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- Talvinter
Talvinter Member
I can be the best version of your crazy Ex
STATUS: Welcome to the wasteland of my mind...here's some tea and biscuits, you're in for a show! 6 hrs ago
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- Joined: 4 yrs ago
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- Talvinter 4 yrs ago
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Welcome to the wasteland of my mind...here's some tea and biscuits, you're in for a show!
1
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3 days ago
I showed you my muse pic, plz respond- oh wait...wrong pic...sorry. Respond anyway? :D
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3 days ago
If you have an interest check and you’re contacted for it, any answer is appreciated. I’ll happily take a “not interested, go hither and copulate thy fish” than wondering if you even saw the PM.
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5 days ago
Muse found...crazy enough writing partner required...attempting to normalise dream sequence...
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1 mo ago
Connection lost...muse not found...attempting to reestablish dream sequence...
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Bio
Hi! You're probably here because I have PM'd you a plot idea based on your interest check, or not, regardless, welcome!
I'm a world builder by talent and a plotter by hobby, I love to discuss with a partner about upcoming possibilities or potential curveballs to the current planned story.
I'm very much 25+ so no issues there.
My writing can go from anywhere to 3 to 10 paragraphs depending on the time I have to write, what is happening and how much of a feel I have of the character. This tends to be why plotting along the way is important to me, I don't want to reach a dead end...but I also don't want to get lost in the plotting and end up not writing the story.
I consider my post history a bad example of my writing so I'll put better examples of how I write and how I plot here:
I'm a world builder by talent and a plotter by hobby, I love to discuss with a partner about upcoming possibilities or potential curveballs to the current planned story.
I'm very much 25+ so no issues there.
My writing can go from anywhere to 3 to 10 paragraphs depending on the time I have to write, what is happening and how much of a feel I have of the character. This tends to be why plotting along the way is important to me, I don't want to reach a dead end...but I also don't want to get lost in the plotting and end up not writing the story.
I consider my post history a bad example of my writing so I'll put better examples of how I write and how I plot here:
Civilians didn’t like Synthetic organisms, that was an understatement. When corporations first released synthetic animals there was an uptick in cruelty against animals. At least that’s what the statistics showed, in truth real animals were left alone, it became a death sentence in the street to kick a puppy. No, all the videos that began circulating were of violence against synthetic attempts at creating replacements. There was never any other satisfaction for the cruel to hurt a synthetic animal, other than as a middle finger to the corporations who had created them. The synthetic animals didn’t even feel pain, they acted the perfect pet from the get go without any training.
This twisted revenge against the corporations was mostly ineffectual. When a synthetic pet’s leg did break it was more comparable to a robotic hoover with a bad wheel than an animal.
People just didn’t have another way to feel they were making a stand against their pets being replaced.
Then they started replacing the people.
It started with hyper-realistic ‘sex bots’, with their white blood and miss coloured eyes. Except they were sold as ‘more real than the real thing’. The pattern repeated itself, violence against sex workers went down and this time lynchings of synthetics went up. It was so easy to tell which was a synth that the mobs had an all time record for violence that didn’t have any human casualties.
It was as if giving the people something to fight against, that they could actually see and get their hands on, brought the community together.
But while people were focusing on the white blooded synthetics, no one heard about the roll out of the near impossible to identify H-class. H has often been mistaken as standing for ‘Human’ because this was the first generation of the truly human-like synthetics.
The brain child of doctor Mei Morita, her creations gained the street name ‘Mories’. This came from security footage of a Mori knocking in a door and murdering the inhabitant that they were created in an exact copy of.
Unfortunately the perfection of the Mori’s resemblance meant that there did start to be human casualties. Neighbours who hated one another would report the other for being a Mori and the mobs would come for them both.
It was a sad state of affairs and only the introduction of the Arbitrators stemmed the violence.
Top of the line kill-bots looked like toasters compared to Arbitrators. They were perfect in every conceivable human way, only for the designers to go even further. Strength, stamina, endurance, everything the Arbitrators could come up against they were ready for.
All that had to be taken away was the capability to feel emotion and they were the perfect soldiers.
False rumours began to circulate that Arbitrators were being sent out amongst the population as Mories to catch out any would be lynchings. It only needed the slaughter of 20 gang members retold as a anti-Mori riot coming up against an Arbitrator for the mobs to disperse.
The terms ‘stronger together’ and ‘they can’t kill all of us’ didn’t seem to have the same impact when an Arbitrator very well could indeed kill them all.
With the protests no longer turning to riots, the advancement of the synths continued. In a bid to placate governments and officials, corporations signed off on leasing Arbitrators to the police, cost free.
Courser was one such Arbitrator, placed in a district he didn’t care to remember the name of. Days always passed like sand through fingers and he never cared to look closely at what made each one different. Until /he/ was brought in.
Beaten and bloody the man gave the outer impression of a body beginning to fail under the pressure of injuries.
But that wasn’t really the case, Courser recognised the face he had first opened his eyes to. The only other Chimera Class Synth, capable of bruising, bleeding even the simulation of a broken limb and the poor soul had no idea.
Courser followed the man, Dresden, to the interrogation room and watched him from behind the observation mirror. Around him human officers chattered and ignored the intimidating figure of the Arbitrator. They wanted to make an example of this one...they didn’t know that the real Dresden was already long dead.
“Why don’t we send the synth in?” Courser’s attention on Dresden was momentarily broken as he heard one of the officers say the idea behind him. “Record the result, stick it online.” There was agreement to this and some laughter, until the Arbitrator opened his mouth.
“No.” The officers stopped, none of them had the spine to argue with the Arbitrator, even if they did call him ‘corpo puppet’ and ‘plastic cop’ when they thought he was out of ear shot.
“He’s going to be released, tonight. See that it’s done.”
An Arbitrator wasn’t one to give orders, but in this case Courser was speaking for the true masters of the corporation owned police station. With the orders passed over, Courser stepped out of the observation room and headed for the interrogation room.
As Courser stepped into the room he felt a rogue variable get filtered out of his active programming. In a human the sensation might have been comparable to a rising excitement.
One of the officers had placed a mug of water just out of the prisoner’s reach, Courser could see that Dresden had been straining against his cuffs to reach it.
Courser stepped up to the table and picked up the mug, then carefully placed it in front of Dresden and well within the man’s reach.
“Human programming, it leaves much to be desired.” He stepped back and then took the seat opposite Dresden. “As your body tries to recover it takes vital resources from other organs, which start to die without it. Leaving your heart, your lungs and your brain working away...while the rest of you dies.” His tone was explanatory with minimal intonation.
This twisted revenge against the corporations was mostly ineffectual. When a synthetic pet’s leg did break it was more comparable to a robotic hoover with a bad wheel than an animal.
People just didn’t have another way to feel they were making a stand against their pets being replaced.
Then they started replacing the people.
It started with hyper-realistic ‘sex bots’, with their white blood and miss coloured eyes. Except they were sold as ‘more real than the real thing’. The pattern repeated itself, violence against sex workers went down and this time lynchings of synthetics went up. It was so easy to tell which was a synth that the mobs had an all time record for violence that didn’t have any human casualties.
It was as if giving the people something to fight against, that they could actually see and get their hands on, brought the community together.
But while people were focusing on the white blooded synthetics, no one heard about the roll out of the near impossible to identify H-class. H has often been mistaken as standing for ‘Human’ because this was the first generation of the truly human-like synthetics.
The brain child of doctor Mei Morita, her creations gained the street name ‘Mories’. This came from security footage of a Mori knocking in a door and murdering the inhabitant that they were created in an exact copy of.
Unfortunately the perfection of the Mori’s resemblance meant that there did start to be human casualties. Neighbours who hated one another would report the other for being a Mori and the mobs would come for them both.
It was a sad state of affairs and only the introduction of the Arbitrators stemmed the violence.
Top of the line kill-bots looked like toasters compared to Arbitrators. They were perfect in every conceivable human way, only for the designers to go even further. Strength, stamina, endurance, everything the Arbitrators could come up against they were ready for.
All that had to be taken away was the capability to feel emotion and they were the perfect soldiers.
False rumours began to circulate that Arbitrators were being sent out amongst the population as Mories to catch out any would be lynchings. It only needed the slaughter of 20 gang members retold as a anti-Mori riot coming up against an Arbitrator for the mobs to disperse.
The terms ‘stronger together’ and ‘they can’t kill all of us’ didn’t seem to have the same impact when an Arbitrator very well could indeed kill them all.
With the protests no longer turning to riots, the advancement of the synths continued. In a bid to placate governments and officials, corporations signed off on leasing Arbitrators to the police, cost free.
Courser was one such Arbitrator, placed in a district he didn’t care to remember the name of. Days always passed like sand through fingers and he never cared to look closely at what made each one different. Until /he/ was brought in.
Beaten and bloody the man gave the outer impression of a body beginning to fail under the pressure of injuries.
But that wasn’t really the case, Courser recognised the face he had first opened his eyes to. The only other Chimera Class Synth, capable of bruising, bleeding even the simulation of a broken limb and the poor soul had no idea.
Courser followed the man, Dresden, to the interrogation room and watched him from behind the observation mirror. Around him human officers chattered and ignored the intimidating figure of the Arbitrator. They wanted to make an example of this one...they didn’t know that the real Dresden was already long dead.
“Why don’t we send the synth in?” Courser’s attention on Dresden was momentarily broken as he heard one of the officers say the idea behind him. “Record the result, stick it online.” There was agreement to this and some laughter, until the Arbitrator opened his mouth.
“No.” The officers stopped, none of them had the spine to argue with the Arbitrator, even if they did call him ‘corpo puppet’ and ‘plastic cop’ when they thought he was out of ear shot.
“He’s going to be released, tonight. See that it’s done.”
An Arbitrator wasn’t one to give orders, but in this case Courser was speaking for the true masters of the corporation owned police station. With the orders passed over, Courser stepped out of the observation room and headed for the interrogation room.
As Courser stepped into the room he felt a rogue variable get filtered out of his active programming. In a human the sensation might have been comparable to a rising excitement.
One of the officers had placed a mug of water just out of the prisoner’s reach, Courser could see that Dresden had been straining against his cuffs to reach it.
Courser stepped up to the table and picked up the mug, then carefully placed it in front of Dresden and well within the man’s reach.
“Human programming, it leaves much to be desired.” He stepped back and then took the seat opposite Dresden. “As your body tries to recover it takes vital resources from other organs, which start to die without it. Leaving your heart, your lungs and your brain working away...while the rest of you dies.” His tone was explanatory with minimal intonation.
