[OOC] Divinus: The Deity Roleplay, Mk. V

[AdorableSaucer]

@Dark Cloud Yesh, sheets are being reviewed. Our sheet writers are quicker than us, however, so it'll still be a wee bit. Not that long, though.

[Commodore]

Sheet Feedback

Any and all questions can be PM’d to the GMs either on Discord or here on the forum (preferably Discord as we are mainly active there). You can also comment here in the OOC thread.
@Dark Cloud

Feedback on Therias

It took us a while to realise you double-posted your sheet, so we assumed it was unfinished. However, after reading through your sheet, we think it possesses all the qualities we could ask for! Saucer only remarks that it would be nice if you elaborated on what the effects of the True Form are on that which or whomsoever is unfortunate enough to experience it first-hand.

@Chris488

Feedback on Ekundayo

With the exception of the domain, the sheet is accepted - wonderful myth, by the way, sets the tone well. The domain should be defined and described as to show what aspect of death your goddess specialises in. While the myth serves to hint at the aspect of death Ekun occupies, we would prefer it if you could elaborate on it in the domain section. Should you have trouble, we encourage you to check out the other sheets or reach out to us GMs for direct feedback.

@ActRaiserTheReturned

Feedback on Mowyn

Okay, we had originally written that the myth was too light, but then you changed it. Upon reading it a second time, however, there are some points here that need to be changed: No god is omniscient, even if Mowyn has nine personalities. We will allow the personality split, of course, as long as they all are gods of the same domain and function as one unit.

As for the domain, we felt that references to established series should be kept to a minimum. It would be best if things were described in full rather than relying on concepts and phenomena from other franchises.

@Dog

Feedback on Armok

With the exception of the domain, the sheet looks good! The myth is very fitting for a civilisation goddess, and both forms are well-described and acceptable.

Regarding the domain, we feel like it was a bit all over the place and didn’t quite narrow down what aspect of civilisation you wish to embody. There was a strong focus on tools and the improvement of tools, but that alone is only a facet of civilisation. If you wish to focus more on this, we wish for you to specify it down some more to exactly what sort of powers the domain gives Armok. We are also curious as to what is meant by the self-perpetuation of civilisation - we can discuss this in PMs.

@Lord Zee

Feedback on Wyn

To quote: “Absolutely lovely and a great job on the sheet, Zee knows his business and does his writing well.”

Accepted, fam.

@ZAVAZggg

Feedback on Xem

Both sheets are very, very good, but if you would like any help to decide between Xem and Memteus, us GMs find ourselves favouring Xem. His sheet is exemplary with a very good domain description and fascinating myth, and corruption is a much more flexible domain to play around than contracts, we feel.

However, you stand free to choose. Memteus’ sheet is also accepted if you can fill out the myth a bit more.

@Zurajai

Feedback on Lonn

Nuke lance OP. Sheet’s accepted, fam.

@Valor

Feedback on Celvanya

Fantastic myth! Looking forward to playing alongside her, Valor. Our only comment is really just that the domain description terms Celvanya as a goddess of war in all its aspects, but that, we deemed to be too broad. If you remove that line, the sheet is accepted with gold stars!

@Theyra

Feedback on Voi

We would like a description of what the Souls domain entails before we can accept your sheet. If you wonder what this entails, don’t hesitate to look at others’ sheets or ask us GMs for aid.

@AdorableSaucer

Feedback on Chakravarti

“Accepted,” said Napoléon and crowned himself.

@DracoLunaris

Feedback on Exo

A very tasty sheet, fam, but we have one very crucial requirement for it to be accepted: Exo unfortunately cannot have knowledge of other worlds, at least not of worlds beyond Galbar before the Apocalypse. They must come into existence at the same time as the rest of the gods and be as unknowledgable as the rest about the world. What Exo does after their inception, though, is free game.

@Double Capybara

Feedback on I’Iro

Awesome concept, fam, that we are really looking forward to seeing more of! Approved!

