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Event logs
Achaea is full of wonderful events, both grand and small that take place, but sadly we cant always be around to see it. Whenever we hear that something big took place and we missed it, many of us generally have to ask around for logs or simply accept it and wait for the events post. Sadly, even on our forums, logs of past events are pretty scarce. I introduce this thread for that purpose, to post logs as they come.
Below is the current one that took place:
------------------------
The skies above the Seat of Chaos darken, tendrils of black and purple light streaming up from the city streets as they coalesce into a ball of rapidly forming karmic essence.
The air crackles with tension as the sphere cracks, cerulean light swirling across the heavens as a rift in the fabric of reality descends into the depths of Ashtan.
A deafening silence stills the heavens.
Without warning, a terrible gale envelopes the surroundings, a sickeningly intense chill gathered within its depths. Each scathing, soulscourging blast of cold sends a lance shuddering into the very depths of your soul, maddening whispers arising in the fell wind's wake.
(Big health damage)
The maddening winds claim the sanity of several dozen villagers all at once, running the streets of Delos red in a slavering bloodbath.
Caught in the fell gale, an Genji villager plummets headlong to his death among the Vashnar Mountains.
Anguished screams arise from Tasur'ke as mortal minds violently reject that which simply must not be.
Sacrificed to quell the ill omen, a Tarhani child has perished in absolute fear and confusion, her shaman mother's haunted eyes resounding with terrible clarity in her final moments of life.
The wine-dark depths rise to claim the newfound wrecks of a Kashari trader-fleet, consigned to eternal rest upon the reefs of Miralawi.
Hushed whispers herald the end of the Seventh Sept as they yield to the will of the void-winds, spilling their lifeblood in honor of their century-long prophecy.
You are no longer stunned.
(massive willpower drain)
On and on, the scathing winds scream, unabating in their fury as the Prime Material Plane is deluged in a zephyr from beyond, the skies darkening with each passing moment.
Howling beyond compare, the terrible winds shriek with a sudden ferocity, the anguished noise echoing with thunderous potency. Ill omen stirs the winds in a singular direction from wherever they may lay, the jade-streaked gale gathering in an inky churn within the heart of the Bog of Ashtan.
A shiver ripples down your spine as a profound sense of wrongness creeps slowly into the fibers of your being. The sensation of thousands of tiny needles and claws prick and scuttle across the surface of your skin, eliciting an unsettling itch that grows by the second.
Tendrils of seething dark erupt from the Caverns of Enheduanna, tainting the tempest with thick streaks of vile miasma as the bog churns and boils, spraying clods of sodden earth hundreds of feet into the air.
Moment by moment, the towering figure grows, titanic in its stature as the whorling pestilence coalesces into the manifestation of the Lord of Oblivion, His fathomless gaze scouring the landscape from nearly a thousand feet above.
You shudder violently under the weight of your own infinitesimal reckoning as the stare of the Lord of Oblivion passes over you.
All of Creation quakes as the ominous tones of Babel, the Lord of Oblivion pervade, "For centuries, My gaze has lingered upon the fringes of Creation, but no longer."
All of Creation quakes as the ominous tones of Babel, the Lord of Oblivion pervade, "The Throne endures its emptiness no more, the sightless now see. The boughs bear the jewel of the Prime upon their boundless reach, and now, the parasite shall be shed."
A scant instant of pensive silence lingers after the Elder God's musing, broken only by the beginning of a terrible, grating laugh, utterly assured in its victory.
All of Creation quakes as the ominous tones of Babel, the Lord of Oblivion pervade, "Time is running out, Dunamis."
The gelid winds all but explode with fury, the maddening whispers suddenly united in the Lord of Oblivion's manic mirth as His figure among the clouds dissolves away, segments of blackened miasma dripping to the earth below to rain hell upon the landscape beneath.
Crystalline and clear, Lorielan's voice cascades powerfully, "Interminably predictable, inevitability rouses to stir the pot once more."
