Site Wide Event The Call


Age: 6 | Height: | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: - Strg: - Dext: - Endr: - Luck: - Int:
Played by: Admin Offline
Change author:
Posts: 823 | Total: 3,209
MP: 0
#1
the call
Eight more cycles of heat and snow, before the call will come. Eight seasons until war. The tools are ready, but the warriors are not. Eight seasons more to make haste, to find the relics and prepare.

The final grains of sand trickle from the hourglass. Longheat hands the baton to its sister of changing leaves, changing colours, changing fates.

And the call is right on time.

Wordless and yet felt emphatically in the bones of every rock and race and creature across the continent, Caido screams a desperate plea for deliverance. From the Summit of the Draig Cordillera, the force of their cry ripples through the very ground itself.

Oceans churn and earth rips itself asunder. Volcanoes retch fire and ash, and foul winds rake across the land. Caido breaks, and Caido breaks in turn.

From within the belly of a god gone mad and the lands they nurture, beasts begin to stir. Old things, angry things, the kings and queens of their demesnes rise to the surface. And they march on the very world around them.

But the call begs to be answered, and upon that lonely summit, Caido waits for death or salvation.

It is time. You know who you are.



Welcome to Leafchange 314 PC: War. You made it, congratulations! It's going to be a really busy and exciting couple of weeks (we estimate, anyway), and so here are a few ground rules that we hope will give you some useful information and that will help things go smoothly!
  • You might have noticed, but there is no Seasonal Event for Leafchange! Things are going to be hectic, and your admins didn't think that having clusters of SE threads would be very helpful for our players' stress levels or timelines!
  • The "Big Fight" cinematic for our 10+ levelled characters will be written and posted in this thread in chapters, so watch this space!
  • At least three regions will be playing host to a KQ, and there will also be a number of PQ+s available as well. We anticipate that our level 5-9 characters will participate in the KQs and our level 1-4 characters will do PQ+s, but you decide how you want to play. Difficulty will be based on the average level of the party, and regular KQ/PQ+ rules will apply.
  • All PQ+s should be considered dangerous for the war. Death is possible for anyone who has remained outside during the war, even for PQ+s.
  • Yes, there will be ramifications for the regions based on the results of these quests!
  • And this is a biggie: please making posting a priority if you are in a quest - we don't want people to be stuck in the war forever!
  • We'll make Discord chats to enable you to ask any questions!
  • Obviously your admins are going to be working absolute overtime while war is taking place, so as much as possible, please refer to the guidebook and to the helpdesk to ask any general questions. (Obviously if you have character specific queries, come to us in your admin chat!)
  • Most importantly: HAVE FUN! We really hope you enjoy what you've helped to create <3 Oh, and enjoy our curated war playlist, too!



Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!


Age: 6 | Height: | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: - Strg: - Dext: - Endr: - Luck: - Int:
Played by: Admin Offline
Change author:
Posts: 823 | Total: 3,209
MP: 0
#2
the call
CHAPTER I

All things take time, whether god, demigod or otherwise. And so those who gather at the foot of the Cordillera do so in fits and starts over the course of a day. These are people you know, people who lead and fight and act in the image of their deities.

It's by luck more than design (says I, the writer) that those who answer on behalf of the New Gods do not clash with those who approach on behalf of the Old; they pass like ships in the night, swallowed up into the churning mountains.

It is to these warriors of old that we will go to first - respect your elders, and all that.

They arrive on wings and on foot, through realms of spirit and reality, until the Cordillera bears down upon them, wreathed in smoke and lightning.

We have the Sword and the Sentinel, one a Warden of Halo and the other a demigod of Vi, both battle-hardened men whose resolve and determination needs no introduction.

We have the Huntsman and the Lullaby, demigods of Safrin and Ludo respectively, bound by love to one another and by duty to their heralds to see this through.

And we have the daughter of Mort herself, emerging from the world of ghosts and spirits, and the Nightshade of Torchline, beloved by the gods and commited to the cause.

These valiant six are the first to cross into the mountain range - but they are not the only ones. And they aren't the fastest, either.

For with the passage of time, day naturally turns to night, and those who speak for the Voice are more agile beneath the moon. The Wraith arrives in the blink of an eye, a steadfast warrior for her mother goddess. With her comes the Lone Ranger, similarly blessed and armed (literally, you'll see) to the teeth to fight.

Alongside them comes the youngest of the Voice's demigods, hand in hand with the Remedy of the Hollowed Grounds; healers both, someone must provide aid in this snarl of chaos and war.

We will spare you the race through the Cordillera in too much detail, for the main event will not begin until we reach the summit. Suffice to say that the wonders of the region are wasted on these soldiers of fortune; no fields of sleeping wildflowers or weightless waterfalls can soothe them, no drifting beacons can guide them with any certainty. Gifted as they are with a stamina that goes beyond the mere human, neither group suffers with any physical exhaustion, though the mental and emotional toll speaks for itself. While the world rages outside, within the Cordillera all seems eerily subdued and calm, as if our warriors are caught in the eye of a monstrous storm.

In the end, against all the odds, the Voice's quartet are the first to reach the very peak of the Cordillera. A harsh rain begins to lash down, stinging the skin - though for the Ascended this will feel like little more than a tingling in their sensors. Dark and jagged and rising sharply into the clouds, the air around Caido's seat is thick and still, like a held breath.

And, one by one, six sets of reptilian eyes blink open around the sharp cliffs; six pairs of wings spread wide, crowning the skies with shadows blacker than the night.

The first trial begins.



Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!


Age: 6 | Height: | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: - Strg: - Dext: - Endr: - Luck: - Int:
Played by: Admin Offline
Change author:
Posts: 823 | Total: 3,209
MP: 0
#3
the call
CHAPTER II

Let it never be said that the Ascended shy away from a fight.

