Roleplay Logs!

Rean

Here's that log, it's the little things that make me glad I'm still playing Achaea - if only with less time than I'd like. Really appreciate this, and I wish I was better at sudden emotes.

Ourania, Goddess of the Moon has bestowed Her divine truefavour upon you. It will last for 

approximately 3 Achaean months.

The Divine voice of Ourania echoes in your head, "I will not forget Him, on this you have My word."

You tell Ourania, Goddess of the Moon, "Thank You, my Lady. That... means a lot."

You tell Ourania, Goddess of the Moon, "Your kindness will not be forgotten. I look forward to the 

day I may repay it."

You shout, "Glory to the Fallen! Glory to the Host! Glory to Immortality, to Legends, to Battle!"

The Divine voice of Ourania echoes in your head, "There is nothing to repay for you nor He became in 

My debt. Be the best you can, Rean, that is all I would ever ask for."

You tell Ourania, Goddess of the Moon, "I will, Lady of the Moon, I will. Thank You, again. Please 

do not hesitate to ask if You ever need anything."

Celestial lights spiral erratically downwards, illuminating the surroundings with their deep, bloody 

glow as they converge to form Ourania, Goddess of the Moon.

You kiss Arionna passionately. (like, the same prompt)

The Red Dragon Arionna's imposing form looms. Ourania, Goddess of the Moon is 

here, a cluster of radiant stars orbiting around Her celestial form.  

Ourania, Goddess of the Moon says, "Ew."

<for some stupid reason, I forgot to look at her. /facedesk>

You say, "Ah."

You say, "Hail, Lady."

Ourania's lips curve into an enchanting smile.

Rean lowers his head awkwardly.

Arionna lowers her head respectfully before Ourania.

Arionna says in a quiet, soft voice, "Greetings, Lady Ourania."

Ourania, Goddess of the Moon says, "For you, Rean. I know this was of Him, and one other is around."

Ourania gives a serrated onyx dagger blade pendant to you.

Rean takes the pendant, his lips parting, stunned.

Ourania, Goddess of the Moon smiles and says, "Take good care of it."

Arionna's mouth turns up as her face breaks into a smile.

You say, "Thank You, Lady."

Ourania leans forward and places a gentle kiss on your forehead.

Flickering crimson lights envelop the Goddess of the Moon before they ripple towards the firmament, 

trailing a blaze of vermillion-stained stars in Her wake.

Shunsui

Rean said:

 

Celestial lights spiral erratically downwards, illuminating the surroundings with their deep, bloody glow as they converge to form Ourania, Goddess of the Moon.

You kiss Arionna passionately. (like, the same prompt)

The Red Dragon Arionna's imposing form looms. Ourania, Goddess of the Moon is 

here, a cluster of radiant stars orbiting around Her celestial form.  

Ourania, Goddess of the Moon says, "Ew."

<for some stupid reason, I forgot to look at her. /facedesk>

You say, "Ah."

That was really great of her, but admittedly I about lost it laughing right here.

Rean

Yeah, have to admit I 'd and then laughed after, dunno if there is a more proper response than 'ah' when that happens. I love Ourania now.

Corbeaux

A log of our recent dedication service of the old royal chapel in the palace of Ashtan. Well done, @Dunn and @Amunet!

 

(Ashtan): Sohl says, "All are welcome to attend. We will begin very shortly,
please start making your way over now."

A single gleaming red eye opens in midair, then suddenly becomes the heart of a
swirling fog of shimmering distortion that clears to reveal the black-robed
figure of Mordanyconus.

Sohl bows his head to Mordanyconus respectfully.

Jarrod bows respectfully to Mordanyconus.

Mordanyconus inclines his head politely.

You bow respectfully to Mordanyconus.

Vrass gives the world a smart salute.