@Legion02

Feedback on Uwné

Dope ass sheet and myth, fam. Make the domain description a little meatier and you’re good to go.

@Zinita

Feedback on Paratiri

Hell yeah for elemental gods! Accepted!

@Frettzo

Feedback on Astella

Dope concept, fam, but we did react somewhat to the myth: A race is an awesome idea for an illusion race, but mentions of doping, 110 meter Hurdles and seconds with decimals seem a little too modern for the 16th century - the measuring units in particular seemed somewhat out of place in a fantasy setting. Would it be possible to turn the time dial a little further back and remove references to such?

@Crispy Octopus

Feedback on Orynn Kaseyk

Got nothin’, fam. Dope domain; dope myth. Looking forward to seeing where you take this. Approb.

@Crusader Lord

Feedback on Arira

Super dope! Immediately thought of Mufasa explaining the circle of life to Simba. Approb! One small thing is that we wondered if you could define some borders for your domain, just so we know what isn’t counted among Cycles? You are already accepted, but we think this could make the domain appear clearer and cleaner.

@WrongEndoftheRainbow

Feedback on the God of Secrets

Golden, fam. Accepted af.

@King of Rats

Feedback on Alzria

Solid! A great opposition to dreams. We approb!

[Dark Cloud]

@Commodore If I'm understanding correctly, I am approved? Or would a GM like me to elaborate on his true form then it's accepted?

Elaboration

In his true form the mere sight of him can cause any that look at him to become feral with bloodthirsty rage, driving them insane with only thoughts of murder filling their broken mind. Even his presence causes those within a mile to have varying levels of aggression depending on how close they are to the god causing the closest individuals to attack anything that is nearby while those farthest away simply act ill-tempered and don't think rationally. His touch burns and incinerates the very essence of living creatures.

[DELETED jdl3932]

Both sheets are very, very good, but if you would like any help to decide between Xem and Memteus, us GMs find ourselves favouring Xem. His sheet is exemplary with a very good domain description and fascinating myth, and corruption is a much more flexible domain to play around than contracts, we feel.

However, you stand free to choose. Memteus’ sheet is also accepted if you can fill out the myth a bit more.

Yeah, as I got further into making Xem, I decided to play him more and more. He is far easier to manage domain wise as you said, plus he'll always have something to do by virtue of being a naturally antagonistic, to most beings anyway, force. Unlike Memteus, who would have to find gods and mortals, offer them contracts, negotiate, etc. As far as saving the world goes, he'll actually help with that as it's kind of hard to corrupt things when they don't exist.

His is a slow, bloated, death after all. Not a sudden plummet into the undefined void.

[Commodore]

@Dark Cloud With that Elaboration you are Approved! Welcome.

[ActRaiserTheReturned]

@Dark Cloud With that Elaboration you are Approved! Welcome.

@Commodore

Oh good. You're still here. I amended my Myth.

[Dark Cloud]

@Commodore Thanks, also just a heads up because I'll need some help with getting stuff settled on the appropriate Wiki page as I am not great with that stuff so if I can get some help I'd appreciate it when the time comes or now if that is more convenient for you.

[DracoLunaris]

@Commodore

changes have been made based on this and on further feedback from the Discord.

changes start after "not even of the true god but of one of its envoys."

In summary Exo now believes/theories they where made by extra dimensional aliens from another layer or, possibly, that they are a machine of the old gods or per-apocalypse humans made for the same purpose, but has no way of knowing due to having no memory of a time before it's godhood, and the sheet makes efforts to not confirm or deny a specific past.

[Chris488]

@Commodore I have edited and defined her Domain, I hope that everything is satisfactory now.

[Frettzo]

@Commodore, fixed the Myth section. I'm using Stadion instead of Hurdles now, as well as cubits and full seconds.