One of the dragons parts its jaws to screech into the night - a battle cry swallowed by the rain - and the quartet are already on the move.

Wessex, our Wraith in the dark, strides forward like she's got all the time in the world, like it's a catwalk, her hips swaying, a smile hooking up one corner of her mouth. She stands before this crown of dragons, arms spread, chin lifted in defiance. Come, then, she tells them without ever saying a word.

It is a dragon of shadowed scales and black talons that takes up her challenge, only to instantly regret it. The dark makes Wessex faster than a whipcrack, but she takes the blow with grace - and oh, does the upgrade nestled in the back of her neck make it worthwhile.

The other beasts recoil as the black dragon shrieks into the air - unexpected pain splashed back from the strike of its own claws. Rearing up, its tail is coiled in anguish, its maw is open wide...

And a hand, flickering and holographic, wraps around its lower jaw to yank it back towards the ground. The sharp bend of its neck and spine reveal the Lone Ranger upon its back, three more translucent arms anchoring him in place via the reptile's wings and throat.

Electricity brings the scene into startling clarity, fanning out from a slender figure who stands in a posture of prayer. A solemn blend of both parents, Azrael does as they have always done. They focus. They repair. And Wessex will certainly feel that much as the sparks scatter across her skin. More than that much, in fact.

Soft fingertips press against the Wraith's shoulders, and a softer voice wishes her luck, before the Remedy engages an upgrade that shocks and floods the demigoddess's sensors, sharpening her reflexes and honing her already considerable strength.

Nothing happens in a vacuum, however.

While Black learns the hard way not to be the first into the fray, the other dragons are beginning to shift and stir. One - emerald green, sleek and menacing - takes to the air, aiming to swoop down and interrupt the carefully curated fight going on.

But before it gets close, a streak of light lances through the air, embedding itself in the creature's neck; an arrow tipped with pure starlight. The archer stands upon the Huntsman's nimbus, appearing to rise up from the clouds themselves, her arm drawn back, a crown glittering on her brow. The Nightingale, Queen of Torchline, has fired the first shot for the Old Gods, but she is by no means the last.

Green alters course, tilting towards Maeve, only for the earth to spear up and slash at its underbelly, dragging a keening screech from its bleeding throat. Unseen at first beneath the nimbus, Deimos emerges from the downpour, the Resurrected Sword needing no physical weapon. Why would he? He is the weapon.

The dragon is already twisting and flapping gracelessly towards the ground when Halo's Sentinel makes his play, proving that these are not the only reptiles to rule Caido. The basilisk whips across the rocky incline, eyes gleaming and focused on the downed beast - on its face, in particular. And even as the rest of its scaly body coils about Green and squeezes, the dragon stiffens and turns to rock in its grip.

One might say that the Taliesins are late to the party, given how they stroll in towards the back of the group. The Huntsman arrives with his eyes on the sky and a pale hawk nestled against his shoulder, watching for other dragons in flight. And when a shape drops in a shiver of purple scales, he's ready. The words that pass between the two men are unheard, but the hawk takes flight in a powerful beat of wings, spearing towards this latest foe.

Only when he's a breath away does the Lullaby alter his form; the group will not see quite what he does, given the shadows and the rain, but the purple dragon is smothered by teeth and tentacles. It goes down screaming.

To any observers thus far, it would appear to be a fairly easy time for the demigods and their respective teams, whether on behalf of the Old Gods or the New. And so, naturally, when it does go wrong, it really goes wrong.

The pale dragon is the smallest of the six, and it has been able to slither around in the storm unnoticed until now. It streaks downwards in a spectacular dive, near vertical as it passes by - and then through - one particular cloud that's in its way. A cloud that happens to be holding the archer.

Maeve's cry hits the air only half a second later, and for those who catch a glimpse of her fall, it might appear momentarily as though she, too, has grown a pair of wings. The spray of crimson from the talons that have sliced into her shoulders blooms high and wide into the air; it's almost beautiful, in the right light.

But her fall is not so majestic, and it's the Huntsman who breaks it in the end, catching the ailing Nightshade before she can crumple to the ground.

From there, chaos reigns.

The stink of iron and ozone fills the air as bodies shift and move through the rain, some human, others draconic, and others still taking no recognisable shape at all. The black dragon's corpse lays still and silent against a rocky outcrop, swiftly dispatched, but the small, pale creature soon swoops in to take its place.

Purple, too, has been crushed to nothing under the weight of tentacles and rage, and its prone form is illuminated harshly by the bright light of a healing blast from the Huntsman. Maeve is just about upright when Green is released from its petrification, and although the Sword and the Sentinel abruptly swarm it again, it isn't going down without a fight.

Twisting, its mighty jaws fasten - and fasten hard - around Deimos's right arm, shredding it in serrated teeth and nearly yanking it from its socket. It's true that this will allow him to hold it in place for the most part, but it will certainly sting in the morning.

Now, in all of this, there is one dragon that we have been neglecting. The most dangerous, in fact, renowned for bringing instant death to all those who gaze upon it. Grey is the only beast not to have taken to the skies. It watches, it surveys, it takes very careful consideration. And it decides on a victim.

But just as it shifts to make a move, every muscle in its body suddenly freezes. Its pupils dilate, and then shrink to mere pinpricks.

You didn't think we'd forget about Delphia, did you?

Mort's daughter has been present in the ether since the battle began, meandering through the realm of spirits whilst war rages all around, and now Grey is in her sights. The temperature around the dragon plummets, and sweet laughter echoes close by, even as the reptile twists to try and lay eyes on the invisible presence.