A majestic royal chapel.
Towering statues of the historical Patrons of Ashtan line the white walls of
this chapel, their ominous gazes lending an intense air of cold solemnity to the
room. Mighty Aegis, the ancient God of War, stares across the nave at terrible
Shaitan, while far-seeing Vastar spreads His great wings across a domed ceiling
painted ultramarine and studded with silver stars. A high altar stands at the
front of the chapel, its surface covered by an ornate cloth of black and gold.
Behind the altar, a statue of the Logos towers majestically, clad in flowing
grey robes that obscure His face. At his side, the hunched form of Babel, the
God of Chaos stands in the shadows behind the pulpit. Clerestory windows
illuminate the chapel from dawn until dusk, but ornate sconces set high upon the
walls hold thick, white candles to light the holy place for evening worshippers.
A runic totem is planted solidly in the ground. There are 2 ebony pegasi here.
Mordanyconus stands here, three ruby-red eyes gleaming in his tanned face. A
baby rat timidly moves in the shadows here. A young rat cautiously noses about
for food here. A nebulous water weird is here.  Warlock Seragorn Rousseau is
here, shrouded. He wields a Shield of Absorption in his right hand. The Black
Dragon Nat's imposing form looms. Mistress of Minions Nieelensars, Dragon Snack
is here. Her face is partially concealed beneath a raised hood. She wields a
butchering cleaver in her left hand and an ornate steel rapier in her right.
Legatus Sohl Vallah, Herald of Ruin is here. He wields a gleaming scimitar in
his left hand and a Shield of Absorption bearing the House arms of the
Occultists in his right. Renshi Darklyre Corten is here. Siak Kanku'dai is here.
He wields an elemental staff in his left hand and a Shield of Absorption in his
right. He is surrounded by one reflection of himself. Grumpmeister Sheltan
Tiercel is riding on an ebony pegasus. He wields an elemental staff in his left
hand and a Shield of Absorption in his right. He is surrounded by one reflection
of himself. Flamebrand Recruit Vrass is here. She wields a nearly perfect vodun
doll of Ayoxele in her left hand. Triak, the Mindbreaker is here. He wields an
ethereal shield of bound shadows in his right hand. Doom Oiseaux, Maefeng Paloma
Neige, Arresting Enchantress is here. She wields an ornate steel rapier in each
hand.
You see exits leading west (open door) and down.

Mordanyconus has a seat on one of the front pews, watching quietly.

The candles seem to dim and an unnatural hush descends upon the chapel as four
short, black-robed acolytes enter from the west.

A pair of black-robed acolytes begin a slow march up the nave, each footstep
punctuated by the deep knell of the heavy iron bells clutched within their
hands.

Gently tapping a twisted staff before her, Urdu, the Crone of Reckoning shuffles
in from the west.

Silent as shadows, the second pair of acolytes falls into stride behind the
first, swinging rusted censers seething tendrils of cloying smoke.

Standing before the altar, the first pair of acolytes pauses for but a heartbeat
to kneel reverently before the presence of their God.

Rising once more, the acolytes turn from the altar and walk in opposite
directions before the first row of pews, the hollow sound of their bells in
perfect synchronisation.

Mimicking the actions of their fellows, the censer-bearers kneel before the
altar before proceeding down opposite sides of the chapel.

Fulsome plumes of incense permeate the air as the acolytes circle the perimeter,
coming to a halt on either side of the chapel doors.

The even pulse of the bells continues.

Four quick, ominous clangs shatter the air at Dunn's arrival, resuming a steady
beat as the quartet of acolytes follow him toward the altar.

Dunn comes to a sudden stop at the centre of the nave, dropping to his knees as
the acolytes arrange themselves around him.

The bells clang wildly, their frantic beat rupturing the air as the four
acolytes begin to chant in eerie double tones.

Dunn bows his head in silent prayer, his hands planted purposefully on either
side of the runes he has inscribed.

As the chanting reaches a cacophonic climax, the runes flare, flooding the
chapel with soft luminescence.

Shadows and smoke writhe manically through the air, throbbing with soundless
energy as Dunn rises, and the procession continues forward toward the altar.

The procession halts, and Dunn takes his place at the lectern.

Warlord Dunn Lichlord says, "Since the days of Glanos, our Master, the Lord of
Oblivion and true God of Chaos, has favoured the Bastion of the North."

Warlord Dunn Lichlord says, "It was His benevolence that delivered fledgling
Ashtan from famine. It was His faithful who established this palace, and led our
people through their nascent years in wisdom and strength."

