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Re: Oath of the Tiarna an-Kiar
You follow Haern to the ether.
An unstable animal trail.
Valeria peers at Valorie suspiciously.
Valeria says to Valorie, "You are.."
Valeria says, "You're a STAR."
Haern exclaims, "SLAY THE ABERRATION!"
(Combat spam, but worth noting:)
You use Tiarna Wildflame on an enormous, murderous aberration.
Calescent flames flicker around your fingers, as you fill the air before you with verdant green wildflame. The flames leaps upon an immense, flowering toad, the heat of Destruction crawling across her body.
Haern quickly strikes an enormous, murderous aberration with the colossal spear, "Rhythm's Spine".
(@Rasani last hit and slew it)
You see Haern turn to yell out, "DIE, MONSTER! AND STAY DEAD! DENDARA ETERNAL!"
You shout, "DENDARA ETERNAL!"
You see Aolin raise her voice and shout, "FOR SCRUB."
Haern breathes heavily, His hulking form covered in blood, not entirely His own. "Well done, Duiran," He intones, gripping the colossal spear, "Rhythm's Spine" firmly. "Well done, indeed - to hold out so long, without Me, with..." He smiles wide, looking across those gathered. "You've made Me proud this day. All of you."
Another eerie quiet falls over the breakage in wake of the monstrosity's death, the shadows stilling, yet still ever present with their sickness. A brief respite has been earned, thy task must be finished quickly with the time you have earned in this place of desolation.
Haern looks around the area, His brow furrowing in concern. "Now you see why we must fight," He states. "Why it is so important to protect Dendara."
Khalil asks, "Couldn't we just have a small grove of rotspawn, south of the Mhojave for instance?"
Haern casts one massive paw out to the side, calling forth a rippling sheet of green flames, which swiftly form a portal. Beyond it, you can see the Valley of the Ancients, and the God nods. "Everyone, let's go home."
Edhain rests crossed rapier blades over the pommel of his saddle, observing in solemn silence as his gaze flicks between Haern and you.
Proudly, Rihrin says, "Home."
Rasani says, "Wait, the sickness... we've nothing to do?"
A figure hidden by flames says to you, "Lookin good."
Iesid says, "It is a continued struggle. The sickness runs too deep to excise in a single day."
(Portal)
Haern exhales, great gouts of steam blasting from His nose. "We've succeeded - and you lot reek." He wrinkles His mangled face, but casts a pensive glance at Runecarver Rhydderch, before nodding. "Time to head home, to Duiran. If you have questions, they can be answered there."
"Answers..and a drink," Caitria says with a tired grin, before she beckons those remaining to her. "Let us go home."
Rihrin rubs her eyes a few more times before coming out of her stupor, "Think the pushing has drained me." Weakly, she smiles at Aolin and the rest of the crowd, inclining her head a moment before stepping out.
Illikaal finally takes a good look at himself, and an immense, flowering toad. "You too, girl?" He asks, noticing the toad's changes as well. Dawning on him as if it were almost an afterthought, he turns to Valorie. "What happened to you? Is....is that even you?"
Bashoomba:
Caitria looks upon Valorie and the Aetherial's form with a vague sense of wonder on her visage, and then upon you with the same startled expression. "Well," the Voice says as speech fails her.
Jakarn glances from you to Haern, raising his hand once as he speaks, "If needed, can I request you kill my father again?"
You say to Haern, the Hunter, "Lord Hunter....thank You."
You exclaim to Haern, the Hunter, "But if you ever unicorns try to kill me again I swear on Dendara!"
Haern snorts. "Try? I killed ya, lad."
You think: So I DID die.
Haern asks Valorie, "So, you didn't die, after all??"
Haern grunts, looking at those gathered. "I'm sure there are questions."
A blink of moonlit eyes at the question posed, as Valorie glances down at herself, a shake of her head at Haern following. "I think I did," she replies, too much to focus on at the moment, gaze drifting from the changes to her own appearance to your, up - way up - to the antlers that sprout from your head. "I was... very dead."
(Shamans): Sibatti says, "What does it mean? ... Tiarna an-Kiar?"
(Shamans): Pilar says, "I have not heard the term."
"I'm glad you're alright." Rihrin says towards Valorie briefly. Then, sniffing at herself, she slowly steps backwards and out of the space.
Rihrin leaves to the south.
The vague image of a bracelet of entwined roses and sunflowers appears in the air, before Valeria appears in a flash of magic.
(Shamans): Pilar says, "A sister to our Praadi an-Kiar?"
(Shamans): You say, "I'm...not sure. What the Guardians put me through. I wouldn't wish that on any of you unless you were truly ready."
(Shamans): Haern says, "Emissary - something not seen for centuries. A mortal, charged to fight on Dendara's behalf on the Prime, where the Guardians do not tread."
(Shamans): Pilar says, "Ah, a blessed thing."
Haern nods thoughtfully, beholding Valorie for several moments. Eventually, He speaks again. "Aye. You're different, lass. The sort of different only death can create."
(Shamans): Sibatti says, "They are not the type to do anything lightly, or spontaneously. We should aspire to document this as we learn more."
(Shamans): Yvi says, "Thats wonderful!"
Illikaal steps to Valorie, reaching out slowly with one of his hands. "I...I thought I'd lost you. But there were the Guardians and...there was so much going on." He says with concern, taking a half step closer. "Is that really you? You look so...different." He states, almost oblivious to the dramatic changes he himself underwent.
Caitria sits down with a heavy thud onto one of the scattered trees salvaged for a make-shift seat. Her breath hitches slightly, as if coming to grips with all that transpired over the past half day. "What happened at the confluence? You were truly, wholly dead?" She shakes her head slightly, more questions building before she buttons her lip and lets the pair have their moment.
Eaku asks, "..and who closed the door?"
Ixmi quietly makes her way over to where Caitria thumped over after she lapse into silence. There, she quietly remarks, "I've been distant for quite a while. Praytell, what is a 'Confluence'?"
Eliadon says, "A lovely aeonic bit of 'let us make everyone suffer'"
Eaku says, "Anyway, just wanted to apologize. By the time I noticed you were stuck in there, the door was closed and we couldn't get in."
Eaku inclines his head politely to those around him.
Eaku leaves to the south, riding a war-painted orel.
He is followed by a veiled ancestral simulacrum.
Caitria plants her elbows onto her knees, ignoring the detritus and slime that half-way caked her legs. "It's an aeonic device of unknown origin that has been giving us quite a lot of headache the last year or so. It is in Masilia, behind a door, and it seemed to be what killed Valoire." She hates saying that word, another hitch of breathing on the 'k' one. Before she fords onward and answers Ixmi "We have had to battle Haekathi and Albedi abominations while it does Confluence things."
Ixmi looks over to Eliadon as he answer, though Caitria's stirring draws her eyes back down, and she takes a half-step back as she notices the excess of slime around her. "What a lovely discovery," she remarks drily, then nods her thanks to Caitria and to Eliadon in turn.
Diaphanous wings flutter with a sprinkle of stardust, a short burst of flight carrying Valorie up, where she can reach for the hand you reaches out, finding familiarity in gaze if not in appearance, relief in her silvered eyes. She lifts the hand to her cheek, a press of her lips to your palm, the rest of the crowd seemingly nonexistent to the Aetherial in this moment. "You wouldn't lose me that easily," A promise behind her whispered words. "Not as long as I love you. Not as long as the last star in the sky dies." A smile turns up the corners of her lips, the question posed with just a touch of teasing: "Do you think Keyo and Shiri loved each other half as much?"
"Aww!" a figure hidden by flames says.
Haern grunts noncommittally.
Yvi leans forward from her mounted position to listen.
Haern says, "Well done."
A flickering gateway of fell green fire blossoms in the air before you, wavering outwards as the Hunter lumbers through it with a guttural chant.
Sibatti follows the trail of green fire with her eyes, pursing her lips.
Sibatti leaves to the north, riding a verdant sylvan eland.
Illikaal stares at the celestial being floating in front of him, and it only takes a moment for her words to strike the depths of his heart, forcing a stream of tears from his eyes. Taking Valorie's hand into his and raising it to touch his cheek, a contented semi-smile breaks across his lips. "Yeah. Half as much." He whispers, wrapping all four arms around Valorie in a tight, almost crushing hug. "I'm happy you made it."
Yvi wipes away tears that swell on the edges of her eyes.
A figure hidden by flames chuckles a bit even as he wipes away a bit of wetness from around his eyes.
(Tells): Mazzion tells you, "Congrats!"
Wrapping her arms around your neck, Valorie sinks into the embrace, disgustingly affectionate and tender. She lets long moments of silence pass, before raising her head out of your head and saying, "Oh. The confluence," she mentions almost casually, too filled with relief to be anything but content for the moment, "It was made by Aechros. It seeks the Hunter's preservation. I was not told why, but - if It succeeds, it means the end of the world."
Caitria's head lifts at the mention of 'Aechros', memories of the last few weeks coming immediately to the forefront. "What do you mean by preservation, as it removing the Hunter from us in some way to 'save' Him while ultimately dooming us?"
Yvi listens and watches, her friends changed so much it is hard to follow.
Illikaal releases his hold on Valorie, intoning with confidence. "I think...that is why the Guardians granted me these powers. They have chosen me to hold the line here on the Prime,
where they cannot tread." Turning to cast a brief glance over Valorie once again, he turns to look over everyone else. "I cannot say what's to come. But I have more oaths to uphold, now more than ever. They will be met with all Fury."
Yvi smiles at you.
Ixmi rattles her fetish-strung staff at your words. "Strength is born from adversity. That is nature's way. The proof of it stands before us," she speaks, her eyes settled upon Jakarn.
A figure hidden by flames says to you, "It is good we have you."
A figure hidden by flames says to Valorie, "And he is lucky to have you."
A hand lifting to her forehead, Valorie rubs at a temple, eyes flickering upwards for the briefest moment. "Well," she clears her throat, a pale nebula of starlit hues rising to her cheeks. "It seems I had my sense of time scrambled a little. False alarm! Taking care of the Dendaric threat was all was needed to prevent that."
"Yay!" Yvi exclaims enthusiastically.
Yvi covers her mouth quickly.
Caitria says, "So we've closed that fate and a new one was written by what we did this week? The Hunter is safe, the device is doing what now though?"
An unstable animal trail.