It had been forty years since the outbreak, what people had initially believed to be some kind of mutated rabies creating a zombie like result, this was proven untrue. Risky live captures and controlled infections led to the realisation that these monsters were closer to the mythical vampire, with their sensitivity to sunlight and destruction of the heart or head being the only way to destroy them.
Cities fortified, the militaries of the world took over from their respective collapsing governments, curfews were put in place and a large part life was able to return to some long lost relative of normal.
No country’s military released their control, the threat of the vampires was still very much present, but western powers did create departments for a more civilian styled government. It was little more than an attempt to placate the masses and for many it worked, the only thing missing from the world were elections.
As anyone could have expected as it was the want of a military to improve, the forty years of military control had led to massive strides in research and development. To the surprise of many there was even some collaboration between the military governments of the world, they didn’t share much of their own advancements but they did share research into the vampires.
However the UK and US did have a much closer back room collaboration, the result of this was the creation of permanent artificial improvements to the human body. Extra organs, improved muscles, all grown from synthetic DNA technology.
The results were to all intents and purposes super soldiers.
[21:21]
A limitation of these improvements was that the patient had to be a perfect genetic match for the synthetic improvements. It was rare to find people whose bodies wouldn’t attack the improvements and would instead bond with them, altering the genetic makeup of the synthetic parts to better match the human body. After a successful bonding the DNA of the improvements perfectly matched the host body.
Often this process left the patient in such a state of trauma that any use of them as soldiers was nil, to combat this a technique of mind alteration was brought in. Full memory suppression and recoding, the result was a fully reprogrammed weapon in a mostly human form.
These men and women are rarely willing volunteers as the genetic compatibility is so rare and considered so important that there have been reports of homes being invaded to capture the individual and take them in for processing.
The results of these improvements has since come to be known as Coursers and they were the superior counter to vampires as well as completely immune to infection by the vampire plague.
What none of these human societies was that there was another type of vampire that existed and had done since the earliest years of humanity. Evolved in the same vein as the shark, the centuries had led to an evolution of their refinement and advancement of their society, all from within the dark corners of human civilisation.
These were a far cry from the rabid animals that brought humanity to its knees, their clans had their own wars in the shadows which their historians link to being the cause of their inability to muster against the rabid monsters.
[21:22]
Now they live in even greater secrecy than they did before, a Courser has never faced a true vampire and humanity at large is unaware of their existence. Only select humans fed a weekly dose of vampire blood to maintain increased strength, speed and healing are aware of the existence of true vampires. Even these individuals are only aware of as much as their vampire handler shares with them. More importantly these chosen few are immune to infection by the rabid vampires.
The ease of infection by the rabid vampires is a large part of what makes the plague so dangerous, a scratch is all that is needed though rarely all that those infected are left with. These beasts resemble a cross between a recognised zombie from popular culture with their torn rotting skin and tumour like growths leaking a constant flow of infectious pus.
While a true vampire’s teeth resemble a human’s in most of the structure, besides the sharpened upper and lower lateral incisors and canines, a rabid vampire’s teeth are nothing similar. A rabid vampire’s mouth better resembles a shark’s with rows of increasingly twisted fragments of sharp bone.
Cities fortified, the militaries of the world took over from their respective collapsing governments, curfews were put in place and a large part life was able to return to some long lost relative of normal.
No country’s military released their control, the threat of the vampires was still very much present, but western powers did create departments for a more civilian styled government. It was little more than an attempt to placate the masses and for many it worked, the only thing missing from the world were elections.
As anyone could have expected as it was the want of a military to improve, the forty years of military control had led to massive strides in research and development. To the surprise of many there was even some collaboration between the military governments of the world, they didn’t share much of their own advancements but they did share research into the vampires.
However the UK and US did have a much closer back room collaboration, the result of this was the creation of permanent artificial improvements to the human body. Extra organs, improved muscles, all grown from synthetic DNA technology.
The results were to all intents and purposes super soldiers.
[21:21]
A limitation of these improvements was that the patient had to be a perfect genetic match for the synthetic improvements. It was rare to find people whose bodies wouldn’t attack the improvements and would instead bond with them, altering the genetic makeup of the synthetic parts to better match the human body. After a successful bonding the DNA of the improvements perfectly matched the host body.
Often this process left the patient in such a state of trauma that any use of them as soldiers was nil, to combat this a technique of mind alteration was brought in. Full memory suppression and recoding, the result was a fully reprogrammed weapon in a mostly human form.
These men and women are rarely willing volunteers as the genetic compatibility is so rare and considered so important that there have been reports of homes being invaded to capture the individual and take them in for processing.
The results of these improvements has since come to be known as Coursers and they were the superior counter to vampires as well as completely immune to infection by the vampire plague.
What none of these human societies was that there was another type of vampire that existed and had done since the earliest years of humanity. Evolved in the same vein as the shark, the centuries had led to an evolution of their refinement and advancement of their society, all from within the dark corners of human civilisation.
These were a far cry from the rabid animals that brought humanity to its knees, their clans had their own wars in the shadows which their historians link to being the cause of their inability to muster against the rabid monsters.
[21:22]
Now they live in even greater secrecy than they did before, a Courser has never faced a true vampire and humanity at large is unaware of their existence. Only select humans fed a weekly dose of vampire blood to maintain increased strength, speed and healing are aware of the existence of true vampires. Even these individuals are only aware of as much as their vampire handler shares with them. More importantly these chosen few are immune to infection by the rabid vampires.
The ease of infection by the rabid vampires is a large part of what makes the plague so dangerous, a scratch is all that is needed though rarely all that those infected are left with. These beasts resemble a cross between a recognised zombie from popular culture with their torn rotting skin and tumour like growths leaking a constant flow of infectious pus.
While a true vampire’s teeth resemble a human’s in most of the structure, besides the sharpened upper and lower lateral incisors and canines, a rabid vampire’s teeth are nothing similar. A rabid vampire’s mouth better resembles a shark’s with rows of increasingly twisted fragments of sharp bone.
A Human resistance fighter learns he isn't Human at all, in fact he's the son of the Alien ruler who took over Earth nearly 100 years ago.
His mother and most of his honour guard were killed in a crash after their ship was travelling low over Earth's surface. He was protected by his mother's personal force field as well as his own, as she held him close. He was the Human equivalent of a 4 year old at the time, able to speak several Earth languages including English as well as his native tongue.
When he found his way out of the crash, he was found by Human refugees and mistaken for a human child. He was adopted and after some time forgot the other languages he knew.
Thirty years later he is one of the resistance's best fighters, with a high kill count under his belt.
He is smart, his height is average for a Human (alien soldiers average at 11ft) and he is physically able. He has never seen his blood, the aliens aren’t injured easily and his father never told him the truth.
He captures a female alien who identifies him for what he is but doesn't say anything. When she does (thinking he is undercover) he doesn't believe her.
The aliens have a short range telepathy than can work with Humans too and is often used for interrogation, but only aliens can block each other out.
[20:11]
Aliens
Look human except for certain differences.
Their eyes glow white, but dim in direct light from any source.
Their veins are black, their skin looks paper thin and is either white or grey - this appears to be their version of ethnicity.
Their blood turns white when exposed to air.
Stress makes them even stronger and faster, they are already stronger and faster than a human, but stress doubles their physical abilities. So resistance fighters try to avoid direct confrontation.
They have natural chameleonic abilities, making them able to mimic human skin tone or render themselves near invisible. Their armour is designed to work with this ability to allow their soldiers to camouflage on the battlefield.
This has been used for infiltration, this soon led to resistance camps forcing strangers to ‘prove blood’ by cutting their palms to show it runs red.
There is a distinct physiological difference between the royal line and the rest of the race. For starters they are the head of the hive mind, all of the race have their individuality but it can be taken from them by the royal line if required by the situation. This is why their military act and expand as if they are an extension of or a limb of CelKahn, by all rights they are.
While most aliens have a short range telepathy, the royal line has a long range wide area of effect. So when the lost son appears to be affected by weapons designed to disable large groups of humans, he is unknowingly responding to the inability to move that his fellow resistance fighters suffer under the effects of that weapon.
The alien race are incapable of breeding without an initial ‘blessing’ from a member of the royal line. It is a healing ability and is used in these fertility rituals to reverse the less favourable effects of the race’s evolution into being functionally immortal. It is also usable and effective on humans, but any wound healed with this ability leaves a scar that resembles the flesh of the alien race.
[20:11]
Earth as was, is no more.
Three centuries have passed since the human home world was scorched, when the seas boiled and the mountains melted beneath the onslaught.
Only by the mercy of Earth's Lord did the Human race survive at all within their great vaults.
Not the Gods Earth's old religions called praise for, but Lord CelKahn, Leader of the Purifying Armies. He whose hand swept over the Earth and burned away the Unworthy, the hearts who doubted him and those who will never find peace in the light of his Sky Chariot's pulsar engines.
The Unworthy, who call themselves the 'Resistance' are the only ones who speak the Purest One's name in anything but the praise he deserves, they have the audacity to use it in vain, in insult. Some still pray to the false Gods of Humanity's past.
Worse still, they dare to compare Earth's Lord to the Devils of these false beliefs.
They do not care for how they damn their souls to the abyss.
This 'Resistance' did not even give a moment of silence on Mourning day, to remember the loss of our Lord's young son.
The child who gave his life so his father would remake Earth.
But the Faithful always remember how Lord CelKahn swept over the Earth in his Sky Chariot. His Pulsar Engines burned away the world before, only for his hand to remake it greener and more beautiful than ever before.
-
Matthias choked back a laugh as the read the loose page of the 'Renewed Light Bible'. The night carried noise, even in a tent full of men and women snoring one way or the other as they slept, he received a glare from another 'early bird'.
According to the old clock that hung on the wall and ticked away quietly, it was 4am. Since the 'Thuusrians', as the aliens called themselves, had attacked, old world time didn't seem to sync up properly. The days and nights were too long, doubled in fact.
So, it was 4am during the second half of the night time cycle. Not that anyone had actually managed to sleep the full 48 hours of night before without a head wound.
His mother and most of his honour guard were killed in a crash after their ship was travelling low over Earth's surface. He was protected by his mother's personal force field as well as his own, as she held him close. He was the Human equivalent of a 4 year old at the time, able to speak several Earth languages including English as well as his native tongue.
When he found his way out of the crash, he was found by Human refugees and mistaken for a human child. He was adopted and after some time forgot the other languages he knew.
Thirty years later he is one of the resistance's best fighters, with a high kill count under his belt.
He is smart, his height is average for a Human (alien soldiers average at 11ft) and he is physically able. He has never seen his blood, the aliens aren’t injured easily and his father never told him the truth.
He captures a female alien who identifies him for what he is but doesn't say anything. When she does (thinking he is undercover) he doesn't believe her.