Warlord Dunn Lichlord says, "Over millennia, even in His captivity, He has
watched us with diligence. He has waited until Ashtan again grew worthy of the

Warlord Dunn Lichlord says, "The Power of Chaos has taken root in this place. It
has bloomed, and burgeoned, growing exponentially beneath His hand. By His
blessing, Chaos has infused the core of our society, and the tendrils of
encroaching Oblivion have strangled the life from our opponents. All who
challenge the Bastion fall before our blades and bathe His altars in their
entrails."

Warlord Dunn Lichlord says, "This night, as in days of yore, we consecrate this
chapel in the name of our Patron. We honour Him, and beseech His perpetual
benediction. May all of our glories - our every victory - be met with His boon."

The darkness above rolls thickly in anticipation, plumes of smoke casting
phantasmal shadows as the runes upon the floor blaze with renewed vivacity.

Warlord Dunn Lichlord says, "In homage of His greatness, and as a symbol of our
devotion, we bind this covenant in blood. Bring in the sacrifice!"

The ringing silence in the wake of Dunn's exclamation is broken by the soft,
subtle strains of a funereal hymn sung in a minor key.

Amunet steps through the doors of the chapel, a small, ebon-swaddled
bundle clutched to her chest.

A hushed, eidolic soprano rises from Amunet's lips as she proceeds down the
nave, singing the dolorous elegy like a lullaby.

The heavy toll of the acolyte's bells keeps pace with Amunet's footsteps,
marking the rhythm of her reverent song.

The voices of the observing Nihilists rise from the pews, some bolstering the
tune while others form a dissonant harmony.

The hymn swells as Amunet climbs the brief steps to the altar, unwinding the
swaddling from the bundle in her arms.

A piercing squall slices the air, momentarily overwhelming the melody's haunting
decrescendo.

As the final words of the hymn echo through the chapel, Amunet hands a
wriggling, human newborn to Dunn.

Dunn places the infant gently upon the altar before turning again to face the
audience.

Amunet takes up a bowl of ashes from a small table beside the altar and marks
the forehead of the child with the Twin. Her lips form wordless prayers and
blessings as she places a soothing hand upon its abdomen, quieting its cries as
Dunn begins to speak.

Warlord Dunn Lichlord says, "In the face of Oblivion, all life is meaningless.
Acknowledgement of this fact allows one to ascribe depth and purpose to an
existence bereft of worth. The process of living is dying - even as we grow
within the womb, we are marching one step closer to our graves."

Warlord Dunn Lichlord says, "Nonetheless, an infant is a powerful representation
of the Void. It is the mortal manifestation of pure potential. Its mind, its
body, and its legacy are undeveloped and unknown. As it ages, that potential is
stunted. Years and experience will harden its figure and narrow its perspective.
It can rightfully be said that no man is as strong, nor as valuable, as the baby
at its mother's breast."

As Dunn takes his place at the head of the altar, Amunet places two glass
inkwells upon its surface - one filled with blue ink, the other with yellow.

Placing one hand upon the crown of the infant's head, Dunn intones, "In the name
of Black Babel, God of Chaos, Lord of Oblivion, Destroyer of Worlds, I commend
the soul and power of this child to the infinite Void!"

You have emoted: Corbeaux bows his head in silent reverence.

Dipping a pointed stick into each of the inkwells, Dunn sketches nauthiz
squarely upon the infant's chest, finishing the rune with a flourish.

The ghastly shriek of a babe in agony rips through the chamber as the infant's
body is enveloped in eldritch flames.

Sacrificed to the Lord of Oblivion, a human infant perishes in an eldritch
conflagration.

The eldritch flames wash over you, scouring flesh from bone. Strangely, you feel
no heat, only a sudden release, and then darkness.

You have been slain by a conflagration of eldritch flame. [Along with everyone else in attendance!]
A shadowy black asp falls out of your inventory.

By the divine might of Babel, you are restored to life. [Along with everyone else]

The ashes stir slightly in an unseen breeze.

A voice whispers from out of the ashes, "I hear and see."

"The sacrifice is accepted. Fear not for the child; he has found sweet
consummation."

Urdu, the Crone of Reckoning nods.

"Do not mistake Me: I do not wish to rule Ashtan with My own fist. That is
unnecessary."

"Nonetheless. Ashtan is My eldest and favoured child. Where you go, I follow. Do
not fear."