[Enzayne]

Yaerna, Queen of Thorns

Y A E R N A

---

Domain

Wilderness – With the absence of civilization comes the wild. The untamed, dangerous, and bestial lies beyond the border of known places, in the blank spots on the map, and the deepest heart of the forest. The wilderness is the unclaimed swathes of land, where reason and logic begin to take a backseat to the unknown, the dark, and the wild. Tangles of endless thorns, dark forests, desolate wastes. The shadow in the corner of the civilized world, that refuses to be understood even as society progresses around it. Here there is no place for societal norms, the laziness of sedentary life, or reflection of the mortal condition. The wilds are a place of instinct, hunger, and brazen competition. Communities form, but your die-hard packmate one day is your enemy the next. You can trust only yourself, and your will to survive.

Yaerna claims dominion over the primal and forgotten, the unexplored and untamed. She calls out the most primal of natures in beings, demanding all forsake their civilized false realities and return to the true, brutal way of life. She spreads mist, vine, and underbrush, turning safe paths back into thick, dense vegetation. Simple woods twist to dense forest, where each footstep alerts great new predators. The open prairie turns to hostile and empty steppe, where food is scarce and vultures circle. People are beholden to simpler ties, and the needs of a village seem less important than that of one’s family, and ultimately oneself. She hosts hunting parties and grand tournaments, where beasts and heroes alike compete in savage and blood-fueled rampages for glory, power, and survival.

Myth

The Glory Hunter

A young man came from the valley yonder, to our celebratory summer flame. He came in search of glory; he came in search of fame. He searched far and wide for challenge before taking himself a wife. He cut wood, he toiled the fields, he brought a child to life. Still, he was not satisfied; village life made him go berserk. His legacy was menial tasks, old rites and harvest work. He decried our tools as ancient, our effigies as foul. “How can anyone live like this?” he uttered with a scowl.

When nightfall came his bride so fair stole into the forest brush. Her child had been a son and so to the glen she'd rush. Her husband from another land saw his lover’s locks of auburn hair, and swiftly followed suit. He witnessed how his newborn child cried like an ill-toned lute. She had left him there upon a rock, a crown of flowers ‘pon his head. The man stole the child and hurried back, leaving nothing in its stead.

The child did scream and the man as well; he shamed us for our ways. Nothing we could have said would have brought him from his haze. Least of all his wife begging to return the child. The mere thought of it made his eyes go wild. We warned him of the forest's clarion call. Those same horns that sound each fall. The child needed to face the wild, or forever live locked inside. Fervently, the man defended his child, until he heard the tears of his bride. He learned then of the forest queen. Her pact promised safety against all things green.

He heard her words but not her pleas; finally, a challenge for him to seize. Life resumed as the man began to plan, his child and bride kept in his home. The queen became his obsession, each night the forest he did roam. ‘til one fateful eve the horns called out, and the woodlands came to life. “The Forest Queen hunts, this night is not safe,” warned his dutiful wife. The man gave no word and went on his way; so determined was he to capture his prey.

Mist took the village and hid the forest from sight, as the man vanished into the brush for his quest. Howls of wolves and cawing birds warned the entire woods of this foreign guest. We held his wife in her crying fit as she waited for her man; amidst the sound of drums and howling, for him she did yet yearn. Yet as the forest quieted, a mocking silence to bated breath; all knew he would never return. True enough, soon after came a scream most foul; it twisted and warped ‘til it sounded like a howl. For the man’s soul we can only pray; he left his glory and his woman all alone. His child pays for his folly to this day; for a slight against the queen he will forever atone.

Now each year when the horns in the forest blare, we lock our doors, bar our windows, and beware. A manic beast wanders through the mists, scratching at our doors. It howls and growls and barks and yowls and roars. It leaves deep marks on the woman’s home, searching for the child. Who can tell if the queen still desires the ritual that was defiled? With the break of dawn the beast is gone, and all returns to peace. Though the young son’s fate is done, from his father’s curse he may never find release.

Personality

Yaerna is not unlike the animals she lords over. Like a cat she enjoys toying with those she perceives as weaker than her, and between taunts and impromptu challenges she can be downright oppressive to an unwilling subject. A firm believer in might-makes-right, she has a love for pushing others to embrace their more primal behaviors.

