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2/26/2022 at 1:34
Anonymous
Everyone
Shattered Souls, Part IV: The Keeper of the Close

In the aftermath of war between Death and Undeath, while many celebrated victory and others licked their wounds, One party cared little for the conflicts of the overworld. In disturbing unison, the four pylons across the city-states of Sapience began to glow with mottled ley-fire, sending waves of alien, intrusive thoughts into the minds of all who stood nearby. Urgent whispers rose and soon fell silent, the disturbance given life in the form of small, skittering creatures squeezing their way into the world from within the pylons.

Each representative of Delve reacted immediately - urging the creature's capture. Beymak, reminded of Zynti's ascension into Jhin and the massive disturbances in the ley which accompanied it, led the charge. What began with one soon became five and, before long, dozens of the creatures had begun swarming out of the pylons, and the chase was on. Utilising enchanted flasks fashioned from crystals in the Fractal Bloom and with vermin as bait, capture at first seemed an easy task. Directed to Gifol Linet, a senior researcher in the Delve Society, the adventurers were dismayed to find their captives - creatures in the dozens - vanishing to dust the instant they stepped foot onto Albedos.

Gifol had no explanation for this, and little patience for questions. With haste, a neutral outpost was established in the Siroccian Mountains, just steps away from the harlequin portal that has long carried travellers to Delve. There an enormous crate rested, overseen by an enthusiastic Tarpen researcher, and the adventurers began their task of amassing these peculiar creatures for research. Weeks passed and the creatures continued to appear in mostly steady streams, occasional swarms in massive numbers brought about by agitations in the ley. Nevertheless, efforts continued and some twelve hundred of the bugs were caught and brought to the crate, though some found themseles beneath the boot - crushed to death.

It was Chassity, Pietre, and Caitria whose efforts seemed to cross a deadly threshold. Until now mostly placid, the creatures began to buzz and click violently, turning on one another in a gruesome frenzy. Hungrily they devoured each other, but in this orgiastic, insectile feast, a mass started to form, growing larger with each new consumption until the container shattered into smithereens, no longer able to contain them. The Tarpen researcher screamed, and the writhing mass echoed it, releasing a grotesque, gurgling ululation into the air. Thousands of creatures heard its call, erupting from the pylons, shattering the flasks in which they were held captive, and swarming to heed the call of their master.

Tarissa, overseer of the nearby digsite, heard the clamour and could not stop herself from coming to investigate. The seething, roiling mass grew larger and more pronounced as myriad creatures joined it, until at last the eldritch Immortal shod carapace and chitin and sloshed towards Tarissa, ignoring the Mhun woman's screams and violently claiming her body as Its host. It stood then, draped in robes of midnight and spoke in a rasping death rattle of countless voices made one: "We... are."

The Immortal named Himself Varo, Keeper of the Close, and claimed to be the God of Death. Evidently having slept for eons, the God's memory was hazy, and He showed no familiarity with the modern world. Mortals hurried to meet the newly awakened God, though they had more questions than He had answers. By some innate intuition, Varo knew of the harm sustained by the Soul Mirror, and openly questioned why the Underking - about Whom He spoke as a mere Regent, a usurper of Death's Throne - had not mended it.

Hazy memories led the God to speak in enigmatic riddles, the condescending tone of an Elder God warring with the confusion wracking His recently-stirred mind. Of foreign places and ancient lands He waxed, giving them names none recognised. The Undead He named "Soldier", while to vampires He offered only disgust, referring to them as mere ticks and parasites, revolted by their theft of vitality in order to pretend they were, themselves, alive. "Derivatives" He named the Gods of Sapience with no effort to spare His contempt. Of Albedi and Ankyreans He knew nothing and, when pressed, the God revealed His last waking memory: a sprawling Necropolis in the City of Dyisen, during the Fourth Sepulchral Bell of the Dawn's Age. The reason for His long slumber in the ley was not clear, but the God's clarity of purpose and certainty of position were unwavering.

