Desperation, Trash, and Abdication are in play to save the lung from the beating they are about to receive.
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Jan 9, 2018 01:05
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Ysa She nods her head approvingly at No-Hope’s insight, <<It is as they say. This is how our Mother’s body is meant to react, to outside threats. We were native to this place, once upon a time. Perhaps that does not matter anymore.>> This does not compel her to act - the wolf sits passively. No action!
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Jan 9, 2018 03:03
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Ysa; 2 FP and Palayon - The Left Lung of Cilliatrix, The Heart of Grimeling Civilization Palayon lowers her lips to the side of the grimeling’s head. Ysa watches them to begin to move as she whispers, each sound forms itself into something different. Plans for turbines built of soot and crab offal, laws curl against its crude little ear and bloom into the skeleton of civilization. When Palayon is finished it looks at her, and cocks its head. Something churns in those empty sockets, for just a moment. It nods at her. Palayon brings it to the floor, and lets it step off. Within moments it begins to build a family, it preaches, they make more, and more, and more. Before you, a civilization is born within minutes. Scaffolds rise, and then buildings. None more than three inches high. Temples rise in the same breath as they begin to build a dam of crab shell shard over the wound. Even Palayon delights at the complexity of the civilization that arises from all this free power. Opera houses, with stages light by match flickers, are filled with songs in her name. Their dam holds strong, and the pus flow creaks against the crab shell and dirt cover. The pus stops rising at their ankles. And then you smell the burning. Wait, has Victoria lit this thing on fire? Long black tendrils move through the flesh too, Ysa and Palayon both recognize them as signs of gangrene. -------------------------- Vauhalpa - The Blood Vessel You race through the geometries of the lung, crabs watch you as you go. Their claws clatter. Birds arise at your shoulders, and fly down other tunnels. Through their eyes you see the crabs watch them too. And then, one begins to hear very loud clicking and clattering. A moment later a claw, bright purple and streaked with gray, flashes across their vision. Then blackness. It repeats itself for twice over. You feel their necks snap each time. The last one’s beak begins to fill with the taste of soot, and finds no crabs along their route. It finally lands at Victoria’s feet. Through your eyes you see her stirring a burning liquid in her former prison. A moment later, you realize it’s pus-alcohol. You wonder if she’s been drinking it. The thought sends a shudder through you. Not a moment too soon you come across the blood vessel. It writhes like a pinned moth against the side of the lung - crudely sewn off aeons ago. Long metallic cylinders are driven deep into the flesh around it. Some of them have been grown over, as if the body was starting to absorb them. Others are surrounded by fresh scar tissue. On the side of one you can read an inscription. quote:AJZ-34, CLASS 11 THEO-SIPHON, PRODUCED BY FACILITY 7A12 And then, you hear clicking behind you. You turn yourself towards it, and lay eyes are three large crabs. Their pearl-gray eyes shine with your Mother’s power, and their long, scythe like claws are covered in dozens of tiny hooks that drip with poison. Missed your target pretty badly; only Victoria and No-Hope have the ability to help you in this tight spot next turn. The others are too far away without guidance. -------------------------- Ever-Rising; 1 FP - Gangerous Infection Your claw tears into soft flesh, biting deep into a vulnerable little bloodstream. You focus the power of the entropy into your claw, and fingers of necrosis race across it. Meat around you begins turning black in oily streaks, they spread, and you feel the prison shudder around you. The smell of rotting flesh and stagnant pus begin to run together, and a minute later the smell of something burning joins them. As the infection spreads, you begin to see crabs scuttling around you. They click their mandibles as they desperately try to cut out the infected flesh. One stops to watch you for a moment, then skitters off. The clicking sounds begin to thin out, and are soon replaced with a heavy, thudding gait. A large crab soon rounds a corner, and raises two sharp arms that drip with a clear fluid. -------------------------- No-Hope; 1 FP - The Left Lung of Ciliatrix Your mind moves deeper into the flesh, it follows the path of pain in the flesh. In one corner, an infection races out from a bird’s claws, There’s a boiling cystful of pus being stirred by another sib, and the geyser Palayon started is now building pressure behind a wall of crab shell. It all hurts so much, and to what end? You can feel the whole lung wrapped in despair. It has given up, on everything. It won’t fight back anymore, though it cannot stop the crabs that race through