The aliens have a short range telepathy than can work with Humans too and is often used for interrogation, but only aliens can block each other out.
[20:11]
Aliens
Look human except for certain differences.
Their eyes glow white, but dim in direct light from any source.
Their veins are black, their skin looks paper thin and is either white or grey - this appears to be their version of ethnicity.
Their blood turns white when exposed to air.
Stress makes them even stronger and faster, they are already stronger and faster than a human, but stress doubles their physical abilities. So resistance fighters try to avoid direct confrontation.
They have natural chameleonic abilities, making them able to mimic human skin tone or render themselves near invisible. Their armour is designed to work with this ability to allow their soldiers to camouflage on the battlefield.
This has been used for infiltration, this soon led to resistance camps forcing strangers to ‘prove blood’ by cutting their palms to show it runs red.
There is a distinct physiological difference between the royal line and the rest of the race. For starters they are the head of the hive mind, all of the race have their individuality but it can be taken from them by the royal line if required by the situation. This is why their military act and expand as if they are an extension of or a limb of CelKahn, by all rights they are.
While most aliens have a short range telepathy, the royal line has a long range wide area of effect. So when the lost son appears to be affected by weapons designed to disable large groups of humans, he is unknowingly responding to the inability to move that his fellow resistance fighters suffer under the effects of that weapon.
The alien race are incapable of breeding without an initial ‘blessing’ from a member of the royal line. It is a healing ability and is used in these fertility rituals to reverse the less favourable effects of the race’s evolution into being functionally immortal. It is also usable and effective on humans, but any wound healed with this ability leaves a scar that resembles the flesh of the alien race.
[20:11]
Earth as was, is no more.
Three centuries have passed since the human home world was scorched, when the seas boiled and the mountains melted beneath the onslaught.
Only by the mercy of Earth's Lord did the Human race survive at all within their great vaults.
Not the Gods Earth's old religions called praise for, but Lord CelKahn, Leader of the Purifying Armies. He whose hand swept over the Earth and burned away the Unworthy, the hearts who doubted him and those who will never find peace in the light of his Sky Chariot's pulsar engines.
The Unworthy, who call themselves the 'Resistance' are the only ones who speak the Purest One's name in anything but the praise he deserves, they have the audacity to use it in vain, in insult. Some still pray to the false Gods of Humanity's past.
Worse still, they dare to compare Earth's Lord to the Devils of these false beliefs.
They do not care for how they damn their souls to the abyss.
This 'Resistance' did not even give a moment of silence on Mourning day, to remember the loss of our Lord's young son.
The child who gave his life so his father would remake Earth.
But the Faithful always remember how Lord CelKahn swept over the Earth in his Sky Chariot. His Pulsar Engines burned away the world before, only for his hand to remake it greener and more beautiful than ever before.
-
Matthias choked back a laugh as the read the loose page of the 'Renewed Light Bible'. The night carried noise, even in a tent full of men and women snoring one way or the other as they slept, he received a glare from another 'early bird'.
According to the old clock that hung on the wall and ticked away quietly, it was 4am. Since the 'Thuusrians', as the aliens called themselves, had attacked, old world time didn't seem to sync up properly. The days and nights were too long, doubled in fact.
So, it was 4am during the second half of the night time cycle. Not that anyone had actually managed to sleep the full 48 hours of night before without a head wound.
The cult of the Nowhere were famed for their powerful secrets and near endless knowledge, through power granted by their Lord its most faithful could remember libraries worth of information. Any written secrets they came across or raided they would absorb in the information then burn the physical item.
Secrets and their power were what made the cult possible, with no central store they could move their head of operations easily.
Which meant the only way to take those secrets was to destroy the elder god directly, by all accounts this was an impossibility. Unless an elder god of a similar enough domain took to direct battle with the Nowhere…
Nearly thirty years ago the Nowhere blessed his followers with a life spawn directly from his will and brought into the physical world via the loins of a virgin. Since then the child now a man named Cail acted as the conduit for the cult to contact the Nowhere. But recently no amount of prayers or pleading could rouse the elder god to council its followers.
The power ripped through his body, arching Cail’s back until his heart faced the ceiling above. At the same time he felt both weak and powerful. His fingertips touched the reaches of reality while his mind felt narrowed to a pinpoint. The voices around his physical form were barely audible to him, but his mind felt their meaning and travelled to new reaches in answer.
In the waking world his body was knelt, his back arched and his veins blackened as the blood of his father surfaced and overtook the mortal shell.
Had the mind of his father still existed somewhere in the void then the man’s voice would have spoken the words of the Nowhere and those words only. As it was the clergy who whispered words of service and command to Cail’s strained form directed his inner eye and the words that flowed from Cail’s mouth were of chaos and…nothingness. When they directed him to find beings alike to his father Cail’s murmured gasps and whines were the words of other elder gods. The direction given to the followers of other elder gods were no longer secrets kept within their walls.
But still the Nowhere did not answer and the archive of secrets that made up the centre of the being that was the Nowhere, while paradoxically it should have created a ‘somewhere’, there was simply nothing to find.
Once the ritual was complete Cail’s body could only relax once the last candle was put out. At which point he slumped back onto the stone floor, his breathing laboured as initiates of the cult dragged his prone form into the rooms hidden in tunnels behind the altar. A place where the weak and injured could recover in the light of their lord.
Outside of the recovery rooms in the main chamber the five high priests murmured in troubled tones. “Our Lord would have answered our call with his blood as catalyst.” A voice came from under a deep purple hood.
“Only if he were still capable, he won’t even answer his most faithful.” A voice answered from under a deep black hood.
“What of spilling his mortal blood? If we could create mirrors from it then perhaps we could open an eye into the void, we could search ourselves.” Asked a voice from under a deep brown hood.
That idea had been their most optimistic one for months, they had been unable to contact their god, their cult was quickly losing members.
“If we do not do this, the followers of the Nowhere will only be ourselves.” The voice from the depths of the black hood warned.
“Tomorrow then.” They finally agreed together.
As the night ended and dawn finally showed itself on the horizon, the temple was buzzing with activity as they waited for Cail’s blood to regain its potency and allow him to wake.
As he slept, the initiates of the cult moved his body back into the main chamber, there his sweating and twitching body was cleaned and bathed in waxy oils to better hold him still.
“He still dreams, there exists a fragment of our Lord within him!” Fanatical whispers spread at the news as Cail’s body spasmed with fear and terror of possible futures.
Cail awoke on the stone slab of the altar, his father’s many carved eyes glowered down from the stone above him. Where once the eyes held the depths of the Nowhere’s malice, they were now empty. He had felt the missing fragment within himself as clearly as the clergy members had felt the missing source of their once great inner archive.
Wax cracked as he shifted, his body restored in sleep by the blood of his father even as it attacked his mind.
Cail’s mind ran over what little he could remember of his dreams, the knife would come and his blood would fill those empty eyes above him. But…Cail’s eyes caught the gaze of those under a hood of grey. One of the high priests of the Nowhere and now an initiate of…
“The Endless…” Cail whispered and the eyes his gaze was locked with lit up with feverish excitement. Under the eyes of a dead god and in the face of potentially the last ritual to communicate with it, the grey cloaked high priest drew his ceremonial dagger. “For the Endless!” He cried and stabbed the nearest high priest.
With the spark of chaos lit members of the cult raised their own blades in a war cry and brought them down upon those they had once called family.
Cail rolled off of the altar and landed on less than steady feet. Wax fell from his skin in patches and the nearly dried oil base flaked from his skin. As blood was spilled around him Cail felt the power begin to rise in his chest and watched his veins darken. He clenched his fists and fought the sensation down, the souls the blood fed on would only lead to the entity’s blood surfacing. Cail had to get out as soon as possible, his eyes found the door that would lead to his escape and he ran.
-
Cail’s eyes opened under the thin blanket where he hid his face during sleep. The blanket did little to keep the cold out, but the thicker blanket under his body was the only thing that kept him from sleeping directly on stone, his initiate robe under his head as a pillow was probably the only part of his setup that was in any way effective. Cail slid his legs out from under the blanket and planted them on the floor as he sat up, he cracked his neck and stood to wash his face in the nearby basin. Around him other beds stood empty or taken with some directly on the floor. As Carl touched the water he felt his thoughts stretch and spasm as an image flashed into his mind, a knife, a red river and a candle snuffed out.
All these months later since his escape from the Nowhere cult the visions still haunted him.
Cail continued to wash his face before he grabbed his cloak and put it over his head, how he was ready for his duties. The rough sack cloth rubbed at his skin, but for all of these discomforts he felt more whole than he had since the archives had been lost to the high priests of the Nowhere. There was a presence in these walls, the Endless’ blessing was amongst his people and Cail could feel it, he felt accepted…no longer just a tool for the use of the Nowhere’s priests but a genuine initiate of a god. He smiled and left the room, careful to make minimal noise as the door clicked shut behind him and he headed for the temple for his first prayers, he took only a moment to slip on the loose slippers and hurried on.
Initiates of all ages replaced candles and swept floors in preparation of the morning ceremony, for Cail the routine of it all was what he enjoyed the most, the calming peace of being part of a whole, of being a simple piece that had its place. He carried out the last polishes of the silverware and put them perfectly in place. An itching in his chest made him twist his head and swallow back a cough.
Once the preparations were done the initiates stood out of the way and the doors were opened to allow in the worshippers. As they did Cail felt his chest twist, he stumbled but recovered and waved off another initiate. “I’m alright, it’s nothing.” Cail responded to the concerned look, but he could feel his veins darken under his too pale skin. Someone who knew the words was here…someone was trying to call forth the blood.
Frantically Cail’s eyes flashed over the passing faces, watching their lips, all of them were moving but one was not whispering prayers to the Endless. Then he saw it, a familiar face, the bastard was grinning even as he murmured the summoning words, his dead fish blue eyes boring into Cail’s.
Cail whispered a desperate prayer to the Endless and slipped away from the other initiates, he fast walked and stumbled, first towards the exit but there were too many people attempting to walk in to leave that way. In his mind’s eye he saw the knife the Nowhere priest carried and his breath caught, he meant to complete the ritual in the temple of the Endless.
Cail fled for the stairs as the Nowhere priest followed him, carefully winding his way through the gathering of Endless followers. He hid beside the stairs on the next floor as the priest ascended, Cail found it to be heresy the man was even here, but further he ascended in order to escape or find a clergy member who was not busy with the morning tasks.