Varo claimed He could mend the Soul Mirror, but would need to study a working replica in order to do so. As He continued to stir from His waking, at His second appearance He offered another riddle, and adventurers were led to the Dry Plains - known to Elder Death as 'Rhesehl' in His own era. There, the combined strength of dozens tore a massive metal hatch from the ground and revealed a subterranean research outpost - a Census Station built by the Second Ankyrean Order. Within, the sought replica was discovered: known as the Soul Index, its composition resembled that of the Soul Mirror itself, though its centre was an empty void, wholly unlike the lakelike surface of that which inspired it.

The adventurers clamoured to lay their hands on the device, each time causing it to judder into motion and speak in a monotone voice. With each caress of its frame it revealed the history of that individual's soul: a former life documented and recorded in the Order's forced census. Some balked at its revelations; some embraced what it offered; others, mistrustful and suspicious of both the artifact and the God standing before them, had only more questions. Many felt that Varo was reluctant to touch the Index Himself, interpreting this as confirmation of their mistrust. It was only when Benedicto Silverain charged at the God, attempting and failing to tackle Him into the Index and force His hand, that Varo acquiesced and laid His skeletal hand upon the device. It once more stirred into motion and declared only, "Designation: God."

The Elder God spoke at some length on the nature of the Soul Mirror, that chiding, mocking tone smugly revealing the truth of its making. The Mirror was a Simulacrum, He told them. A parlour trick of the Celestine's, made to capture His voice and His face and beguile those who found resurrection into feeling that He cared for them. The Varian - named Varyuch by Varo - at the Mirror was not real, not true, and the belief that the Creator took a personal hand in shepherding souls back to life was a mistaken one. Mixed reactions followed, though the God had spoken nothing but blunt, painful truth thus far. Assuring those present that He would begin work immediately, streams of essence poured from His fingertips to encircle the device before the God disappeared, a palpable impression of His lingering presence remaining behind.

Weeks wound on and Varo's work upon the Index continued. Appearing again to converse with another growing crowd in the Ankyrean bunker, He spoke of souls and their purpose, of tempering, and the journey of experience undertaken by each of life's participants. Confusion reigned, but further discussion was curtailed by the arrival of Omei, the Imago, come to confront this Elder Death. Disturbed by His scorn for free will and agency - revealed by the Aeonic Confluence to be reluctant gifts of Varian at the pleading behest of Lanos - the Goddess levied questions and accusations at the Old God, but withered beneath His ruthless invective.

"Broken doll" He named Her, tearing through Her notions of love and instinct and companship like a scythe through chaff. She fled soon after in tears, whereupon She began to drink heavily, falling into a pit of misery and despair. The sobering call of Her Brother Damariel snapped Her out of Her reverie after a months-long campaign against Him and His. Temple desecrations, letters, harassment, and more were brought to a tumultuous finality as He showed Himself. The confrontation was a short one, the former God of Truth offering his defence with placid kindness and warm compassion to His suffering Sister. The two reconciled, and matters of Truth were seemingly settled with Damariel's admission of an ancient vow, and His confession that even he knew nothing of Varo, stating only that the Old God was of Varian's creation, much like Himself and His Siblings.

Meanwhile, Varo's work on the Index went on. In His final meeting with the adventurers of Sapience, He offered them a gift. He bestowed a young sentience upon the Index and informed them that He would have little time to spare for their persistent questions when He had reclaimed His throne: a matter about which the God held no uncertainty, no worry, no anxiety, as if it was already decided and the coronation but a mere formality. And yet, memories of ancient battle plagued His already clouded thoughts, bare to those with the insight to glimpse them. Invasions by "Others" wracked His mind, and frustration deepened as He sought more of them and found nothing but fog.

At last the time came. The ancient God's shout drew the world's attention: We begin.