You find the weather around you imperceptible. A narrow dirt path has been worn away through the ancient trees, weaving around trunks, roots, and bushes, but even from a distance, the flora appears not right. Where there should be green, only black can be seen instead, the grass blades and tree trunks oozing to the point where they appears as if melting, trickling and pooling on the forest floor. The very earth itself is unstable and oddly squishy - like a boil about to burst. An elk stands here proudly, its tall antlers jutting upward. A small brown nightingale perches nearby. White fur stretched tightly over sinewy muscules, this giant snowy white-furred direwolf snarls. Valeria is here, giving off a truly ghastly stench. She wields a rune-covered cavalry shield in her left hand and a throwing axe in her right.
You see exits leading north, east, and south.
Jakarn is thrown in from the east by a powerful force.
A shadowy figure is thrown in from the east by a powerful force.
Ixmi is thrown in from the east by a powerful force.
Lush plantlife sprouts beneath Ixmi's feet, blanketing the vicinity in quick motion.
Doman is thrown in from the east by a powerful force.
Rynkhia is thrown in from the east by a powerful force.
Tabinathia is thrown in from the east by a powerful force.
Eaku is thrown in from the east by a powerful force.
Ranae is thrown in from the east by a powerful force.
Rasani is thrown in from the east by a powerful force.
Iesid is thrown in from the east by a powerful force.
Kalena is thrown in from the east by a powerful force.
Tee is thrown in from the east by a powerful force.
Orunmila is thrown in from the east by a powerful force.
A shadowy figure is thrown in from the east by a powerful force.
You see exits leading north, east, and south.
Jakarn is thrown in from the east by a powerful force.
A shadowy figure is thrown in from the east by a powerful force.
Ixmi is thrown in from the east by a powerful force.
Lush plantlife sprouts beneath Ixmi's feet, blanketing the vicinity in quick motion.
Doman is thrown in from the east by a powerful force.
Rynkhia is thrown in from the east by a powerful force.
Tabinathia is thrown in from the east by a powerful force.
Eaku is thrown in from the east by a powerful force.
Ranae is thrown in from the east by a powerful force.
Rasani is thrown in from the east by a powerful force.
Iesid is thrown in from the east by a powerful force.
Kalena is thrown in from the east by a powerful force.
Tee is thrown in from the east by a powerful force.
Orunmila is thrown in from the east by a powerful force.
A shadowy figure is thrown in from the east by a powerful force.
Valeria peers at Valorie suspiciously.
Valeria says to Valorie, "You are.."
Valeria says, "You're a STAR."
Haern exclaims, "SLAY THE ABERRATION!"
(Combat spam, but worth noting:)
You use Tiarna Wildflame on an enormous, murderous aberration.
Calescent flames flicker around your fingers, as you fill the air before you with verdant green wildflame. The flames leaps upon an immense, flowering toad, the heat of Destruction crawling across her body.
Haern quickly strikes an enormous, murderous aberration with the colossal spear, "Rhythm's Spine".
(@Rasani last hit and slew it)
You see Haern turn to yell out, "DIE, MONSTER! AND STAY DEAD! DENDARA ETERNAL!"
You shout, "DENDARA ETERNAL!"
You see Aolin raise her voice and shout, "FOR SCRUB."
Haern breathes heavily, His hulking form covered in blood, not entirely His own. "Well done, Duiran," He intones, gripping the colossal spear, "Rhythm's Spine" firmly. "Well done, indeed - to hold out so long, without Me, with..." He smiles wide, looking across those gathered. "You've made Me proud this day. All of you."
Another eerie quiet falls over the breakage in wake of the monstrosity's death, the shadows stilling, yet still ever present with their sickness. A brief respite has been earned, thy task must be finished quickly with the time you have earned in this place of desolation.
Haern looks around the area, His brow furrowing in concern. "Now you see why we must fight," He states. "Why it is so important to protect Dendara."
Khalil asks, "Couldn't we just have a small grove of rotspawn, south of the Mhojave for instance?"
Haern casts one massive paw out to the side, calling forth a rippling sheet of green flames, which swiftly form a portal. Beyond it, you can see the Valley of the Ancients, and the God nods. "Everyone, let's go home."
Edhain rests crossed rapier blades over the pommel of his saddle, observing in solemn silence as his gaze flicks between Haern and you.
Proudly, Rihrin says, "Home."
Rasani says, "Wait, the sickness... we've nothing to do?"
A figure hidden by flames says to you, "Lookin good."
Iesid says, "It is a continued struggle. The sickness runs too deep to excise in a single day."
(Portal)
Haern exhales, great gouts of steam blasting from His nose. "We've succeeded - and you lot reek." He wrinkles His mangled face, but casts a pensive glance at Runecarver Rhydderch, before nodding. "Time to head home, to Duiran. If you have questions, they can be answered there."
"Answers..and a drink," Caitria says with a tired grin, before she beckons those remaining to her. "Let us go home."
Rihrin rubs her eyes a few more times before coming out of her stupor, "Think the pushing has drained me." Weakly, she smiles at Aolin and the rest of the crowd, inclining her head a moment before stepping out.
Illikaal finally takes a good look at himself, and an immense, flowering toad. "You too, girl?" He asks, noticing the toad's changes as well. Dawning on him as if it were almost an afterthought, he turns to Valorie. "What happened to you? Is....is that even you?"
Bashoomba:
Bearing the usual stance of its smaller kin, low to the ground, this toad is an odd sight, surpassing the height, length and mass of even great bears or draught horses with ease. Its mottled, sapphire-hued skin, slick-looking though dry to the touch, has been blessed with what seem to be vines, growing and stretching along the beast's length, fey green motes dancing about the leaves that sprout about. Similarly veined with green vines, two large wings grow along its sides, more bat-like than feathered, better suited to the amphibian. Its legs and shoulders are thick, fitting the jumping motion the creature is known for, and similarly blessed with what seems to be strong bark protruding on the skin, shielding it. Its eyes are milky white, large and round and oddly attentive despite their color - it is hard to tell where it is looking. Atop it, as a final blessing of Dendara, a flower blooms, large blue petals spreading in a match to its skin.
An immense, flowering toad looks weak and feeble.
An immense, flowering toad looks weak and feeble.
Caitria looks upon Valorie and the Aetherial's form with a vague sense of wonder on her visage, and then upon you with the same startled expression. "Well," the Voice says as speech fails her.
Jakarn glances from you to Haern, raising his hand once as he speaks, "If needed, can I request you kill my father again?"
You say to Haern, the Hunter, "Lord Hunter....thank You."
You exclaim to Haern, the Hunter, "But if you ever unicorns try to kill me again I swear on Dendara!"
Haern snorts. "Try? I killed ya, lad."
You think: So I DID die.
Haern asks Valorie, "So, you didn't die, after all??"
Haern grunts, looking at those gathered. "I'm sure there are questions."
A blink of moonlit eyes at the question posed, as Valorie glances down at herself, a shake of her head at Haern following. "I think I did," she replies, too much to focus on at the moment, gaze drifting from the changes to her own appearance to your, up - way up - to the antlers that sprout from your head. "I was... very dead."
(Shamans): Sibatti says, "What does it mean? ... Tiarna an-Kiar?"
(Shamans): Pilar says, "I have not heard the term."
"I'm glad you're alright." Rihrin says towards Valorie briefly. Then, sniffing at herself, she slowly steps backwards and out of the space.
Rihrin leaves to the south.
The vague image of a bracelet of entwined roses and sunflowers appears in the air, before Valeria appears in a flash of magic.
(Shamans): Pilar says, "A sister to our Praadi an-Kiar?"
(Shamans): You say, "I'm...not sure. What the Guardians put me through. I wouldn't wish that on any of you unless you were truly ready."
(Shamans): Haern says, "Emissary - something not seen for centuries. A mortal, charged to fight on Dendara's behalf on the Prime, where the Guardians do not tread."
(Shamans): Pilar says, "Ah, a blessed thing."
Haern nods thoughtfully, beholding Valorie for several moments. Eventually, He speaks again. "Aye. You're different, lass. The sort of different only death can create."
(Shamans): Sibatti says, "They are not the type to do anything lightly, or spontaneously. We should aspire to document this as we learn more."
(Shamans): Yvi says, "Thats wonderful!"
Illikaal steps to Valorie, reaching out slowly with one of his hands. "I...I thought I'd lost you. But there were the Guardians and...there was so much going on." He says with concern, taking a half step closer. "Is that really you? You look so...different." He states, almost oblivious to the dramatic changes he himself underwent.
Caitria sits down with a heavy thud onto one of the scattered trees salvaged for a make-shift seat. Her breath hitches slightly, as if coming to grips with all that transpired over the past half day. "What happened at the confluence? You were truly, wholly dead?" She shakes her head slightly, more questions building before she buttons her lip and lets the pair have their moment.
Eaku asks, "..and who closed the door?"
Ixmi quietly makes her way over to where Caitria thumped over after she lapse into silence. There, she quietly remarks, "I've been distant for quite a while. Praytell, what is a 'Confluence'?"
Eliadon says, "A lovely aeonic bit of 'let us make everyone suffer'"
Eaku says, "Anyway, just wanted to apologize. By the time I noticed you were stuck in there, the door was closed and we couldn't get in."
Eaku inclines his head politely to those around him.
Eaku leaves to the south, riding a war-painted orel.
He is followed by a veiled ancestral simulacrum.
Caitria plants her elbows onto her knees, ignoring the detritus and slime that half-way caked her legs. "It's an aeonic device of unknown origin that has been giving us quite a lot of headache the last year or so. It is in Masilia, behind a door, and it seemed to be what killed Valoire." She hates saying that word, another hitch of breathing on the 'k' one. Before she fords onward and answers Ixmi "We have had to battle Haekathi and Albedi abominations while it does Confluence things."
Ixmi looks over to Eliadon as he answer, though Caitria's stirring draws her eyes back down, and she takes a half-step back as she notices the excess of slime around her. "What a lovely discovery," she remarks drily, then nods her thanks to Caitria and to Eliadon in turn.
Diaphanous wings flutter with a sprinkle of stardust, a short burst of flight carrying Valorie up, where she can reach for the hand you reaches out, finding familiarity in gaze if not in appearance, relief in her silvered eyes. She lifts the hand to her cheek, a press of her lips to your palm, the rest of the crowd seemingly nonexistent to the Aetherial in this moment. "You wouldn't lose me that easily," A promise behind her whispered words. "Not as long as I love you. Not as long as the last star in the sky dies." A smile turns up the corners of her lips, the question posed with just a touch of teasing: "Do you think Keyo and Shiri loved each other half as much?"
"Aww!" a figure hidden by flames says.