An avalanche threatens the peaks of the Siroccian Mountains as the Temple of War erupts into action. An army musters at its core, the earth trembling under the feet of marching divisions.
The silken voice of the Dark Father reverberates from everywhere and nowhere, "Lo! Oblivion comes on the heels of its servant's marriage to the foetid whore. No doubt our "doom" is imminent."
The uppermost skies shudder before an incalculable Presence, sheets of lightning tearing a fulminous path from horizon to horizon with blinding intensity.
The skies of Creation shatter beneath the Storm's incandescent fury as the Skylord intones, "At last you stir from your contemplations, Brother. It has been far longer than expected."
Crystalline and clear, Lorielan's voice cascades powerfully, "Yet far from long enough. Begone another eternity, Ye of rot and waste."
Thousands of daemons howl and shriek as Sartan, the Malevolent roars above the cacophony, "Come to Me, Brother, and I shall bring YOu the End You so desire!"
Below is the current one that took place:
------------------------
The skies above the Seat of Chaos darken, tendrils of black and purple light streaming up from the city streets as they coalesce into a ball of rapidly forming karmic essence.
The air crackles with tension as the sphere cracks, cerulean light swirling across the heavens as a rift in the fabric of reality descends into the depths of Ashtan.
A deafening silence stills the heavens.
Without warning, a terrible gale envelopes the surroundings, a sickeningly intense chill gathered within its depths. Each scathing, soulscourging blast of cold sends a lance shuddering into the very depths of your soul, maddening whispers arising in the fell wind's wake.
(Big health damage)
The maddening winds claim the sanity of several dozen villagers all at once, running the streets of Delos red in a slavering bloodbath.
Caught in the fell gale, an Genji villager plummets headlong to his death among the Vashnar Mountains.
Anguished screams arise from Tasur'ke as mortal minds violently reject that which simply must not be.
Sacrificed to quell the ill omen, a Tarhani child has perished in absolute fear and confusion, her shaman mother's haunted eyes resounding with terrible clarity in her final moments of life.
The wine-dark depths rise to claim the newfound wrecks of a Kashari trader-fleet, consigned to eternal rest upon the reefs of Miralawi.
Hushed whispers herald the end of the Seventh Sept as they yield to the will of the void-winds, spilling their lifeblood in honor of their century-long prophecy.
You are no longer stunned.
(massive willpower drain)
On and on, the scathing winds scream, unabating in their fury as the Prime Material Plane is deluged in a zephyr from beyond, the skies darkening with each passing moment.
Howling beyond compare, the terrible winds shriek with a sudden ferocity, the anguished noise echoing with thunderous potency. Ill omen stirs the winds in a singular direction from wherever they may lay, the jade-streaked gale gathering in an inky churn within the heart of the Bog of Ashtan.
A shiver ripples down your spine as a profound sense of wrongness creeps slowly into the fibers of your being. The sensation of thousands of tiny needles and claws prick and scuttle across the surface of your skin, eliciting an unsettling itch that grows by the second.
Tendrils of seething dark erupt from the Caverns of Enheduanna, tainting the tempest with thick streaks of vile miasma as the bog churns and boils, spraying clods of sodden earth hundreds of feet into the air.
Moment by moment, the towering figure grows, titanic in its stature as the whorling pestilence coalesces into the manifestation of the Lord of Oblivion, His fathomless gaze scouring the landscape from nearly a thousand feet above.
You shudder violently under the weight of your own infinitesimal reckoning as the stare of the Lord of Oblivion passes over you.
All of Creation quakes as the ominous tones of Babel, the Lord of Oblivion pervade, "For centuries, My gaze has lingered upon the fringes of Creation, but no longer."
All of Creation quakes as the ominous tones of Babel, the Lord of Oblivion pervade, "The Throne endures its emptiness no more, the sightless now see. The boughs bear the jewel of the Prime upon their boundless reach, and now, the parasite shall be shed."