The ashes are carried away by the breeze, and then silence returns.

Sohl whispers with an urbane accent, "Hail the Devouring Madness."

In acknowledgement of the ritual's conclusion, the acolytes proceed back down
the nave in the same slow procession, deftly avoiding the smouldering runes, in
rhythm to the tolling of their bells.

Urdu, the Crone of Reckoning says, "Fine work, fine work."

The acolytes stop behind the back row of pews, their bells patiently marking the
ritualists' exit.

Amunet walks toward the exit with slow, solemn strides, her hands now empty and
folded in front of her.

Dunn steps down from the altar, bringing up the rear of the procession.

Lianca, Occult Taskmaster smiles and says to Urdu, the Crone of Reckoning,
"Thank you for joining us."

As he passes through the chapel doors, the acolytes follow, bells now stilled as
they leave naught but silence in their wake.

Urdu, the Crone of Reckoning says, "I could do no less than support this, my
dearies."

Mordanyconus applauds mildly, wiping away char marks from his skin.

Urdu, the Crone of Reckoning eyes Mordanyconus and mumbles something under her
breath.

A distraught mother, seeking desperately after her child, has drowned in the
turbulent seas north of New Hope.

(Ashtan): Amunet says, "Thank you, all of you who took the time to attend. Hail
to the God of Chaos; the Lord of Oblivion!"

Amunet

For those of you who are curious as to what happened before the ritual, right after we took the baby, here is a Pastebin, because I have no clue how to format anything on these new forums. Kind of amusing, in its own way.

Tvistor

What is this 'we' stuff? You don't log in enough.

Dunn

The mother of that child was on deathsight shortly after that ritual

Said she drowned in the Pachachachachachacha looking for her baby

Kyrra

Guess she hadn't learned treading in survival yet.

Achilles

We looked everywhere for her, tried to send her a tell where she was.  I tried to convince everyone she was Mordycanous in disguise so we could abort the suicide mission

Chord

A true servant of Babel WOULD dress in drag to butcher servants of the Light.

I mean, the next logical step after Magic Mike is Rupaul, right?

Tvistor

Kyrra said:

Guess she hadn't learned treading in survival yet.

That was colder than arctic blizzards.

Silas

Just now:

The Divine voice of Aurora echoes in your head, "Silas."

You tell Aurora, the Lightbringer, "My Lady."

The Divine voice of Aurora echoes in your head, "Have you thought more on the conversation we held a short month or so ago?"

You tell Aurora, the Lightbringer, "I have, my Lady."

The Divine voice of Aurora echoes in your head, "Do you still wish to seek entrance into My following?"

You tell Aurora, the Lightbringer, "I do, my Lady. My resolve is unyielding."

The Divine voice of Aurora echoes in your head, "Very well."

The Abbess' private office.
A small writing desk of cherrywood is placed near the open window. Intricately detailed, a wooden model of a guardian djinn stares into the surroundings with beady eyes. A wrinkled old woman stands here, her eyes reflecting wisdom that can only come with age. Aurora, the Lightbringer is here, ivory motes weaving through Her resplendence. She wields the Sword of Dunamis in Her right hand.
You see a single exit leading DOWN (closed door).
You are transported by the power of the Divine.

You drop to one knee before Aurora.

Aurora, the Lightbringer says, "The Abbess has kindly bid me the use of her office."

The Lightbringer stands before you, Her visage austere.

She is a radiant immortal, Her stark frame shrouded within a golden nimbus of light. Across alabaster flesh crawl silvery tendrils, suffusing the skin with an eerie shimmer. The living tattoo flickers and contorts, intermittently writhing into the magnificent outlines of both phoenix and dragon. Crowning a stoic visage, platinum tresses edge over Her shoulder blades, the luminous strands infused with rich flecks of incandescence. Her timeless countenance is a study of pious resolve, inky eyes awash with a fierce glow of determination. She is wearing soft leather boots of tan and gold, a pair of ivory gauze trousers, a silken tunic of ivory, gilded with golden hues, a burnished girdle of solid gold, a plain ring of polished gold, a crimson-stained silken ribbon, and a circlet of hammered gold.

