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#12714857 Sep 17, 2016 at 01:15 PM · Edited over 1 year ago
203 Posts
So, for those that are playing (and anyone interested in reading), this thread is going to be specifically for In character or world info stuff, to be done up in a narrative fashion. This will also serve as a recap for what happened during the previous session, which I will edit in this post. Keep this thread clean of all additional comments, and only post up stories about your characters or world generation only, and use the other thread for questions, comments and other such out of character stuff. So let me begin with........

Question Thread

Videos for Session 1

Videos for Session 2

Videos for Session 3
#12714860 Sep 17, 2016 at 01:16 PM · Edited 2 years ago
203 Posts
The Beginning

The smell of the sea wafted in from the port on the gentle summer breeze. Not that there was any summer for this town anymore, thought the old man as he walked towards the central fountain. He had done this for many years, ever since his seafaring days took his leg from him. The clockwork mechanation that was put together, said to be as good as his original leg, lurched and jerked as he moved. He really did hate the thing. Never did work the way he was told. He still had to use the cane he was originally given for support.

But one of the simple joys the old man had was about to happen for his week. He looked up toward the fountain, only to see the audience had already gathered. He was late again because of his leg, but it didn’t matter. They were there to learn. They were there for the story.

Most of the group consisted of children, some had their parents with them, but you could see the various orphans and street rats among those who were already sitting. He always had a smile for that. Children were still children, regardless of where they came from. There was also one of the local constables on hand, as he always was, to keep the peace. Then there was always a few adults in the crowd. Sometimes they would question or jeer him during the story. Other times they were genuinely interested, and pressed on for more detail. He could tell those ones were hunting for something. But all he knew was the stories. Nothing more.

He slowly made his way to the edge of the fountain, his one leg trying its best to support the rest of him. The mechanation did nothing but lurch. Everyone waited patiently until he took his spot. That is, just until he was almost seated. That’s when one little girl blurted out.

“What story are you going to tell us today?”

He recognized her. She was always there, always listening. And always a little dirty. Never any parents with her, so it was natural to assume that she was from the streets. This might be the highlight of her week though, so he could completely understand.

“Today, I’m going to talk about how our world came to be. Have you heard that one before?”

She shook her head.

“That’s good. It’s no fun for you if you’ve heard the story before.”

He finished sitting down. The clockwork leg clicked to a stop when it was no longer needed. He stroked his flowing beard, which was now almost completely white, and then began.

“Now, lets see what I can remember.”

“Long before now, in ages that we no longer have a time for, there was one dominant species on the planet. They ruled over everything, and could control the environment around us at their whim. They were called the Progentitors.

Now, during the age of the progenitors, there was only one sun. Not like our two in the sky today. And ice was on the ends of the world, not in the middle. Our world was very different during this time.

However, they were very ruthless to both themselves and the world. Their relics were incredibly powerful. To the point that it had destroyed them, and almost the world. With their constant fighting and damage to the world, it was left almost barren. Only a few small creatures had remained when the last left the world. And that’s when they arrived.

The six were said to be powerful beyond belief. Lord Arawn lead the six, and was very displeased with how the progenitors had treated this world. With a wave of his hand, the barren landscape began to grow anew. Trees sprouted almost instantly to full size, grass was back in almost the blink of an eye, and the sky was almost cleared in an instant to allow the sunlight through.

Lord Arawn looked out and was pleased. And without any hesitation, stepped back and let his companion, Lady Brighid, continue the work. She closed her eyes, and in almost an instant rivers began to flow again. Ponds and swamps filled to almost a breaking point, and the sea, which had been reduced to mere puddles, was large and full again. And with that, she stepped back, allowing the next to work their wonders.

That’s when Lord Varuna stepped forward. With a mighty bellow, animals returned. The great, the small, even ones that had never been seen before. He willed them all into being with just his voice. That is when the first of all the races came out and looked around, wondering where they were and what had happened.

Lord Arawn spoke to the group ‘All will be revealed in time. But first we must finish what we have started.’

Lord Varuna’s counterpart, Lady Pritha, stepped forward. At first, she just stood there. Nobody knew what she was waiting for. Then, a few moments later, one of the humans started to glow, followed by the rest of the small populace. It was then that they knew they had something special given to them. The gift of magic.

As Lord Erlingr stepped forward, he spoke.

‘I will not give you something so easily as the others so far have. But I will teach you to learn, to think. I will show you how you can live, how to build, and how to tell stories, so that things can be remembered for years to come.’

And he did, for many days and nights as the other five waited for him to complete his task. When he had finally completed it, and the others knew how to live and build, his companion Lady Frida stepped forward.

‘We will leave you with a final gift, and then the world is yours.’

And with that statement, she looked up to the heavens, and that is when our second sun came into being. It is also said that is when the seasons stopped cycling.

Lord Arawn spoke.

‘Treat the planet with respect, and don’t repeat the past. We will continue to observe, and will give our help when necessary, but beyond now, you are on your own. Remember to treat these gifts with care.’

And with that, the six vanished. The races at first banded together to help build, but it soon became apparent that there was too many differences between them to allow them all to live together peacefully. So with that, each race set off in a different direction from where the gods first arrived to start their lives anew, with the knowledge and skills that they now had at their disposal there was nothing that each race couldn’t overcome. But they never forgot about the six, and continue to worship them to this day for all that they had given us.”

As the old man ended his story, the clapping began. Some of the children, like always, would come up after and continue to ask questions. There was one educated man that wanted more information, asking about possible locations where the gods could have done all of this. Of course he couldn’t answer.