Heedless of the birthright the Underking still held on the throne of Death, Varo conveyed Himself from the Dry Plains and into the realm that was not yet His. Spectral guards alerted the Reigning Sovereign of this new trespass, and as the Elder Death travelled through the hallowed lyceum of Death, Dhar's eyes were upon Him in the gaze of every spirit and soul the usurper passed. The Underking was not without His view of this Keeper of the Close, again announcing Him as an Imposter for all to hear.

Ignoring the Derivative and His claims, Varo unerringly sought and found the Soul Mirror. There, echoed in its wounded, lakelike surface, was Varo's true reflection. This gave the Elder God pause. Memories stirred as He was drawn deep into the void beyond the Simaculrum. Again, the Underking warned Varo that the power of Death was not His to wield. Despite His warning, the Underking did not forestall Him. From afar, working too upon the issue of the Mirror's crack, He watched and waited to see what would become of Varo. Armoured in contempt and wielding scorn, the Firstborn sought to make the Underhall and its spirits heed Him. Slowly, the power of Death coalesced, frothing around Him like a wellspring tapped at the core of a necropolis. So certain of His might, so imperious He was in His assertion that Death was His to command, He laid a single finger against the Soul Mirror.

All of Creation shuddered beneath a portentous knell. The wound glowed igneous silver, knitting together as if a smith had laid a fresh line of freshly smelted metal along it. Death staggered in the wake, expending an enormous amount of energy for what seemed an infinitesimal amount of repair. Anger lashed the firmament as Varo raged at Varyuch. What had the Celestine done to make Him so weak during His forced slumber? Declaring Himself no King's Regent - announcing Himself as the true King of Death - He drew the overwhelming might of the Underhalls to Him, and channelled it into the very centre of the mirror. Instead of flowing into the antiquated device and fixing it, the Mirror rejected His magic as it would any God that thought to meddle with Death's affair. Caught in the throes of the surging puissance, Varo's shock gave way to horror and finally agony.

Death Incarnate manifested beside the struggling Immortal. Without pity, the true God of Death watched as realization dawned in Varo's eyes, His last moment full of unspoken memories, swiftly followed by a scream of unspeakable terror directed at His absent Father. With Varian's name on His tongue, the Keeper of the Close, the Firstborn and long forgotten God of Death, disintegrated. His essence illumined the firmament in radiant brushstrokes of ghostly grey and azure, before even that was gone.

In the foreboding aftermath, the Underking glowered at the mirror. Though still scarred, the enormous crack had been somewhat repaired, perhaps enough for the Underking to resume His authority over Death. Gathering His robes about His incorporeal form, Dhar returned to the depths of His Underhalls, and took anon His throne.

Penned by my hand on Kinsday, the 11th of Variach, in the year 501 MA.

3/5/2022 at 23:52
Anonymous
Everyone
Shattered Souls, Part V: The Evergiving Earth

After the tumultuous unravelling of Varo, Elder God of Death, and His partial repair of the Soul Mirror, Sapience enjoyed calm for a time, though speculation as to Varo's nature and what His unexpected arrival portended remained rife. While Elder Death's machinations unfolded, a lone bud blossomed in one of the most damaged sections of the Kalydian Forest. It was Ranger Iola who first alerted the Sentinels, and by extension Duiran, to the new growth, and the Ranger found herself inexplicably drawn to it, captivated by it, and vowed to patrol that region of the woodland more diligently following the oversized sunflower's discovery.

Weeks passed and winter wound on, but it was not the cold, bitter winter of every-year. Dazzling sunlight dappled the firmament with unseasonable brightness. Midsummer's heat washed across the continent in a passing fancy. Life flourished in a fleeting moment of inexplicable acceleration. These phenomena culminated in a gilded aurora hanging over the Kalydian, shafts of light streaming skyward as what remained of life in that long-suffering woodland began to stir. The low notes of a fragmented song rose, rousing the trees to soughing and the birds to chirping.