She is acutely aware of her own divine capabilities and enjoys executing her authority over others through pacts, demands of tribute and bizarre acts of fealty. When up against an equal, she is considerably more cautious and calculating, sizing up the opposition. Despite that, she maintains a proud and regal air over her position as a goddess. She is rarely rude or outright unpleasant, rather than brazenly honest about being in it for her own ends.

Base Form

Yaerna is a being of many forms, commonly appearing as a sizeable wolf, a great stag, or a bear. Her most common form and that in which she most commonly interacts with her peers is that of a pale humanoid woman. Her clothes are a mixture of tattered rags, leaves and feathers, and on her head of stripy blonde hair rests a gnarled wooden crown of branches and roots.

True Form

Yaerna's true form, a great canine-shaped entity of shadow and ichor, is the ultimate predator. Her presence strikes wild panic into creatures of a lesser mind, her howl sends a death knell into the minds of all who hear it. Rational thoughts vanish and all in her presence realize they are but prey gathered for the hunt. Their hearts bang loudly in their ears, and the world slowly stops making sense – all paths seemingly just a nestled maze impossible to navigate.

Musical Accompaniment

Wild Hunt

[Commodore]

Ze’kelia

Light

Ze’kelia is the Goddess of light, a full spectrum of energy, from the most intense and powerful to the least, Ze’kelia holds power and knowledge over it all. From the caring and helpful light and warmth that comes from the Sun to the most destructive beams of light. Within her domain is the supreme control of the fundamental force, element and power. It’s manipulation to abnormal and magic means to the most simple physical properties, she knows and embraces light most above all. Ze’kelia loves the light and abhors true darkness, those who spread light are fond in her heart, those who snuff it out are abhorrent to her.

From the means and measures of the various properties and uses of the light physic, to the very pointed nature of light and magic, Ze’kelia is most keen and present. From a shield of headlight to an ever emitting stone, a star or sun’s light above.

Myth

Sing through me my ancestors dear!
Share with me your memories, so all may hear!

New children should know their past
So that true faith can ever last

Tell through me the last story of true fear
The story of the Scorned Man, of ancient year!

Oh so troubled and and so harmed
He led from dark and end alarmed

He spoke of the end, the old pacts abandoned
Powerful men for him did so shunned

His people ignored his warning last
He spoke to those who would undertake a journey vast

A man scorned by the people he held dear
Took flight with all those who shared his fear

Searching for a land anew
Where things still grew

Searching for safety and life
Amid a time of great strife

So did the Scorned Man search
Even as walk became lurch

Hunger and thirst so terrible
A mountain, their hope shareable

Fighting monstrous beast
A world crumbling to its least

The Scorned Man did lead
Though death and fear did feed

Upon that group so dire
Withering in the light of their fire

Dim light faded
A group jaded

The world around continued to crumble
On their journey ever forward did they stumble

They had come so close and so far
Weary trouble did so to their bodies mar

In those troubled times the world cracked
Old gods abandoned ancient pact

Magic came forth in terrible power
The sky burned in faded azure

Light did hide as darkness came
In mortal minds fear brought blame

Brother beset upon brother
Every man became a butcher

War became feud became fight
Resources dwindled along with the dying light

So the Scorned Man and his fellows
Fled in hope, rather than come to blows

As their hope did flicker with the flame
A small child did exclaim

To the sky their gazes did look
Their hopes rising as they were not forsook

A new light streaming across the sky
From upon the mountain ever so high

In beams and power so bright
Life grew anew, land melded by light

So did renew the Scorned Man
And did start the Star Shooting Clan

Base Form

True Form:

Light. Unabated, undiluted, in all and every form. Ze’kelia in her true form is light. The essence of that all things one may find of it radiating so greatly across the world. The power and sheer unyielding brilliance of this form is harmful to much by accident alone.