As the group dispersed, one person remained. A lone woman. She was extremely attractive, if he was still into that. But he hadn’t had any feelings for that in a long time. She had tight leather pants, and a purple short sleeved shirt under her leather bodice. Her long flowing black hair was definitely something anyone would notice. Twin daggers hung from her waist. You could tell she was an adventurer of some sort.

“Didn’t you forget something old man?”

“What do you mean?”

“About the progenitor technology and how it shouldn’t be used.”

“That’s a law of the churches. Not actually part of the story. Besides, from the small amount that were have found so far, we’ve had some wonderful miracles come together.”

She could tell he was being sarcastic when he motioned to his leg.

“I suppose you are right.”

And with that, she stepped back onto the street, heading in the direction of the docks.

The old man sat for a few more minutes, taking in the surroundings and bustling of the merchants around the fountain.

“It sure feels like this will be an interesting day in Toron,” he thought, as he made his way through the ever growing crowded streets back to his home.
#12715753 Sep 17, 2016 at 08:05 PM · Edited 2 years ago
KT Knight
50 Posts
Azriel Intro (Character Background)

And every one of them were fools or geniuses, he thought, scornfully closing the book firmly, but quietly in the elegant library. The human boy ran his hand through his brow-length hair, the interwoven crimson- and snow-colored strands of hair gently laying back down as he returned the tome to its permanent home. His delicate fingers hesitated on the leather spine, before softly sliding over across the flush surfaces to another heavy book, removing it. In the bright light of the large room, there was no dust present to be disturbed by the movement as the young mind opened the pages. He flipped through, looking for anything that caught his attention, but he was deep in an internal rant. “If these six were so powerful, then they made the races either out of stupidity or with a grand design.”

Maybe this insight was lost to others, he felt, but maybe it was part of his heritage to see through the veil of lies behind this supposed re-genesis of life. These six harbored a thin facade of benevolence, but the simple question of motivation could tear through that deceit. “Why would six powerful beings make lesser beings? Benevolence? Maybe, but if they were acting out of benevolence, they were also an incredibly dim-witted lot. What kind of benevolence is re-staging the arena for war, or letting monsters with the guises of mortals walk the world? How could any good god allow such horrors go unpunished?” he asked himself.

The boy reached the end of the book, and returned it swiftly and left the aisle. Walking down the pristine marble path, passing others; all servants as well, some free, many much less so. He continued to ponder within, “Those six... one thing they did... was make a world of lessers. Maybe they didn't put up the fences and walls, but they certainly stocked it with cattle, didn't they? They filled the bowls with water and gave the food. And their herd grew... Most of those sheep were so, so weak... and in their weakness, they fight each other... it distracts them.”
The boy looked up slightly, and caught the eyes of another young boy walking the opposite direction in the hall, with old, healed, scars on his neck having forcefully taken his speech from him.
“Like that... we fight each other so we don't fight the ones that are herding us...”

Maybe it was his manifesting ancestry, or maybe it was the result of all the torment, but he was feeling the days slowing. Time wasn't affecting him the same way anymore, and he perceived it first and foremost. As those gates opened and he stepped in those azure pools of light inside of him, his mortality was being washed away by the very curse that he was bred for. Despite his youthful boyish appearance, a new crisp and cool fog was sweeping in him, mingling with his inner fire that had always raged. These two fonts of energy did not extinguish one another, instead, they swirled and birthed a radiance that seemed to illuminate his eyes with a vibrancy that his Master took as an important sign that her work was coming to fruition.

The young lad walked through the sky-lit halls, and golden arches. Exotic plants of many varieties were lining the walls where great arts were hung. Moving through the estate, his eyes widened when she turned the corner towards the boy. He went to step out of her way, a beautiful tall woman. Long flowing light hair, elegant and colorful clothing, a noble human she was, and when her eyes caught the boy's he immediately stopped and faced his master like a good dog. She smiled, and the young man she was walking with also stopped, his posture much more relaxed than the boy's. She looked down, and asked the boy, “Drax, give me a number between one and ten.”
He hated her games. She wore a fake smile; cruel and confident. The boy quickly responded after a swift swallow, “Six.”
She looked at the man besides her and said, “Fate has decided six fingers to break.”
The man nodded and turned back the way they came, having been given a dismissive look from the fair-skinned woman. Her piercing gaze swept over and down at the boy, who was finally no longer timid in her presence. The change of pace as of late was slowly changing him as well, his eyes, no longer blinded by his blood, were seeing now, and his mind no longer clouded by pain, was ever filled with constant thought. She grabbed his hair firmly, but didn't elicit a cringe from the younger soul, and lifted a portion up, and let the white and red flow back down. Her confident smirk painted on her head, “You were such a good buy... did you enjoy your free reading today?”
It was a rhetorical question, which he didn't get the chance to answer, “You know,” she continued, with her soft yet commanding voice, “Usually a tool doesn't need knowledge.”
She briefly raised her eyebrows suggestively.
In this world, people without the gift of magic could try to learn it, or they could try to steal it. If they could have ripped it from his body with their hands, they would have, and they certainly tried. Their current tactic of “acquiring” it seemed to training him to bark and bite on command, he thought silently; not having been told to respond. She and they had so strived for his entire life to rip the flame from him, and steal his warmth. They sought to pillage those enlightening waters that had laid dormant and dark in him for such a long time. They could do it to everyone. Drain their blood until they were empty hulls, or tear their sight from their heads. It was for the fun, the thrill, the kill. But the shorter boy now knew their invasions and attempts weren't on his body. It was for a greater purpose than just pleasure and amusement. And when their methods failed and their purpose remained, it gave rise to new technique which was less physically cruel, but carried more psychological anguish.