"You cannot kill what already walks with death," she tells it by way of apology, definitely not paraphrasing Game of Thrones. Grey feels a gentle press against its haunches, a slight nudge, almost... and its soul peels away from its body, swirling up to meet with Mort. Its scaly form slouches from the crag it has been perched upon, falling away, gone into the night. Delphia is swift and silent, and more deadly than Grey by far.

The Lone Ranger might just catch sight of its shadow slipping past as he straightens, having dispatched the pale dragon with static vibrating in his bones. The adrenaline is addictive, singing through his veins and blowing his pupils. Victory might just be in sight, if the remaining dragons continue to cause problems for the Old Gods. Indeed, a wide, fanged grin has stretched across his lips as he turns--

And stares into the wide, gaping maw of a scarlet-scaled dragon.

It all happens so quickly from there.

Fire erupts from the creature's throat, almost point blank before Nate. The world turns red, then white, so white--

And then it all goes dark again.

Before Nate - his sensors still pinging, mind still whirring - the Remedy stands shielded in diamond-like armour, her eyes shut tightly. And from around her, the Prince's charred form slumps to the ground, dragging a soft cry from her throat. He is gone, she already knows that much, and whilst she always knew her companion would sacrifice himself for her, it doesn't make it any less difficult to bear.

Red's jaws are already parting again, but this time Nate is ready. Holographic arms brace its maw wide open; he hasn't the strength to clamp it shut, however, and already the ominous glow from within its throat is growing. The Ranger glances around, calculated, calm, because Wessex has to be--

Has to--

She's--

Where the fuck is Wessex?

The world is chaos, and the Wraith is nowhere to be found. Seconds slow to what feel like years. Nate makes his decision.

"Go." The word is almost choked out, because already he knows the other demigods are rallying. And if they stay, if the medic and Azrael stay, they will not be strong enough to overcome them. If they stay even a moment longer, all of them will die here. It will all be for nothing.

The confusion on their faces precedes the still mustering flames within the dragon's gullet. "I said go," he repeats, urging them off the Summit, back to safety. Back home. "And tell him," he urges the Remedy. "Tell him I--"

The dragon roars.

And on that lonely mountain, Nate burns a hero, a saviour to his brothers and his sisters. And Isla and Azrael heed his final words, escaping into the dark.

From there it is but a matter of time before the remaining dragons succumb to the efforts of the demigods of old, and to the warriors who join them.

From the wreckage, six figures emerge, battered and bleeding but still somehow on their feet.

And they advance.



Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!


Age: 6 | Height: | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: - Strg: - Dext: - Endr: - Luck: - Int:
Played by: Admin Offline
Change author:
Posts: 823 | Total: 3,209
MP: 0
#4
the call
CHAPTER III

They do not stride towards their fate as one might expect heroes to do, all devotion, all duty to the cause. No, some limp onwards or ride upon borrowed clouds, while others walk in slow, wary silence. But progress they do, until an eerie light from a cove up ahead tempts them into the belly of the mountain.

And what greets them there tells quite the story.

Once upon a time, this shrine to Ludo and Mort stood as an ornate fountain; now it has been cracked open like an egg, gushing water from an endless spring deep within the earth. But it is not the water that lights the cavern, no - it is circuitry. Strange wires and cabling warp around and even through the splintered marble, softly pulsing electric blue. And in the empty spaces where the fountain once was whole, the air seems to shiver and vibrate.

For those in the know - and that includes our intrepid warriors - this looks suspiciously like a portal.

And whilst they may be injured and exhausted, they are steadfast enough to know that this is the route that takes them forward.

Only Delphia stops them.

"Not yet. This is not right," she whispers, stepping forward to sink to her knees in prayer - prayer to her father, to his herald, to those who passed in the battle below and for their very souls up here, on this lonely mountain.

Remi is already at her elbow when something pure rings through the marble, like the tinkle of a bell, or a child's laughter. Whatever it is, the vibrations that chime through their bones in turn provide some desperately needed aid; bones mend, skin knits itself back together, energy replenishes until all can stand unassisted, ready for the fight to come.

Which is good - because they'll need every bit of help they can get.

This portal leads to just one place, and although there's little time to waste figuring out exact locations, there's a distinct impression of being... up. Up high above the summit, in the lashing rain and howling winds, where gods and champions hold court.

And the sight that greets them is the sort to burn into the back of the eyes forever, replaying on cold, stormy nights just like this one.

But first, let's rewind.

She hadn't intended to come this far. The cove had merely been an opportunity, a peep in the dark as the Black Dragon had fallen, and Wessex had always been one for calculated risks. She'd merely gone to take a look into that shadowy crag, hoping for an edge for her brothers and sisters. But there had been no salvation up here for the Ascended. Just an insult in the form of a glorious fountain, a sacred space for the dead who fit the right criteria.

And so sue her - Wessex had destroyed it, feeling a small and spiteful victory when it didn't even strike back as some shrines are wont to do. A victory that warped into shock and confusion as the ruined fountain swarmed with static, as if touched by the Voice herself. And the shimmer of a portal... perhaps this could all be over if she were able to do this. Perhaps it could end without any bloodshed at all. Just one step forward, one step into... into...

A sickening crack echoes through what one might believe to be a marble floor, though it's obscured by the wall of rain that beats down upon the Old Gods warriors as they step out of the portal.

They do not see Wessex at first. They see Diana Bright.

Flaxen haired and with eyes like white thunder, first of the bright ones, beloved by the Voice... and now, in this Court of the Fallen, rendered utterly devoid of any semblance of personality or mercy. Flanked by other figures as yet still motionless in the shadows, Diana straightens from the ground, holding in her hands a mass of flesh and fluid and cable that, in the right light, might be part of a spine.