Haern grunts noncommittally.
Yvi leans forward from her mounted position to listen.
Haern says, "Well done."
A flickering gateway of fell green fire blossoms in the air before you, wavering outwards as the Hunter lumbers through it with a guttural chant.
Sibatti follows the trail of green fire with her eyes, pursing her lips.
Sibatti leaves to the north, riding a verdant sylvan eland.
Illikaal stares at the celestial being floating in front of him, and it only takes a moment for her words to strike the depths of his heart, forcing a stream of tears from his eyes. Taking Valorie's hand into his and raising it to touch his cheek, a contented semi-smile breaks across his lips. "Yeah. Half as much." He whispers, wrapping all four arms around Valorie in a tight, almost crushing hug. "I'm happy you made it."
Yvi wipes away tears that swell on the edges of her eyes.
A figure hidden by flames chuckles a bit even as he wipes away a bit of wetness from around his eyes.
(Tells): Mazzion tells you, "Congrats!"
Wrapping her arms around your neck, Valorie sinks into the embrace, disgustingly affectionate and tender. She lets long moments of silence pass, before raising her head out of your head and saying, "Oh. The confluence," she mentions almost casually, too filled with relief to be anything but content for the moment, "It was made by Aechros. It seeks the Hunter's preservation. I was not told why, but - if It succeeds, it means the end of the world."
Caitria's head lifts at the mention of 'Aechros', memories of the last few weeks coming immediately to the forefront. "What do you mean by preservation, as it removing the Hunter from us in some way to 'save' Him while ultimately dooming us?"
Yvi listens and watches, her friends changed so much it is hard to follow.
Illikaal releases his hold on Valorie, intoning with confidence. "I think...that is why the Guardians granted me these powers. They have chosen me to hold the line here on the Prime,
where they cannot tread." Turning to cast a brief glance over Valorie once again, he turns to look over everyone else. "I cannot say what's to come. But I have more oaths to uphold, now more than ever. They will be met with all Fury."
Yvi smiles at you.
Ixmi rattles her fetish-strung staff at your words. "Strength is born from adversity. That is nature's way. The proof of it stands before us," she speaks, her eyes settled upon Jakarn.
A figure hidden by flames says to you, "It is good we have you."
A figure hidden by flames says to Valorie, "And he is lucky to have you."
A hand lifting to her forehead, Valorie rubs at a temple, eyes flickering upwards for the briefest moment. "Well," she clears her throat, a pale nebula of starlit hues rising to her cheeks. "It seems I had my sense of time scrambled a little. False alarm! Taking care of the Dendaric threat was all was needed to prevent that."
"Yay!" Yvi exclaims enthusiastically.
Yvi covers her mouth quickly.
Caitria says, "So we've closed that fate and a new one was written by what we did this week? The Hunter is safe, the device is doing what now though?"
Illikaal
10
Re: Awakening of an Aetherial
Wow Kevithi is a bitch. You don't play with a man's heart like that!!!!!
Elene
5
Awakening of an Aetherial
I don't usually post logs, but this one deserves to be shared! I am still very much in awe, and I can never gush enough about how much I appreciate everyone who had a hand in coming up with this masterpiece of a story. @Ictinus promised me poignant, thoughtful and a bit emotional, and delivered on all of it (except it was A LOT EMOTIONAL ;_;) beyond expectations.
I had to change some of the colors to have them be readable, and I probably didn't do them justice, but trust me they were the prettiest. You can read this with original colors (and way worse formatting) here.
Without further ado - Awakening of an Aetherial*
South of the glowing core of the Great Oak.
A plain grey pack lies here. Dripping with bright green liquid, a very lush fruit rests on the ground here.
You see exits leading north, northeast, east, southeast, south, southwest, west, and northwest.
"...Shaman," breathes a distant voice, at once above and all around you. The echoing threads of its absence take hold of you, an unseen and scarcely-felt beckon that glimmers in your mind's eye. "Do you hear my voice, across these thousands of years?"
You have emoted: Where Valorie would normally startle, the only sign of her surprise is a soft exhale, a blink of seafoam eyes and a tilt of her head as she turns around, looking for something not visible to her. There is a moment of hesitation before she speaks, voice just loud enough to be heard, "Where are you?"
"Who..."
"I am... distant," the voice affirms, a celestial song underpinning its tones. It has gained certainty, focus, in finding you. "Distant in a way not easily explained." Glimpses of a sidereal void swim past your gaze. "Come to the confluence, the place where time is broken. I would speak with you."
-lots of path tracking, totally ignored Eaku standing guard outside the confluence sorry Eaku -
A strange altar flanked by vast statues.
Wrought from mottled black, white, and green metamorphic stone, this section of the ruins opens up into a surprisingly large buried nave. The chamber, symmetrical in almost all respects, is as pristine as though it had been carved yesterday, untouched by the ravages of time thanks to being sealed away. In the center of the room is a plinth, carved from obsidian, about five feet high and with a flat top that looks as though it might hold an object. This tiny altar is surrounded by seven huge, bronze statues, each looking to be some form of giant. The statues are fifteen feet tall each, and roughly humanoid, although instead of faces, they seem to have an arrangement of recessed sockets, dry spigots, and toothed metal wheels. Each of them clutches an orb in one hand, and a disc in another. Suspended in a protective matrix, time shudders about the amorphous periphery of an aeonic device. A sigil in the shape of a small, rectangular monolith is on the ground. A flowery white cherry dendaric entbeast roams here.
You see a single exit leading south.
So close to the confluence's chaotic churn, you catch chiaroscuro shimmers - the self-same as you witnessed in your imagination, not long before, now realized as multiplicitous visions hanging in the air, silvery slashes across the fabric of reality.
You have emoted: Curiosity wins over whatever caution has been instilled into her, Valorie stepping off her beast at the entrance to the altar, and taking a slow step closer to the confluence. She does not speak, a faint rise and fall of her chest with every breath the only movement as she stares at the amorphous device, eyes wide and ears pricked.
"Hail, Valorie Aresti," speaks a celestial voice, its tones inciting iridescent flickers across the aetherial fissures in the air. They grow more diffuse, taking the form of argent nimbi that dance nearer to you.
You have emoted: A hand lifts in the air, the same relentless curiosity urging Valorie another step closer, fingertips reaching for the nimbi in yearning, as though trying to figure out the being through a fleeting touch. "Hail," she responds, eyes flickering across every glimpse of light she sees, "I do not know your name."
The starry motes settle upon your constellated freckles, the dark tan of your skin, the elongated tapering ends of your ears - mirroring the points and lines of your form. "I am named Veithadros. I have witnessed your terrible plight in coming, and I have counsel and strength to offer you. Will you join me... in the sky?"
A beam of prismatic light suddenly shoots into the room.
Alela suddenly appears, having travelled down the beam of prismatic light.
"Begone," speaks a celestial voice.
Alela is ripped from your location by an unseen force.
You have emoted: "Veithadros," Valorie repeats the name, unfamiliarity in the pronunciation as it rolls off her tongue. She pays little heed to the other women who enters, and is gone just as fast, attention focused solely on the motes of light on her skin and the voice that called them into being. She shakes her head softly, as though to see if they would float off, wonder in her eyes before she replies, clasping her hands behind her back. "I will hear you out."
The nimbi pinwheel nearer in dizzying lemniscate coils, silver fire erupting from their innocuous cores to obliterate you where you stand. Not a trace of you survives the instant of celestial annihilation, save for your still-standing soul and a scattering of silvered motes, their spheroid shapes shot through by iridescence.
Where the silver-starred midnight sings.
A memory of Veithadros, the Hopeful lingers amidst an astral nimbus.
There are no obvious exits.
Entering: the Skies
Unknown Area.
A gruesome bone icon of the Hunter crumbles away in your hands as it loses support from your city's pylon.
Valorie has been consumed by the confluence, her mortal frame rendered irrevocably immaterial by a surge of sidereal fire.
You divine the location of this death as A strange altar flanked by vast statues in the Ruins of Masilia.
Veithadros:
Twilit nimbi and twinkling starlight coalesce into a figure born of Sapient myth and infinite legend. Exemplifying steadfast tenacity, the dusky silhouette towers over mortal and soul upon curiously long, lithe limbs, whilst his hands clasp before him in collected repose. The bespangled features of his heavenly countenance give no hint nor indication of an expression, with only gleaming twin spheres, alight with primordial fire, denotive of consciousness. With any and all motion, whether subtle or distinct, he casts forth an ethereal drift of cosmic dust upon the air, wreathing him in an astral aura of midnight everlasting and eventide eternal.
A celestial memory of Veithadros, the Hopeful radiates with terrifyingly monstrous power.
"Valorie Aresti," whispers the celestial presence of Veithadros, who stands suspended weightlessly within the aetherial void. His eyes, such as what can be glimpsed of their remnants, are astral and calm, burning through the darkness to beckon what's left of you ever closer. "...you have made it here, against all odds. The first mortal to reach these constellated skies in a long, long while." His voice carries little tone to it, a whispering thought that sings through the empty skies.
Where the silver-starred midnight sings.
There is no ground underfoot, nor solidity of any sort to be found in the immediate surroundings. The only indication that there is anything, any distance worth speaking of, comes from thin, far-off lances of silvery light projected by the stars from all possible directions. Someplace else, they might form recognizable constellations; here in the inky emptiness of midnight, though, their shapes are unfamiliar. One star in particular seems a little larger, a little brighter than all the others, and its hues of mottled blue, green, brown, and white imply a conflicted storm. Only upon continued examination does it become clear that this gelid mass is not a star at all, but rather the globe of Aetolia, so far off that it appears as a mere dot from the present, umbral vantage. The continent of Sapience is just a green speck, small by comparisons to the edges of what seems to be the Albedos. Whatever islands might serve to orient the eye cannot be seen across the stellar span, leaving only the dizzying sense of scale and the near-inaudible humming born of the scintillant, sidereal void. A memory of Veithadros, the Hopeful lingers amidst an astral nimbus.
There are no obvious exits.
You have emoted: The woman is given no chance to react, but the sensation of death is familiar enough it does not take Deadvalorie long to catch up, the sudden outrage quelled as soon as she catches sight of the surroundings. "That was not part of the deal," she mumbles, no heat to the words, her senses irrevocably drawn to the pinpricks of light in the distance, trying to make sense of the unfamiliar constellations. It bothers her more than it probably should, to have those gleaming points be so unfamiliar, but her attention turns to a celestial memory of Veithadros, the Hopeful soon enough. "You have me here," she says, an agreement with his words, if not much realization of what implications they might carry, "Will you tell me now?"