Enraptured by the music, Ranger Iola found herself drawn to the mysterious sunflower once more as the song climbed in both intensity and pitch. The flower drew streams of pale quintessence into itself and swelled with newfound life and vitality, growing to enormous proportions while the voice sang on and the Ranger, utterly calm and accepting, stepped into its sunlit aura. Gently, the song became a lullaby as mammoth fronds wrapped about Iola in a tight embrace until, in the midst of a cyclone churning with bract and colourful petals, she was gone. In her place stood a figure draped in golden sunlight, a crown of living boughs woven through the tresses of Her hair: Yanai, the Evergiving Earth, Elder Goddess of Life, and Earthmother.

"What has become of My Son?" asked the Goddess of the world, as dozens swarmed to greet Her. Profound sadness took Her upon hearing news of Varo's demise, a thorn withering from Her crown to mark His passage. Despite Her grief and sorrow, the dignity of the Elder Goddess won out, and though inwardly She mourned, outwardly She grew only more radiant and kind. Confusion, too, reigned within Her; as She attempted to get Her bearings, many questions She asked, of Dhar the Underking, of the area She stood in, and of the world at large. When informed that Her Son had come out of the Ley and had not, as She assumed, spent eternity presiding over the realm of Death, Her composure faltered, and She insisted vehemently that the Ley was no prison for Elder Gods. It became clear that, much like Varo before Her, Yanai was ancient beyond measure, originating from a time, and perhaps even a place, long beyond the memories of even the other Gods.

Visibly bothered by the damaged Kalydian surrounding Her, the Goddess enquired of its history. Sadness once more took Her as She learned of the late Lleis and the fate of nature, left without a tender to heal its pain. Of Dendara She spoke as a 'Lirathyar' - believed by the Goddess to be a prototype plane where all forms of life are designed. Each world that sustained life, She went on to explain, had such a plane anchored to it. Though fascination reigned in many of the mortals gathered before Her, entranced by Her beauty and kind, motherly demeanour, suspicion too dwelt in many. She asked of Her people - known only as the Arboreans - and of the Greenwood forest, describing both as wonders of life that were precious to Her. Though crestfallen by the lack of answers, She resolved to find them, and vanished in a pillar of cherry blossoms.

When next the Goddess surfaced, it was in the Bloodwood, where the lingering song of the remnant Tsol'aa had drawn Her in hope of finding what She sought. Though it was a search in vain, the Hunter came to Her side and the Two conversed. He was, at first, suspicious and wary, naming Her impostor, though Yanai offered Him only comfort and warmth. The likeness to Lleis was striking, and the God found Himself torn, the repressed emotions of many years rising to the surface with newfound grief. He struggled with His words, though His fascination with Yanai was plain; He watched as She listened to the earth and shared Her sorrow when She declared the Bloodwood beyond Her power to save.

Slowly, gradually, Haern began to let His guard down and the two Gods traded gifts: a white rose from Yanai's crown given freely, and a beetle charm that the Hunter had carved personally from one of the once-Aalen's knotted roots. They spoke of Lleis and of Dendara, of the constant death visited upon the world, and, again, of the Arboreans and the Greenwood, of which Haern, sadly, knew nothing. Things soured when the Goddess, in an earnest effort to help, offered to ease the Hunter's burdens by assuming some of the duties once held by Lleis. Though Haern longed for Her to be real and true, His mistrust won out. Again He named Her impostor, and, becoming angry at what He perceived as a betrayal of His Sister's memory, He was gone.

Resigned that Her people were lost, Yanai declared that She would instead bring them to Her, and in the process, heal the Kalydian of its wounds. With the Arboreans at Her side, She insisted, She could heal much of the damage sustained by the rest of the world, undo the effects of lifeless sand and yet more miracles besides. She spoke of Her Song Eternal, the Song of Life and Creation, utilised in ages past to bring life into the world. Many of Duiran met these words with yet more suspicion - mistrustful of Her seeming disregard for the cycle and Her desire to bring so much growth into the world. In pained tones She assured them that none knew Death better than Life Incarnate, and urged them not to question Her regard for the seasons, and the cycle they represented. Many remained unconvinced, scepticism deepening as Yanai spoke of chaos in disapproval, unimpressed with tales of Omei.