All the while Cail’s blood sang with the murmured words that called it forth. In fear that itself felt endless Cail scrambled through the door of the upper most chambers, Cail didn’t have time to see the figure that resided there before the blood took hold. Between the summoning words and the sudden proximity of the presence Cail dropped to his knees and his back arched, the familiar paradoxical weakness and power burned through him. Without guidance for his mind to follow and seek out knowledge, Cail remained silent as his veins pulsed their darkness. Initially they were hidden by his robe, but as the priest unsheathed his ceremonial blade his first use of it was to cut the front of the robe and expose the pulsing web of dark veils that spidered their way across Cail’s chest and spiralled unnaturally around his heart. Cail’s posture very nearly suggested an offering of his heart.
Cail’s once green eyes stood wide, staring and completely unseeing, black from the eldritch blood surfacing in his veins, his short dark hair drenched in sweat. His neck open and exposed for the knife now pressed against it. “With blood summoned forth, I call upon you my Lord…free yourself and return to us oh lord of the void, the empty and the Nowhere.” The priest couldn’t stop grinning as he said the words of the ritual to call on the Nowhere before he would then slit the younger man’s throat. He was so focused he didn’t even think to check if there were any witnesses.
Secrets and their power were what made the cult possible, with no central store they could move their head of operations easily.
Which meant the only way to take those secrets was to destroy the elder god directly, by all accounts this was an impossibility. Unless an elder god of a similar enough domain took to direct battle with the Nowhere…
Nearly thirty years ago the Nowhere blessed his followers with a life spawn directly from his will and brought into the physical world via the loins of a virgin. Since then the child now a man named Cail acted as the conduit for the cult to contact the Nowhere. But recently no amount of prayers or pleading could rouse the elder god to council its followers.
The power ripped through his body, arching Cail’s back until his heart faced the ceiling above. At the same time he felt both weak and powerful. His fingertips touched the reaches of reality while his mind felt narrowed to a pinpoint. The voices around his physical form were barely audible to him, but his mind felt their meaning and travelled to new reaches in answer.
In the waking world his body was knelt, his back arched and his veins blackened as the blood of his father surfaced and overtook the mortal shell.
Had the mind of his father still existed somewhere in the void then the man’s voice would have spoken the words of the Nowhere and those words only. As it was the clergy who whispered words of service and command to Cail’s strained form directed his inner eye and the words that flowed from Cail’s mouth were of chaos and…nothingness. When they directed him to find beings alike to his father Cail’s murmured gasps and whines were the words of other elder gods. The direction given to the followers of other elder gods were no longer secrets kept within their walls.
But still the Nowhere did not answer and the archive of secrets that made up the centre of the being that was the Nowhere, while paradoxically it should have created a ‘somewhere’, there was simply nothing to find.
Once the ritual was complete Cail’s body could only relax once the last candle was put out. At which point he slumped back onto the stone floor, his breathing laboured as initiates of the cult dragged his prone form into the rooms hidden in tunnels behind the altar. A place where the weak and injured could recover in the light of their lord.
Outside of the recovery rooms in the main chamber the five high priests murmured in troubled tones. “Our Lord would have answered our call with his blood as catalyst.” A voice came from under a deep purple hood.
“Only if he were still capable, he won’t even answer his most faithful.” A voice answered from under a deep black hood.
“What of spilling his mortal blood? If we could create mirrors from it then perhaps we could open an eye into the void, we could search ourselves.” Asked a voice from under a deep brown hood.
That idea had been their most optimistic one for months, they had been unable to contact their god, their cult was quickly losing members.
“If we do not do this, the followers of the Nowhere will only be ourselves.” The voice from the depths of the black hood warned.
“Tomorrow then.” They finally agreed together.
As the night ended and dawn finally showed itself on the horizon, the temple was buzzing with activity as they waited for Cail’s blood to regain its potency and allow him to wake.
As he slept, the initiates of the cult moved his body back into the main chamber, there his sweating and twitching body was cleaned and bathed in waxy oils to better hold him still.
“He still dreams, there exists a fragment of our Lord within him!” Fanatical whispers spread at the news as Cail’s body spasmed with fear and terror of possible futures.
Cail awoke on the stone slab of the altar, his father’s many carved eyes glowered down from the stone above him. Where once the eyes held the depths of the Nowhere’s malice, they were now empty. He had felt the missing fragment within himself as clearly as the clergy members had felt the missing source of their once great inner archive.
Wax cracked as he shifted, his body restored in sleep by the blood of his father even as it attacked his mind.
Cail’s mind ran over what little he could remember of his dreams, the knife would come and his blood would fill those empty eyes above him. But…Cail’s eyes caught the gaze of those under a hood of grey. One of the high priests of the Nowhere and now an initiate of…
“The Endless…” Cail whispered and the eyes his gaze was locked with lit up with feverish excitement. Under the eyes of a dead god and in the face of potentially the last ritual to communicate with it, the grey cloaked high priest drew his ceremonial dagger. “For the Endless!” He cried and stabbed the nearest high priest.
With the spark of chaos lit members of the cult raised their own blades in a war cry and brought them down upon those they had once called family.
Cail rolled off of the altar and landed on less than steady feet. Wax fell from his skin in patches and the nearly dried oil base flaked from his skin. As blood was spilled around him Cail felt the power begin to rise in his chest and watched his veins darken. He clenched his fists and fought the sensation down, the souls the blood fed on would only lead to the entity’s blood surfacing. Cail had to get out as soon as possible, his eyes found the door that would lead to his escape and he ran.
-
Cail’s eyes opened under the thin blanket where he hid his face during sleep. The blanket did little to keep the cold out, but the thicker blanket under his body was the only thing that kept him from sleeping directly on stone, his initiate robe under his head as a pillow was probably the only part of his setup that was in any way effective. Cail slid his legs out from under the blanket and planted them on the floor as he sat up, he cracked his neck and stood to wash his face in the nearby basin. Around him other beds stood empty or taken with some directly on the floor. As Carl touched the water he felt his thoughts stretch and spasm as an image flashed into his mind, a knife, a red river and a candle snuffed out.
All these months later since his escape from the Nowhere cult the visions still haunted him.
Cail continued to wash his face before he grabbed his cloak and put it over his head, how he was ready for his duties. The rough sack cloth rubbed at his skin, but for all of these discomforts he felt more whole than he had since the archives had been lost to the high priests of the Nowhere. There was a presence in these walls, the Endless’ blessing was amongst his people and Cail could feel it, he felt accepted…no longer just a tool for the use of the Nowhere’s priests but a genuine initiate of a god. He smiled and left the room, careful to make minimal noise as the door clicked shut behind him and he headed for the temple for his first prayers, he took only a moment to slip on the loose slippers and hurried on.
Initiates of all ages replaced candles and swept floors in preparation of the morning ceremony, for Cail the routine of it all was what he enjoyed the most, the calming peace of being part of a whole, of being a simple piece that had its place. He carried out the last polishes of the silverware and put them perfectly in place. An itching in his chest made him twist his head and swallow back a cough.
Once the preparations were done the initiates stood out of the way and the doors were opened to allow in the worshippers. As they did Cail felt his chest twist, he stumbled but recovered and waved off another initiate. “I’m alright, it’s nothing.” Cail responded to the concerned look, but he could feel his veins darken under his too pale skin. Someone who knew the words was here…someone was trying to call forth the blood.
Frantically Cail’s eyes flashed over the passing faces, watching their lips, all of them were moving but one was not whispering prayers to the Endless. Then he saw it, a familiar face, the bastard was grinning even as he murmured the summoning words, his dead fish blue eyes boring into Cail’s.
Cail whispered a desperate prayer to the Endless and slipped away from the other initiates, he fast walked and stumbled, first towards the exit but there were too many people attempting to walk in to leave that way. In his mind’s eye he saw the knife the Nowhere priest carried and his breath caught, he meant to complete the ritual in the temple of the Endless.
Cail fled for the stairs as the Nowhere priest followed him, carefully winding his way through the gathering of Endless followers. He hid beside the stairs on the next floor as the priest ascended, Cail found it to be heresy the man was even here, but further he ascended in order to escape or find a clergy member who was not busy with the morning tasks.
All the while Cail’s blood sang with the murmured words that called it forth. In fear that itself felt endless Cail scrambled through the door of the upper most chambers, Cail didn’t have time to see the figure that resided there before the blood took hold. Between the summoning words and the sudden proximity of the presence Cail dropped to his knees and his back arched, the familiar paradoxical weakness and power burned through him. Without guidance for his mind to follow and seek out knowledge, Cail remained silent as his veins pulsed their darkness. Initially they were hidden by his robe, but as the priest unsheathed his ceremonial blade his first use of it was to cut the front of the robe and expose the pulsing web of dark veils that spidered their way across Cail’s chest and spiralled unnaturally around his heart. Cail’s posture very nearly suggested an offering of his heart.
Cail’s once green eyes stood wide, staring and completely unseeing, black from the eldritch blood surfacing in his veins, his short dark hair drenched in sweat. His neck open and exposed for the knife now pressed against it. “With blood summoned forth, I call upon you my Lord…free yourself and return to us oh lord of the void, the empty and the Nowhere.” The priest couldn’t stop grinning as he said the words of the ritual to call on the Nowhere before he would then slit the younger man’s throat. He was so focused he didn’t even think to check if there were any witnesses.
Most Recent Posts
So I’m not as new as my account would suggest, but I haven’t been active outside of PMs on my old account for at least 4 years so it’s likely no one knows me anyway. That wasn’t even my oldest account here, my very first one got wiped in the great flood of...whenever it was it happened. When all the accounts had to be remade anyway.
So, a fresh start!
Hello! We’ve probably never met, I’m Talvi, took a fancy to the name when I found out ‘winter’ in Finnish is ‘Talvi’ and in Norwegian it is ‘vinter’ hence the merge.
I’m a native English speaker, so if autocorrect doesn’t go against me I can correctly use ‘there, they’re and their’, all good stuff. Apologies if my grammar is less than brilliant, I’m still brushing off the cobwebs!
I stick to 1v1 stories these days, have done for over a decade, don’t know what I’d do with a group roleplay now honestly.
Anyway, Tldr, hi!
So, a fresh start!
Hello! We’ve probably never met, I’m Talvi, took a fancy to the name when I found out ‘winter’ in Finnish is ‘Talvi’ and in Norwegian it is ‘vinter’ hence the merge.
I’m a native English speaker, so if autocorrect doesn’t go against me I can correctly use ‘there, they’re and their’, all good stuff. Apologies if my grammar is less than brilliant, I’m still brushing off the cobwebs!
I stick to 1v1 stories these days, have done for over a decade, don’t know what I’d do with a group roleplay now honestly.
Anyway, Tldr, hi!
Hi! You're probably here because I have PM'd you a plot idea based on your interest check, or not, regardless, welcome!
I'm a world builder by talent and a plotter by hobby, I love to discuss with a partner about upcoming possibilities or potential curveballs to the current planned story.