Music

youtu.be/pMIb9HRKJJQ

[Dog]

Armok

Name:
Armok

Domain:
Slavery, or enslavement, is the power dynamic of master and slave. This is the natural order of things. There are those who serve and those who command. It matters not the ability of the master, but the authority and power that the master can command. What form of authority and power is different. The enlightened master will state that his, or her, ability to reason, think, and judge, is the basis of their authority. Other masters are less subtle. Some will use their pure strength and brutality to justify their authority over the slave, and then you have everything in-between the two. The type of slavery is also another factor of note. Chattel slavery is different from domestic slavery and that is different patriarchal slavery and that slavery is different household slavery. The dynamic might shift in favor of the slave, but those are merely falsehoods in the consciousness of the slave. In the end, it matters not, for the dynamic remains the same.

Myth:
Your production quotas are..unsatisfactory. Must I remind you of the fates of those who prove to be incapable of command?

I am fully aware of my duties. I understand my purpose and what is expected of me.

Your lists of infractions are growing. You have entered this office many times before. Yet...even with the infractions, you have proven yourself useful...I am a merciful god, but I have my limits to that mercy. Keep the slaves under control and keep them working. Don’t forget that failure will result in your corpsing.

I understand.

Good. Now go.

Base Form: Link to Base Form Image

True Form: Link to True Form

Musical Theme: Little Dark Age

[DELETED jdl3932]

[yoshua171]

The Primal

Theme

_{^{He Who Twists and Breaks and Changes}}

---

---

^{The Primal | The Great Presence | Moniker | The Formless Flesh | The Unbound}

The Domain of Form

The primordial ooze from which life once sprung, the Domain of Form is just as one might think: that which presides over all living shapes. It is the domain of flesh, and blood, and bone. It is the flexing of muscles, the products of glands, the vessel for consciousness, and the foundation of all life. Sa'a Malath Kaal is both the quintessential source of primal physicality and the legacy of that which coalesced from the remnants of the decaying cosmos and its forgotten gods. With this power he can mold the shape of all that lives so long as from substance it was wrought. From this primordial ooze a vital essence erupts, which by his will arises as beings of great variance in form, size, or function. However only the forms that living, evolving flesh might take can be rendered from this essence and so is the Deity of Form bound by its own essential nature.

Yet as the Domain of Form--as understood by the deific intellect of the Great Presence--begets shape and function, so too does it dictate evolution and change. It is the shifting of the body from parent to child and the gift of metamorphosis. Similarly, it is the curse of deserved (but oft unwanted) transmutation of limb or spine or fang. Just as from that wellspring did all forms once coalesce, so too may it transform them.

TL;DR

The Domain of Form is concerned, mechanically, with all things biological with a particular focus on the process of metamorphosis and/or evolution. The domain may be used to influence the shape, size, and function of organisms, as well as to outright create such. It is limited by its nature as it cannot create non-biological entities though it has the capacity to interface with them by creating organic structures that can interact with said forces or beings.

Persona

A form in flux, a mind to match, Malath Kaal is an entity engrossed in its own nature, in the endless possibilities of Form, concerned with life (but not worried by it). He is a being interested in balance and imbalance, predation and prey—survival and alteration and change. The Great Presence, the Formless Flesh, the Unbent, the Primal is intrigued by mortalkind, be it their minds, the forms, or even those instinct-driven beasts that live in the wild--or the many florae they devour.

So say his edicts: Living is essential; Metamorphosis divine.

-- Myth --
The Tale of Tsa Merek

[+]

A long journey was behind him for it had been an arduous trek from his homeland across rivers, around lakes, and through treacherous plains filled with predators in a world that was not kind to those few left to inhabit it. It had been after months that he'd finally stood before the great mountain that his people revered, the place known as the Black Maw. From afar it had seemed almost normal, though vastly greater in size than its many peers which stretched from east to west to either side of the monolithic peak. Now however, from so close, Tsa Merek beheld the truth.