Aurora, the Lightbringer says, "I summon you before Me to judge your worth."

Lustrous motes of gold and ivory arise from the form of Aurora, circling around Her in a maelstrom of light.

You have tmoted: Silas bows his head in reverential silence.

At a sharp incline of Her head, the particles streak towards Silas, enveloping his form.

Aurora, the Lightbringer says, "There will be only truth from this moment forth, you who seek the Light. Truth is your weapon. Light is your shield."

Aurora, the Lightbringer says, "Wield the truth. Allow it to open your eyes to the sins of the land."

Aurora, the Lightbringer says, "Light will prevail. Your belief is what will protect you from those who would seek to deceive, to taint, to oppress."

Warming tendrils of ivory settle across the shoulders of Silas, assuming the form of a mantle.

Aurora, the Lightbringer says, "All who walk this higher path shall commit their lives to My cause. That is My will. Grow. As Creation should, and will."

The temperature in the room plummets as a brief flicker of anger crosses the Lightbringer's stark face.

Aurora, the Lightbringer says, "Cowardice and treachery will earn My immense displeasure. Your bond to Me shall be absolute, and eternal."

Golden lettering imprints across your mind, beseeching you to speak forth the words that you see.

I, Silas Maynard, do pledge my life in service to the Goddess of Light.

You say, "I, Silas Maynard, do pledge my life in service to the Goddess of Light."

From this day forward I stand ready to defend Creation. Truth is my weapon. Light is my shield.

You say, "From this day forward I stand ready to defend Creation. Truth is my weapon. Light is my shield."

These words are my bind to the Lightbringer. Let no lies spill from my lips. Let Darkness never shade my mind. Let Chaos never poison my body. Let Evil never dictate my actions.

You say, "These words are my bind to the Lightbringer. Let no lies spill from my lips. Let Darkness never shade my mind. Let Chaos never poison my body. Let Evil never dictate my actions."

I serve She who is the Lightbringer. May lies and falsehood ever strike me down before Her gaze.

You say, "I serve She who is the Lightbringer. May lies and falsehood ever strike me down before Her gaze."

Aurora nods Her head emphatically.

The golden lettering disappears as quickly as it came, leaving only dark spots in front of your eyes.

You have tmoted: Silas blinks slowly.

The luminous motes tighten around Silas with each pledge, forming a weave of pure light. The particles flare dramatically at the end of each oath, adhering to his skin akin to an invisible bond.

Aurora raises Her arm for silence. Her eyes shutter in contemplation as She judges Silas.

Finally, Aurora nods approvingly.

As dramatically as they first surged, the motes quickly recede, dissipating around the Lightbringer.

Aurora, the Lightbringer says, "So it is done."

The weight of your pledge stretches through the very fibre of your being, searing tendrils embracing your heart. A blaze of white engulfs you as the oath settles onto your soul, binding you in eternal service to Light.

Aurora, the Lightbringer says, "Today you enter the Aarash Kheyr, Silas. Do not disappoint Me. Do not Disavow Me."

You stand up and stretch your arms out wide.
You are now wearing a stained glass pendulum.
As you pass the platinum chain over your head, the glass pendulum flashes with a burst of radiant colour before finally coming to rest close to your heart.

Aurora grants you entrance into the Divine Order of Aurora, the Lightbringer. Congratulations!

You have tmoted: Silas bows his head once more.

You say, "My Lady, I am Yours."

(Order): Zalas, Herald of Light says, "From this day forth let it be known that the Light has turned Her gaze onto Silas Maynard."

You smile softly.

(Order): Zalas, Herald of Light says, "Welcome, Silas. Welcome, old brother. May you ever walk under Her protection."

(Order): You say, "Hail to you, Zalas, my brother once more and for eternity. Thank you."

(Order): Aurora says, "Serve Me proudly. I have every faith in your abilities."

(Order): You say, "Always, my Lady. Thank You."

Aurora, the Lightbringer says, "I will let you settle for now. The judgement is no little thing, and I am sure you need time to digest all that has occured."

You nod your head at Aurora.

You say, "I have much that I want to discuss, but there is surely time for that in our future."

Aurora nods Her head emphatically.

You incline your head politely to Aurora.

You say, "Thank You, my Lady."