A disturbance caught her cold green eye to the side, and it was as if lightning striking a tree at random while the others stood by and watched. A young girl, just, being in the wrong place at the wrong time, sentenced to some unnatural torment for the night at the whim of the Master, and at the hand of a timid catfolk, who could only comply or face the same fate at the hand of the next willing soul.
His internal monologue started up again now, “Those 'gods'... distracting us with each other while their machinations roll on. She was just like them, and they were just like her: A cruel pen-master with an objective.” And by their devices, he was coming for them. Maybe he would storm Heaven under the guise of Her orders, but his will was his own, and he wouldn't shake golden shackles in exchange for 'divine' ones.

The Master looked at the boy. He was certainly older than he looked, she had been noting as of late, he didn't seem to be growing like his 'peers.' She said nonchalantly, “Drax,” Terrible, that old name was like a poison now, the name of a person the boy was never going to be again. She continued, “Pick out three other slaves and you'll help torture them to death tonight.”

It was nothing; nothing to her, and, now, nothing to him. He complied, but not as the loyal dog eager to please, but as the viper who wore a cold mask of feigned cruelty, coiling to ambush its handler. And for many days and many years, he wanted nothing more than to be that faithful canine, having lost all other hope. But that day, that one day he'll never forget, she burned him too much. She seared a hole right through his heart and soul with what she did that day. It ignited that which was dormant for good reason, and now it could never go out. It shed a light on a world beyond these caged walls of silver and emerald. It rippled that silent sea of power that dwelled within, and it was that day his eyes lost their cold fiery hue and burned with the blue core of an roaring storm that was building momentum to be an unstoppable force that could not be contained to this world; this prison.

Those six... cattle-ranchers... they painted the world with their false altruism, and the boy saw through it. He'd burn it from the world with fire, and bring the purity of light back again, a world where there weren't puppet-masters, mortal or otherwise. Maybe they fancied themselves as kind and just, much like Her, but their actions spoke louder than their words or anything who preaches them in their 'honor.' The chickens and sheep had made rulers and servants out of each other. The pawns had made knights and bishops of themselves under the name of 'church' and 'crown.' And just as the subtle masquerade of cows are lost to their captors, so would these divines be so blindly conceited. He'd reveal it all to them, with incinerating flame and searing light, from the pawns to the bishops and kings all the way to their supposed gods.

The searing airborne embers and cool loose feathers would blanket their charred husks when he was through dismantling their schemes.
#12785957 Oct 16, 2016 at 10:25 AM · Edited 2 years ago
KT Knight
50 Posts
He rubbed his sleepy blue eyes, and brushed his red hair aside as he opened the tome. It was a journal, written in a very unusual hand that always intrigued him, but today... it was the day he could read it. It was a thick collection of pages, full of the pondering riddles of someone's life, and it stretched forever. The young boy flipped through the pages rapidly, and came to rest at a tale from thousands of years ago.

The First of the Lucianians. (World Background)

Stories from the travelers who crossed the equator, told of the marvelous machines of the north, and the brilliant magics of the southern kingdoms. They bordered each other, but were divided by the ring of frozen abyss that gripped the world. Two of these kingdoms came together, and fought the ice-shard winds and bottomless ravines. They linked each other, with a bridge, of metal and stone. It was braced by gears, and illuminated by flickering unnatural flame that blew in the howling wind. Donatianus armed the bridge with watchwork golems of their northern guard. Drasko, patrolled its new road with bound elementals of fire and lightning. And for a time, it was good: Travelers from all over the globe flocked to each port city and took the bridge to significantly ease passage across the equator.
They brought trade, work, and knowledge to each land, and their kingdoms prospered. Their combined kingdoms became a melting pot of people, and it was this disorder that stirred the pot. One thing couldn't melt between these two people, and it was their faith. Divided by land for so long, their religious practices were too different, too heretical to tolerate anymore.
At first, it was through economy, taxing each other, crushing the free trade between them. Donatianus tightened its fist around the abundant magics spreading from the south, and Drasko tore down the mechanical marvels that crossed in from the north.

Battles were fought. Each tried to sabotage the other. Bombing this research center, or burning these fields. But there was not open war.

Calls for diplomacy in the name of trade and peace rose, and the lords of the lands were baited out, in shows of strength, and came together, their entourage with them, onto the bridge. For a week they each traveled, until they came together in the center. There was a public understanding that it was to be a treaty, but the air on the bridge wreaked of conflict. They squabbled, like fighting chickens.
The events of that day vary, but those events were the creation of mortals. When the southern force returned, their King dead, they rallied the storms and rifts and marched into battle north. When the guard of Donatianus came home, their Lord a shambling horror, he lead them. They grabbed their electric tools, and marched their creations on the bridge. And each was going to take this bridge for themselves; it was their manifest destiny.

And there they fought, for generations. The North used their cannons against the fragile casters that brought the Donatian soldiers low. Each taking the majority of the bridge for decades at a time, but neither could invade the other side of the bridge. The journey being too daunting to have a fighting force overcome the defenders of the enemy's land. The Donatian undead King abolished his church, and instilled a benevolent dictatorship, and sculpted his people into a war machine. Drasko, bound by their strong church, was suffocated by its fanatic rule. Under the guise of a fight against evil, Drasko lowered itself into sacrificial rituals, and grasped at straws of death and decay to put up the fight.