I'm very much 25+ so no issues there.
My writing can go from anywhere to 3 to 10 paragraphs depending on the time I have to write, what is happening and how much of a feel I have of the character. This tends to be why plotting along the way is important to me, I don't want to reach a dead end...but I also don't want to get lost in the plotting and end up not writing the story.
I consider my post history a bad example of my writing so I'll put better examples of how I write and how I plot here:
[hider=Synthetic humanoid]
Civilians didn’t like Synthetic organisms, that was an understatement. When corporations first released synthetic animals there was an uptick in cruelty against animals. At least that’s what the statistics showed, in truth real animals were left alone, it became a death sentence in the street to kick a puppy. No, all the videos that began circulating were of violence against synthetic attempts at creating replacements. There was never any other satisfaction for the cruel to hurt a synthetic animal, other than as a middle finger to the corporations who had created them. The synthetic animals didn’t even feel pain, they acted the perfect pet from the get go without any training.
This twisted revenge against the corporations was mostly ineffectual. When a synthetic pet’s leg did break it was more comparable to a robotic hoover with a bad wheel than an animal.
People just didn’t have another way to feel they were making a stand against their pets being replaced.
Then they started replacing the people.
It started with hyper-realistic ‘sex bots’, with their white blood and miss coloured eyes. Except they were sold as ‘more real than the real thing’. The pattern repeated itself, violence against sex workers went down and this time lynchings of synthetics went up. It was so easy to tell which was a synth that the mobs had an all time record for violence that didn’t have any human casualties.
It was as if giving the people something to fight against, that they could actually see and get their hands on, brought the community together.
But while people were focusing on the white blooded synthetics, no one heard about the roll out of the near impossible to identify H-class. H has often been mistaken as standing for ‘Human’ because this was the first generation of the truly human-like synthetics.
The brain child of doctor Mei Morita, her creations gained the street name ‘Mories’. This came from security footage of a Mori knocking in a door and murdering the inhabitant that they were created in an exact copy of.
Unfortunately the perfection of the Mori’s resemblance meant that there did start to be human casualties. Neighbours who hated one another would report the other for being a Mori and the mobs would come for them both.
It was a sad state of affairs and only the introduction of the Arbitrators stemmed the violence.
Top of the line kill-bots looked like toasters compared to Arbitrators. They were perfect in every conceivable human way, only for the designers to go even further. Strength, stamina, endurance, everything the Arbitrators could come up against they were ready for.
All that had to be taken away was the capability to feel emotion and they were the perfect soldiers.
False rumours began to circulate that Arbitrators were being sent out amongst the population as Mories to catch out any would be lynchings. It only needed the slaughter of 20 gang members retold as a anti-Mori riot coming up against an Arbitrator for the mobs to disperse.
The terms ‘stronger together’ and ‘they can’t kill all of us’ didn’t seem to have the same impact when an Arbitrator very well could indeed kill them all.
With the protests no longer turning to riots, the advancement of the synths continued. In a bid to placate governments and officials, corporations signed off on leasing Arbitrators to the police, cost free.
Courser was one such Arbitrator, placed in a district he didn’t care to remember the name of. Days always passed like sand through fingers and he never cared to look closely at what made each one different. Until /he/ was brought in.
Beaten and bloody the man gave the outer impression of a body beginning to fail under the pressure of injuries.
But that wasn’t really the case, Courser recognised the face he had first opened his eyes to. The only other Chimera Class Synth, capable of bruising, bleeding even the simulation of a broken limb and the poor soul had no idea.
Courser followed the man, Dresden, to the interrogation room and watched him from behind the observation mirror. Around him human officers chattered and ignored the intimidating figure of the Arbitrator. They wanted to make an example of this one...they didn’t know that the real Dresden was already long dead.
“Why don’t we send the synth in?” Courser’s attention on Dresden was momentarily broken as he heard one of the officers say the idea behind him. “Record the result, stick it online.” There was agreement to this and some laughter, until the Arbitrator opened his mouth.
“No.” The officers stopped, none of them had the spine to argue with the Arbitrator, even if they did call him ‘corpo puppet’ and ‘plastic cop’ when they thought he was out of ear shot.
“He’s going to be released, tonight. See that it’s done.”
An Arbitrator wasn’t one to give orders, but in this case Courser was speaking for the true masters of the corporation owned police station. With the orders passed over, Courser stepped out of the observation room and headed for the interrogation room.
As Courser stepped into the room he felt a rogue variable get filtered out of his active programming. In a human the sensation might have been comparable to a rising excitement.
One of the officers had placed a mug of water just out of the prisoner’s reach, Courser could see that Dresden had been straining against his cuffs to reach it.
Courser stepped up to the table and picked up the mug, then carefully placed it in front of Dresden and well within the man’s reach.
“Human programming, it leaves much to be desired.” He stepped back and then took the seat opposite Dresden. “As your body tries to recover it takes vital resources from other organs, which start to die without it. Leaving your heart, your lungs and your brain working away...while the rest of you dies.” His tone was explanatory with minimal intonation.
[/hider]
[hider=Apocalypse Vampires]
It had been forty years since the outbreak, what people had initially believed to be some kind of mutated rabies creating a zombie like result, this was proven untrue. Risky live captures and controlled infections led to the realisation that these monsters were closer to the mythical vampire, with their sensitivity to sunlight and destruction of the heart or head being the only way to destroy them.
Cities fortified, the militaries of the world took over from their respective collapsing governments, curfews were put in place and a large part life was able to return to some long lost relative of normal.
No country’s military released their control, the threat of the vampires was still very much present, but western powers did create departments for a more civilian styled government. It was little more than an attempt to placate the masses and for many it worked, the only thing missing from the world were elections.
As anyone could have expected as it was the want of a military to improve, the forty years of military control had led to massive strides in research and development. To the surprise of many there was even some collaboration between the military governments of the world, they didn’t share much of their own advancements but they did share research into the vampires.
However the UK and US did have a much closer back room collaboration, the result of this was the creation of permanent artificial improvements to the human body. Extra organs, improved muscles, all grown from synthetic DNA technology.
The results were to all intents and purposes super soldiers.
[21:21]
A limitation of these improvements was that the patient had to be a perfect genetic match for the synthetic improvements. It was rare to find people whose bodies wouldn’t attack the improvements and would instead bond with them, altering the genetic makeup of the synthetic parts to better match the human body. After a successful bonding the DNA of the improvements perfectly matched the host body.
Often this process left the patient in such a state of trauma that any use of them as soldiers was nil, to combat this a technique of mind alteration was brought in. Full memory suppression and recoding, the result was a fully reprogrammed weapon in a mostly human form.
These men and women are rarely willing volunteers as the genetic compatibility is so rare and considered so important that there have been reports of homes being invaded to capture the individual and take them in for processing.
The results of these improvements has since come to be known as Coursers and they were the superior counter to vampires as well as completely immune to infection by the vampire plague.
What none of these human societies was that there was another type of vampire that existed and had done since the earliest years of humanity. Evolved in the same vein as the shark, the centuries had led to an evolution of their refinement and advancement of their society, all from within the dark corners of human civilisation.
These were a far cry from the rabid animals that brought humanity to its knees, their clans had their own wars in the shadows which their historians link to being the cause of their inability to muster against the rabid monsters.
[21:22]
Now they live in even greater secrecy than they did before, a Courser has never faced a true vampire and humanity at large is unaware of their existence. Only select humans fed a weekly dose of vampire blood to maintain increased strength, speed and healing are aware of the existence of true vampires. Even these individuals are only aware of as much as their vampire handler shares with them. More importantly these chosen few are immune to infection by the rabid vampires.
The ease of infection by the rabid vampires is a large part of what makes the plague so dangerous, a scratch is all that is needed though rarely all that those infected are left with. These beasts resemble a cross between a recognised zombie from popular culture with their torn rotting skin and tumour like growths leaking a constant flow of infectious pus.
While a true vampire’s teeth resemble a human’s in most of the structure, besides the sharpened upper and lower lateral incisors and canines, a rabid vampire’s teeth are nothing similar. A rabid vampire’s mouth better resembles a shark’s with rows of increasingly twisted fragments of sharp bone.
[/hider]
[hider=Apocalypse and Alien invasions]
A Human resistance fighter learns he isn't Human at all, in fact he's the son of the Alien ruler who took over Earth nearly 100 years ago.
His mother and most of his honour guard were killed in a crash after their ship was travelling low over Earth's surface. He was protected by his mother's personal force field as well as his own, as she held him close. He was the Human equivalent of a 4 year old at the time, able to speak several Earth languages including English as well as his native tongue.
When he found his way out of the crash, he was found by Human refugees and mistaken for a human child. He was adopted and after some time forgot the other languages he knew.
Thirty years later he is one of the resistance's best fighters, with a high kill count under his belt.
He is smart, his height is average for a Human (alien soldiers average at 11ft) and he is physically able. He has never seen his blood, the aliens aren’t injured easily and his father never told him the truth.
He captures a female alien who identifies him for what he is but doesn't say anything. When she does (thinking he is undercover) he doesn't believe her.
The aliens have a short range telepathy than can work with Humans too and is often used for interrogation, but only aliens can block each other out.
[20:11]
Aliens
Look human except for certain differences.
Their eyes glow white, but dim in direct light from any source.
Their veins are black, their skin looks paper thin and is either white or grey - this appears to be their version of ethnicity.
Their blood turns white when exposed to air.
Stress makes them even stronger and faster, they are already stronger and faster than a human, but stress doubles their physical abilities. So resistance fighters try to avoid direct confrontation.
They have natural chameleonic abilities, making them able to mimic human skin tone or render themselves near invisible. Their armour is designed to work with this ability to allow their soldiers to camouflage on the battlefield.
This has been used for infiltration, this soon led to resistance camps forcing strangers to ‘prove blood’ by cutting their palms to show it runs red.
There is a distinct physiological difference between the royal line and the rest of the race. For starters they are the head of the hive mind, all of the race have their individuality but it can be taken from them by the royal line if required by the situation. This is why their military act and expand as if they are an extension of or a limb of CelKahn, by all rights they are.
While most aliens have a short range telepathy, the royal line has a long range wide area of effect. So when the lost son appears to be affected by weapons designed to disable large groups of humans, he is unknowingly responding to the inability to move that his fellow resistance fighters suffer under the effects of that weapon.
The alien race are incapable of breeding without an initial ‘blessing’ from a member of the royal line. It is a healing ability and is used in these fertility rituals to reverse the less favourable effects of the race’s evolution into being functionally immortal. It is also usable and effective on humans, but any wound healed with this ability leaves a scar that resembles the flesh of the alien race.