Aurora, the Lightbringer says, "We will meet soon."

Main hall of the monastery.
You see exits leading NORTH, EAST, SOUTH, WEST, UP (open door), DOWN, and OUT.

If this sort of stuff keeps up, Aurora/Deucalion are going to take New Shallam a long, long way.

Jiraishin

That is awesome.

Iocun

It's sort of funny that most central line of it plot-wise ("Aurora grants you entrance into the Divine Order of Aurora, the Lightbringer. Congratulations!") was also the one that seemed most out-of-place due to that weird "Congratulations!" at the end :P

Awesome log though! Aurora seems like a keeper.

Trey

*twitch* Must... not... repent.....

Dunn

My recent Babel promotion!

A high, childlike female voice sounds in your head, "Come, Dunn. The Master 

calls."

The voice is joined by a crackling, crone-like one. "Aye. Come to the sacred 

grotto. Your presence is required."

A subterranean grotto.

This room has not been mapped.

Darkness hangs over this underground grotto like a heavy shroud, enfolding 

everything in deep shadow. Though hardly extending more than a half dozen feet 

in any direction, the total absence of light gives the impression that the 

chamber stretches on indefinitely. A faintly stale odour lingers in the air, and

the whole space is dominated by silence so profound that it asserts a tangible 

presence. The silence and the darkness exert such a potent influence here that 

it becomes difficult to evade the impression that nothing exists beyond this 

single experience of complete emptiness. A small patch of blackness churns 

mysteriously across the floor. The Altar of the Eye looms here, its vast iron 

splendour adorned by thousands of surreally living eyes. Orange coals gleam in a

gaping mouth that opens in the belly of a terrible and obese stone woman. An 

unwavering blue flame glows in the cupped hands of a statue depicting a hideous 

and ancient turtle-headed woman.  Warlord Dunn Lichlord is here. He wields an 

ornate steel rapier in each hand.

You see a single exit leading out.

You whirl to see that the entrance to the grotto has vanished.

A matronly voice that brings to mind half-forgotten memories of childhood sounds

from the darkness, "Ah. He comes."

Dunn peers about the novel setting.

A melodious voice replies, "He does not seem to know where he is. How 

delicious!"

A crone-like voice sounds, "Enough. You are ready to perform the ritual of the 

storm, Dunn?"

Warlord Dunn Lichlord says seriously, "I lack the iron, but I have the will to 

acquire it in order to complete the ritual of the storm, yes."

The child's voice giggles. "Good. Go and do it! And when it is done, perhaps we 

will have a gift for you."

Dunn nods his head in understanding.

The darkness abates as the path out of the grotto reveals itself.

Warlord Dunn Lichlord says, "It will be done."

With a flourish of his arm, Dunn bows deeply.

Dunn leaves to the out.

A mottled marsh falcon ruffles its plumage and takes wing, gliding away.

Tossing his head proudly, an ebony pegasus leaves to the out.

<later, after the ritual was completed>

On the precipice of the Void.

A bleak pinnacle of stone rises from a profoundly empty abyss, its tip flattened

to provide a place of audience. All about the tiny island, eternal night reigns,

and in most directions not even a twinkle of light is present save the eerie, 

sourceless glow that dimly illuminates the platform. However, in one direction, 

a strange effulgent haze swims through the darkness in the far distance. At the 

opposite edge of the precipice, a rough dais serves to support a massive, 

rough-hewn throne with two seats. From the depths of the Void, an eerie, chill 

wind blows, bearing with it the faint sound of whispers, though their words 

cannot be made out. Glittering within the air as it slowly rotates, a glacial 

shard of a star pulses with an inextinguishable power. Babel, God of Oblivion 

towers here amid a putrid miasma of seething distortion. He wields a fiery spear 

in His right hand.

There are no obvious exits.

A swirl of roiling black smoke and dancing eldritch flame parts to reveal Dunn.

Dunn drops to one knee before Babel.

Babel, God of Oblivion says, "My Priest."

Warlord Dunn Lichlord says reverently, "Master."

Babel, God of Oblivion says, "It is not often that one who wields the runes of Ayar's 

making chooses to serve Me."

Wicked rows of needle-sharp teeth gleam in Babel's mouth as the God smiles enigmatically.