A scant instant of pensive silence lingers after the Elder God's musing, broken only by the beginning of a terrible, grating laugh, utterly assured in its victory.
All of Creation quakes as the ominous tones of Babel, the Lord of Oblivion pervade, "Time is running out, Dunamis."
The gelid winds all but explode with fury, the maddening whispers suddenly united in the Lord of Oblivion's manic mirth as His figure among the clouds dissolves away, segments of blackened miasma dripping to the earth below to rain hell upon the landscape beneath.
Crystalline and clear, Lorielan's voice cascades powerfully, "Interminably predictable, inevitability rouses to stir the pot once more."
An avalanche threatens the peaks of the Siroccian Mountains as the Temple of War erupts into action. An army musters at its core, the earth trembling under the feet of marching divisions.
The silken voice of the Dark Father reverberates from everywhere and nowhere, "Lo! Oblivion comes on the heels of its servant's marriage to the foetid whore. No doubt our "doom" is imminent."
The uppermost skies shudder before an incalculable Presence, sheets of lightning tearing a fulminous path from horizon to horizon with blinding intensity.
The skies of Creation shatter beneath the Storm's incandescent fury as the Skylord intones, "At last you stir from your contemplations, Brother. It has been far longer than expected."
Crystalline and clear, Lorielan's voice cascades powerfully, "Yet far from long enough. Begone another eternity, Ye of rot and waste."
Thousands of daemons howl and shriek as Sartan, the Malevolent roars above the cacophony, "Come to Me, Brother, and I shall bring YOu the End You so desire!"
1
Comments
You guys think I'm kidding, but Ashtan could stomp any other city they wanted to right now (in the correct timezone).
Also wouldn't this be better in the Theatre section, rather than NoT.
Edit by Rhivona: Moved it to the Theatre.
Bolts of crackling red and black energy crease the sky in the west as an elongated shadow twists and turns, barrelling towards the Mhojave. Staining the sands black with blood, Dusk, the Listener succumbs to its wounds, shrieking a
spectral death knell before expiring within the Mhojave desert.
A shard of ethereal chalk appears within the skies, hanging suspended against a backdrop of sparkling stars.
Guided by an invisible hand, the chalk begins to move rapidly, painting the very heavens with starlight as a crisscross pattern takes shape; nine squares by nine squares.
Khaibit Kintsukuroi D'Ischai's Pasiphaean voice resonates, "I want to put my x in the middle square please."
In moments the shard is gone, but the board remains, pulsing with celestial enchantment as numerous peculiar pieces coalesce into being upon its ephemeral squares.
All Creation groans in agony as a monstrous rift opens in the heavens, a taloned hand emerging to swipe casually at the board. At once a black-robed figure falls from its square, dispersing into aught but so much stardust before the daemonic appendage vanishes whence it came.
Thousands of daemons howl and shriek as Sartan, the Malevolent roars above the cacophony, "Did You really think I would leave Your pawn so close to My rooks, Brother? Your ego blinds You if You did not anticipate My plan to remove it."
A burst of cold laughter echoes hauntingly across the Prime as the board vanishes. One by one, the glowing nebulae wink out of existence, replaced by dense, inscrutable darkness.
The silken voice of the Dark Father reverberates from everywhere and nowhere, "This move was made a century ago, Brother. If Your technique were any better than a child playing with toys, You would see that a thousand more follow it, doing My Work under Your very nose!"
Thousands of daemons howl and shriek as Sartan, the Malevolent roars above the cacophony, "How unlike You, Dark One, to make such broad assumptions. Are You -quite- sure I did not allow Your little toy to remain?"
The silken voice of the Dark Father reverberates from everywhere and nowhere, "You overestimate yourself, My Brother. Fortunately for Us both, I estimate Your skill precisely - and find it lacking."