Beyond the wonder, beyond the concern for what might be imparted unto her, a flicker of worry. The fact that she's being given counsel means she would be able to leave, right...? There's an image of an Ogre - HER Ogre - that passes through her mind's eye along with the thoughts.
"In times since forgotten and turned to sand," speaks Veithadros, the hopeful, the weight of portent to his celestial voice - indeed, he glimmers through the aether, the nimbi that comprise him turning with ponderous weight, "My lover, the most dangerous Keviti, rode away to do battle with her foes. I wove her a scarf, each day and night I awaited her return, so long that I could wrap myself in its embrace and imagine her returned to my side." Coldness falls again in the wake of this description, astral echoes evanescing, ebbing, into the darkness. "...she did not return to me," he concludes, "And one night I was so empty that the sky took me, to keep me for eternity. So I have watched, Valorie Aresti, and of the many things from the many times I have seen..." The sidereal being need not breathe, but nevertheless does so, a slow, sonorous slough of sound through the immaterial space. "...your love is in grave danger, even at his Hunter's side."
You have emoted: Deadvalorie is nothing if not an attentive listener, attention focused solely on a celestial memory of Veithadros, the Hopeful at the telling of the event. A slow breath escapes her, empathizing with the Veithadros of years past, her words a hushed whisper. As though speaking any louder would break the sanctity of the moment: "I only pray the stars would be merciful enough to take me." She steels herself, then, another aspect of the woman - the huntress, the Fury, the one who can think beyond the panic a celestial memory of Veithadros, the Hopeful's words bring to her - taking over, "From what?" Apparently the answer is not as important, as she moves on instantly to ask, "What must be done?"
Your love's downfall arrives with a violence and vim that defies the vast, abyssal distance of time and space, a surge of blood staining your mind's eye with a vividity that wakes the raw scent of copper and iron. A hand of shadow grows as though from within his guts, a gruesome parody of plant life that throttles and chokes the self-same breath from him. He is a lifetime away, and cannot see you, even as you gaze into his sapphire eyes, and see the lustre and life fade from their gelid depths, his crystalline wings shattered like so much common glass.
"It is many different things," whispers Veithadros, his voice a low and celestial rumination as he indicates, with one long finger, the vision. "This is but one possibility for his end, and this, here..." his hand angles aside, "...another."
Illidan fights with a fury and persistence that defies the lesser shadows that encircle him. He strikes with lightning, fierce blasts of radiance that leave smoldering craters in the fell beasts that hunt him, but there are too many, and they close upon him like the coil of a serpent and drag him down into their all-devouring mass. Droplets of blood fly above the fray, and he screams, gurgling into silence as the bluish flesh of his Ogre form is devoured by multiplicitous mouths and stripped to the pale bone. As the vision fades, the now-tainted skeleton begins to pick itself up, blight infecting the ground where its fleshless feet stand...
"...and so," concludes Veithadros, his natural, pale coloration restored as he looks to you, "...I would offer you the power to avert the fate that I could not. The secrets of the stars. Their celestial power. I would offer you... my story."
You have emoted: The feeling that might have been approaching calmness, purpose, shatters in the blink of an eye at the first vision, a gasp more pained than any yell, any scream could be. Deadvalorie's eyes stare into the Ogre's, hands lifting like she can somehow reach through time and space itself to restore him, bring him back to what she knows. They fall back down to her sides at a celestial memory of Veithadros, the Hopeful's words, her gaze only torn from one vision to fall upon the next excruciating one, eyes wide but tears not daring to interrupt the vivid scene displayed in front of her, taking it in, all of its agonizing glory. "... Anything," she whispers. Her voice does not tremble where the rest of her form does, a sliver of hope to cling to in the midst of the churning whirlpool of pain, loss and sorrow, every sickening image she can think of flickering through her mind without respite.
"Anything," whispers Veithadros, the Hopeful with an equally stark air. Even as he does not cry - cannot, perhaps, for all his astral nature - there is sadness written there, mirrored plain as an aching, cold midnight. "Anything." He does not speak, then, but lifts his hand: revealing new images. Images not your own, but his, emerging out of a dry, earthen dustiness.
A young tailor sews the hem of a shirt, one patient double-stitch at a time. There is care in the cloth, care in its working, finely spun despite its woolen origins. A shadow falls across him, and he looks up. He sees the soldier come to ask him for new underclothes, and there are stars in his eyes when he beholds her.
Keviti. That is the Ankyrean's name. She does not say she is from a village. She says she is from the Conclave of Science and Nature, an expeditionary force meant to quell dissent on the edges of the Empire. Her hair is fine golden-red, and she is skilled in spear and spell alike.
Veithadros sews her the new garments, and she scarcely looks at him when she passes him his sum of coin. There's more there than he asked for, and he buys himself a new pair of scissors.
It isn't long before Keviti is in again, asking for something nice to wear when she isn't on duty. Veithadros labors over a dress for her across days, and she returns - demanding, sharp. Where is it, she demands, why isn't it finished? But she stays to watch him. Watch his hands. Finds herself smiling, when the tailor's eyes aren't on her.
"You're not bad for a rellyw," he remembers, crystal clear, across time.
The next time Keviti is in his shop, she's asking for sewing lessons. He obliges her. She has an art with the needle, the small spear, much like the larger weaponry she wields, but even so she is impatient, clumsy, and Veithadros must caution her against doing violence to the fine silks he's set her to...
...then the next time /he/ sees /her/, they're fighting, his stave against hers, and he's not so bad at that either, so he thinks, until she trips him and lands him on his back, laughing down into his face.
She ends up on top the next time, too. And the time after that. It didn't matter what kind of sparring they did.
...she'd gone to a battle. He'd worried, fretted, the entire time, but when she'd returned, wounded but glorious, spattered in her enemy's blood... that was when he realized, against all his best sense, that he'd fallen for an Ankyrean.
They married, a few months after - in a rush of stumbling confessions, Keviti hesitant at first. She's only convinced when Veithadros gives her a list, thought-through, methodical, of all the things he loves about her. Her violence. Her eyes. Her readiness with a laugh. ...her openness.
...tried for children. None came...
...and then Keviti, his wife, his beloved, rode off again. Veithadros was more than a tailor now. A guardsman in his own right, manning the tower, watching day after day for sign of her, for anybody.
...conflict in the region came and went. Veithadros stayed. Keviti did not return.
The scarf grew long at his feet, his needles grew worn. Keviti did not return.
...he loses himself in the sky, its days and its nights... and Keviti does not return.
He gazes into the golden stain of dawn, feels his skin wrinkle beneath the sun's unkind affections... and Keviti does not return.
Beautiful, verdant green spring blooms outside the village. The flowers are fine. He remembers seeing her, that first time. ...she does not return.
...he floats away from his life, from his body, turning to stardust, ascending to a place of honor in the sky, where his solitude is absolute.
He sees Keviti, at last. Skeletal, hand in hand, with an Ankyrean man of Spinesreach. Children, circling their graves.
...and now Veithadros is here, and Keviti is not. So it will be. Forever.
"...it is by your connection to the stars," breathes Veithadros, the Hopeful, "That you shall know this power over space, time, and light. By memory. By your connection to my story. You shall know me, my life, and all its colors as I have known it." He hesitates, now, a pregnant penumbra staining his visage as his eyes glow out. "This, I have given you - to save your love, and for another purpose, which I would have you hear, now."
You have emoted: Deadvalorie dares not blink, held perfectly still beneath the fine trembles that wrack her form still. The images flicker past her eyes, what is at first the means to her purpose pulling her in quick enough, immersing her in the images that hold back the depths of her worries - for the time being. A ghost of a smile pulls at her lips, the first meeting, the spars that follow familiar enough - in spirit and in sentiment if not in memory. It doesn't last for long, only a matter of time before her lips quiver in the echo of heartbreak, moisture gleaming in her eyes. The tears fall now, crystalline and clear down her cheeks, disappearing into the emptiness. "What will you have left?" She whispers, a question that needs no answering as she sniffles, droplets clinging to her lashes as she tries to blink the tears away to no avail. "Thank you," there is sincerity in her voice, choked with emotion as she repeats, "Thank you."
"The Albedi creature," Veithadros whispers in soft, stygian tones, "Called Aechros... it is responsible for the confluence below, and it seeks the Hunter's preservation. Why, I do not know - but if your love falls, it is not just your grief that is at stake. It is the whole of the wilds that is connected to your story, the whole of the /world/. So take my starlight, Valorie Aresti, and use it not only to defend your beloved, but to see the sky's /full/ span. See the shapes between the disparate dots..." As he speaks, his hand frightens, and he reaches out as dawn breaks across the continent of Sapience far, far below. Fire rises in your mind, across your body, his nimbi all-embracing as they wrap you in a silvery flux of energy. Where there is void in you, the stars and night alike fill it, their memories and their power waking possibilities untold throughout the fabric of your frame.
Experience Gained: 300,000
You have gained the aetherial_form defence.
*Alternate titles include 'Please Make Veithadros Happy' and 'Why Spireans Ruin Everything' (jk (or am I?)).
As I was missing a lot of context after this, I'll let @Illikaal post the rest!
I had to change some of the colors to have them be readable, and I probably didn't do them justice, but trust me they were the prettiest. You can read this with original colors (and way worse formatting) here.
Without further ado - Awakening of an Aetherial*
South of the glowing core of the Great Oak.
A plain grey pack lies here. Dripping with bright green liquid, a very lush fruit rests on the ground here.
You see exits leading north, northeast, east, southeast, south, southwest, west, and northwest.
"...Shaman," breathes a distant voice, at once above and all around you. The echoing threads of its absence take hold of you, an unseen and scarcely-felt beckon that glimmers in your mind's eye. "Do you hear my voice, across these thousands of years?"
You have emoted: Where Valorie would normally startle, the only sign of her surprise is a soft exhale, a blink of seafoam eyes and a tilt of her head as she turns around, looking for something not visible to her. There is a moment of hesitation before she speaks, voice just loud enough to be heard, "Where are you?"
"Who..."
"I am... distant," the voice affirms, a celestial song underpinning its tones. It has gained certainty, focus, in finding you. "Distant in a way not easily explained." Glimpses of a sidereal void swim past your gaze. "Come to the confluence, the place where time is broken. I would speak with you."
-lots of path tracking, totally ignored Eaku standing guard outside the confluence sorry Eaku -
A strange altar flanked by vast statues.