Babel, God of Oblivion says, "Nonetheless. Come and stand with Me for a time."

Dunn stands up and stretches his arms out wide.

Babel, God of Oblivion says, "You know, I trust, where you are."

Warlord Dunn Lichlord asks, "Where might that be, Master?"

Babel, God of Oblivion says, "You stand where night never ends. This poor, broken piece of stone has not known the sun's sweet kiss since before Glanos laid the first stones of Ashtan."

Dunn looks over the shard with an observant eye.

Babel, God of Oblivion says, "Once this place was a great realm of philosopher-kings and poets, a place of song and laughter crafted by one of the Aldar upon a far-distant outer plane."

Babel, God of Oblivion says, "Then came Chaos, and a night of tears."

Babel, God of Oblivion says, "Now it stands at the very threshold of the Void."

Babel extends a wizened hand towards the cold, outer darkness, an inscrutable look upon His face.

Babel, God of Oblivion says, "Only My constant exertion, eternal vigilance, prevents even 

this last, miserable piece of stone from being swallowed, and with it all the rich and 

bright lands of the Inner Planes."

Babel gestures over His shoulder towards the distant glimmering in the night.

Dunn looks on curiously, a look of concern playing across his features.

Babel, God of Oblivion says, "This is a poor, broken world."

Babel, God of Oblivion says, "It is already dead. Ayar knew this."

Babel, God of Oblivion says, "And yet, in His wisdom, He decreed a natural death. Its life will play out, My Priest, and in time it will die."

Dunn nods his head at Babel.

Babel, God of Oblivion says, "Much must be accomplished, My Priest, and it will be your task to accomplish it."

Babel, God of Oblivion says, "My Spear will be bloody and My Crown rest upon a weary headindeed by the time you lay your burden down."

Warlord Dunn Lichlord says, "I will do whatever You command, Master."

Wicked rows of needle-sharp teeth gleam in Babel's mouth as the God smiles enigmatically.

Babel, God of Oblivion says, "Are you certain? Even now, but speak the word and you will be released."

Warlord Dunn Lichlord says bluntly, "Anything."

A chill sense of dire, inhuman amusement sets the air about you to trembling.

Babel, God of Oblivion says, "Very well. Return to whence you were, and take up My Spear with all your heart."

Babel, God of Oblivion says, "Remember what you have seen. Remember the rot that lies beyond what you hear and see."

Babel, God of Oblivion says, "Remember, and do not tarry."

Dunn nods his head in understanding.

Babel turns away, and you are taken.

Dunn vanishes in a sudden swirl of black smoke and eldritch fire.

A subterranean grotto.

Warlord Dunn Lichlord is here. He wields an ornate steel rapier in each hand.

You see a single exit leading out.

Dunn bows his head in reverence and backs out of the grotto slowly.

"And where do you think you're going?" asks the wizened voice with a snort.

"You must retrieve your prize!"

Warlord Dunn Lichlord says, "A hasty mistake to go forth and shed blood, I 

assure You."

Dunn shuffles his feet uneasily.

The dim light flickers, and you almost seem to see a horrible smile flash across

the face of a massive statue of a monstrous woman.

"Take the token, Dunn," breathes a husky female voice. "It is yours."

Dunn takes a small jade token from a massive statue of a monstrous woman.

Avoiding the poised blade just above it, Dunn reaches into the stone bowl held 

by a massive statue of a monstrous woman and extracts a small jade token.

Comprehension flashes across Dunn's face.

Dunn eyes over the small token carefully.

A childlike voice giggles. "Well done. Wear it proudly. And we mentioned a gift?

A gift!"

The corners of Dunn's mouth turn up as he grins mischievously.

Dunn presses a small jade token to the centre of his forehead, where it remains 

fixed. The emblem on its face, a circle divided by a straight line, parts like 

some monstrous eyelid and opens to reveal a bizarre, living third eye on Dunn's 

brow.

The matronly voice sighs quietly. "Your armour. Place it in our hands."

Dunn removes a shimmering suit of full plate armour.

Dunn puts a shimmering suit of full plate armour into a massive statue of a 

monstrous woman.