Nevertheless, Her course was set. And so it was that a great Ritual of Life was devised. Aiming to celebrate the end of winter and usher in the spring, Yanai proclaimed that She would recompose Her song for the modern era, and outlined the ritual's requirements for all gathered. Nine instruments She requested - three of strings, three of wind, and three drums, carved from wood alone and created with prayers to the Earth. Several dancers and singers would be needed, to strengthen the ritual and make its success more likely. Each dancer would carry salt to scatter in a circle, while the singers would carry sticks of incense: rosemary for remembrance, sage for wisdom, thyme for courage, mint for virtue, lavender for devotion, cinnamon for stability, and jasmine for love. Wood and inks and a bolt of cloth formed the final requirements, and once again the Goddess was gone, leaving Caitria Cardinalis to organise the coming proceedings.

While preparations were underway for the ritual, the Rekindled Goddess appeared within the Edge of the Kalydian. Though She knew not what to make of Yanai, the promise of renewal had roused Ethne to fulfil a similar promise made in times past to Stine Emerson. Gathering flames about Herself and with many gathered to bear witness, Ethne turned Her eyes upon the rotting corpse of Valakris, the Bellower. The cleansing flames burned the corspe to ash and began to sear away the lingering corruption, plumes of smoking rising into the sky to mark Her efforts. When asked for advice on whether to participate in the coming rite, Ethne told them to follow their hearts, and was gone.

The day of the ritual arrived with considerable anxiety from volunteers and observers. Rumours ran rampant about the true purpose for the Goddess' ritual, with much of Duiran refusing to take part after the combined efforts of Speakers Iesid and Sibatti prophesied doom, their theories alternating between the Evergiving Earth birthing a cosmic army on Sapience, or choking the entire continent with an abundance of unsustainable growth. In the end, led by the Voice and Fury of the Wilds, a multicultural troupe was formed for the Goddess' Song. Made up of Sryaen, Taye, Yvi, Valorie, Sekeres, Ixmi, Kaiara, Holbrook, Lin, Wjoltyr, Merek, Roux, Illikaal, Jhura, Koharu, and Ayastia, with Yanai choosing the Voice of the Wilds, Caitria Cardinalis, as Her conduit, they were all blessed with ritual symbols at the Goddess' hands, their tattoos representing all the elements.

The first efforts proved to be painful for performers and watchers, before the assembled retinue for the Everbright Elder found their synergy. Exerting Her influence upon Her conduit, possessing the Voice of Duiran, the Song of Creation began. The first strains the Goddess sang caught all by surprise as the Kalsu language was moulded into a song - translated eerily by Caitria into the common tongue. Caught up in Her thrall, the Goddess' spirited accompaniment sang, danced, and played through seven stanzas, invoking the earth, awakening the fire, before tapering off into a portentous apology for Her family. Disquiet rippled through the Ritual's watchers at the words, some preparing for violence at the People the Goddess of Life was preparing to create in the Kalydian.

As the last notes faded, the ritually empowered Goddess stepped into the heart of the Kalydian forest, sheltered by a brilliant corona of sunlight. Aglow with the manifest might of Elder Divinity, Her smile was unconditional and motherly as She glided, sparking sunbeams and fledgling blooms behind her. The Woodland Queen came to rest in the very heart of the blight and degradation that so plagued this woodland. She inhaled deeply, and then exhaled a breath of dawn and sunlight. Waves of luminescence spilled forth, creating a brilliantine border around the whole of the damaged wood. Her sunlight soaked in a golden torrent, Her song raising as She sang the Song of Creation until the harmony was volant through the skeletal branches.