It was finally time. And when the Donatian king received intelligence that Drasko was weakened by an attack by a neighboring country, he mustered his full army, and personally lead the charge. Their gears clicked, and their springs groaned. They loaded missiles, and readied their firearms. Great cannons loaded onto heavy metal carts, propelled by loud and messy engines of combustion rolled across the bridge.

The wind spoke of Donatian's famine and material shortage. The High Priests of Drasko joined the march, riding beasts and wielding mighty scepters of power. Their augmented people, embedded with magical artifacts, rode the lightning and walked with fire. It was their chance, to fulfill the destiny their gods laid before them.

Their immortal god was just one, but he never lead a path for them, and she was never worshiped in their ceremonies. And it bent each kingdom's governance and order. As mortals, they were always fated to fight over jealousy. But it was the very instruments of law and self-proclaimed destiny that they so clung to that brought them together again.

Here, they faced off against each other, unable to back down. Each army, lead by their mightiest fighters, painted the land with frozen blood. There were great casualties as the armies sought to trample each other for weeks, marching their ranks into the grinder of magic and machine. The battle spilled over off the bridge and into the air. Each creature fighting to the death, some unwillingly, many willed it under the false promise of heavenly rewards in death, or to make their mark on the world. And they soon would make that mark.

It parted the grey clouds, a trumpet on high, loud in all ears: A sun. A star, falling, propelled through the sky with a brilliant light, coming crashing down. The Undead King scoffed at the magical meteor summoned by his enemies as his cannons pointed up. His soldiers jumped into the air, propelled by fiery jets. The Draskian priests ordered their soldiers to take flight on wings of beasts and of their own to destroy the incoming mechanical terror.

Their brave charge against the threat would grant them an eternal name, The Harrowed. It cheated their death from them, as it streaked past them. And they could see it. They could see her. They could see him. A creature, not too unlike themselves. A blindly presence; a roaring projectile of power; it passed them at speed, disrupting their flight. Its speed unnatural for simple gravity, and the Harrowed watched as the falling star hit the bridge, its fiery tail blazing behind it. It pierced the ground. The shockwave sundered all materials, rippling the ground like a blasting wave that torn sharp rock from the earth. But the pressure wasn't the death for most, it was the searing light that consumed them all. Their weapons, their bodies, their beasts, and their souls. It was just one moment, between impact and the demise of everyone and everything below. The light ripped enormous ravines in all directions, cracking the world like an egg from the impact. The blast launched the Harrowed past the clouds which retreated from the event.

As the light in the air faded, the energy continued in the earth, tearing the region apart with blinding crevasses. It scorched the land, and destroyed their homeland. The bridge was gone, just a crater now, as the light started to fade from the deep cracks in the land. Their cities, sundered and ruined. And, for a moment, it seemed over. With a second shockwave across the equator. the world erupted with light in a ring running along the equator in both directions. It was straight and wide, brilliant and fiery like the suns. It vaporized the snow in its flash that burst from the ground, before it vanished quickly. The rippling earth spread out across the ground and traveled south and north. From the temperate highlands to the tropical poles.

And they fell down, catching themselves with their springs or spells. They were brothers and sisters now, veterans and war-buddies. They set their differences aside, seeing their drive to conquest reduced to a black crater that spanned across the entire width of the equator. It had shuck the entire planet causing only minor damage to structures, and was felt by all, but only seen by few: Only they knew what caused that earthquake.

The large split along the earth collapsed on itself, closing quickly. The only evidence of its existence was the disturbance in snow, which was quickly concealing itself once more.

The Harrowed returned to the epicenter of the deep crater that scarred the land. And there it was, the falling person. A creature they had never seen before, a chimera of some kind. It was a tall humanoid, wearing strange metal and fabric armor. An enchanting presence; it enthralled their sight but their hearts were full of the fear of their lost comrades. It's shadowy black sword, grasped in hand, like a barely contained cloud of a moonless night, it wisped in the breeze. It spread its wings, wide and feathered; black as the void. With a leap, it was up in the air and flew off casually, not even looking back. A Draskian man and woman looked at each other, barely adults, they took off with their beasts and followed, leaving the others behind.

They watched the three disappear into the clouds, and the chilled breeze reminded them that this warmth would fade. They split up, some went South, some North. Few believed their stories, but that was never part of the plan.

The southern Harrowed came to call him Adriel, and the northern survivors named her Azrael. They told how it was a being that cracked the world in two, and not some geological or meteorological occurrence that caused the two hemispheres to start to slide past each other at the equator. The movement was swift enough to move the two halves of the world past one another about the length of a man a day. And the other civilizations that had made organized roads and structures in their own areas found it impossible to maintain as the two ends of the paths were sliding laterally away from each other.

The eruption of matter from the central blast zone caused a ring of high-magical material to be deposited in a large ring around the impact. Fields were energized by this power, and the races harnessed this now hot-bed of force.

To the unguided travelers, the trek was no different, but any permanent passage was forever disrupted by the events of that day.”

The boy swallowed and thought of the names of that creature, and he asked why it'd do such a thing and what it had to gain. It stopped their battle, and it made any combat like that so much more difficult now. But... if it was trying to stop the war, why not break the world apart before the fight? No one was spared from that blast; it killed everyone. The red-haired boy thought, rubbing the pages. “Killing them... it was part of the plan of that person...” He concluded. “All the other texts talk about a falling meteor... an act of the gods... no mention of this person.”