Wrought from mottled black, white, and green metamorphic stone, this section of the ruins opens up into a surprisingly large buried nave. The chamber, symmetrical in almost all respects, is as pristine as though it had been carved yesterday, untouched by the ravages of time thanks to being sealed away. In the center of the room is a plinth, carved from obsidian, about five feet high and with a flat top that looks as though it might hold an object. This tiny altar is surrounded by seven huge, bronze statues, each looking to be some form of giant. The statues are fifteen feet tall each, and roughly humanoid, although instead of faces, they seem to have an arrangement of recessed sockets, dry spigots, and toothed metal wheels. Each of them clutches an orb in one hand, and a disc in another. Suspended in a protective matrix, time shudders about the amorphous periphery of an aeonic device. A sigil in the shape of a small, rectangular monolith is on the ground. A flowery white cherry dendaric entbeast roams here.
You see a single exit leading south.
So close to the confluence's chaotic churn, you catch chiaroscuro shimmers - the self-same as you witnessed in your imagination, not long before, now realized as multiplicitous visions hanging in the air, silvery slashes across the fabric of reality.
You have emoted: Curiosity wins over whatever caution has been instilled into her, Valorie stepping off her beast at the entrance to the altar, and taking a slow step closer to the confluence. She does not speak, a faint rise and fall of her chest with every breath the only movement as she stares at the amorphous device, eyes wide and ears pricked.
"Hail, Valorie Aresti," speaks a celestial voice, its tones inciting iridescent flickers across the aetherial fissures in the air. They grow more diffuse, taking the form of argent nimbi that dance nearer to you.
You have emoted: A hand lifts in the air, the same relentless curiosity urging Valorie another step closer, fingertips reaching for the nimbi in yearning, as though trying to figure out the being through a fleeting touch. "Hail," she responds, eyes flickering across every glimpse of light she sees, "I do not know your name."
The starry motes settle upon your constellated freckles, the dark tan of your skin, the elongated tapering ends of your ears - mirroring the points and lines of your form. "I am named Veithadros. I have witnessed your terrible plight in coming, and I have counsel and strength to offer you. Will you join me... in the sky?"
A beam of prismatic light suddenly shoots into the room.
Alela suddenly appears, having travelled down the beam of prismatic light.
"Begone," speaks a celestial voice.
Alela is ripped from your location by an unseen force.
You have emoted: "Veithadros," Valorie repeats the name, unfamiliarity in the pronunciation as it rolls off her tongue. She pays little heed to the other women who enters, and is gone just as fast, attention focused solely on the motes of light on her skin and the voice that called them into being. She shakes her head softly, as though to see if they would float off, wonder in her eyes before she replies, clasping her hands behind her back. "I will hear you out."
The nimbi pinwheel nearer in dizzying lemniscate coils, silver fire erupting from their innocuous cores to obliterate you where you stand. Not a trace of you survives the instant of celestial annihilation, save for your still-standing soul and a scattering of silvered motes, their spheroid shapes shot through by iridescence.
Where the silver-starred midnight sings.
A memory of Veithadros, the Hopeful lingers amidst an astral nimbus.
There are no obvious exits.
Entering: the Skies
Unknown Area.
A gruesome bone icon of the Hunter crumbles away in your hands as it loses support from your city's pylon.
Valorie has been consumed by the confluence, her mortal frame rendered irrevocably immaterial by a surge of sidereal fire.
You divine the location of this death as A strange altar flanked by vast statues in the Ruins of Masilia.
Veithadros:
Twilit nimbi and twinkling starlight coalesce into a figure born of Sapient myth and infinite legend. Exemplifying steadfast tenacity, the dusky silhouette towers over mortal and soul upon curiously long, lithe limbs, whilst his hands clasp before him in collected repose. The bespangled features of his heavenly countenance give no hint nor indication of an expression, with only gleaming twin spheres, alight with primordial fire, denotive of consciousness. With any and all motion, whether subtle or distinct, he casts forth an ethereal drift of cosmic dust upon the air, wreathing him in an astral aura of midnight everlasting and eventide eternal.
A celestial memory of Veithadros, the Hopeful radiates with terrifyingly monstrous power.
"Valorie Aresti," whispers the celestial presence of Veithadros, who stands suspended weightlessly within the aetherial void. His eyes, such as what can be glimpsed of their remnants, are astral and calm, burning through the darkness to beckon what's left of you ever closer. "...you have made it here, against all odds. The first mortal to reach these constellated skies in a long, long while." His voice carries little tone to it, a whispering thought that sings through the empty skies.
Where the silver-starred midnight sings.
There is no ground underfoot, nor solidity of any sort to be found in the immediate surroundings. The only indication that there is anything, any distance worth speaking of, comes from thin, far-off lances of silvery light projected by the stars from all possible directions. Someplace else, they might form recognizable constellations; here in the inky emptiness of midnight, though, their shapes are unfamiliar. One star in particular seems a little larger, a little brighter than all the others, and its hues of mottled blue, green, brown, and white imply a conflicted storm. Only upon continued examination does it become clear that this gelid mass is not a star at all, but rather the globe of Aetolia, so far off that it appears as a mere dot from the present, umbral vantage. The continent of Sapience is just a green speck, small by comparisons to the edges of what seems to be the Albedos. Whatever islands might serve to orient the eye cannot be seen across the stellar span, leaving only the dizzying sense of scale and the near-inaudible humming born of the scintillant, sidereal void. A memory of Veithadros, the Hopeful lingers amidst an astral nimbus.
There are no obvious exits.
You have emoted: The woman is given no chance to react, but the sensation of death is familiar enough it does not take Deadvalorie long to catch up, the sudden outrage quelled as soon as she catches sight of the surroundings. "That was not part of the deal," she mumbles, no heat to the words, her senses irrevocably drawn to the pinpricks of light in the distance, trying to make sense of the unfamiliar constellations. It bothers her more than it probably should, to have those gleaming points be so unfamiliar, but her attention turns to a celestial memory of Veithadros, the Hopeful soon enough. "You have me here," she says, an agreement with his words, if not much realization of what implications they might carry, "Will you tell me now?"
Beyond the wonder, beyond the concern for what might be imparted unto her, a flicker of worry. The fact that she's being given counsel means she would be able to leave, right...? There's an image of an Ogre - HER Ogre - that passes through her mind's eye along with the thoughts.
"In times since forgotten and turned to sand," speaks Veithadros, the hopeful, the weight of portent to his celestial voice - indeed, he glimmers through the aether, the nimbi that comprise him turning with ponderous weight, "My lover, the most dangerous Keviti, rode away to do battle with her foes. I wove her a scarf, each day and night I awaited her return, so long that I could wrap myself in its embrace and imagine her returned to my side." Coldness falls again in the wake of this description, astral echoes evanescing, ebbing, into the darkness. "...she did not return to me," he concludes, "And one night I was so empty that the sky took me, to keep me for eternity. So I have watched, Valorie Aresti, and of the many things from the many times I have seen..." The sidereal being need not breathe, but nevertheless does so, a slow, sonorous slough of sound through the immaterial space. "...your love is in grave danger, even at his Hunter's side."
You have emoted: Deadvalorie is nothing if not an attentive listener, attention focused solely on a celestial memory of Veithadros, the Hopeful at the telling of the event. A slow breath escapes her, empathizing with the Veithadros of years past, her words a hushed whisper. As though speaking any louder would break the sanctity of the moment: "I only pray the stars would be merciful enough to take me." She steels herself, then, another aspect of the woman - the huntress, the Fury, the one who can think beyond the panic a celestial memory of Veithadros, the Hopeful's words bring to her - taking over, "From what?" Apparently the answer is not as important, as she moves on instantly to ask, "What must be done?"
Your love's downfall arrives with a violence and vim that defies the vast, abyssal distance of time and space, a surge of blood staining your mind's eye with a vividity that wakes the raw scent of copper and iron. A hand of shadow grows as though from within his guts, a gruesome parody of plant life that throttles and chokes the self-same breath from him. He is a lifetime away, and cannot see you, even as you gaze into his sapphire eyes, and see the lustre and life fade from their gelid depths, his crystalline wings shattered like so much common glass.
"It is many different things," whispers Veithadros, his voice a low and celestial rumination as he indicates, with one long finger, the vision. "This is but one possibility for his end, and this, here..." his hand angles aside, "...another."
Illidan fights with a fury and persistence that defies the lesser shadows that encircle him. He strikes with lightning, fierce blasts of radiance that leave smoldering craters in the fell beasts that hunt him, but there are too many, and they close upon him like the coil of a serpent and drag him down into their all-devouring mass. Droplets of blood fly above the fray, and he screams, gurgling into silence as the bluish flesh of his Ogre form is devoured by multiplicitous mouths and stripped to the pale bone. As the vision fades, the now-tainted skeleton begins to pick itself up, blight infecting the ground where its fleshless feet stand...
"...and so," concludes Veithadros, his natural, pale coloration restored as he looks to you, "...I would offer you the power to avert the fate that I could not. The secrets of the stars. Their celestial power. I would offer you... my story."
You have emoted: The feeling that might have been approaching calmness, purpose, shatters in the blink of an eye at the first vision, a gasp more pained than any yell, any scream could be. Deadvalorie's eyes stare into the Ogre's, hands lifting like she can somehow reach through time and space itself to restore him, bring him back to what she knows. They fall back down to her sides at a celestial memory of Veithadros, the Hopeful's words, her gaze only torn from one vision to fall upon the next excruciating one, eyes wide but tears not daring to interrupt the vivid scene displayed in front of her, taking it in, all of its agonizing glory. "... Anything," she whispers. Her voice does not tremble where the rest of her form does, a sliver of hope to cling to in the midst of the churning whirlpool of pain, loss and sorrow, every sickening image she can think of flickering through her mind without respite.
"Anything," whispers Veithadros, the Hopeful with an equally stark air. Even as he does not cry - cannot, perhaps, for all his astral nature - there is sadness written there, mirrored plain as an aching, cold midnight. "Anything." He does not speak, then, but lifts his hand: revealing new images. Images not your own, but his, emerging out of a dry, earthen dustiness.
A young tailor sews the hem of a shirt, one patient double-stitch at a time. There is care in the cloth, care in its working, finely spun despite its woolen origins. A shadow falls across him, and he looks up. He sees the soldier come to ask him for new underclothes, and there are stars in his eyes when he beholds her.