it. The crabs. Several large ones, with blade like barbed claws, lurch towards Vauhalpa. He needs you, but if you leave now you know the flesh will simply...give up without you. You can help Vauhalpa, or you can try to get the flesh to keep fighting for its life. You cannot do both. -------------------------- Victoria; 1 FP - Pot of Pushine You reach out, and a long ladle appears in your hand. It dips into the pus, and you begin to stir it. Your mind fills with a dozen different brewing methods, you just pick one on a hunch. Brewing bacteria bloom from the end of your ladle, and spread through the mixture. It begins to bubble and hiss as it curdles. Soon, the heat around you brings it to a boil. Fumes begin to form overhead. It only takes a snap of your fingers to ignite them. The top of the pot begins steadily burning, producing a thick black smoke that smells like burnt hair and piss. A crab comes to investigate what you’re doing, but it scurries away when then smoke licks its carapace. No more come, apparently the smoke is disagreeable to them. You spread the mixture generously on something that looks important, and then spark it with a flick of your wrist. It begins to burn...slowly. A bird lands before you, sent by Vauhalpa to guide you towards the blood vessel, and through the link it shows you his vision - there are crabs surrounding him. Their blade claws shine with some clear liquid. You can either try to keep burning this thing or try to help Vauhalpa. Your call. -------------------------- Victoria and No-Hope are the only titans that can reach Vauhalpa with their next action with 100% likelihood. The others may roll to do so. Palayon and Ysa are closer to Ever-Rising, and may reach him without a roll if they so choose.
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Jan 9, 2018 09:13
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Palayon Ah. Veneration. Praise. Rituals to her glory. It had been so long since she had last felt those things. Far too long. Palayon bit her lower lip ever so slightly as she listened to the beautiful hymns to her. Of her. For a moment she remained totally transfixed, basking in the glory being heaped her way. But only for a moment, for soon after she shook her head, and took a closer look at the creatures, brows furrowing and a cold grip gaining hold of her heart. After all, how could it be that she felt like she did? Non-sentient automata singing your praises ought to be a cold thing, yes? Of questionable value, any delight found in it a pale reflection of the real thing. Then was there only one solution, was there not? A single horrible answer that jabbed yet another spear of despair into Palayon's soul, cruelly shooting her down from heights of exultation. She turned towards Ysa, expression mournful. "Eldest Sister", she spoke, tone low, "It seems that in my haste to fix what I have broken, I have... on accident lit a spark I did not intend." "...Will you help me, Eldest Sister?
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Jan 9, 2018 10:19
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Ysa - 2 FP The wolf hangs her head low, watching the rapidly maturing people with curiosity, snout crinkling at the scent of rot and burning life matter. When she raises up, she meets Palayon’s face, and the lupine face cracks in what must be a smile. Quick to judge, maybe. Ysa is, but also quick to forgive and embrace. That her sister even asked warms her heart. They cannot stay here, nor can we abandon them. Her ears perk up in alarm, noting the various threats encroaching. And we won’t. And so she does what Mother Ysa must, and lays down at the foot of the civilization. She lowers her head, and goes still. You are their mother, in your way - you must tell them, ‘It is time. This world is doomed - but it is not the only one.’ I will safeguard their passage. And she lays there, beseeching the miniscule creatures to seek solace on the very body of the titan wolf, and to brace themselves for the long exodus. Her thoughts would be like whispers, working on the hastened timescale of their small domain - instructing, urging them to assemble the means of their own salvation. There would be doubters, perhaps, skeptical beings to whom this whole endeavor seemed patently absurd - you couldn’t just uproot your entire civilization because some shaggy dog the size of your world tells you you ought. Some pundits would say this is the land of their forebears, and they have always lived near the Source, and they would dismiss rumors of a creeping infection or smoke on the horizon. <<This place grows unsafe, little sister, the denizens of our Mother bear us no fondness. But let’s try this again sometime, with a mite more patience.>> She sounds to genuinely look forward to it, in spite of the chaos and pressing danger here. Using ‘Hunt, Harvest & Hearth’ [+4], specifically the latter two, to teach our wee titanauts how they might fashion a new (and temporary!) means of survival and conveyance upon her very body! Just like Noah. Except its pus people riding a dog. If this is too much, if the scale is too wonky, I will dial it back.