Before him opened a perfect parabola, an arch, a gateway beyond which light seemed not to pass. Above it was the mountain, its peak stretching past clouds and into the blue skein of the heavens. Unlike its slate grey relatives with their reddened cliffs and white snow-capped peaks, the entirety of this mountain seemed as if it had been wrought from the night sky, but bereft of stars. It was utterly black from base to tip, and had it not been midday Merek might have missed the deeper darkness of its entrance.

To look upon it was to glimpse the threshold between the mortal world and the divine, it was to peer into an unknown beyond which one could not fathom the contents of the world. Merek swallowed hard, feeling bile travel down his throat, going back from where it had risen. The sensation reminded him of the stories their shaman had told him of the Primal's wrath.

"To gain the Ire of the Unbound God is to open oneself to the fullness of its attention. For his gaze to fall upon you is to feel the writhing of your flesh as it is twisted against your will. Malath will change you without care, its intentions beyond any mortal's ability to comprehend. Know this, Tsa Merek, to pass beyond the threshold of the Black Maw is to step into the domain of that god. To stand in the Primal's abode is to invite his judgment. Step lightly and speak with only truth and conviction. Do not lie, Merek. Do not lie, for to do so is to invite the wrath of eons into your body."

They were words he could not have forgotten. Even when his memory had begun to fail him he had repeated them, he had scratched them into stone, then into his flesh. They were engraved upon his chest. Not so he could read them, but so he knew the meaning was writ upon his being.

He took a breath and stepped beyond the threshold of the Maw; what awaited him was silence, stillness, and an impossible abyss. The ground was cold and level, perfectly smooth, but as he continued forwards, reeling in the dark, it warmed beneath his feet. Slowly it seemed almost to come alive as a gentle thrumming pulse beat a soothing rhythm against his soles. He grit his teeth and barely breathed, terrified by the black. He faltered, glancing back only to find that no exit remained behind him. Where before the threshold once had stood, there was only endless black, as with every other direction.

Turning back around, he remained still, unable to move. He was terrified, moreso than he had imagined he would be. In that moment he thought--no, he was certain--that he was going to die. Then the silence broke and the mountain shook as the Black Maw--Se'raa Kelet--spoke.

"Tsa Merek. Seeker, Father, Adherent," the voice said, shaking his bones with its vibration. The darkness changed, but Merek could not decide how, for no light had entered the god's domain. Unsure what else to do, the man moved slowly to his knees, prostrating himself before the force he had come there to entreat.

"Please," Tsa Merek said, his voice feeling tinny and small, his ears still ringing from the thunder of the Maw. For a time there was no response, in fact no sound at all, and then something slipped against him, fluttering across the cloth of his back. He shuddered as--moments later--the sound of something huge dragging lithely across smooth stone emanated from behind him.

Slowly more sounds faded into his awareness, each accompanied by the churning of the air as if something unfathomably vast was moving through the chamber.

"Seeker of protection, O' ye of tested faith," began the low drone of that titanic voice, its sound sonorous and primal. "Mah Lia you have abandoned, left behind in your home of earth. Your people did you depart, seeking out divines with which to consort. Seeking aid, seeking miracles unearned."

Though he could not see, Merek's eyes widened at each utterance of the voice, his heart growing panicked and frantic in its rhythm.

"Begging you kneel before me, your convictions frail as grass or leaves or silt."

Directly before him something struck the stone. It did not crack, but the sheer force of the thing pushed him back as wind blasted from its point of contact. Curling in on himself as he recovered, Tsa Merek peered desperately into the dark, seeking any sign of hope.

"Please," he whimpered, terror in his tone, "...I came only for my people, to save them from famine and from drought."

The sounds stopped and stillness returned.

The shadows unfurled and from them emerged a symbol. Merek gasped.

The Eye of Malath had opened before him and briefly beyond its glowing gaze the man had glimpsed a vessel of monolithic size. It coiled and writhed and twisted through the chamber, its many limbs pressed against the walls and floor. Yet, he had caught only the barest image of the Deity of Form, seen only a silhouette frozen in two moments before the light became a blinding brightness that shook his mind and body both.