Keviti. That is the Ankyrean's name. She does not say she is from a village. She says she is from the Conclave of Science and Nature, an expeditionary force meant to quell dissent on the edges of the Empire. Her hair is fine golden-red, and she is skilled in spear and spell alike.
Veithadros sews her the new garments, and she scarcely looks at him when she passes him his sum of coin. There's more there than he asked for, and he buys himself a new pair of scissors.
It isn't long before Keviti is in again, asking for something nice to wear when she isn't on duty. Veithadros labors over a dress for her across days, and she returns - demanding, sharp. Where is it, she demands, why isn't it finished? But she stays to watch him. Watch his hands. Finds herself smiling, when the tailor's eyes aren't on her.
"You're not bad for a rellyw," he remembers, crystal clear, across time.
The next time Keviti is in his shop, she's asking for sewing lessons. He obliges her. She has an art with the needle, the small spear, much like the larger weaponry she wields, but even so she is impatient, clumsy, and Veithadros must caution her against doing violence to the fine silks he's set her to...
...then the next time /he/ sees /her/, they're fighting, his stave against hers, and he's not so bad at that either, so he thinks, until she trips him and lands him on his back, laughing down into his face.
She ends up on top the next time, too. And the time after that. It didn't matter what kind of sparring they did.
...she'd gone to a battle. He'd worried, fretted, the entire time, but when she'd returned, wounded but glorious, spattered in her enemy's blood... that was when he realized, against all his best sense, that he'd fallen for an Ankyrean.
They married, a few months after - in a rush of stumbling confessions, Keviti hesitant at first. She's only convinced when Veithadros gives her a list, thought-through, methodical, of all the things he loves about her. Her violence. Her eyes. Her readiness with a laugh. ...her openness.
...tried for children. None came...
...and then Keviti, his wife, his beloved, rode off again. Veithadros was more than a tailor now. A guardsman in his own right, manning the tower, watching day after day for sign of her, for anybody.
...conflict in the region came and went. Veithadros stayed. Keviti did not return.
The scarf grew long at his feet, his needles grew worn. Keviti did not return.
...he loses himself in the sky, its days and its nights... and Keviti does not return.
He gazes into the golden stain of dawn, feels his skin wrinkle beneath the sun's unkind affections... and Keviti does not return.
Beautiful, verdant green spring blooms outside the village. The flowers are fine. He remembers seeing her, that first time. ...she does not return.
...he floats away from his life, from his body, turning to stardust, ascending to a place of honor in the sky, where his solitude is absolute.
He sees Keviti, at last. Skeletal, hand in hand, with an Ankyrean man of Spinesreach. Children, circling their graves.
...and now Veithadros is here, and Keviti is not. So it will be. Forever.
"...it is by your connection to the stars," breathes Veithadros, the Hopeful, "That you shall know this power over space, time, and light. By memory. By your connection to my story. You shall know me, my life, and all its colors as I have known it." He hesitates, now, a pregnant penumbra staining his visage as his eyes glow out. "This, I have given you - to save your love, and for another purpose, which I would have you hear, now."
You have emoted: Deadvalorie dares not blink, held perfectly still beneath the fine trembles that wrack her form still. The images flicker past her eyes, what is at first the means to her purpose pulling her in quick enough, immersing her in the images that hold back the depths of her worries - for the time being. A ghost of a smile pulls at her lips, the first meeting, the spars that follow familiar enough - in spirit and in sentiment if not in memory. It doesn't last for long, only a matter of time before her lips quiver in the echo of heartbreak, moisture gleaming in her eyes. The tears fall now, crystalline and clear down her cheeks, disappearing into the emptiness. "What will you have left?" She whispers, a question that needs no answering as she sniffles, droplets clinging to her lashes as she tries to blink the tears away to no avail. "Thank you," there is sincerity in her voice, choked with emotion as she repeats, "Thank you."
"The Albedi creature," Veithadros whispers in soft, stygian tones, "Called Aechros... it is responsible for the confluence below, and it seeks the Hunter's preservation. Why, I do not know - but if your love falls, it is not just your grief that is at stake. It is the whole of the wilds that is connected to your story, the whole of the /world/. So take my starlight, Valorie Aresti, and use it not only to defend your beloved, but to see the sky's /full/ span. See the shapes between the disparate dots..." As he speaks, his hand frightens, and he reaches out as dawn breaks across the continent of Sapience far, far below. Fire rises in your mind, across your body, his nimbi all-embracing as they wrap you in a silvery flux of energy. Where there is void in you, the stars and night alike fill it, their memories and their power waking possibilities untold throughout the fabric of your frame.
Experience Gained: 300,000
You have gained the aetherial_form defence.
*Alternate titles include 'Please Make Veithadros Happy' and 'Why Spireans Ruin Everything' (jk (or am I?)).
As I was missing a lot of context after this, I'll let @Illikaal post the rest!
Valorie
20
Events post #280: Fragments of Time, Part VII: Cogminds Think Alike
12/6/2021 at 15:19
Anonymous
Everyone
Fragments of Time, Part VII: Cogminds Think Alike
While Sapience celebrated the defeat of the Haekathi and took a moment to relax, Copperhead had other things on its mind. Arriving in the City of Spinesreach, the Cogger commenced what would be a weeks-long search for the 'non functional remnant' to which it had been earlier alerted. Spirean reactions were a mix of alarm and curiosity as the familiar clanking of metal sounded through the streets. Search parties were dispatched yet for all their efficient scouring of the city, Copperhead remained elusive.
Examinations of the catacombs reminded the Spireans of an ancient construct therein, fused to the stone itself in an age long past. Questions to the irascible Vusbati revealed little, save that the construct predated him and dated back to the First Order. Vusbati explained that researchers of the Second Order had utilised it during his own time with them - to construct the orrery that lay in the catacombs. Though its head had been replaced with the guise of an Ankyrean, the construct's composition was - is - remarkably similar to that of Copperhead itself. Confidence grew, certainty that this was what the Cogger sought.
Under the advice of Sneak and spearheaded by the efforts of Legyn, the Archivists began to prepare a trap formed of geometric patterns in order to restrain the errant Cogger and interrogate it. Though they suspected its quarry, they did not know the Cogger's reason for seeking it. While the Spireans had no malicious intent, they worried for their home and laid in wait. Some days later, what once was a neutral clang of metal and whirring of gears transformed to mechanical indignation: the trap was sprung, and Copperhead - having located that which it sought - raged against the bonds holding it.
Interrogation yielded little of import from the Cogger save for maddened ravings, grief at the fate of what it termed a sacred work, and newfound hatred for the Spireans who - it assumed - had defiled it. When asked of its maker by Saidenn, Copperhead demanded freedom and the Chair - interpreting this as a request to bargain - gave assent. Legyn loosened the bonds and the Cogger broke free in a whirlwind of mechanical fury. Slaying several of those who stood present, it declared a state of war against the City of Spinesreach, felling several guards as it fled the scene of its capture and declared Legyn to be "an asset" for his hand in the liberation.
For weeks then did the Cogger terrorise the Lion of the North, seeking to undermine the city's foundations from below. It wrenched sewer grates free, murdered many more guards, woke rockworms from the earth with its rowdy workings, and came and went to and from the city without obstruction. Loudly broadcasting its plans to the world with each objective it completed, panic began to wrack Spinesreach as tremors shook the city and access to their aqueducts was denied. The citizens rallied to the defence of their home, organising guards and patrols in order to stop what seemed like a course toward destruction. But all efforts were futile.
Once more Sneak came to their aid, positing a theory that the Cogger had fashioned its own means of entering and leaving the city, denying access to the sewers in order to complete its objective. She explained, having obtained the information from Delve's Pious Wards, that Copperhead was a creation of Aechros, the Endless - the Albedi Helm-God of Time and Machines. Copperhead, it was revealed, was no mere machine, but a soul infused into a mechanical body. The broken construct in the catacombs was, it seemed, a similar construct of Aechros that the Cogger believed to have been profaned and defaced. While Sneak sought to locate it, she proposed a plan to capture it and utilise the powers of Yuef and Ef'tig to form a collective mind in order to shut down its attack.
The Numerologist tracked Copperhead to the Crags, where it had bored a tunnel of its own making through the mountains and into the aqueducts. Led by Vara, an enormous group of adventurers composed of Bloodloch and Spinesreach citizens both, gathered for an assault. First navigating a series of Cogger Coms deployed as security, the group cautiously entered the aqueducts, where Copperhead had transformed the simple sewers into a theatre of chaos. The ceilings began collapsing, countless explosives awaited disposal, fissures in the rock made passage difficult, and toxic sludge poured out of broken pipes. The Cogger's maddened ravings rose to a fevered pitch as the adventurers fell in droves, first to premature fusebomb detonations, then to horde after horde after horde of rockworms.
Though it took some time, the disparate group finally began to organise, carefully bracing the ceiling and disposing of loose explosive devices before blowing apart the Cogger's obstructions. In the midst of the chaos, Iesid Mulariad - the same man who had first alerted Copperhead to the presence of the construct - entered the sewers. Despite his valiant efforts to defend Copperhead from the assault, reclassified as an "asset" by it in the process, the Seer of Omei could not withstand the combined assaults and fell. Minutes later, with the rockworms quelled and the various obstacles cleared, the adventurers turned their attention to the water wheels and as one unit, opened all the valves. Water gushed forth to flood the aqueducts in a raging tide, overwhelming the Cogger and washing it into the catacombs, where Sneak awaited.
Losing no time, the Numerologist began to form the collective mind, taking advantage of the construct's weakened state. So it was that Ayukazi, Blodwyn, Dreww, Elene, Eoros, Feirenz, Galilei, Holbrook, Kagura, Kurak, Legyn, Lenoriel, Lim, Nebula, Nipsy, Pietre, Raevina, Renli, Rhyot, Saidenn, Sheryni, Teflin, Tekias, Toz, Whirran, and Wjoltyr relaxed their consciousness and became one in Copperhead's cogmind while Inkh, Mazzion, Xenia, and Reave stood guard over their empty bodies. There they faced an experience unlike any other: their thoughts disparate yet one, faced with countless choices requiring consensus derived from individual input in order to direct the whole.
Painstakingly navigating through the cogmind network, they examined Copperhead's core protocols, reviewed its key directives, and sought to reclassify its conflict directive as low priority. At first slow and scattered in their decisions, the individual minds soon began to yield to the will of the collective, becoming more dexterous in their traversal through the Cogger's brain. Language protocols were required to translate the archives into common. Motor operations enabled the retrieval of oil in order to conduct maintenance and repair core systems. Stray thoughts bubbled up into arguments between the separate thinkers, yet the collective prevailed. Rustguards attacked the one mind and had to be fought off by expenditure of will.