[20:11]
Earth as was, is no more.
Three centuries have passed since the human home world was scorched, when the seas boiled and the mountains melted beneath the onslaught.
Only by the mercy of Earth's Lord did the Human race survive at all within their great vaults.
Not the Gods Earth's old religions called praise for, but Lord CelKahn, Leader of the Purifying Armies. He whose hand swept over the Earth and burned away the Unworthy, the hearts who doubted him and those who will never find peace in the light of his Sky Chariot's pulsar engines.
The Unworthy, who call themselves the 'Resistance' are the only ones who speak the Purest One's name in anything but the praise he deserves, they have the audacity to use it in vain, in insult. Some still pray to the false Gods of Humanity's past.
Worse still, they dare to compare Earth's Lord to the Devils of these false beliefs.
They do not care for how they damn their souls to the abyss.
This 'Resistance' did not even give a moment of silence on Mourning day, to remember the loss of our Lord's young son.
The child who gave his life so his father would remake Earth.
But the Faithful always remember how Lord CelKahn swept over the Earth in his Sky Chariot. His Pulsar Engines burned away the world before, only for his hand to remake it greener and more beautiful than ever before.
-
Matthias choked back a laugh as the read the loose page of the 'Renewed Light Bible'. The night carried noise, even in a tent full of men and women snoring one way or the other as they slept, he received a glare from another 'early bird'.
According to the old clock that hung on the wall and ticked away quietly, it was 4am. Since the 'Thuusrians', as the aliens called themselves, had attacked, old world time didn't seem to sync up properly. The days and nights were too long, doubled in fact.
So, it was 4am during the second half of the night time cycle. Not that anyone had actually managed to sleep the full 48 hours of night before without a head wound.
[/hider]
[hider=Eldritch cults]
The cult of the Nowhere were famed for their powerful secrets and near endless knowledge, through power granted by their Lord its most faithful could remember libraries worth of information. Any written secrets they came across or raided they would absorb in the information then burn the physical item.
Secrets and their power were what made the cult possible, with no central store they could move their head of operations easily.
Which meant the only way to take those secrets was to destroy the elder god directly, by all accounts this was an impossibility. Unless an elder god of a similar enough domain took to direct battle with the Nowhere…
Nearly thirty years ago the Nowhere blessed his followers with a life spawn directly from his will and brought into the physical world via the loins of a virgin. Since then the child now a man named Cail acted as the conduit for the cult to contact the Nowhere. But recently no amount of prayers or pleading could rouse the elder god to council its followers.
The power ripped through his body, arching Cail’s back until his heart faced the ceiling above. At the same time he felt both weak and powerful. His fingertips touched the reaches of reality while his mind felt narrowed to a pinpoint. The voices around his physical form were barely audible to him, but his mind felt their meaning and travelled to new reaches in answer.
In the waking world his body was knelt, his back arched and his veins blackened as the blood of his father surfaced and overtook the mortal shell.
Had the mind of his father still existed somewhere in the void then the man’s voice would have spoken the words of the Nowhere and those words only. As it was the clergy who whispered words of service and command to Cail’s strained form directed his inner eye and the words that flowed from Cail’s mouth were of chaos and…nothingness. When they directed him to find beings alike to his father Cail’s murmured gasps and whines were the words of other elder gods. The direction given to the followers of other elder gods were no longer secrets kept within their walls.
But still the Nowhere did not answer and the archive of secrets that made up the centre of the being that was the Nowhere, while paradoxically it should have created a ‘somewhere’, there was simply nothing to find.
Once the ritual was complete Cail’s body could only relax once the last candle was put out. At which point he slumped back onto the stone floor, his breathing laboured as initiates of the cult dragged his prone form into the rooms hidden in tunnels behind the altar. A place where the weak and injured could recover in the light of their lord.
Outside of the recovery rooms in the main chamber the five high priests murmured in troubled tones. “Our Lord would have answered our call with his blood as catalyst.” A voice came from under a deep purple hood.
“Only if he were still capable, he won’t even answer his most faithful.” A voice answered from under a deep black hood.
“What of spilling his mortal blood? If we could create mirrors from it then perhaps we could open an eye into the void, we could search ourselves.” Asked a voice from under a deep brown hood.
That idea had been their most optimistic one for months, they had been unable to contact their god, their cult was quickly losing members.
“If we do not do this, the followers of the Nowhere will only be ourselves.” The voice from the depths of the black hood warned.
“Tomorrow then.” They finally agreed together.
As the night ended and dawn finally showed itself on the horizon, the temple was buzzing with activity as they waited for Cail’s blood to regain its potency and allow him to wake.
As he slept, the initiates of the cult moved his body back into the main chamber, there his sweating and twitching body was cleaned and bathed in waxy oils to better hold him still.
“He still dreams, there exists a fragment of our Lord within him!” Fanatical whispers spread at the news as Cail’s body spasmed with fear and terror of possible futures.
Cail awoke on the stone slab of the altar, his father’s many carved eyes glowered down from the stone above him. Where once the eyes held the depths of the Nowhere’s malice, they were now empty. He had felt the missing fragment within himself as clearly as the clergy members had felt the missing source of their once great inner archive.
Wax cracked as he shifted, his body restored in sleep by the blood of his father even as it attacked his mind.
Cail’s mind ran over what little he could remember of his dreams, the knife would come and his blood would fill those empty eyes above him. But…Cail’s eyes caught the gaze of those under a hood of grey. One of the high priests of the Nowhere and now an initiate of…
“The Endless…” Cail whispered and the eyes his gaze was locked with lit up with feverish excitement. Under the eyes of a dead god and in the face of potentially the last ritual to communicate with it, the grey cloaked high priest drew his ceremonial dagger. “For the Endless!” He cried and stabbed the nearest high priest.
With the spark of chaos lit members of the cult raised their own blades in a war cry and brought them down upon those they had once called family.
Cail rolled off of the altar and landed on less than steady feet. Wax fell from his skin in patches and the nearly dried oil base flaked from his skin. As blood was spilled around him Cail felt the power begin to rise in his chest and watched his veins darken. He clenched his fists and fought the sensation down, the souls the blood fed on would only lead to the entity’s blood surfacing. Cail had to get out as soon as possible, his eyes found the door that would lead to his escape and he ran.
-
Cail’s eyes opened under the thin blanket where he hid his face during sleep. The blanket did little to keep the cold out, but the thicker blanket under his body was the only thing that kept him from sleeping directly on stone, his initiate robe under his head as a pillow was probably the only part of his setup that was in any way effective. Cail slid his legs out from under the blanket and planted them on the floor as he sat up, he cracked his neck and stood to wash his face in the nearby basin. Around him other beds stood empty or taken with some directly on the floor. As Carl touched the water he felt his thoughts stretch and spasm as an image flashed into his mind, a knife, a red river and a candle snuffed out.
All these months later since his escape from the Nowhere cult the visions still haunted him.
Cail continued to wash his face before he grabbed his cloak and put it over his head, how he was ready for his duties. The rough sack cloth rubbed at his skin, but for all of these discomforts he felt more whole than he had since the archives had been lost to the high priests of the Nowhere. There was a presence in these walls, the Endless’ blessing was amongst his people and Cail could feel it, he felt accepted…no longer just a tool for the use of the Nowhere’s priests but a genuine initiate of a god. He smiled and left the room, careful to make minimal noise as the door clicked shut behind him and he headed for the temple for his first prayers, he took only a moment to slip on the loose slippers and hurried on.
Initiates of all ages replaced candles and swept floors in preparation of the morning ceremony, for Cail the routine of it all was what he enjoyed the most, the calming peace of being part of a whole, of being a simple piece that had its place. He carried out the last polishes of the silverware and put them perfectly in place. An itching in his chest made him twist his head and swallow back a cough.
Once the preparations were done the initiates stood out of the way and the doors were opened to allow in the worshippers. As they did Cail felt his chest twist, he stumbled but recovered and waved off another initiate. “I’m alright, it’s nothing.” Cail responded to the concerned look, but he could feel his veins darken under his too pale skin. Someone who knew the words was here…someone was trying to call forth the blood.
Frantically Cail’s eyes flashed over the passing faces, watching their lips, all of them were moving but one was not whispering prayers to the Endless. Then he saw it, a familiar face, the bastard was grinning even as he murmured the summoning words, his dead fish blue eyes boring into Cail’s.
Cail whispered a desperate prayer to the Endless and slipped away from the other initiates, he fast walked and stumbled, first towards the exit but there were too many people attempting to walk in to leave that way. In his mind’s eye he saw the knife the Nowhere priest carried and his breath caught, he meant to complete the ritual in the temple of the Endless.
Cail fled for the stairs as the Nowhere priest followed him, carefully winding his way through the gathering of Endless followers. He hid beside the stairs on the next floor as the priest ascended, Cail found it to be heresy the man was even here, but further he ascended in order to escape or find a clergy member who was not busy with the morning tasks.
All the while Cail’s blood sang with the murmured words that called it forth. In fear that itself felt endless Cail scrambled through the door of the upper most chambers, Cail didn’t have time to see the figure that resided there before the blood took hold. Between the summoning words and the sudden proximity of the presence Cail dropped to his knees and his back arched, the familiar paradoxical weakness and power burned through him. Without guidance for his mind to follow and seek out knowledge, Cail remained silent as his veins pulsed their darkness. Initially they were hidden by his robe, but as the priest unsheathed his ceremonial blade his first use of it was to cut the front of the robe and expose the pulsing web of dark veils that spidered their way across Cail’s chest and spiralled unnaturally around his heart. Cail’s posture very nearly suggested an offering of his heart.
Cail’s once green eyes stood wide, staring and completely unseeing, black from the eldritch blood surfacing in his veins, his short dark hair drenched in sweat. His neck open and exposed for the knife now pressed against it. “With blood summoned forth, I call upon you my Lord…free yourself and return to us oh lord of the void, the empty and the Nowhere.” The priest couldn’t stop grinning as he said the words of the ritual to call on the Nowhere before he would then slit the younger man’s throat. He was so focused he didn’t even think to check if there were any witnesses.