Shivering with trepidation, Dunn approaches a massive statue of a monstrous 

woman and places a shimmering suit of full plate armour into the stone cup that 

it holds.

The pale flames wash over the armour, consuming and changing it. The metal 

blackens and twists, until it is the colour of the darkness.

"Take it," a myriad of voices whisper from the darkness. "Take it and go, with 

our blessing."

Dunn takes a jade-inlaid suit of black iron armour from a massive statue of a 

monstrous woman.

Avoiding the poised blade just above it, Dunn reaches into the stone bowl held 

by a massive statue of a monstrous woman and extracts a jade-inlaid suit of 

black iron armour.

Dunn puts on a jade-inlaid suit of black iron armour.

Dunn bows his head and backs out of the grotto.

Dunn leaves to the out.

Dunn

Forged from cold iron the colour of the night below the earth, this suit of full 

plate armour covers the body completely. Though quite plain, with neither gold 

nor shining silver to dazzle the eye, thin slivers of inlaid jade form subtle 

patterns along the vambraces and greaves. The swirls of deep green upon the 

breastplate seem abstract at first glance, but upon closer inspection, the voids 

and gaps among the scattered slices of jade suggest the shape of a spread-winged 

raven to the eye. Otherwise, the heavy plate is ordinary and serviceable, the 

thick iron capable of warding a blow or turning a knife with ease. Cunning vents 

in a few well-protected places assist in ventilation and help keep the weight of 

the heavy iron armour down. A faint sheen betrays the thin coating of oil upon 

the iron to prevent rust and keep the full plate in perfect working order.

It weighs about 225 pounds.

It bears the distinctive mark of Dunn.

This armour has 27 months of runic empowerment left.

^The armor because the post was too long.

Corbeaux

That was awesome, @Dunn. I regret missing the storm ritual!

Ginmund

Dunn said:

Forged from cold iron the colour of the night below the earth, this suit of full 

plate armour covers the body completely. Though quite plain, with neither gold 

nor shining silver to dazzle the eye, thin slivers of inlaid jade form subtle 

patterns along the vambraces and greaves. The swirls of deep green upon the 

breastplate seem abstract at first glance, but upon closer inspection, the voids 

and gaps among the scattered slices of jade suggest the shape of a spread-winged 

raven to the eye. Otherwise, the heavy plate is ordinary and serviceable, the 

thick iron capable of warding a blow or turning a knife with ease. Cunning vents 

in a few well-protected places assist in ventilation and help keep the weight of 

the heavy iron armour down. A faint sheen betrays the thin coating of oil upon 

the iron to prevent rust and keep the full plate in perfect working order.

It weighs about 225 pounds.

It bears the distinctive mark of Dunn.

This armour has 27 months of runic empowerment left.

^The armor because the post was too long.

Accidentally unliked this because I was honestly trying to like it twice.

Dunn

@Corbeaux

This storm was special because we had to defile a Phaestus shrine andddd kill defenders before I could do the ritual on the Babel shrine. Good time.

Terra

Not gonna lie. My storm ritual aftermath wasn't nearly as cool as that.

/jealous

Achilles

Jealous. Going to finally pick a patron.

Tagg

All these people with their active divine and their divine that do stuff and it's cool and whatnot.

Just RUBBING IT IN.

Tanris

@Tagg:
Didn't know you were a masochist.

Jurixe

I'm trying incredibly hard not to be jealous, but it's not working in the slightest. Trying to stay positive and hoping our god is just quiet because he's busy concocting some other plot to destroy the world or something.

Dunn

I'll not post the log of Ourania's maiden coming on to me on the battlements because of the armor shortly after that then...

Triak

Dunn said:

I'll not post the log of Ourania's maiden coming on to me on the battlements because of the armor shortly after that then...

You liked being textually harassed.

Dunn

I'll not report it. SO?

Chord

Refugees who are planning The City That Shallam Is To Become (TCTSITB for a short, easy to remember acronym) recently held a brainstorming session on what the Government should be. This is a part of the product that I was able to attend!

A Meeting Of Refugees.

Sothantos

I'm not sure city planning meetings are something that should really be shared in the near-immediate aftermath of them occurring, and especially not when they're still relevant. Not that any of it is confidential, but it just seems dubious to post everything important that occurs on the forums.