“There was a period of unrest around the world from this moment. The churches clutched to their tale of divine intervention that smote the war. The kings laid in bed awake, wondering how such great lords could be felled so fast by godly fate. All mention of this being was lost to all but the highest in the faith, who attributed it to the work of the Seraphim.

They rebuilt themselves, Drasko and Donatianus, and they vowed to never forget the pain. However, after generations, they remembered the pain, but forgot how much it hurt. Each kingdom, now separated by the turning hemispheres, grew again, alone, within their half of the world. But, as the day comes for them to border each other, they grow restless. They arm themselves for war, each believing the other caused the global destruction in a savage attempt to stop their do justice.

They greedily covet their ring of magic material, each creating a great wall around it, each becoming fiercely militaristic. Great ships with the power of flight prepare for their maiden journeys from Donatianus, powered by reactors with near-magical properties of heavy elements. Their cities billowed gentle white steam, and their electric-driven carriages rolled through their wealthiest areas. They manufactured arms, and energy-weapons that blasted plasma. They developed medicine, and large-scale education. Under their secular technocracy, they were a mighty people. And with their proud decentralized faith and strong church, they had bold hearts that blended their meager magic with their potent machines.

Drasko's streets were filled with elemental servants under their enchanted forests of new. Wisps of magic, idly filled the air and roamed into the great alchemical shops throughout their land. Their theocracy saw to their mandatory magical enlightments, a rite of passage for every citizen. The carriages were drawn by spell, and the wounds stitched with thought.

For each of them, the importance of community and family were there, and morale was strong, and nationalism was high. They welcomed all others that either embraced their traditions of mind or soul, or had the good sense to not challenge them. And as the day came again, they armed themselves. For their neighbor of old was approaching, having made a full rotation around the planet. One day soon, Donatianus and Drasko would border each other again. On that day, they'd ride to war against each other over the frozen wastes and the icy crater when their enemy called upon some unholy magic in a desperate move to kill the other that they'd destroy themselves in the process. Their ships of flight would fire cannons and launch soldiers. Their great beasts of wing and magic would ride them with the storms of judgment. There would be justice.

And on that day, the Lucin would return.”
#12785993 Oct 16, 2016 at 10:41 AM · Edited 2 years ago
KT Knight
50 Posts
The Night Wind: (Character Background)

The overly-muscular orc woman smashed her hammer against the golden life-sized statue, launching it across the room. The leather-clad elf male lept from the ground and into the air as the mangled statue was flung across the ground. He landed and asked calmly, "Sir Feragor, please refrain from your destructive escapades while I'm studying."
She grunted with a proud smile, effortlessly resting her hammer on her wide iron-plated shoulder, "You see that? That was good hit."
The elf rolled his eyes and went back to the exotic potted plant he was studying. A tall human woman, in a mixture of white and purple metal and fabric armor turned the white-marbled corner and asked, "Sir Feragor, how are we supposed to sell the things you break?"
A balding middle-aged man yelled down the hall from a destroyed library, "There's more to riches than just gold, Eafa." Many pages were stuffed in his hands.
Eafa, sheathed her one-handed sword, her shield on her back, a paladin, and said, "I didn't find any living among the dead."
Sir Feragor flicked her hammer on her shoulder like it was a twig, "That be 'cause they dead." she boasted with his tongue between her tusks.
Eafa turned her head down to her side as the delicate elf, his white bow across his back with his quiver, "Now with all those brats gone, we can study this place." Gently examining the leaves with his fingers. His long nails careful not to scratch the plant.

Eafa said firmly, "Take what you want, and let's get out of here before they come back."
The elf chuckled, "They're not coming back."
Sir Feragor laughed, "Aye! I'd smash 'em if they come back."
The woman commanded, "No, we're leaving before midday, so move fast."
The elf picked up the pot, and asked, "Well, help me carry these out, I'm bringing them with us."
Eafa asked, "Are you going to carry those plants all over the world, Tharivol?"
The pointed-eared tall man didn't respond, and his fair hands carried plants out, Eafa helping him. Sir Feragor was pillaging statues of their gems.

When Eafa returned inside, she found the wizard telekinetically sucking all the books into a pocket dimension he had torn open. The black-haired paladin stepped besides and asked, "Are you ever going to be able to read all of those, Astelish? You're already grey."
The man returned coldly, "And you're a bitch; but you still put all those slaves before the real loot."
Eafa smirked and instigated, "You know, one of the slaves took one of your precious books..."
Astelish looked over at Eafa, not stopping his hand gesture and asked, "Oh really? And what kind of book would a slave want?"

Eafa shrugged and declared, "I figured I'd keep it a secret, you know, for the sake of his life."
Astelish had an annoyed look and responded, "It's wasted on a slave who probably couldn't read, let alone understand it, they are all bound to become slaves again anyways, that's all they know."

Eafa shuck her head, and mumbled with a little smirk, "Not all of them."