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Jan 9, 2018 10:48
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The Ever-Rising A massive defense system. "Were I not so weakened, it would just be a matter of burning this to a crisp..." The Ever-Rising angrily caws as he turns back from the crab and flies towards the location of his closest sisters, a trail of cinders and embers falling unto the ground and spreading more of the rot of age as he does so. "Sisters! Have you found progress in finding a way outside? It seems some unwanted creatures are still keen on preserving our poor Mother as she is."
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Jan 11, 2018 02:30
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Victoria, 1FP Aw hells, just as she was making progress one of her siblings went and got themselves in trouble again. <<HOLD ON BIG BRO, I'M ALMOST THERE.>> Cradling the cauldron of horrific goo in her arms she charges down the flesh hallway and soon as she rounds it into the room hurls it down down on the ground in front of him before igniting it. The smell savages the senses and lights up the area as Victoria tears into the mob of creatures before him. [Strength+4] and [Alcohol+2] to burn, stomp, shred, and render everything surrounding Vauhalpa Ronwayne fucked around with this message at 03:22 on Jan 11, 2018 |
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Jan 11, 2018 03:20
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Palayon Palayon nodded solemnly at her sister, and knelt down to peer at the civilization she had created. She greeted them, addressed them as her children, her direct contact celebrated and jubilated by the little grimelings during the weeks and months her address felt like from their perspective. Truly, she was growing fond of them. But then her visage grew weary. She told them that their world was not eternal. She broke to them the fact that the font would run dry in the (for them) fairly far future, even though even she did not know when exactly. And all this, she did with the greatest grace she could muster, to inform them of the inevitable without coming off as a gloomy doomsayer, to gently remind them that all things had to come to an end. However, her message did not end there. For she did include a glimmer of hope. Not for eternity, but for a society that could withstand a cataclysm that would otherwise have ended them. She told them how to build great vessels and arks to carry their kind to the unknown reaches of the world they had not thought to traverse before. However, she spoke of danger also, of the vagaries of an uncaring universe, of great beasts that roamed the distant spaces and meant them harm. And thus she spoke to them of war. Of logistics. Of all the necessary things to build a great and functional military force that could adapt and destroy the foes it came across. And lastly she spoke of the need for wayfarers. Though the rest of their society could build their arks to wait for the spring to end, their chances for survival were low unless a group went on ahead to clear a way. A great fleet they would need, a great armada. Centered across a great battlestation build on the very back of a divine creature the size of a world. A battlestation she would help them build with her own hands. Palayon scooped up some her makeshift grime 'clay', and started to lay some of it upon her sister's fur... <<Wait for me Eldest Brother. Our preparations are almost complete, and soon will we arrive to lend our aid.>> OOC: Civilization [+4] to prepare the grimelings to the coming apocalypse by telling them how to make flying ships and arks for their eventual exodus, as well as of war so that they can defend themselves against trouble. The first wayfarers will follow her and Ysa, their expeditionary fleet centered around a great battlestation build on Ysa herself. Theantero fucked around with this message at 14:34 on Jan 11, 2018 |
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Jan 11, 2018 14:27
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Vauhalpa Crabs. They sent crabs against Vauhalpa, He who Dreams of the Everchanging Ocean? Then their folly will be turned against them. A sturdy shell, to laugh off their claws. A crushing beak, to break off their legs.  Strong arms, to pry open their shells.  Vauhalpa's form shimmers and coalesces into a huge turtle shell, each plate a different color. Three turtle heads on serpentine necks emerge, then the bottom unfurls, revealing seventeen spiky arms. He attacks the crabs, snapping at exposed joints while using his limbs to restrain their movement and break their shells at the hinges. Using Change[+4] and The Sea [+2] to transform into a turtle/starfish amalgamation to fight off the crabs.