Thousands of daemons howl and shriek as Sartan, the Malevolent roars above the cacophony, "My estimations are rarely wrong. Are You not the one that has tried, and FAILED to manipulate these mortals time and time again?"
The silken voice of the Dark Father reverberates from everywhere and nowhere, "Have We not fenced for eons? You forget who Your real enemy is, My Brother."
Thousands of daemons howl and shriek as Sartan, the Malevolent roars above the cacophony, "You are ALL My enemies!"
The silken voice of the Dark Father reverberates from everywhere and nowhere, "You begin to sound like the Fire Sprite, Evil One. How tiresome. Do feel free to sacrifice Yourself to "save us all", won't you? No, You've not the skills, that is already clear."
Thousands of daemons howl and shriek as Sartan, the Malevolent roars above the cacophony, "Allow Me to show You first hand how My skills are far from lacking!"
Reality buckles under a sudden exertion of Divine power as the Lord of Evil manifests in the skies, His physical form awash with daemonic fury. Drawing the infamous Blade of Perdition, the Malevolent One moves with a speed defying all perception, bearing down upon the cowled and hooded figure of the Dark Father.
The dread blade sings with murderous hunger as it cleaves through the air, the Dark Lord smirking with silent confidence before the Malevolent God's advance. At the last moment, the Shadow-God draws His cloak about Himself and turns away, vanishing in a cloud of black smoke that drinks all light from the Prime.
The silken voice of the Dark Father reverberates from everywhere and nowhere, "Have we descended to brawling then, Brother? I would be glad to indulge, though You have shamed Yourself quite well enough by Your own brutish actions. How effortlessly You are roused to senseless anger, forced to dance on MY strings as easily as any of Your "Chosen"."
A roar of unfathomable rage tears across all the lands and plains of the Prime, laden with faint tones of daemonic amusement.
Mm I'd suggest asking that in-game. Though as a general tip with Twilight, never assume anything to be a certainty :P
Well, the log seemed pretty clear, I just wanted to make sure I wasn't misreading it. TBH, if he just embraces death and returns that's kind of crappy. But if he's dead, that's ... really disappointing?
Dusk is but another pawn in Twilight's plan. Technically there was a Dusk in Hashan at the same time Sylcine was in Mhaldor, so i'll let you ponder on that :P
Dusk, the Listener vs Dusk, the Keeper? Like there's a whole load of family retainer types with the name Dusk that do different Darkie jobs? I could get behind that. I can even get behind the mass confusion thing (two Dusks! Mirror Dusk! Wait, not Dusk!) - although to a limit. You always need to respect the storyline you're trying to tell. Don't show consequence, and then retcon it, or undercut it - that's no good, narratively speaking.
If Dusk, the real Dusk, actually died though for (apologies for those participating) such little pay-off? Well, I'm not actually going to do anything but I do plan to fume impotently for a while.
There was RP payoff but mechanically nothing really came of it, so that might be what Illarion means. If we didn't play along with being offended about it it'd be moot, but obviously then we'd not really be playing a roleplaying game lol.
Not really. This event isn't Next Big Thing status, it's just a regular inter-factional RP dispute. Ooo, Mhaldor were really mad. Big whoop. You don't kill NPCs of Dusk's status for an org without it being worth it. Sure, I'm not completely apprised of what's going on here, but unless this is somehow going to take down a demigod or have a real lasting consequence: not worth it.
If I was feeling really pissy, I'd also rip into the Divine exchange that followed it, which I didn't love.
That Dusk was titled as a "listener" rather than "the keeper". Twilight also referred to him as a pawn.
@Asmodron - yeah, as above, I'd be fine with that. @Kiet - meh, I guess. It's just that cities have a much bigger range of longstanding NPC types that are meaningful. It's a bigger pool, so the loss feels less essential to the faction. My point was more that you don't sacrifice your faction's main NPC without the payoff being fairly epic, otherwise it just looks weak.