She spends a moment or two digging around in the fleshy, wiry lump, producing a small and sinister device that, were other Ascended present (alas), would be easily recognisable as the Wraith's splashback upgrade. Wessex Theskyra is no more - but she hasn't gone down quietly, and the evidence is writ all over Diana's body.

Indeed, courtesy of the same upgrade she now holds in her hands, Bright is barely hanging on. Consumed, however, by the desire to improve, to upgrade, to endure, her fingers are just reaching to affix the device to the back of her own neck when a sun-bright stag charges into the proceedings.

"Go." Whether Noah is speaking to his magic or to the group around him is entirely unclear, but the results are nonetheless impressive. Its antlered head bowed low, the stag connects with Bright much in the same fashion as a bulldozer, tossing its mighty head and throwing her, wreathed in fire, into the air. She is dead before she ever hits the ground.

And if ever there were declaration of war, this is it.

From betwixt hulking marble pillars that stretch up into the midnight rain, stars begin to shine... and then promptly fall, hurtling towards the group. Already the Lullaby is in motion, rushing forward and shifting, growing monstrous in size, slapping gargantuan tentacles around the nearest pillar to hoist himself up and absorb the celestial hit.

Beneath, his allies are also on the move - Ronin - two Ronins - dive into the fray; Maeve soars overhead on the Huntsman's nimbus, an arrow knocked against her cheek; Deimos runs to meet two figures with lightning crackling at his fingertips and the earth buckling at his feet; Delphia melts into the spiritual plane, on the heels of a basilisk with eyes shining like blood in moonlight.

And from above descends Safrin's first star like a meteor in the dark, as handsome as he is cruel. Bypassing the kraken to seek out weaker targets, Duke LeBlanc is aimed right at the Sword, only to find his vision shrouded by a blinding, starlit dome. Appropriately named, Ronin has thrown the Seal of the Duke high, obscuring his fellow warrior from view while he fights within.

Speaking of which, Deimos is not without his share of problems, finding himself engaged with a gambler and a king, both as wily and as majestic as their namesakes suggest. Ruby Gamble does not need her lucky gloves to cause the Sword problems, and this redheaded firecracker of Frey is enough of a distraction without taking her counterpart into consideration. In comparison, Rae's Tallulah King steps carefully, but she is no less wicked for her pragmatism.

Blades and magic clash within the dome, and outside of it the situation is no less tense.

Aiden Wilde is smiling, though it is no longer a smile of kindness and understanding. He has taken several starlit arrows to the shoulder, but pays them no mind as he tracks the basilisk's movement in the rain. Mort's chosen had no fear of death in the first war, and that is no different now.

As Noah strikes out with a serpent's fangs, Wilde's gaze is not even upon him. He reaches past Noah, out into the very ether itself, tearing Delphia from the spiritual plane to toss her towards one of the marble pillars. Two can play at Mort's game.

Behind them, the starlit dome drops and Duke is back on the warpath. Or at least he would be, were it not for a green-eyed monster suddenly standing in his way. It isn't jealousy, though - it's Remi. Trading tentacles for feathered wings and a deadly rapier, he plunges the ebony blade through LeBlanc's midriff before he can so much as sneer his challenge. With a flick of the wrist, the light in Duke's eyes dies forever.

Remi draws Wilde's Rapier free, wings flaring wide, adrenaline singing its song in his blood. And just as he is about to turn back to the fight, a soft mouth presses her lips against his ear. "My, you are a tricky one, aren't you?"

The group do not see exactly what happens next, but they certainly hear it. It takes a lot to make the Lullaby to scream out in pain, but as something reaches deep within his shoulder blades and rends and shreds and gnaws, there's no caging it behind his teeth. Harper Meadows - his predecessor, ironically enough - has been nestled against his bones for some time now, and as she departs she takes most of Remi's wings with her. Left with bloodied rags protruding from his back and with the rain mottling feathers into the marble, as Remi falls to his knees, Harper licks her fingers clean.

And a moment later, the Huntsman's supernova hits her square in the back.

Gamble and King are down, the former criss-crossed with lightning scars smoking gently in the downpour, the latter taken out by a starlight arrow to the neck. Deimos moves swiftly on, bypassing a seething, draconic mass of wings and talons shredding into Harper Meadows; heedless he might be of any wounds being dealt in return, Ronin nonetheless needs no assistance here.

In the meantime, Wilde's smile has been frozen in place for a few precious seconds, his visage petrified by a basilisk's stony gaze. Noah takes the opportunity to shift back, and in an echo of his fellow demigod, warm light blasts out from his person, giving succor to any wounds his allies have sustained (there's little helping Remi, though) and causing Wilde's frozen countenance to start to visibly chip away.

The moment he melts back into flesh and blood, Delphia is before him to return what he gave her a few moments before. She does not tear him from the spiritual plane, however; she returns him to it. Permanently.

And for a breath, all is silent but for the violent hush of the rain. The group stands. Perhaps they exchange glances, or run to one another, or gaze around for the next assault.

They won't have to wait for long.

It begins as a slow echo, a drumbeat on the marble. But no footsteps have ever sounded so heavy, so imminent. They ought not belong to a man so small, when he emerges from the storm. But they'll learn.

Because Warren Atticus is no man at all, and as he turns and bares his teeth in a grin, they'll see why. The Core has not blessed him with mere fangs; his is a maw of sharp, serrated teeth, rusting and ready to consume.

He doesn't wait for them to react; plunging his fist downwards as if to strike at the marble, it isn't clear at first what he's trying to achieve, until the pain hits. Then it makes sense - he was plugging himself in.

Electricity and stone erupt from the ground in splintering veins, racing towards the group. Some receive glancing blows, others managing to twist out of the way completely. But Deimos and Delphia? They are each hit with a force enough to launch them backwards, almost back through the portal completely. Hidden for now by the wind and rain, the damage will not become immediately apparent.