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Jan 11, 2018 14:52
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No-hope The situation reminded No-hope of creatures that fall or jump from very high places, not bracing their body for impact or trying futilely to swim through air to land on soft ground but instead going slack and letting their bodies deform according to design. The lung wasn't counting on the fact that if everything went well, the grimelings would forget and let go of their home instead of consuming it, the titans that caused the buildup would leave to flex their powers elsewhere, and the crabs would be defeated, if they were the enforcers of the lung's role as No-hope expected. Things might just work out for it if it stayed out of the way and evaded notice. With Luck, so to speak. Desperation and Trash/forgotten things for +6 total to save the lung by having it be too hopeless to actively kill itself basically?
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Jan 12, 2018 01:29
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Vauhalpa and Victoria (1 FP) - The Blood Vessel Victoria stomps through the hallways carrying a hundred pound cauldron filled to the brim with boiling pushine, shouting loudly into Vauhalpa’s mind as she goes. The bird perches on her shoulder, providing guidance with a clattering beak and sometimes a spread wing. She can hear a guttural roar, and then a roll of tearing flesh, screams, and cracking just as she turns the corner. Victoria sees a jumble of plates and sucker dotted arms tearing apart two of the large purple crabs. The third has grown one claw into a heavy shield with sharp edges, and the other into a long chopping blade to try and swat Vauhalpa’s arms away. Milky white “blood” pours from their discarded limbs, embedded in the floor, wall, and a few even in the ceiling. While a few of Vauhalpa’s lost arms slither back towards him Victoria throws it over the crabs, and a few of his arms. She figures he won’t mind, they’ll grow back. As the liquid hits the crabs screams try to escape their mouthparts, but drown in pus. They begin to dissolve, not into a slurry as you’d expect, but smaller crabs. They skitter away as fast as they can, some can’t get away and sort...boil out of existence. Neither of you have the words to describe it better. The field is yours, and Victoria only poured out about half of her cauldron. Critical Success for Vauhalpa, and a mediocre one for Victoria. Besides a few burnt/cut arms you got out fine. ------------------ No-Hope (1 FP) - The Very Smoky, Gangerous, Grimeling-Infested, Full of Ankle-High Pus Left Lung of Ciliatrix The lung has fallen into a depression the human mind isn’t capable of understanding, thick and colorless like mist in a junkyard. A second would be enough to break a mortal’s mind. An eternity of it couldn’t break yours, though that is what you feel when you peer into it now. It rolls against you, heavy and choking. Almost as bad as the prison. You push against it, moving it’s whole mind back by force of divine will alone. Eventually, it begins to see reason. As bleak as this moment might be, it has to fight. It’s lifeforce begins to strengthen again. A moment later, and your mind is finally yours again entirely. Though you’re left with the creeping feeling you might have left something behind. You push the feeling out of your mind, and focus on your siblings again, and you can see Vauhalpa and Victoria before the blood vessel at the lung’s “base”. If they break it, the lung will die. You just barely pulled this out. ------------------ Ysa (2 FP) and Palayon - The Heart of Grimeling Civilization The Grimelings are quick studies, and in moments shipyards rise above the the floor - holding their tiny dreadnaughts and arks. Those upon the back of Ysa begin to culture the bacteria and insects, and build a great fortress across the span of her spine. By the time Palayon turns her attention back to the ones on the floor their society has decided to split - a great diaspora. Those upon Ysa swear their lives to her instead, those in the fleets redouble their dedication to Palayon, and a few holdouts refuse to go at all. They respect their two Great Mothers, but will live - or die - with their ancestral home. Critical Success! Palayon may now use Civilization to order the Grimeling Fleet to do her bidding. They’re quite fearsome, for their size at least. Ysa may use Her Children to do the same with her Grimeling Battlefortress. A few have chosen to stay behind, but they're less than 5% of the living population. ------------------ Ever-Rising (1 FP) - Cornered by Crabs You turn away from the crab, and try to use the necrotic flesh to make a wall to prevent his pursuit. Then, you hear tearing. A squeal. You look back and see the crab staring at you through a torn hole in it. It’s eyes shine with blind malice, and a moment later it’s a third of the size - with a heavy armored claw, and the other growing from a chopping blade into a lance. You laugh, how could that thing catch you? Then you look forward again. It doesn’t have to. At the next junction stand a pair of crabs armed just the same, their spears held high and mouthparts twisted into a parody of a grin. They march towards you, heavy claw raised a shield over their bodies. You bombed this roll bad, and now you’re pinned down by lancer crabs. The Unlife Aquatic fucked around with this message at 06:50 on Jan 12, 2018 |