Disabling the security, they ventured into the classified archives to retrieve two codes before returning to the key directives cog. There, they successfully expunged Copperhead's conflict directive before returning to the archives, greedy for knowledge. Examining each and every document, their learning revealed much about the Spokes, the individual Coggers, the Thinking Engines, and Aechros - the Maker, who Copperhead noted with the alias "Sapient sanctitude preservation engineer". Delving into the Fleshsack Memories archive, it was further revealed that Copperhead was once a Tarpen by the name of Dapuna, the date of its voluntary consciousness transferrence unknown.
After more than half a day of analysis, the collective returned to the directives module and reprioritised Copperhead's confluence preservation order. The Cogger stirred then, woken from its stunned and disabled state. Fleeing through the main network, the minds of the collective returned to their bodies, and the Cogger regained its lucid state. Declaring Spinesreach irrelevant, it exhibited confusion as to its location before the directives reasserted themselves and it ambled away, back to Masilia and its prime objective.
Penned by my hand on Falsday, the 23rd of Chakros, in the year 499 MA.
Anonymous
Everyone
Fragments of Time, Part VII: Cogminds Think Alike
While Sapience celebrated the defeat of the Haekathi and took a moment to relax, Copperhead had other things on its mind. Arriving in the City of Spinesreach, the Cogger commenced what would be a weeks-long search for the 'non functional remnant' to which it had been earlier alerted. Spirean reactions were a mix of alarm and curiosity as the familiar clanking of metal sounded through the streets. Search parties were dispatched yet for all their efficient scouring of the city, Copperhead remained elusive.
Examinations of the catacombs reminded the Spireans of an ancient construct therein, fused to the stone itself in an age long past. Questions to the irascible Vusbati revealed little, save that the construct predated him and dated back to the First Order. Vusbati explained that researchers of the Second Order had utilised it during his own time with them - to construct the orrery that lay in the catacombs. Though its head had been replaced with the guise of an Ankyrean, the construct's composition was - is - remarkably similar to that of Copperhead itself. Confidence grew, certainty that this was what the Cogger sought.
Under the advice of Sneak and spearheaded by the efforts of Legyn, the Archivists began to prepare a trap formed of geometric patterns in order to restrain the errant Cogger and interrogate it. Though they suspected its quarry, they did not know the Cogger's reason for seeking it. While the Spireans had no malicious intent, they worried for their home and laid in wait. Some days later, what once was a neutral clang of metal and whirring of gears transformed to mechanical indignation: the trap was sprung, and Copperhead - having located that which it sought - raged against the bonds holding it.
Interrogation yielded little of import from the Cogger save for maddened ravings, grief at the fate of what it termed a sacred work, and newfound hatred for the Spireans who - it assumed - had defiled it. When asked of its maker by Saidenn, Copperhead demanded freedom and the Chair - interpreting this as a request to bargain - gave assent. Legyn loosened the bonds and the Cogger broke free in a whirlwind of mechanical fury. Slaying several of those who stood present, it declared a state of war against the City of Spinesreach, felling several guards as it fled the scene of its capture and declared Legyn to be "an asset" for his hand in the liberation.
For weeks then did the Cogger terrorise the Lion of the North, seeking to undermine the city's foundations from below. It wrenched sewer grates free, murdered many more guards, woke rockworms from the earth with its rowdy workings, and came and went to and from the city without obstruction. Loudly broadcasting its plans to the world with each objective it completed, panic began to wrack Spinesreach as tremors shook the city and access to their aqueducts was denied. The citizens rallied to the defence of their home, organising guards and patrols in order to stop what seemed like a course toward destruction. But all efforts were futile.
Once more Sneak came to their aid, positing a theory that the Cogger had fashioned its own means of entering and leaving the city, denying access to the sewers in order to complete its objective. She explained, having obtained the information from Delve's Pious Wards, that Copperhead was a creation of Aechros, the Endless - the Albedi Helm-God of Time and Machines. Copperhead, it was revealed, was no mere machine, but a soul infused into a mechanical body. The broken construct in the catacombs was, it seemed, a similar construct of Aechros that the Cogger believed to have been profaned and defaced. While Sneak sought to locate it, she proposed a plan to capture it and utilise the powers of Yuef and Ef'tig to form a collective mind in order to shut down its attack.
The Numerologist tracked Copperhead to the Crags, where it had bored a tunnel of its own making through the mountains and into the aqueducts. Led by Vara, an enormous group of adventurers composed of Bloodloch and Spinesreach citizens both, gathered for an assault. First navigating a series of Cogger Coms deployed as security, the group cautiously entered the aqueducts, where Copperhead had transformed the simple sewers into a theatre of chaos. The ceilings began collapsing, countless explosives awaited disposal, fissures in the rock made passage difficult, and toxic sludge poured out of broken pipes. The Cogger's maddened ravings rose to a fevered pitch as the adventurers fell in droves, first to premature fusebomb detonations, then to horde after horde after horde of rockworms.
Though it took some time, the disparate group finally began to organise, carefully bracing the ceiling and disposing of loose explosive devices before blowing apart the Cogger's obstructions. In the midst of the chaos, Iesid Mulariad - the same man who had first alerted Copperhead to the presence of the construct - entered the sewers. Despite his valiant efforts to defend Copperhead from the assault, reclassified as an "asset" by it in the process, the Seer of Omei could not withstand the combined assaults and fell. Minutes later, with the rockworms quelled and the various obstacles cleared, the adventurers turned their attention to the water wheels and as one unit, opened all the valves. Water gushed forth to flood the aqueducts in a raging tide, overwhelming the Cogger and washing it into the catacombs, where Sneak awaited.
Losing no time, the Numerologist began to form the collective mind, taking advantage of the construct's weakened state. So it was that Ayukazi, Blodwyn, Dreww, Elene, Eoros, Feirenz, Galilei, Holbrook, Kagura, Kurak, Legyn, Lenoriel, Lim, Nebula, Nipsy, Pietre, Raevina, Renli, Rhyot, Saidenn, Sheryni, Teflin, Tekias, Toz, Whirran, and Wjoltyr relaxed their consciousness and became one in Copperhead's cogmind while Inkh, Mazzion, Xenia, and Reave stood guard over their empty bodies. There they faced an experience unlike any other: their thoughts disparate yet one, faced with countless choices requiring consensus derived from individual input in order to direct the whole.
Painstakingly navigating through the cogmind network, they examined Copperhead's core protocols, reviewed its key directives, and sought to reclassify its conflict directive as low priority. At first slow and scattered in their decisions, the individual minds soon began to yield to the will of the collective, becoming more dexterous in their traversal through the Cogger's brain. Language protocols were required to translate the archives into common. Motor operations enabled the retrieval of oil in order to conduct maintenance and repair core systems. Stray thoughts bubbled up into arguments between the separate thinkers, yet the collective prevailed. Rustguards attacked the one mind and had to be fought off by expenditure of will.
Disabling the security, they ventured into the classified archives to retrieve two codes before returning to the key directives cog. There, they successfully expunged Copperhead's conflict directive before returning to the archives, greedy for knowledge. Examining each and every document, their learning revealed much about the Spokes, the individual Coggers, the Thinking Engines, and Aechros - the Maker, who Copperhead noted with the alias "Sapient sanctitude preservation engineer". Delving into the Fleshsack Memories archive, it was further revealed that Copperhead was once a Tarpen by the name of Dapuna, the date of its voluntary consciousness transferrence unknown.
After more than half a day of analysis, the collective returned to the directives module and reprioritised Copperhead's confluence preservation order. The Cogger stirred then, woken from its stunned and disabled state. Fleeing through the main network, the minds of the collective returned to their bodies, and the Cogger regained its lucid state. Declaring Spinesreach irrelevant, it exhibited confusion as to its location before the directives reasserted themselves and it ambled away, back to Masilia and its prime objective.
Penned by my hand on Falsday, the 23rd of Chakros, in the year 499 MA.
Re: Thank you!
With most of the excitement out of the way, I would like to extend my thanks to everyone who helped me on the way to 200! Whether that be by providing offers of help, knives, chocolates, dawn prayers, writing my amazing description (<3 @Maeve you're a queen) or giving me encouragement, thank you to all of you - @Aisling, @Almol, @Anahera, @Caitria, @Cernunnos, @Elene, @Jakarn, @Kalena, @Khelzya, @Maeve, @Mazzion, @Mjoll, @Ranae, @Rihrin, @Robyn, @Rynkhia, @Saltz, @Sepzane, @Sryaen, @Tee, @Trikal, @Valeria, @Xenia, and anyone else I may have missed. Another big thank you to everyone from Enorian and Duiran who showed up to die for Dendara while I proceeded with my slow as heck typing, I appreciate you all so so much.
@Illikaal - I mean it when I say I could not have done this without your help. Thank you for encouraging me and helping me in more ways than I can count, from lending your artifacts to running around all over with me for months. I'm glad we got to do this together
Last but very not the least, thank you to the entire admin team who had a hand in the formation of this race and event, especially @Ictinus. Your patience, creativity, and way with words is awe-inspiring, and I hope I can be half as eloquent a writer as you are one day. Aetherial is everything I hoped it would be and then some, and I am absolutely in love with everything about it (but pls make Veithadros happy, my heart ;_;). The gradients made me SO HAPPY. Thank you for putting up with me panicking for no reason every 5 seconds.
And thank you for the laughter when I realized someone put me back into the Sentinels guild instead of the Shamans <.< Deadvalorie will be sorely missed and I take absolutely no responsibility for announcing to Duiran that the world is gonna end and we're all gonna die.
Today was full of sap and so many feelings and I'll forever be sad about my boy V but the entire event was absolutely perfect, and I am over the moon (pls no hate). You're all stars
@Illikaal - I mean it when I say I could not have done this without your help. Thank you for encouraging me and helping me in more ways than I can count, from lending your artifacts to running around all over with me for months. I'm glad we got to do this together
Last but very not the least, thank you to the entire admin team who had a hand in the formation of this race and event, especially @Ictinus. Your patience, creativity, and way with words is awe-inspiring, and I hope I can be half as eloquent a writer as you are one day. Aetherial is everything I hoped it would be and then some, and I am absolutely in love with everything about it (but pls make Veithadros happy, my heart ;_;). The gradients made me SO HAPPY. Thank you for putting up with me panicking for no reason every 5 seconds.