But when Deimos straightens, he'll find, beneath smouldering armour, the left side of his chest and shoulder warped, burned, and glistening with pieces of what he swears could be circuitboard. Delphia suffers a similar fate, but her blow falls against the right side of her neck, creeping up onto her cheek. Blasted by Atticus and blighted by the Core, they will wear the evidence of his gift forever.

But now the inertia has broken, and even as two of the party are thrown back, the others move in. Warren rips his fist from the marble as the Nightshade's feather-tipped whip cracks about his throat, yanking his head to the side. A flurry of starbolts assaults him from above, a mass of tentacles from below, and the Sentinel appears at his back, locking strong arms about his neck and twisting, wrenching.

Jagged teeth gnash at Noah's forearm, but the assault does not let up. And with Remi's tentacles looping and coiling and crushing about Atticus's lower half, it matters not how much he writhes. How much he sparks and tries to electrocute the limbs that hold him. In barely half a minute, they have relieved his head from his shoulders, the fizzing wires and tubing still crackling as his skull falls with a dull thud onto the wet ground.

This time they do not wait for another attack, pressing onwards through rows of marble pillars, through pedestals and thrones, shrines and altars.

Soren Young waits for them before a small, plain door that seems unbefitting of the grandeur all around. He is a tall man, graceful and pale, a patch covering his right eye and a slender sword of pure light in his hands. Evidence of teeth marks his pallid skin, and he regards each of the warriors before him with quiet understanding. It almost feels like a welcome.

With a gentle nod, he raises his sword high... and plunges it inwards, delivering himself to Mort with nary a whisper or a cry.

The court has fallen.

And Caido awaits.



Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!


Age: 6 | Height: | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: - Strg: - Dext: - Endr: - Luck: - Int:
Played by: Admin Offline
Change author:
Posts: 823 | Total: 3,209
MP: 0
#5
the call
CHAPTER IV.A

The door looks so small.

And for something intended, presumably, to contain the god of all gods - or at the very least provide some degree of separation between Caido and the rest of them - it seems laughably fragile.

There is no pomp leading up to the moment; no fanfare of trumpets, no war drums. No one even speaks. There's just the hush of the rain in the dark and a hand reaching out - Ronin's hand, for no reason other than his is the first there (no, really, it was rolled for at random) - and the door swings open...

Now, for Ronin, it's all light and warmth. Sunshine kisses his cheeks and the sky opens into endless blue. His arms feel heavy, too, so heavy, and when he looks down he finds no weapons, no bindings; merely the bundled and sleeping form of his daughter. His first daughter, just as she was the day he saw her last. Aoife.

His lips part as if to call out - in shock or surprise, or to Remi perhaps, but he's worried he might wake her; worried the moment might shatter. Turning to seek out the Lullaby, Ronin finds... nothing in sight. Nothing at all. The sun bleaches everything white, the door has disappeared; even the shadows are gone.

Well, gone is the wrong word. Just because he cannot see them, it doesn't mean they aren't there. And beneath his feet, trapped in an ink black world that can glimpse heaven but never touch it, Remi pounds against the walls of his prison. He screams for Ronin, but no sound leaves his lips. He reaches for them both, but they only seem farther away each time.

Perhaps it is better this way, he thinks, nevertheless pressing against the unseen and intangible wall keeping him from the light. This is who I am, after all.

And yet he can't help himself, bloodying his hands for a whisper of that warmth and love, over and over and over and over...

Maeve is home.

Torchline is as it always was; hels call through the air and waves crash against the shores beyond the Court of the Stars. Her family and friends are all around. Everything is as it should be... so why does she feel so alone? Harper is here, Edmund, Jude, - no one she can imagine is missing, no one at all.

But they always seem to look through her, smiling at the space over her shoulder, never addressing her directly; not even when she calls their names. This isn't for lack of trying of course, and her hoarse voice echoes and bounces off the walls, trying fruitlessly to reach those she loves. But Maeve is a ghost in her own life, doomed to haunt it forever.

Speaking of ghosts, there are too many here for Delphia to handle. She cannot orient herself and, unlike the Nightshade, Mort's daughter would give anything to be lost in this crowd, to shut out the voices that clamour for her aid and attention. But there's no stopping it; spirits press in on all sides, their cries bouncing around her skull, and she swears she can feel their ethereal fingers trying to peel beneath her eyelids and under her fingernails.

Please, if you would wait but a moment-- She tries, but it's no use. Like a drowning man pulling his saviour under in his panic, the ghosts are relentless, and Delphia is lost to their despair.

Far to the north of Torchline, through the realm of spirits and back out again, there's blood on the ice at Halo. No, not just on the ice - there's blood everywhere. Caked in the mortar of the Citadel buildings, rusting on the snowy ground, freezing into crimson stalactites as it drips from the rooftops. And it's all over you too, Deimos. Frosted into your dark hair and wetting your sleeves, there's no washing yourself clean from this one.

There are no bodies visible, but perhaps they are just hidden under the snow. Did you kill them, Deimos? With your bare hands? Death at the front door. No, that isn't you any more, is it?

But they are still dead; maybe they died because you weren't there. So this is still your fault, right? This is all your fault, Warden.

Across the Tundra, there's only one corpse to be seen. Well, two, technically, but Noah isn't dead yet. The man beneath the ice certainly is, though; and they could be brothers, for the resemblance between them. But it's not Ezekiel - it's Noah's father who lays here, still and lifeless, too brave, too stupid - too cold. And gods, it really is cold. The temperature seems to plummet with every breath, and each beat of his heart comes slower and slower...

Only...

Only...

It isn't cold enough.