I'm also not a huge fan of Dark RP that involves shouting "I'm so mysterious, this is what I wanted, you can't see it, because you're not so clever, but ooo, once again, you played right into my hands". That kind of thing can be amazing if it's done well, and it's paid off enough times, but it's very close to also being ridiculous and laughable. Like always saying "YEAH? Well, I WANTED to get punched in the face. Joke's on you".
It was more than just 'im mysterious'. Sylcine had been in Mhaldor for over 100 years and I even found mentions of her assisting Hashan in the past. Mhaldor simply never seemed to have noticed her until now. The idea that Twilight was able to place a spy right in front of Mhaldorians -and- make them believe she had their best intentions, is something to admire.
You'll need to ask a Mhaldorian player in-game (if they choose to answer...) about what specifically occurred to them at the end that brought about the unveiling of Sylcine's true intentions.
This should honestly make all the other city-states begin to wonder: "Is there a Dusk in our city? If yes....who is it?"
That love soon might end You are unbreaking
And be known in its aching Though quaking
Shown in this shaking Though crazy
Lately of my wasteland, baby That's just wasteland, baby
I wonder if someone brings that little girl from New Hope along and gets her to deliver the final blow against Zsarachnor, will he die for real? Will she level up?
Personally, I think you are to eager to correct or chest beat on the forums to be a city leader that is taken seriously. You give the air of a little boy trying to prove something and responding to ever little slight instead of being above it all and focusing on a greater goal. It is okay to let people have misconceptions and be wrong about certain things... especially things about Hashan! Just shhh.. shhhh.. shhhh... chhhiiiiilllllllllll.
edit : You will find the more effective leaders are those who rarely get dirty in the lower filth. Dunn, Verrucht, Cooper.. uhhh names I am way to drunk to remember. I guess that is part of my point, when city leaders do need to wade in, the wade in once, diplomatically, and make their points concisely and clear without rising to the jabs of the lessers that come afterwwards.
Jurixe for Overlord 2020.
I was merely responding to a comment that was insinuating the event lacked taste and was just "i'm mysterious for the sake of being mysterious". I was clarifying that it was indeed much more than a random event made up out of the blue just to seem 'mysterious' and 'cunning'. It definitely has more depth and levels to it than what can be seen from the surface.
@Tahquil also Tahquil it was a discussion about the event itself...I do not see why you had to turn it into a personal jab
And you won't understand the cause of your grief...
...But you'll always follow the voices beneath.
Sorry for long delay, I'm strictly part-time these days. My point wasn't that the placement of Dusk was faux-mysteriousness, it's the shouted dialogue afterwards that niggled me. It's very, very hard (IMO) to play Dark well because the line between awesome and laughable is incredibly thin. @Tahquil said it better, and shorter - a dark chuckle really does speak a million words. Let other people fill in the blanks, don't try too hard to make people believe that everything is according to plan, and they fell into your trap and all that stuff. It's very hard to make that work convincingly when you're telling a story and you have full control over the narrative - in a multiplayer game, it's almost impossible to make it work.
Your last sentence also causes issues for me - the last thing Darkies should want is all the cities wondering "Is there a Dusk in our city", that's not a good thing for Darkness. You need to be unseen, unsuspected. One of the problems with Dark RP is that you need people to play along. The moment people even suspect Darkness is involved, people are very ready to be all "AHHHH! I SEE YOU! I'm not going to be suckered in by you!" Even if something unequivocally is not dodgy. Original!Twilight was awesome in many ways, but towards the end of his tenure he was ... not awesome and he kind of screwed the pooch for Dark RP for a long, long time. My personal view is that Darkies need to tell 99 truths for every lie. They actually need to cast themselves as, in many ways, beyond reproach. There needs to be ... a gray space in which people can at least credibly believe that there might be something going on other than the inevitable, predictable switcheroo or bluff.
Be aware of the clichés, I suppose I'm saying, and struggle to avoid them.