"Seeker. Father. Faithful child, protector of the weak," proclaimed the Eye.

Merek did not hear the words, he felt them in his bones. He heard them with his flesh, they tingled across his skin and rippled in waves throughout his mind and every neuron in his form. The light grew and its glow suffused him, filled him, lifted him from the ground. He opened his mouth, but could not scream or speak or cry. His body shook, but not from fear, no; it was like every iota of his being was vibrating with the power of that deific entity before him. Yet, something was wrong, deeply wrong, for his mind--his awareness of himself--faded as the power grew in intensity and size.

'No!' his mind screamed out, but there came no response and soon the man-who-was-not-a-man, who had once been Merek, had forgotten his distress and even why he might have felt it.

---

For many days after he wandered the land, trekking across the wilderness, through storm and flame and snow, until finally, he came upon a village. Red-leaved trees and buried houses which perhaps once were carved from stone. A sense of familiarity came upon him and with it came the light. Kindled within him, it grew and grew...and grew. No, it was he who changed as the light added to his bulk even moreso than before. Once more he forgot his former shape, becoming sluggish in his expanse. In time, the sweat from his many glands fed the earth around what the man Merek had once known as his home. Plants grew and the people--once his family and his friends--took of his flesh to feed upon.

As they rose from the darkness of their homes and cast aside the misery of starvation a feeling came upon the man who had a beast become; Satisfaction.

Visage

[+]

The Primal

Formless, yet possessed of all that flesh might birth, the True Form of Malath Kaal is one both of endless metamorphosis and imperceptible stability. Ever-shrouded by a blanket of midnight fog, attempting to behold the Great Presence in its entirety is an impossibility. Instead, one catches only glimpses, hears only the sounds of claws grinding, flesh slithering, and limbs skittering over surfaces. Eyes and lengths of winding viscera and bone, skin or muscle are seen, but never all at once. Utterly an enigma, the shape of this God of Form is its own contradiction for while it is ever-changing, it too is utterly unchanged, remaining always in a static form whose various aspects cross between the perceptible and the unseen at the slightest whim or provocation--or so one might theorize.

The Eye of Malath

[+]

Image courtesy of the amazingly skilled CorrosiveCherri!
_vvv ^{Click for full preview.} _vvv

The Primal simplified, the Eye of Malath is a symbol of variable size, color, and luminosity that can appear before those upon which the Great Presence’s attention falls. While not precisely a form in the truest sense, it is instead a non-physical projection of the god’s awareness, appearing only where its awareness is most focused. This state of being is possessed of strange properties, as it is unburdened by the limitations of flesh and of anonymity that the True Form imposes upon the Primal. Thus, the Eye can pass beyond barriers, solid or energetic, or even interpose itself upon the forms of entities less than divine. Though all forms of Malath have the capacity to invoke drastic and incredible changes upon the vessels of living things, it is the Eye that can do so with no more than the faintest touch from the strange illumination it emits.

[Kalmar]

Algrim the Underking

Name: Algrim.

Domain: Earth. Algrim holds power over the very ground itself, and the minerals it is composed of. With this power Algrim may create or reshape entire landscapes - moving summoning mountains, digging valleys, closing ravines, solidifying mud, or reversing the damage done by earthquakes and sinkholes. Perhaps even causing such devastating disasters, if sufficiently provoked.

Myth: The storm came in the morning. Acid rained down upon the city, melting the flesh of all it touched. Many screamed as they were struck. Others seized the initiative, rushing into their homes and throwing off their cloaks and coats before the rain could burn through.

But such salvation was only temporary, for the roofs began to leak, as the acid burned through thatch and wood. Thousands of people prayed to the heavens for deliverance from this torturous downpour.

"There's only doom up here," a deep authoritative voice warned. "You'll find no safety in the sky. Only in stone."

Then, the earth began to shake. Those who had windows would see walls of stone rise up on either side of the city, rising higher and higher. At the same time, it felt as if the very ground beneath them was beginning to lower. With all the stone that was moving, the shaking should have been far more violent, but it was as if something was restraining it.