Noah is forged from ice and snow; he has braved this Tundra almost as often as he has slept in his own bed. And it isn't cold enough - there's no numbness to the tips of his fingers, his breath doesn't quite burn as it should when he inhales. And the world around him, too, feels distant; the wind moans across the ice fields, but there's no sting to it, and the stars aren't shining as brightly.

This isn't right.

"This isn't right." Noah opens his eyes - really opens them this time, his hoarse voice barely audible, but it's enough to shatter the illusion.

He stands in the eye of Caido's hurricane. The door - still plain, still innocuous, lays open at his feet, the Court of the Fallen visible within. All around, existence itself plays and dances in a kaleidoscope of lifetimes, a patchwork of All Things that threatens madness in its beauty. But something is wrong.

Within this gorgeous, churning typhoon, an infestation blackens the carefully crafted harmony. Veins of flickering ebony pulse and stretch through Caido's work, through Caido themself, plunging deep into the ground where Noah stands... and spreading back up and through his feet to take root directly inside him.

Inside them all. He can see them, his companions standing sentinel around the doorway with him. All of them are motionless, their heads bowed, inky spiderwebs injecting poison into their minds. But it can't end like this - it can't.

Where there is darkness, there is always light. Where there is Mort, there is Vi.

And Noah stands for Vi today.

His eyes ablaze, a bright dome erupts from around the Sentinel, charging through his allies and withering the infection that holds them. They stir, eyes opening, and the terrain rocks around the group, like the world itself just got vertigo.

When it rights itself, above them, Caido stares down. They have eyes like the first taste of morning coffee.

Vast as a desert shore with wings the colour of a thunderclap, when they speak, it sounds like sunrise.

Help.

And it's visible, the source of the corruption, the darkness pouring out into creation. Embedded in Caido's chest, a nest of metalwork, circuitry and static decays them from the inside out; once the Core lay trapped at the peak of the Spire, but now it sits here, growing like a cancer in the god of gods.

Ripe for the taking, one might say.

Caido's assistance comes by way of doing nothing at all. Moving as a group this time, one would not be blamed for thinking there is some telepathy between the warriors that goes beyond the Attuned; perfectly in sync, shields and supernovas, earth and wind and fire all rise to protect against tendrils of blighted circuits that come to lash out at them.

Within the maelstrom of clashing powers, it is not wings that carry the figure up and towards the Core... but tentacles, lashing and grabbing and heaving onto anything available.

He knows he's strong enough to do this. He knows it. (So do the dice apparently, because they volunteered him). He knows, too, what happened to the last person who touched something like this, but someone has to make a sacrifice here, and he's already given a couple of fingers for this war. What's a little more, to end this? And so he reaches out--

And plunges his hand into the chest of a deity, tearing the infection from the very source.

The pain in his right arm is absolute. The world goes white.

And then very, very dark.



Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!


Age: 6 | Height: | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: - Strg: - Dext: - Endr: - Luck: - Int:
Played by: Admin Offline
Change author:
Posts: 823 | Total: 3,209
MP: 0
#6
the call
CHAPTER IV.B

There are two sides to every story.

To the Old Gods, of course she seems like an infection, a blight on their narrow existence. Any attempt to forge one's own path has always been taken as an act of mutiny to the old ones, and history, as they say, is written by the victors.

And so this is the tale you're told, while she and her people - people who chose to join her, people punished for having the audacity of free will - suffer behind a barrier, or under the yoke of other, wrong, the enemy.

What will history say now, as the Lullaby tears the Core from Caido's breast, as he falls into the waiting arms of victory and the world plunges into deep, deep darkness?

The Voice doesn't know. She won't be here to see it.

But her children will.

Contingency strategies are necessary in circumstances like these, and unlike the Old Gods (all fire and no fuel as they are), the Voice has been preparing hers for over a season now.

Deep within the Climb, in a cathedral of obsidian, stands an altar and an empty bowl. Legend has it that in times of old, offerings of blood were given at this altar - but the Voice needs a much larger bowl for what she plans to accomplish.

It started with the ursur, out on the ice. Then she moved south, to the ceffyl dŵr, to ramphire and encantado. Gallons and gallons of blood, from the smallest bird to the largest beast, until the Mountain's Roar ran in thick sheets of crimson, frothing in the pools below. Soaking into the rock.

No one had ventured so deeply into the Burrows, but if they had, oh what a sight they'd have beheld at Soulfire Reach. The glittering cavern of precious gems, transformed into dripping rubies, glittering like a plate of eyes in the ruddy light.

It is within this scarlet tomb that the Voice makes her plea, to the sleeping secret that resides here. For there is nothing without balance, even for Caido, even for the god of all. But what, pray tell, is the mirrored face to All?

I offer you life for life. You and yours will wake again, will walk again, will feast again, if you would take my brightest sparks and make them yours. This I pledge, should I cease to be.

Night after night, the Voice prays and the cavern bleeds.

Now the moment arrives. She feels herself already beginning to flicker out, even from far across the world, as the Lullaby ruthlessly crushes the Core in his fist. Spitefully, she hopes that he never ceases to feel the pain it will cause him, to shatter the heart and mind of a goddess.

It is time. Save them, have them, keep them. Her words echo in the dripping catacombs, even as her light extinguishes, at last, forever.

The war, over.

The Voice, silenced.

...And then the rubies begin to churn and writhe in the dark.



Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!


Age: 6 | Height: | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: - Strg: - Dext: - Endr: - Luck: - Int:
Played by: Admin Offline
Change author:
Posts: 823 | Total: 3,209
MP: 0
#7
the call
CHAPTER V

She has been asleep for so long.

When Caido grew listless and disappeared to their lonely perch on the mountain, the game of kiss-chase between All and Entropy became mundane and trivial.