It was before the dawn came when Eafa confronted the boy who was walking away from the fire pits off by himself. He looked up at Eafa, and in her fading torchlight, she could see his blue eyes and white hair, dark with shadows. She thought he seemed... focused. The wind flickered the flame and blew their clothes to the side, his cloak, and her long hair. Eafa said with a firm voice, "You shouldn't go out alone."
The boy responded with his soft voice, "Thanks for saving me." It was rather dry of emotion as he dropped his head forward and stepped to move around her and go, but she stepped in front of him again, blocking his path. He looked again at her as she said, "You can do your own thing once we get to town, we know the way."
A blue orb caught her brown eyes, it was bright, and no bigger than the boy's fists. It was slowly orbiting from behind him, making its way forward, and it was brighter than her own dying torch. It was propelled by some magical aura that she could faintly taste in the air.
Eafa got down on one knee to be better in line with the boy's wide-eyed gaze. His thin lips were drawn, and he didn't seem scared or very emotional at all. Eafa asked, "What is your name, son?"
The boy asked flatly, "Are you my mother?"
His pale skin brightened as the orb started to move between them, half his face in light, the other, in the blackness of shadow. "That's how kids are, neither good nor evil." She thought to herself as his fair complexion was almost blue in this unnatural light.
She shuck her head negatively and being so close, she could pick up on the subtle hints that this boy was a little older than his voice or looks revealed. She smirked and tried to comfort him, "We're all sons and daughters of the gods."
Before she could blink, there was the silver barrel of a handgun between her eyes, the boy holding it with a single hand, his body was slightly twisted to the side now as he looked down his shoulder and arm. It caught her off guard, and he declared, with a shred of passion, but not anger, "Not all of us."
The blue orb made a sharp change in direction, quickly moving behind the boy, casting a shadow on most of his face, but keeping Eafa in the light.
She looked at him with focused eyes, showing no fear either.
"If you're going to kill me, kill me." She taunted confidently.
"My name is Azriel." He finally responded, not shaken.
"Are you the heathen interloper of the gods, Azriel?" Eafa asked coldly. That was a name she hadn't heard in a long time, and she was taught everything they knew about that monster.
She continued her taunt, her hand having silently made its way to her sheathed sword, "You look a tad too short and sound a bit too girly to the be The Corrupter."
The boy asked, completely unphased by her taunt, "What do you know of Azrael?"
He seemed too curious to live up to his name, and for a boy his age, he certainly didn't seem too upset by her quibs about his height and lack of masculinity.
"I'll tell you, if you tell me." The woman asked, purposefully looking at the barrel in front of her.
He put his weapon down slowly and calmly, and the orb of light moved besides them slowly and he said, "He proved that people can live without masters and gods."
Eafa asked, "By absorbing the souls of entire civilizations and damaging our planet?"
"They were doomed to die anyways."
"Aren't we all?" She retorted quickly.
"Only the weak." He responded just as quick, not being thrown off by her rapid response.
The song of her blade made him jump back with half a twirl as it was drawn from her sheath, an uppercut that was aimed for his mid-section that he successfully dodged with a retreat backwards. He stood further away now, looking calm as ever. Maybe he was rightfully confident in his agility, she thought, or maybe he was waiting to see what happened. That surprised Eafa as she stood up, sword at her side and but insulted again, "A little hairless brat is about as weak as it gets."
Eafa was correct, he clearly was not strong either in general or amongst his age group.
However, Azriel asked, "What strength is there in leaning on your gods?"
She brandished her sword at his face, and declared, "It's about revering those that gave us life and a home."
The white-haired boy didn't physically respond to her physical taunting, but instead asked, "Have you ever pondered if a cow thinks the same?" As the light passed between them at their distance, she could see him more fully. His white cloak pulled around him, fluttering in the wind. His bare legs stood in the tall waving grass, if he was wearing shoes, they weren't tall. He had white shorts and a shirt on as well, and a thin darker trim around the top of his cloak. Azriel could see Eafa's mixture of light and heavy armor, the metal glinted blue from his orbiting sphere. She couldn't rile this boy up to act recklessly and attack her, and she found that fascinating.
Eafa asked, "Did they teach you that heresy? The gods don't tolerate such blasphemy, neither does the church, nor I."
"But the 'did' gods tolerated the Master's blasphemy." He said with a slight tilt of his head, eager to hear a response.
"They work in mysterious ways."
"Do they help those who help themselves?" He asked, having read about their faith.
Eafa nodded, proud, and said, "Yes, they teach us to grow both on our own and together."
"Not on our own..." He said, raising his eyebrows at the sword she still pointed at him. This white-haired boy seemed to be wise for his age, but not particularly philosophical compared to the average adult.
She lowered her sword, but didn't sheath it. Nor did he take his hand off his own weapon. Eafa could see the inside of his cloak was a darker color, but in the low-light, it was hard to discern the hue. Azriel spoke very well, and seemed to have unusual charisma for a slave, maybe he was a harem boy or maybe he was just a favored pet she speculated to herself. She concluded he was a pet as the wind gently blew his faint unearthly aura towards her.
He said, "Yet, you didn't tolerate the Master's sins... Did the church sanction your mission?"
True, she wasn't told by anyone to do what she did, and even their master had all her paper-work in line to legally allow what was going on. Eafa rubbed her sleepy face with her free hand, and yawned casually, and pondered aloud, "I feel... that we work for the same goal-"
"You don't know what you work for." He retorted quickly.
"Does anyone, 'Azriel?'" She fired back just as fast.
He didn't respond so quickly, but after a slight pause and shift in his stance a bit, "Your efforts are not your own."
The gently orbiting ball of light passed very close to him, and his pristinely-white hair prompted her internal conflict to surface, "I... don't know whether you were a little experiment, or you were born like this..."
She carelessly turned her head to the side, and looked over into the darkness and continued, "But I get the feeling that if I let you live now," She shifted her eyes and strongly glared threateningly sat him, "we'll never get another chance as good as this."
The boy tucked his arm behind him under his cloak, and when it re-emerged at his side, it was empty, and he started to walk forward casually. He had a faint smirk and as he passed just aside her, his scent prompted her to jab her sword across the front of his neck, not even scratching him, but it made him stop immediately. However, it didn't elicit so much as an expression. There wasn't anything normal about him. His unusual demeanor, his looks were just... there was something different, and even his smell, at this close proximity, the wind carried it to her nose, and it was... not familiar.