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<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;">Hi! You're probably here because I have PM'd you a plot idea based on your interest check, or not, regardless, welcome!<br><br>I'm a world builder by talent and a plotter by hobby, I love to discuss with a partner about upcoming possibilities or potential curveballs to the current planned story.<br>I'm very much 25+ so no issues there.<br><br>My writing can go from anywhere to 3 to 10 paragraphs depending on the time I have to write, what is happening and how much of a feel I have of the character. This tends to be why plotting along the way is important to me, I don't want to reach a dead end...but I also don't want to get lost in the plotting and end up not writing the story.<br><br>I consider my post history a bad example of my writing so I'll put better examples of how I write and how I plot here:<br><br><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="Synthetic humanoid">Synthetic humanoid [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none">Civilians didn’t like Synthetic organisms, that was an understatement. When corporations first released synthetic animals there was an uptick in cruelty against animals. At least that’s what the statistics showed, in truth real animals were left alone, it became a death sentence in the street to kick a puppy. No, all the videos that began circulating were of violence against synthetic attempts at creating replacements. There was never any other satisfaction for the cruel to hurt a synthetic animal, other than as a middle finger to the corporations who had created them. The synthetic animals didn’t even feel pain, they acted the perfect pet from the get go without any training.<br><br>This twisted revenge against the corporations was mostly ineffectual. When a synthetic pet’s leg did break it was more comparable to a robotic hoover with a bad wheel than an animal.<br>People just didn’t have another way to feel they were making a stand against their pets being replaced.<br><br>Then they started replacing the people.<br>It started with hyper-realistic ‘sex bots’, with their white blood and miss coloured eyes. Except they were sold as ‘more real than the real thing’. The pattern repeated itself, violence against sex workers went down and this time lynchings of synthetics went up. It was so easy to tell which was a synth that the mobs had an all time record for violence that didn’t have any human casualties.<br>It was as if giving the people something to fight against, that they could actually see and get their hands on, brought the community together. <br><br>But while people were focusing on the white blooded synthetics, no one heard about the roll out of the near impossible to identify H-class. H has often been mistaken as standing for ‘Human’ because this was the first generation of the truly human-like synthetics.<br>The brain child of doctor Mei Morita, her creations gained the street name ‘Mories’. This came from security footage of a Mori knocking in a door and murdering the inhabitant that they were created in an exact copy of.<br><br>Unfortunately the perfection of the Mori’s resemblance meant that there did start to be human casualties. Neighbours who hated one another would report the other for being a Mori and the mobs would come for them both.<br>It was a sad state of affairs and only the introduction of the Arbitrators stemmed the violence.<br><br>Top of the line kill-bots looked like toasters compared to Arbitrators. They were perfect in every conceivable human way, only for the designers to go even further. Strength, stamina, endurance, everything the Arbitrators could come up against they were ready for.<br>All that had to be taken away was the capability to feel emotion and they were the perfect soldiers.<br><br>False rumours began to circulate that Arbitrators were being sent out amongst the population as Mories to catch out any would be lynchings. It only needed the slaughter of 20 gang members retold as a anti-Mori riot coming up against an Arbitrator for the mobs to disperse.<br>The terms ‘stronger together’ and ‘they can’t kill all of us’ didn’t seem to have the same impact when an Arbitrator very well could indeed kill them all.<br><br>With the protests no longer turning to riots, the advancement of the synths continued. In a bid to placate governments and officials, corporations signed off on leasing Arbitrators to the police, cost free.<br><br>Courser was one such Arbitrator, placed in a district he didn’t care to remember the name of. Days always passed like sand through fingers and he never cared to look closely at what made each one different. Until /he/ was brought in.<br><br>Beaten and bloody the man gave the outer impression of a body beginning to fail under the pressure of injuries.<br>But that wasn’t really the case, Courser recognised the face he had first opened his eyes to. The only other Chimera Class Synth, capable of bruising, bleeding even the simulation of a broken limb and the poor soul had no idea.<br>Courser followed the man, Dresden, to the interrogation room and watched him from behind the observation mirror. Around him human officers chattered and ignored the intimidating figure of the Arbitrator. They wanted to make an example of this one...they didn’t know that the real Dresden was already long dead.<br><br>“Why don’t we send the synth in?” Courser’s attention on Dresden was momentarily broken as he heard one of the officers say the idea behind him. “Record the result, stick it online.” There was agreement to this and some laughter, until the Arbitrator opened his mouth.<br>“No.” The officers stopped, none of them had the spine to argue with the Arbitrator, even if they did call him ‘corpo puppet’ and ‘plastic cop’ when they thought he was out of ear shot.<br><br>“He’s going to be released, tonight. See that it’s done.”<br>An Arbitrator wasn’t one to give orders, but in this case Courser was speaking for the true masters of the corporation owned police station. With the orders passed over, Courser stepped out of the observation room and headed for the interrogation room.<br><br>As Courser stepped into the room he felt a rogue variable get filtered out of his active programming. In a human the sensation might have been comparable to a rising excitement.<br>One of the officers had placed a mug of water just out of the prisoner’s reach, Courser could see that Dresden had been straining against his cuffs to reach it.<br>Courser stepped up to the table and picked up the mug, then carefully placed it in front of Dresden and well within the man’s reach.<br>“Human programming, it leaves much to be desired.” He stepped back and then took the seat opposite Dresden. “As your body tries to recover it takes vital resources from other organs, which start to die without it. Leaving your heart, your lungs and your brain working away...while the rest of you dies.” His tone was explanatory with minimal intonation.</div></div><br><br><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="Apocalypse Vampires">Apocalypse Vampires [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none">It had been forty years since the outbreak, what people had initially believed to be some kind of mutated rabies creating a zombie like result, this was proven untrue. Risky live captures and controlled infections led to the realisation that these monsters were closer to the mythical vampire, with their sensitivity to sunlight and destruction of the heart or head being the only way to destroy them.<br>Cities fortified, the militaries of the world took over from their respective collapsing governments, curfews were put in place and a large part life was able to return to some long lost relative of normal. <br><br>No country’s military released their control, the threat of the vampires was still very much present, but western powers did create departments for a more civilian styled government. It was little more than an attempt to placate the masses and for many it worked, the only thing missing from the world were elections.<br><br>As anyone could have expected as it was the want of a military to improve, the forty years of military control had led to massive strides in research and development. To the surprise of many there was even some collaboration between the military governments of the world, they didn’t share much of their own advancements but they did share research into the vampires.<br>However the UK and US did have a much closer back room collaboration, the result of this was the creation of permanent artificial improvements to the human body. Extra organs, improved muscles, all grown from synthetic DNA technology.<br>The results were to all intents and purposes super soldiers.<br>[21:21]<br>A limitation of these improvements was that the patient had to be a perfect genetic match for the synthetic improvements. It was rare to find people whose bodies wouldn’t attack the improvements and would instead bond with them, altering the genetic makeup of the synthetic parts to better match the human body. After a successful bonding the DNA of the improvements perfectly matched the host body.<br>Often this process left the patient in such a state of trauma that any use of them as soldiers was nil, to combat this a technique of mind alteration was brought in. Full memory suppression and recoding, the result was a fully reprogrammed weapon in a mostly human form.<br>These men and women are rarely willing volunteers as the genetic compatibility is so rare and considered so important that there have been reports of homes being invaded to capture the individual and take them in for processing.<br>The results of these improvements has since come to be known as Coursers and they were the superior counter to vampires as well as completely immune to infection by the vampire plague.<br><br>What none of these human societies was that there was another type of vampire that existed and had done since the earliest years of humanity. Evolved in the same vein as the shark, the centuries had led to an evolution of their refinement and advancement of their society, all from within the dark corners of human civilisation.<br>These were a far cry from the rabid animals that brought humanity to its knees, their clans had their own wars in the shadows which their historians link to being the cause of their inability to muster against the rabid monsters.<br>[21:22]<br>Now they live in even greater secrecy than they did before, a Courser has never faced a true vampire and humanity at large is unaware of their existence. Only select humans fed a weekly dose of vampire blood to maintain increased strength, speed and healing are aware of the existence of true vampires. Even these individuals are only aware of as much as their vampire handler shares with them. More importantly these chosen few are immune to infection by the rabid vampires.<br><br>The ease of infection by the rabid vampires is a large part of what makes the plague so dangerous, a scratch is all that is needed though rarely all that those infected are left with. These beasts resemble a cross between a recognised zombie from popular culture with their torn rotting skin and tumour like growths leaking a constant flow of infectious pus.<br>While a true vampire’s teeth resemble a human’s in most of the structure, besides the sharpened upper and lower lateral incisors and canines, a rabid vampire’s teeth are nothing similar. A rabid vampire’s mouth better resembles a shark’s with rows of increasingly twisted fragments of sharp bone.</div></div><br><br><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="Apocalypse and Alien invasions">Apocalypse and Alien invasions [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none">A Human resistance fighter learns he isn't Human at all, in fact he's the son of the Alien ruler who took over Earth nearly 100 years ago.<br><br>His mother and most of his honour guard were killed in a crash after their ship was travelling low over Earth's surface. He was protected by his mother's personal force field as well as his own, as she held him close. He was the Human equivalent of a 4 year old at the time, able to speak several Earth languages including English as well as his native tongue.<br><br>When he found his way out of the crash, he was found by Human refugees and mistaken for a human child. He was adopted and after some time forgot the other languages he knew.<br>Thirty years later he is one of the resistance's best fighters, with a high kill count under his belt.<br><br>He is smart, his height is average for a Human (alien soldiers average at 11ft) and he is physically able. He has never seen his blood, the aliens aren’t injured easily and his father never told him the truth.<br><br>He captures a female alien who identifies him for what he is but doesn't say anything. When she does (thinking he is undercover) he doesn't believe her.<br>The aliens have a short range telepathy than can work with Humans too and is often used for interrogation, but only aliens can block each other out.<br>[20:11]<br>Aliens<br><br>Look human except for certain differences.<br>Their eyes glow white, but dim in direct light from any source.<br>Their veins are black, their skin looks paper thin and is either white or grey - this appears to be their version of ethnicity.<br>Their blood turns white when exposed to air.<br><br>Stress makes them even stronger and faster, they are already stronger and faster than a human, but stress doubles their physical abilities. So resistance fighters try to avoid direct confrontation.<br><br>They have natural chameleonic abilities, making them able to mimic human skin tone or render themselves near invisible. Their armour is designed to work with this ability to allow their soldiers to camouflage on the battlefield.<br><br>This has been used for infiltration, this soon led to resistance camps forcing strangers to ‘prove blood’ by cutting their palms to show it runs red.