And thank you for the laughter when I realized someone put me back into the Sentinels guild instead of the Shamans <.< Deadvalorie will be sorely missed and I take absolutely no responsibility for announcing to Duiran that the world is gonna end and we're all gonna die.
Today was full of sap and so many feelings and I'll forever be sad about my boy V but the entire event was absolutely perfect, and I am over the moon (pls no hate). You're all stars
Valorie
15
Re: Thank you!
Man, where to start. It was a whole year ago that this whole journey to 200 started. @Sibatti came to the guild with news from the Guardians that served as my inspiration to want to try for 200. I couldn't have done it without all the overwhelming support from friends and other players in the community alike, and I never once forgot about anyone that contributed.
Whether you were my ride or die knife donaters helping me every single day for the months it took, or you only were able to help just a few times: @Robyn @Aisling @Trikal @Mjoll @Xenia @Jhin @Corvo @Oriana, Ranae, Kalena, @Anahera, @Mazzion . Thank you all for being fantastic and never once complaining for when I'd ask for a knife.
In addition to the above, people that helped me with a steady stream of chocolates, compendium pages, cheap chalices, and anything else I needed to make it as smooth as possible: @Aolin, @Sryaen, @Mati, @Rasani, @Elene, @Valeria, @Haven, @Alela, @Bulrok, @Safiya, @Tetchta, @Pilar, @Sepzane, Tee, Rynkhia, @Iesid, Khelzya. Thank you all for your contributions, no matter how big or small they were. They all added up.
Extra thank you to @Trikal for the translocator to help make things go much smoother. Thank you @Bulrok for rainbow crits. They really did make me bash 80% faster.
Special thank yous to @Sibatti, @Maeve, and @Aisling for description/design help.
The person who easily deserves the biggest thank you that I can never thank enough for all that she does is @Valorie. You incredibly supportive the entire time it took me to finish the grind, would constantly buy chocolates, sort them for me, make sure I had plenty of gold for transmutes, grab any cheap items she saw on the market, kept me stocked on pills and elixirs, and micromanaged everything for me to make it as easy as possible. You've been one of the greatest friends anyone could ever have hoped to meet, and I couldn't have done it without you.
And with the year long overdue thank you of the way, huge thank you to @Ictinus and @Haern for handling all my requests so beautifully and I couldn't have asked for anything better than what I got where the customizations were concerned, and the entire experience. Any Celani that put in legwork in the background, I appreciate you all too. Thank you to everyone that attended, the Shamans, Duiran, Enorian, Mazzion(ha), and some of my old fossil friends that turned up for it as well. This one's definitely going down in the books as one of the coolest christmas presents ever.
I had some art commissioned and I'll be posting the finished products when they're all done, and I'll get the log up as soon as I'm finished cleaning it up.
Thank you everbody! Dendara Eternal!
Whether you were my ride or die knife donaters helping me every single day for the months it took, or you only were able to help just a few times: @Robyn @Aisling @Trikal @Mjoll @Xenia @Jhin @Corvo @Oriana, Ranae, Kalena, @Anahera, @Mazzion . Thank you all for being fantastic and never once complaining for when I'd ask for a knife.
In addition to the above, people that helped me with a steady stream of chocolates, compendium pages, cheap chalices, and anything else I needed to make it as smooth as possible: @Aolin, @Sryaen, @Mati, @Rasani, @Elene, @Valeria, @Haven, @Alela, @Bulrok, @Safiya, @Tetchta, @Pilar, @Sepzane, Tee, Rynkhia, @Iesid, Khelzya. Thank you all for your contributions, no matter how big or small they were. They all added up.
Extra thank you to @Trikal for the translocator to help make things go much smoother. Thank you @Bulrok for rainbow crits. They really did make me bash 80% faster.
Special thank yous to @Sibatti, @Maeve, and @Aisling for description/design help.
The person who easily deserves the biggest thank you that I can never thank enough for all that she does is @Valorie. You incredibly supportive the entire time it took me to finish the grind, would constantly buy chocolates, sort them for me, make sure I had plenty of gold for transmutes, grab any cheap items she saw on the market, kept me stocked on pills and elixirs, and micromanaged everything for me to make it as easy as possible. You've been one of the greatest friends anyone could ever have hoped to meet, and I couldn't have done it without you.
And with the year long overdue thank you of the way, huge thank you to @Ictinus and @Haern for handling all my requests so beautifully and I couldn't have asked for anything better than what I got where the customizations were concerned, and the entire experience. Any Celani that put in legwork in the background, I appreciate you all too. Thank you to everyone that attended, the Shamans, Duiran, Enorian, Mazzion(ha), and some of my old fossil friends that turned up for it as well. This one's definitely going down in the books as one of the coolest christmas presents ever.
I had some art commissioned and I'll be posting the finished products when they're all done, and I'll get the log up as soon as I'm finished cleaning it up.
Thank you everbody! Dendara Eternal!
Illikaal
14
Re: Mildly Irritating: Aetolia's Pet Peeves
Aetolia can spam me 8 messages that my cookies all decayed but can't message me a heads up that my hormones are spiking and I should sign out before I make bad rp choices? Rude.
Teotl
5
Re: Sect season and rating - a request
I've responded to a few people on this issue over the past few days, and I also outlined my reasoning to Mjoll back in September when she emailed me. I've tried to avoid commenting publicly on this (though I have answered direct messages/emails), because by necessity, discussing it is going to feel very targetted, but I'll aim to lay out that reasoning here with some additional comments based on the other posts in this thread.
Firstly, everyone obviously agrees that the change is needed. However, I don't believe that waiting months to make it would have been the right call. There were ~75 days of notice given for the change which, admittedly while over 3/4 of the way through the year is, to my understanding, more than enough time to course correct and solidify position on the board.
When I OK'd this change with both Keroc and Razmael it was with zero prior knowledge of the history of past winners and more pertinently, zero knowledge about the current rank 1 player - perhaps somewhat naively my expectation was that rank 1 at the time didn't matter because I assumed it would change regularly as people continued to fight. I don't think this is an unfair assumption from an objective PoV.
I am not sure where the comment of it being out of my hands came from (assuming the my referred to is me, I may be mistaken), but consider this post my confirmation that I don't consider it to be out of my hands, nor do I consider anything Aetolia related to be out of my hands. I hope that after 3.5 months it's become clear that evading and not responding is not the order of the day anymore, at least provided you contact me directly in some way. Everyone who has done so on this matter (4 people) has received a reply within a day.
Timing is a harder nut to crack. I found myself beset with many requests to address Sect issues in my first couple of weeks from all sides of the game - rating issues being chief among them. I don't necessarily disagree that the timing is bad, but after looking into the data of past winners as well as the current year, I am sorry to say that I don't think it is fair to compare this year's season to those.
Last year's winner had a 4 star accuracy and 6 x as many matches as the current rank one (144 matches for Nisavi vs 24 for Mjoll in distinct 365 day periods). The winner before that (Fezzix) had low accuracy, but also had to start over with their ranking from scratch after a reset (their rating was reset because their accuracy fell to 0), but re-climbed the ladder and still fought 3 x as many matches (85 for Fezzix in the 2018-2019 season). Varel was before that and as far as I'm aware he was grandfathered in when yearly resets became the norm.
The heart of the matter is that I don't think anyone should be able to claim a yearly champion title by having barely participated in the system. I appreciate that those past winners still engaged in some questionable practice of dodging fights, and that this may have set an expectation - but none of those past winners played as few games as Mjoll, the current rank #1 in sect. Further, none of those seasons took place under my tenure and I did not consider them relevant when initially OK'ing the decision. It's only after others have reached out to me and made the comparison that I looked into the data from those past seasons which, again I'm sorry to say, reaffirmed my support for the choice.
There's no magic number of games played obviously, and I am in agreement that season length and the rating/accuracy system need some more attention. These are on The List to be addressed as time allows, but the bottom line is that I stand by this decision and I don't believe that insufficient time was given to course correct even if expectations were for something different.
Firstly, everyone obviously agrees that the change is needed. However, I don't believe that waiting months to make it would have been the right call. There were ~75 days of notice given for the change which, admittedly while over 3/4 of the way through the year is, to my understanding, more than enough time to course correct and solidify position on the board.
When I OK'd this change with both Keroc and Razmael it was with zero prior knowledge of the history of past winners and more pertinently, zero knowledge about the current rank 1 player - perhaps somewhat naively my expectation was that rank 1 at the time didn't matter because I assumed it would change regularly as people continued to fight. I don't think this is an unfair assumption from an objective PoV.
I am not sure where the comment of it being out of my hands came from (assuming the my referred to is me, I may be mistaken), but consider this post my confirmation that I don't consider it to be out of my hands, nor do I consider anything Aetolia related to be out of my hands. I hope that after 3.5 months it's become clear that evading and not responding is not the order of the day anymore, at least provided you contact me directly in some way. Everyone who has done so on this matter (4 people) has received a reply within a day.
Timing is a harder nut to crack. I found myself beset with many requests to address Sect issues in my first couple of weeks from all sides of the game - rating issues being chief among them. I don't necessarily disagree that the timing is bad, but after looking into the data of past winners as well as the current year, I am sorry to say that I don't think it is fair to compare this year's season to those.
Last year's winner had a 4 star accuracy and 6 x as many matches as the current rank one (144 matches for Nisavi vs 24 for Mjoll in distinct 365 day periods). The winner before that (Fezzix) had low accuracy, but also had to start over with their ranking from scratch after a reset (their rating was reset because their accuracy fell to 0), but re-climbed the ladder and still fought 3 x as many matches (85 for Fezzix in the 2018-2019 season). Varel was before that and as far as I'm aware he was grandfathered in when yearly resets became the norm.
The heart of the matter is that I don't think anyone should be able to claim a yearly champion title by having barely participated in the system. I appreciate that those past winners still engaged in some questionable practice of dodging fights, and that this may have set an expectation - but none of those past winners played as few games as Mjoll, the current rank #1 in sect. Further, none of those seasons took place under my tenure and I did not consider them relevant when initially OK'ing the decision. It's only after others have reached out to me and made the comparison that I looked into the data from those past seasons which, again I'm sorry to say, reaffirmed my support for the choice.
There's no magic number of games played obviously, and I am in agreement that season length and the rating/accuracy system need some more attention. These are on The List to be addressed as time allows, but the bottom line is that I stand by this decision and I don't believe that insufficient time was given to course correct even if expectations were for something different.
Ictinus
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