A blade against his neck, it didn't even make him blink, but it did make him slightly lean his head back and take the pressure of the blade off of his soft skin and she smirked at that. Such a young body; it couldn't take damage like an adult could, and he seemed acutely aware of his personal limits. Yet, she got the vibe that even the extent of those limits were unknown, to even him. It was a strange contradiction, between what she saw and knew, and what she felt and smelled. Eafa returned to her caring tone, "If you want to live long enough to... discover whatever you are... you should try being... more natural."
He looked over with a cheerful smile, illuminated blue eyes, and in a playful pitch, "Thanks for saving me." It was so radically different, and yet it convinced her. It gave her a smile to see such a young face being happy and free, that she took her blade away and let her guard down without even contemplating it. He leaned forward slightly with his turned head, chin somewhat down, and eyes looking up to the side at her tall figure as the sky grew lighter.
"Your efforts should be your own." He offered, and with that small and warm smile, he stepped off and looked forward. He walked on his own, his white cloak in the wind, his snowy hair trailing off to the side of his shoulder in the light of his little companion star shielding him from the darkness. The words that were on the tip of her tongue finally came to her, but she didn't speak.

The balding wizard asked, "Oh really? What makes you so sure?"
She chuckled as she came out of her little daydream, "Ha... Well..." She looked over at the man with a faint smile and suggested, "Some people are just... less 'bound'... I suppose."
#12786041 Oct 16, 2016 at 11:10 AM · Edited 2 years ago
KT Knight
50 Posts
A New Era and Dawn (World Background)

The New Era of the Lucianians

The first Lucianian created a portal and eight more Lucianians came forth. Related to the Azata, they were an ageless race, and many of them were shape-shifters. They were a highly magical people, and each Lucin routinely altered their form. Being particularly skilled at non-elemental magic, they came to inhabit this new world. They touched the plants, gently breeding them into radiating gentle light with their vines. The animals grew and evolved, becoming mystical creatures with varied forms just like their intelligent counterparts that they served. The Sphinxs were born, other chimeras walked the world now. Despite their efforts to do good, they were immediately met with hostility from the other races that had been inhabiting this particular world, and these Lucianians divided.
Those that shifted their form into images of the other races found themselves integrated into their mortal societies. A Lucianian would take the form of a newborn in a mortal's body, or whatever was fitting for their "race." Be born, live, grow old, and die, and reform themselves into the wind, travel if they wanted, and be reborn "naturally" in another mortal. Thus, a Lucianian could spend eras in the same general area without being revealed.
Here, most of these Nine Lucianians started to emulate their new "kin." Their aging bodies, their social habits, and anything else to keep themselves camouflaged. These nine kept themselves in touch with each other through their dimensional and time magic, teleporting across the planet to meet up, and have lengthy conversations and discussion while just mere minutes passed in real time, before they instantly returned to their little side of the world where none of their neighbors, even the most skilled mortals, suspected anything, as they didn't perceive this highly-tuned and precise magic.
Much like the flora and fauna they morphed, these Lucianians could bless other mortals with their powers, in a way, effectively turning these new mortals into a member of their race. This was an exceeding rare gift though, as they only trusted their own kin. Also, this selectionary discretion has enabled the Lucianians to be completely unknown to the world, except by their offspring. Lucianians can suppress their aura to mask their identity from all others, including other Lucianians. While in their concealment, their natural reproduction can't take place. This doesn't disturb them greatly, as their patience drives them to wait for the power of the mortals to wane before they create new and true Lucianians. Thus, they have only been expanding their influence by transforming creatures of other races.