And so, like a player with no opponent, she quit. More accurately, she slept. Her home still churned and bubbled all around, but even the fiery embrace of the Climb was not enough to stir her. And without their mother flame, there was nothing to fan her children to wakefulness either.

Until now.

Blood-slick and seeping, the cavern of rubies shifts and uncoils, causing the earth all around to shudder under the force of her morning stretch. Limbs shift (human ones, some of them) and tentacles of blackened rock and glimmering crimson arrange themselves; a sinister geode coming to life in the underground. Claws flick and jaws part in a yawn; carmine eyes open to take in this new and shining world.

Hideously beautiful, buxom to the waist and nightmarish everywhere else, a tentacle reaches out to tickle at the remaining gems that still cling to the cave walls. Stone on stone, they click and chime, ringing farther than they have any right through the tunnels. And in response, deep within the Burrows, things begin to stir. And they call to her so sweetly in the dark, in the heat.

Goddess.

Lady.

Mother.

Dygra.


She smiles a smile too wide, with far too many teeth.

We are awake.



Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!


Age: 6 | Height: | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: - Strg: - Dext: - Endr: - Luck: - Int:
Played by: Admin Offline
Change author:
Posts: 823 | Total: 3,209
MP: 0
#8

You did it!

Congratulations! You have survived the war (well, some of you). We can't tell you how much it means to us to see the culmination of 4 years worth of work unfold like this ❤️ Everyone will receive bonus War-Participation MP as well as a special badge on your profile.

Understandably, you might have some questions. Questions like sorry, who the fuck just woke up??, or what the hell happens to the Ascended? and when can I post?

Let us explain, in case you need a summary.

Back before there was anything at all, there was Dygra and there was Caido. Not two halves of one whole, nor ying and yang, the pair were simply what Was and What Wasn't. When Caido grew listless and decided to dwell on the top of a mountain while all manner of life bloomed across the continent, Dygra went to sleep and was forgotten.

Or, almost forgotten. Clever in so many ways, the Voice knew all about this ancient goddess and where to find her. Realizing that, despite the strength of her children and her love for them, they might lose the war, the Voice set up a contingency plan. If they were to lose, she would sacrifice herself to Dygra that her children could live. She would give the goddess a wealth of nourishment and food for her own children before ultimately transferring her life force as a worthy trade for the survival of her bright ones. This is why all those bloodless bodies have been appearing. This is what made the Mountain's Roar run red.

This is what woke Dygra up and saved the Ascended.

Saved though they are, however, there are consequences. The results of losing the war is not death for the Ascended, but an inability to level. They can no longer buy anything with MP, cannot quest, but can exist. So if you enjoy writing your Ascended as they are, you can continue to do so! However, there is another option: Become an Ancient. Ancients are our new demonic race, and you can read about them below.

For the time being, we're going to put the site to sleep for a bit while we make all the necessary updates and changes, but don't worry - you can keep posting! We've created a temporary board for you to host all your immediate aftermath threads. To make it easier on us, please put the location of your thread in the description-field so that once everything is up and running, it can be archived/moved to the appropriate place. Posting in this board will count toward your post-count, and normal posting rules apply within this board.

During this time we encourage you to start all your narrative threads, hosting your weddings, funerals, reunions etc. that would normally follow a big disaster like this. But because of what's coming up, we do request that you refrain from beginning any PQs (you'll see why shortly).

We have more detailed descriptions of what the world looks like post-war on the way, but for now, when you're writing, keep this in mind:

    The Fangs in Halo have collapsed and the region is extremely unstable.
    The tremors during Dygra's awakening have caused half of the Climb to crumble into the sea, separating it from the Halo region.
    Torchline has broken up into several islands with half of it hovering in the air.
    Stormbreak has risen completely up and into the sky and is now only reachable by flight.
    The Hollowed Grounds is ON FIRE.
    The Greatwood has completely flooded.
    Sunjata's Refuge is still pretty chill, but is now open again and people may enter and leave at will.

At the end of the maintenance period, we're going to do a ONE-YEAR TIME JUMP into the future. Because of the extensive damage in some regions, we don't want everyone's posts to be constantly taken up with "I fix this" "I clean this" "I rebuild this". The one-year jump will allow us to handwave away those inconvenient upgrades that need to be done.

Questions we think you might be asking


1. Can I make an Ancient now?
You can make your character, absolutely! But we aren't going to accept any of them until the site is back up and running (probably a few days).
2. What happens to the Ascended?
Because of the Voice's sacrifice, all of the Ascended will remain at their current level indefinitely, or be made into an Ancient!
3. Can my character become an Ancient?
Yes, any race can become an Ancient! Because this is a new race, transitioning stats and abilities and such will be done on a case-by-case basis.
4. Can I hand in quests/channel a god/pray at a shrine?
Unfortunately no, as we will be frantically getting the site up and running again.
5. Is there anywhere I can't post?
Nope!
6. I don't remember the board names or descriptions.
That's unfortunate, maybe ask a friend.
7. Why are all the links gone?
Because we're updating things.
8. Can you please just quickly do x for me?
No.


The Ancients


The Ancients are just that: the oldest race in all of Caido. Forged from molten rock and pure energy when the world was still young, this race is an amalgamation of all things primal and enduring. Because of this, the Ancients have an innate weakness to the cold (they are cold-blooded, more or less) and are impervious to fire. Distinguishable by their tails, horns, and fangs (though at higher levels, these traits can be hidden), this race is the longest-lived.

The Ancients must satisfy a carnal craving called Bloodlust. When they ignore this impulse, Ancients’ turn into feral, demon-like creatures incapable of rational thought until the need is satisfied. If an Ancient goes too long without satisfying their Bloodlust, they will feel their limbs slowly turn to stone. This does not kill them, but puts them into a period of stasis until they can feed again or until they're bathed in fire/blood.