<br><br>There is a distinct physiological difference between the royal line and the rest of the race. For starters they are the head of the hive mind, all of the race have their individuality but it can be taken from them by the royal line if required by the situation. This is why their military act and expand as if they are an extension of or a limb of CelKahn, by all rights they are.<br>While most aliens have a short range telepathy, the royal line has a long range wide area of effect. So when the lost son appears to be affected by weapons designed to disable large groups of humans, he is unknowingly responding to the inability to move that his fellow resistance fighters suffer under the effects of that weapon. <br><br>The alien race are incapable of breeding without an initial ‘blessing’ from a member of the royal line. It is a healing ability and is used in these fertility rituals to reverse the less favourable effects of the race’s evolution into being functionally immortal. It is also usable and effective on humans, but any wound healed with this ability leaves a scar that resembles the flesh of the alien race.<br>[20:11]<br>Earth as was, is no more.<br>Three centuries have passed since the human home world was scorched, when the seas boiled and the mountains melted beneath the onslaught.<br>Only by the mercy of Earth's Lord did the Human race survive at all within their great vaults.<br>Not the Gods Earth's old religions called praise for, but Lord CelKahn, Leader of the Purifying Armies. He whose hand swept over the Earth and burned away the Unworthy, the hearts who doubted him and those who will never find peace in the light of his Sky Chariot's pulsar engines.<br><br>The Unworthy, who call themselves the 'Resistance' are the only ones who speak the Purest One's name in anything but the praise he deserves, they have the audacity to use it in vain, in insult. Some still pray to the false Gods of Humanity's past.<br>Worse still, they dare to compare Earth's Lord to the Devils of these false beliefs.<br>They do not care for how they damn their souls to the abyss.<br><br>This 'Resistance' did not even give a moment of silence on Mourning day, to remember the loss of our Lord's young son.<br>The child who gave his life so his father would remake Earth.<br><br>But the Faithful always remember how Lord CelKahn swept over the Earth in his Sky Chariot. His Pulsar Engines burned away the world before, only for his hand to remake it greener and more beautiful than ever before.<br><br>-<br><br>Matthias choked back a laugh as the read the loose page of the 'Renewed Light Bible'. The night carried noise, even in a tent full of men and women snoring one way or the other as they slept, he received a glare from another 'early bird'.<br>According to the old clock that hung on the wall and ticked away quietly, it was 4am. Since the 'Thuusrians', as the aliens called themselves, had attacked, old world time didn't seem to sync up properly. The days and nights were too long, doubled in fact.<br>So, it was 4am during the second half of the night time cycle. Not that anyone had actually managed to sleep the full 48 hours of night before without a head wound.</div></div><br><br><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="Eldritch cults">Eldritch cults [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none">The cult of the Nowhere were famed for their powerful secrets and near endless knowledge, through power granted by their Lord its most faithful could remember libraries worth of information. Any written secrets they came across or raided they would absorb in the information then burn the physical item.<br>Secrets and their power were what made the cult possible, with no central store they could move their head of operations easily.<br><br>Which meant the only way to take those secrets was to destroy the elder god directly, by all accounts this was an impossibility. Unless an elder god of a similar enough domain took to direct battle with the Nowhere…<br><br>Nearly thirty years ago the Nowhere blessed his followers with a life spawn directly from his will and brought into the physical world via the loins of a virgin. Since then the child now a man named Cail acted as the conduit for the cult to contact the Nowhere. But recently no amount of prayers or pleading could rouse the elder god to council its followers.<br><br>The power ripped through his body, arching Cail’s back until his heart faced the ceiling above. At the same time he felt both weak and powerful. His fingertips touched the reaches of reality while his mind felt narrowed to a pinpoint. The voices around his physical form were barely audible to him, but his mind felt their meaning and travelled to new reaches in answer.<br>In the waking world his body was knelt, his back arched and his veins blackened as the blood of his father surfaced and overtook the mortal shell.<br>Had the mind of his father still existed somewhere in the void then the man’s voice would have spoken the words of the Nowhere and those words only. As it was the clergy who whispered words of service and command to Cail’s strained form directed his inner eye and the words that flowed from Cail’s mouth were of chaos and…nothingness. When they directed him to find beings alike to his father Cail’s murmured gasps and whines were the words of other elder gods. The direction given to the followers of other elder gods were no longer secrets kept within their walls.<br><br>But still the Nowhere did not answer and the archive of secrets that made up the centre of the being that was the Nowhere, while paradoxically it should have created a ‘somewhere’, there was simply nothing to find.<br><br>Once the ritual was complete Cail’s body could only relax once the last candle was put out. At which point he slumped back onto the stone floor, his breathing laboured as initiates of the cult dragged his prone form into the rooms hidden in tunnels behind the altar. A place where the weak and injured could recover in the light of their lord.<br><br>Outside of the recovery rooms in the main chamber the five high priests murmured in troubled tones. “Our Lord would have answered our call with his blood as catalyst.” A voice came from under a deep purple hood.<br>“Only if he were still capable, he won’t even answer his most faithful.” A voice answered from under a deep black hood.<br>“What of spilling his mortal blood? If we could create mirrors from it then perhaps we could open an eye into the void, we could search ourselves.” Asked a voice from under a deep brown hood.<br>That idea had been their most optimistic one for months, they had been unable to contact their god, their cult was quickly losing members.<br>“If we do not do this, the followers of the Nowhere will only be ourselves.” The voice from the depths of the black hood warned.<br>“Tomorrow then.” They finally agreed together.<br><br>As the night ended and dawn finally showed itself on the horizon, the temple was buzzing with activity as they waited for Cail’s blood to regain its potency and allow him to wake.<br>As he slept, the initiates of the cult moved his body back into the main chamber, there his sweating and twitching body was cleaned and bathed in waxy oils to better hold him still.<br>“He still dreams, there exists a fragment of our Lord within him!” Fanatical whispers spread at the news as Cail’s body spasmed with fear and terror of possible futures.<br><br>Cail awoke on the stone slab of the altar, his father’s many carved eyes glowered down from the stone above him. Where once the eyes held the depths of the Nowhere’s malice, they were now empty. He had felt the missing fragment within himself as clearly as the clergy members had felt the missing source of their once great inner archive.<br>Wax cracked as he shifted, his body restored in sleep by the blood of his father even as it attacked his mind.<br><br>Cail’s mind ran over what little he could remember of his dreams, the knife would come and his blood would fill those empty eyes above him. But…Cail’s eyes caught the gaze of those under a hood of grey. One of the high priests of the Nowhere and now an initiate of…<br>“The Endless…” Cail whispered and the eyes his gaze was locked with lit up with feverish excitement. Under the eyes of a dead god and in the face of potentially the last ritual to communicate with it, the grey cloaked high priest drew his ceremonial dagger. “For the Endless!” He cried and stabbed the nearest high priest.<br><br>With the spark of chaos lit members of the cult raised their own blades in a war cry and brought them down upon those they had once called family.<br>Cail rolled off of the altar and landed on less than steady feet. Wax fell from his skin in patches and the nearly dried oil base flaked from his skin. As blood was spilled around him Cail felt the power begin to rise in his chest and watched his veins darken. He clenched his fists and fought the sensation down, the souls the blood fed on would only lead to the entity’s blood surfacing. Cail had to get out as soon as possible, his eyes found the door that would lead to his escape and he ran.<br><br>-<br><br>Cail’s eyes opened under the thin blanket where he hid his face during sleep. The blanket did little to keep the cold out, but the thicker blanket under his body was the only thing that kept him from sleeping directly on stone, his initiate robe under his head as a pillow was probably the only part of his setup that was in any way effective. Cail slid his legs out from under the blanket and planted them on the floor as he sat up, he cracked his neck and stood to wash his face in the nearby basin. Around him other beds stood empty or taken with some directly on the floor. As Carl touched the water he felt his thoughts stretch and spasm as an image flashed into his mind, a knife, a red river and a candle snuffed out. <br>All these months later since his escape from the Nowhere cult the visions still haunted him.<br><br>Cail continued to wash his face before he grabbed his cloak and put it over his head, how he was ready for his duties. The rough sack cloth rubbed at his skin, but for all of these discomforts he felt more whole than he had since the archives had been lost to the high priests of the Nowhere. There was a presence in these walls, the Endless’ blessing was amongst his people and Cail could feel it, he felt accepted…no longer just a tool for the use of the Nowhere’s priests but a genuine initiate of a god. He smiled and left the room, careful to make minimal noise as the door clicked shut behind him and he headed for the temple for his first prayers, he took only a moment to slip on the loose slippers and hurried on.<br><br>Initiates of all ages replaced candles and swept floors in preparation of the morning ceremony, for Cail the routine of it all was what he enjoyed the most, the calming peace of being part of a whole, of being a simple piece that had its place. He carried out the last polishes of the silverware and put them perfectly in place. An itching in his chest made him twist his head and swallow back a cough.<br>Once the preparations were done the initiates stood out of the way and the doors were opened to allow in the worshippers. As they did Cail felt his chest twist, he stumbled but recovered and waved off another initiate. “I’m alright, it’s nothing.” Cail responded to the concerned look, but he could feel his veins darken under his too pale skin. Someone who knew the words was here…someone was trying to call forth the blood.<br>Frantically Cail’s eyes flashed over the passing faces, watching their lips, all of them were moving but one was not whispering prayers to the Endless. Then he saw it, a familiar face, the bastard was grinning even as he murmured the summoning words, his dead fish blue eyes boring into Cail’s.<br><br>Cail whispered a desperate prayer to the Endless and slipped away from the other initiates, he fast walked and stumbled, first towards the exit but there were too many people attempting to walk in to leave that way. In his mind’s eye he saw the knife the Nowhere priest carried and his breath caught, he meant to complete the ritual in the temple of the Endless.<br>Cail fled for the stairs as the Nowhere priest followed him, carefully winding his way through the gathering of Endless followers. He hid beside the stairs on the next floor as the priest ascended, Cail found it to be heresy the man was even here, but further he ascended in order to escape or find a clergy member who was not busy with the morning tasks.<br><br>All the while Cail’s blood sang with the murmured words that called it forth. In fear that itself felt endless Cail scrambled through the door of the upper most chambers, Cail didn’t have time to see the figure that resided there before the blood took hold. Between the summoning words and the sudden proximity of the presence Cail dropped to his knees and his back arched, the familiar paradoxical weakness and power burned through him. Without guidance for his mind to follow and seek out knowledge, Cail remained silent as his veins pulsed their darkness. Initially they were hidden by his robe, but as the priest unsheathed his ceremonial blade his first use of it was to cut the front of the robe and expose the pulsing web of dark veils that spidered their way across Cail’s chest and spiralled unnaturally around his heart. Cail’s posture very nearly suggested an offering of his heart.<br><br>Cail’s once green eyes stood wide, staring and completely unseeing, black from the eldritch blood surfacing in his veins, his short dark hair drenched in sweat. His neck open and exposed for the knife now pressed against it. “With blood summoned forth, I call upon you my Lord…free yourself and return to us oh lord of the void, the empty and the Nowhere.” The priest couldn’t stop grinning as he said the words of the ritual to call on the Nowhere before he would then slit the younger man’s throat. He was so focused he didn’t even think to check if there were any witnesses.</div></div><br></div>
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