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Jan 12, 2018 04:45
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Vauhalpa Vauhalpa's form shimmers, and he changes back to a cloaked humanoid, his eleven wings a little singed. The crabs are concerning, but the metal rods pinning the blood vessel are an expecially weird sight to be found in a lung. Especially since they seem to mess around with the flow of energy around here. "Victoria, do these things remind you of anything you've seen? I can try to track what they're doing, but it will take a little time. Please don't smash them yet. No-Hope, you've always been better than me at seeing how things are, care to lend a hand?" Using Change [+4] to poke around the tubes and understand their purpose. LupusAter fucked around with this message at 22:20 on Jan 13, 2018 |
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Jan 13, 2018 18:06
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The Ever-Rising It seems that these creatures do not know their place. Mere puppets of flesh and chitin, not worth of attention or note. And if they cannot be trusted to entertain the Ever-Rising, therefore they have no use, and must be disposed of. The Solar Titan opens its wings, and with a mighty flap, a foul wind extends towards around himself, blackening the flesh whenever it touches, turning the crabs' exoskeleton brittle and weak as sand as ten thousand years pass in a second whenever the sickly breeze touches. Using Passion,Selfish and Entropy
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Jan 13, 2018 18:52
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Victoria "Hookay. This is some really advanced stuff, and it looks like they're constantly try to improve on it, which means they were coming in here long after we were tossed in here to keep messing with things. Look like they're sucking energy out of the place like an uh,that spiraly thing when water goes down a drain...oh, you meant the crabs? Dunno, they seem to break in terror after awful caustic goop is applied, that makes them similar to a lot of things." Victoria is intellectualizing. Bigly. Ronwayne fucked around with this message at 05:28 on Jan 15, 2018 |
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Jan 14, 2018 05:38
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Ysa She welcomes the new tenants to her back - if she is Mother Ysa, then well, she is now literally bearing children - upon her back, anyway. Her creed is a mite less militant than her younger sister. She is ferrying them to safety, not quite conscripting them. That is the plan, anyway. The wolf dashes through the once-aspirating corridors and around the bends, homing in on faint pulse of her Elder Brother, until she finds the Ever Rising, in a bit of a bind. She cannot fight, not with the fledgling wolfborne grimelings upon her, but maybe the could fight? She doesn’t order them to fight, of course. She just... hopes that they would want to save the Sunbringer, even if they have not seen a sun. Really, it would be a tremendous favor, and she would be indebted, right? Hey, My Children [+2], Mother would appreciate it if you would help Uncle with these terrible beasts. Not that you have to. But she’d appreciate it. If you want to. But if you don’t... That’s fine, too, I guess... Mother will be fine...
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Jan 15, 2018 07:58
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Palayon A flicker of a smile danced on Palayon's lips as she observed her sister interacting with the grimelings. In a way it was nostalgic, it reminded her of how things used to be back in the day, when times were good, when time was young. Painful and bittersweet was it too, but still, Palayon resolved she was happier with them than she would have been without. "My children", she spoke, "There are things out there, more ancient than you can imagine. Things that mean you harm. To you they might seem slow, and it might take a generation for you to kill just one, but you must not falter in your quest, for should you falter stand assured they will take advantage." What would it be like for the grimelings, Palayon wondered as she taught them. Entire generations that would know nothing but war, on a quest of a new home. Would they still know how to live good lives after an ordeal like that? Or would their beliefs and values be irreparably sharpened to a cold edge akin to weapons of war? A thought to ponder on, she resolved. But it had to wait. For now, she would march with her sister to help her brother. <<Wait for me Eldest Brother. Our preparations are almost complete, and soon will we arrive to lend our aid.>> OOC: Civilization [+4] to lead the Grimeling Exodus / Anti-Crab Crusade along with Ysa to free our brother from getting horribly owned
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Jan 15, 2018 18:59
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