The Dawn of the Seraphim

These fresher beings are not identical to Lucianians. Almost all of these creatures have fixed forms or mostly fixed forms. This is one of two major distinctions between Lucianians and their immediate modern-day offspring. These creatures are magnificently gifted in almost all areas, including magic, and can excel at almost anything they set out to do. However, some are devoid of external magic, being skilled in the martial artes or crafting. These descendants have given themselves a different name, "Seraphim," and their secret existence is known only by the most influential and powerful members of various races. They are feared and hunted by these leaders.
Seraphim, while looking like the mortal races, have a certain aura to them that only the most perceptive individuals can pick up. While this discovery shows they are somehow different, it's typically explained by their incredible prowess and presence, which is a rare but possible trait for mortals. All Seraphim of a certain race have similar physical appearances as they are all descendant from the original Seraph or Seraphim made from that race. As such, all human-based Seraphim have light complexions, while a half-orc Seraph would have gray skin and heavy tusks.
Seraphim are almost always aligned to the good part of this world, and there are about a thousand of them in the entire world. They range from great crafters to tending wounds on the battlefields. Like Lucianians, you'd find most Seraphim doing any skilled task that was productive in some way, whether teaching or using their magic to plow the fields. As they have the same eternalness to them as their Lucianian ancestors, all Seraphim have to occasionally jump to another "life" as to not reveal themselves with their un-aging bodies.
All Seraphim are capable of modifying their body in some way, such as growing wings from their back, or regenerating a lost limb. However, they lack the total shape-shifting abilities of their ancestors, and typically have to move frequently to avoid discovery. For this reason, Dwarven, Gnome, and Elvish Seraphim have greater ties to mortals and an area, as they can live, hidden, there much longer than a Human or Half-Orc Seraph might be able to in their respective communities. Thus, many Seraphim have a wide-range of skills as they have lived many walks of life and have altered their appearance with mortal magic, dyes, and clothing that gives them somewhat of a variety of appearances.
However, Seraphim can not transform the other races, as this is the second major difference between them and Lucianians. Instead, the Seraphim have to reproduce sexually with other races or another Seraph. Fortunately for mortals, Seraphim's fixed forms enable them to also reproduce with other members of their own, original, race. Two Seraphim will always have Seraphic child, while one Seraphim with another race will have only some off-springs be Seraph-like, and of various degrees of Seraphic Power. These subsequent generations of half-Seraph creatures are highly varied in appearance and how and when their powers manifest.
A child with one Seraphim parent is called an "Ishian" or "Ishim" by the Seraphim and Lucianians. These half-bloods will be physically formed to their mortally-raced parent and most of them will be extraordinary beings of unusual skill in one or a few areas compared to other members of their race. Ishians live atypically long for their mortal race, but will die of old age. Most Ishians are unaware of their unusual ancestry, and are not taught about the Seraphic Artes. If an Ishim has offspring with a non-Ishim, that offspring's bloodline power is further reduced. This is not true if two Ishians have an child, the child's powers will be a range between its parent's powers.
The existence of Ishians is well known and studied by the church and philosophers, and they are not reviled by the faith or crown. Ishians are wide-spread, and their great powers have diluted over generations, but educated individuals will also know of the rare gift of being descended from an alleged person named, "Ishim."
The Story of Ishim is an erroneous tale told by mortals of a great warrior mage that was blessed by The Six. The most popular variants talk about her being a human, elf, or even half-orc. Always told that she was a very tall and strong with thick arms and legs. Her greatsword was imbued with her elemental magic, and she was a magus and leader in many great battles against the forces of some varying evil. She was a mighty commander that was just and fair, and personally lead the charge with her allies. She helped form diplomacies and peace between the races. It was always tooted that she revered The Six, but in various degrees, ultimately they each gave her a boon. At the eleventh hour in this supposedly brutal conflict against some demon or monster force, she sacrificed herself to deal the crippling blow to the heinous scourge.
While Lucianians and the most Seraphim reject this insulting tale, a few scholarly Seraphim find that it might be possible for this "Ishim" woman to have been a Seraph. However, many Ishians have been born from other Seraphim, and it's highly unlikely for a Seraph to respect the authority of the The Six Mortal Gods.
Like Lucianians and Seraphim, Ishims are in positions that gifted people would be in, however, Ishians have a wider variety of alignments, and thus can hold rank in positions of authority, such as militaries and localized churches.
The higher echelon of the faith and sword does not allow Ishians in seats of exalted status, as it's believed to be dangerous to let a descendant of the Seraphim learn about their Seraphic heritage. An Ishian does not have an aura like a Seraph does because their diminished Seraphic Power isn't strong enough to cast one. Thus, there is a much greater deal of uncertainly when trying to identify an Ishian, and is purely hearsay based on heritage of a family that had remarkable power and longevity.
A child of two Seraphim parents is also a Seraph, and this trait is not dampened over generations of pure-bloods. In fact, a Seraph child can have lower or even higher Seraphic Power compared to their parents. Seraphim parents teach their pure-blooded children all about the truth of their race, and their ancestors and descendants. It's probable that these lessons are the reason most Seraphim are good-aligned but don't answer to authority.
Seraphim parents also control the awakening of their blood in their children, letting the offspring master a particular skill before moving onto the next one. Without this nurturing, a Seraph's powers are unpredictable in their development, and can even lead to destructive outcomes. Due to this extensive care-giving and emotional attachment, Seraphim parents rarely have more than two children.
Only first-generation Seraphim know the identity of any Lucianian, particularly the Lucin that transformed them. These original Seraphim have a tight bond to their creating Lucin, as this was the precursor to becoming a Seraph in the first place. While the Lucianians communicate with each other regularly, Seraphim form small groups, whether in busy urban areas or under the trees of the dense forests. While many true Ishim are more gifted than other Ishians, Seraphim are routinely mistaken for those highly-gifted Ishians by all those except the most discerning and intuitive or any Seraph. Seraphim are not shy around other Seraph, and work towards developing their Seraphim race.
The Seraphim's great power, particularly if they were to organize, is a great concern for other powerful organizations in the land, such as the churches and crowns. Thus, the existence of the Seraphim is kept tightly under wraps, and search and destroy parties are occasionally sent out to investigate tales of particularly powerful Ishians. Most Seraphim are familiar with combat, and those that aren't reside with a Seraph who is. As such, it takes groups of mortals to put down a single experienced Seraph, who has probably lived longer than all of them combined, usually resulting in high collateral damage to the area.
While the Lucianians are content with their seemingly-hands-off approach, the Seraphim are more eager to change the world. Each Seraph is driven to fill the world with good hearts and free spirits. Ishians are an ever-fleeting race that needs the other two to maintain itself, even though their differential view of the world can impede that.
#12855530 Nov 14, 2016 at 08:03 PM
203 Posts
Minor bump to push this up.
#12897117 Dec 04, 2016 at 12:20 PM
203 Posts
Videos updated.
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