The taint clinging to the Kalydian's outskirts yielded to a bright melisma of growth. Life stirred beneath the canopies and under the burgeoning eaves. Light streaked between bough and branch, 'twixt thorn and thicket, the empyreal brightness forming a grand arborealis beneath which saplings sprouted as mature trees. In the centre of this rampant profusion of growth, a single redwood basked in winters snowmelt, absorbing the effects of the Song. As it opened its eyes, those who stood at the Kalydian's edges gasped in shock.

"My Song has prevailed. My People live anew!" Giddy with a mother's effusive pride, She that was Life sought out Her people, rushing through the now-healed copse. A tenderfoot sapling stumbled into Her path, being the first that the Evergiving Earth laid eyes upon.

Instead of pleasure, it was surprise and pain that struck Her. Horror manifested as some realization twisted Her flowered form. Spinning away from the young Arborean, Yanai laid hands upon a grizzled Arborean, sharing memories swiftly as the power of Her Song faded. This last act was a mother's sacrifice. Schisms cracked across the beauteous planes of Her face, pouring sunlight from within. The world watched as the aureant light darkened, a final autumn coming for the life-giving Goddess.

Anger and apology collided in the Goddess of Life's last words, but Her temper soon yielded to wan acceptance. Calmly She vowed to Her Father, Varyuch, that even She could not forgive Him for this. To the people of Sapience, a wish came, voiced in a choked, despondent voice: "I wish I could have renewed more than this one place. I am sorry."

The end of the Evergiving Earth hastened. Pine needles frothed from Her boughs as the coppice of Burval withered from Her branches. Aurous light speared away from Her collapsing silhouette, before Her mortal form shattered. What remained of Yanai was caught like dust aglow in sunbeams, before a cruel wind snatched even that away.

Falling as Her Son before Her, so too did the Evergiving Earth succumb, leaving behind the final, moss-sown legacy of Ranger Iola's remains, seeded as a flowering tribute for the Rhythm.

Long after the grieving had begun, a lone Gnome sang a Dirge for the Earth in the wake of enormous ritual magic - and was turned into a tree for his troubles.

Penned by my hand on Kinsday, the 9th of Ios, in the year 501 MA.

3/5/2022 at 2:53
Ictinus, the Architect
Everyone
Arboreans!

Following the Ritual of Life and the abrupt demise of Yanai, the Evergiving Earth, the Edge of the Kalydian is no more and in its place stands the Cantor's Copse. This small grove is robust with life and entirely free of the corruption plaguing the rest of the Kalydian. Encircling a freshwater spring, the Copse is wholly natural in its construction, absent the iron and stone of man-made civilisations.

With the rebirth of this long-suffering area of nature comes Elder Life's final gift: the Arborean race is now playable!

NOTE: Arborean is a fully gender-neutral race. Only the pronouns "It" or "They" may be used.

* You can either create a new character with the Arborean race, or reincarnate into it.

* Endgame race players may switch their heritage to Arborean for the next two weeks if they wish.

* The Ancient in the Cantor's Copse offers lessons in the Arborean language.

* Arboreans can become undead or vampires, and the effects this would have on their appearance are listed under the newly released HELP ARBOREAN.

* If your character's birth date predates Yanai's Song, your honors will reflect the date of the Song and note the age you were sung in at.

* Modern Arboreans outside of the Ancient in the Copse have no memory of the time or world before the Midnight Age.

Whether you choose to adhere to the pacifist history of this long forgotten people or break from tradition and partake in the art of war, HELP ARBOREAN will be the place to start!

Default statpack: Stalwart

Racial Skills:
Level 1: Photosynth
Level 25: Peeling
Level 50: Enroot
Level 75: Sunlight Regen

RACIAL HELP has more information on these!

As always, on behalf of the team I hope you enjoy this new addition, and the rest of the event to come!

Penned by my hand on Kinsday, the 3rd of Ios, in the year 501 MA.