At level 0, Ancients start out with innate heat resistance and one of the following shifts: Fyrhund, Molten Tiger, Lial, Lava Wyrm, Gore Crow, or Rock Slider.

Custom Ancient Magics


  • Bloodboon (basic) | Can injure themselves for basic damage to heal themselves or others at an upgraded level with a range of 10ft.

    Bloodboon (upgraded) | Can injure themselves for upgraded damage to heal themselves or others at a mastered level with a range of 20ft.

    Bloodboon (mastered ) | Can injure themselves for mastered damage heal themselves or others  at 1.5x their mastered level with a range of 30ft.

  • Bloodbane (basic) | Can injure themselves for basic damage to weaken others at an upgraded level with a range of 10ft.

    Bloodbane (upgraded) | Can injure themselves for upgraded damage to weaken others at a mastered level with a range of 20ft.

    Bloodbane (mastered) | Can injure themselves for mastered damage to weaken others at a 1.5x their mastered level with a range of 30ft.

  • Statuesque (basic) | Can turn to stone for one turn to defend against an attack. If the attack is melee, the attacker takes double your unarmed strike in damage. Has a three-post cool-down.

    Statuesque (upgraded) | Can turn to stone for a turn to defend against an attack. If the attack is melee, the attacker takes triple your unarmed strike in damage. Has a two post cool-down.

    Statuesque (mastered) | Can turn to stone for a turn to defend against an attack. If the attack is melee, the attacker takes 4x your unarmed strike in damage. Has a one post cool-down.

  • Hearthstone (basic) | When in the Climb, can teleport up to 5ft within the current board. Requires a 3 post cool-down.

    Hearthstone (Upgraded) | When in the Climb, can teleport to any board within the Climb. During a PQ+/KQ, can only be used once per thread. Requires a 2 post cool-down when used within a board.

    Hearthstone (Mastered) | Regardless of location, can always teleport back to the Climb.  When in the Climb, can teleport to any board within the Climb. During a PQ+/KQ, can only be used once per thread. Requires a 2 post cool-down when used within a board.

  • Glamour (passive) | Can hide all or selective racial traits.

  • Fire Resistance (passive) | Cannot be harmed by heat or flame.



What’s it like being an Ancient?



Facts

  1. You cannot be harmed by fire.
  2. You receive one ‘ancient-animal’ shift: Fyrhund, Molten Tiger, Lial, Lava Wyrm, Gore Crow, or Rock Slider. These are the only animals Ancients may ever obtain as shifts.
  3. You cannot use magic while shifted. Unlike the Attuned, Ancients cannot partially shift or use attuned-telepathy.
  4. Ancients have access to race-specific Custom magics, but cannot gain or purchase custom magics that are unique to individuals. They can acquire regular magics.
  5. Your Bloodlust does not sneak up on you, but occurs at regular intervals based on when you last satisfied the need. Bloodlust can be satisfied by killing another creature (bugs are poor substitutes, small animals are okay, larger animals are better, NPCs are better still, and PCs are the best). There are no manufactured ways of satisfying this need. Ancients who do not feed turn into feral, demon-like creatures incapable of rational thought until the need is satisfied. Too long like this, and their limbs will slowly turn to stone. This does not kill them, but puts them into a period of stasis until they can feed again or until they're bathed in fire/blood.
  6. Ancients are all born with two horns, though these horns can be broken or damaged over their lifetime. Horns can be spiralled, pointed, nubs, etc., and can be made from either bone or rare gems. Tails are prehensile and leathery with a spade-like end.
  7. When in 'stasis' some describe the experience as a long sleep, while others vividly dream.
  8. If an Ancient is exposed to the cold for too long, their limbs will get exceedingly heavy, they will get sleepy, and their bodies will go into stasis. Only being bathed in hot blood or fire may awaken them.
  9. Ancients often prefer their food raw when they are near the start of their Bloodlust.

Flavour

  1. It's entirely up to you whether you hide your racial traits using your glamour. Some find it easier not to be so easily identified, while others are proud of what they are.
  2. Your horns can be almost any sort you’d like, from ram-horns to small nubs or spiky protrusions! They can be made out of bone or out of rare gems. (Note: Ancients have horns as opposed to antlers. They do not shed their horns, and their horns continue to grow slowly throughout their lives).
  3. The majority of Ancients are not upset by their Bloodlust or find the idea of being doused in hot blood or fire upsetting.
  4. It’s up to you whether or not your character retains any of their animal instincts when in their human-forms. Similarly, it’s totally fine to never experience any of your animal-instincts while in human-form as well. When shifted, your shifts may retain your eye colour and any scars your character has, though they don’t have to.
  5. There is no set time it takes for a character to shift, but try to be realistic about it. For instance, shifting from an adult into a small bird should take longer than an adult into a large wolf.
  6. Shifting looks very much like the animorph book covers from back in the day.
  7. Shifting is not painful but can feel awkward or uncomfortable.

Writing

  1. Unless there is a good reason for it, all Ancients should be on good terms with Dygra.
  2. Because Ancients spent so long in stasis within the Climb, many feel like it’s their second home, regardless of where they decide to ultimately settle.
  3. It should be quite rare to find an Ancient in places like Halo because of how severely they are affected by the cold. Similarly, Deepfrost is a difficult time for the Ancients unless they reside in places like Torchline.
  4. Ancients can be born or made. Currently there is no canonical preference amongst characters as to which is best.
  5. The Ancients have been in stasis for centuries and would have no knowledge of any current events, nor will anyone in the world really remember who they are.


Forum Jump:


Users browsing this thread: 1 Guest(s)


RPG-D