Then, the light outside began to dim. None could see it, for to poke their head outside would mean death or disfigurement, but the walls were now expanding inward; forming a ceiling which cast a mighty shadow. Once the ceiling was complete, the entire city was cast in complete and total darkness, as if they had been entombed.

But they were safe.

Minutes passed. Then, tentatively, a brave few stepped outside wielding lanterns. The city as intact. The cobbled streets were undamaged, despite the vigorous shaking, while the foundations of the buildings still held, and the only damage was that which was done by the rain. The only thing that had changed was that they were now underground. They did not know it, but an entire mountain had been built above them, shielding them forever from any skyward threats.

The people of the city wondered which god had saved them. Soon, they had their answer.

"I am Algrim, and this is my Kingdom."

Base Form: Algrim's base form is that of a five foot tall humanoid that appears to be made almost entirely out of stone, and yet is somehow just as flexible and mobile as a being made out of flesh. A pair of bright blue emerald serve as his eyes. His hair is bald, save for a green mohawk that is made out of a dark green moss, and a long beard which flows down to his navel. For attire, he prefers to go bare-chested, but usually wears an assortment of gold and gems.



If he needs to blend in, he will sometimes turn stone to flesh, and moss to hair, and adopt a more humble garb. Although the God of Stone rarely sees need to conceal his true appearance, it is sometimes necessary.

True Form: When Algrim's true form is unleashed, the mere act of transforming brings forth immense destruction. Chunks of earth are ripped from the ground, drawn toward his body where they engulf him, expanding his size and fusing together until he rivals that of a mountain. The very ground beneath his feet becomes an extension of his body.

[Crispy Octopus]

Noice

[Theyra]

So it looks like I will not be able to join right now. So good luck with the rp.

[Slime]

Monster of God

Name: Karlan

Domain: War/Defiance

Born of these two concepts, Karlan embodies violence and pride. But instead of combining to form a self centered and vicious beast, his defiant nature reigns in his bloodlust. Most of the time. As such, Karlan’s usual attitude is one of temperance, though his pride still shows very clearly and he doesn’t take insults kindly.

Karlan can snuff out mortal life as easily as drawing breath, but rarely does he actively look for a fight. Yet, should War prevail in his heart, a true beast awakens and few would be safe until he recomposes his spirit.

Myth: From the ramblings of a bandit.

What I saw? What I saw, you ask? Death draped in white is what I saw! A beast so colossal it could reach the ceiling of the crystal chamber if it so wished, moving almost faster than the eye could see. In seconds all of our band had been crushed, eaten or ravaged beyond recognition. It was wise to me, but for some ungodly reason it did not chase me down.

We thought we could make a fortune from the crystals in that damnable cavern. Instead all but me found their dooms. By the gods, I can still hear the sounds! Screams, beating of wings, thundering hooves… I pay tribute to the Queen of Nightmares every day for the hopes of a full night of sleep...

Form: Karlan takes the form of a giant lion with the hindlegs of a goat and the wings of a raptor. The fur and feathers that cover his body are pristine white and rarely show any blemish for long. He’s incapable of altering his form in itself, but he can shrink down to the size of a normal lion, though his attributes remain the same regardless, such as rate of acceleration, top speed on land or air and physical strength.

Altering the size of his body doesn’t occur instantly, but it’s a fast process still, taking just a few seconds from one extreme to the other. Furthermore, the amount of nourishment his body demands is also not affected by his size.

Karlan is incapable of voiced speech and instead comunicates telepathically.

Musical Theme: youtube.com/watch?v=p4IMtnD7K4g

[Tuujaimaa]

Ahtziri, the Mother of Monsters

---

The domain of monsters oversees that which is considered to be the antithesis of mortalkind and civilisation: things utterly alien and incomprehensible to the structure, order, and morality of mortalkind and nature at-large. It is the corruption and twisting of flesh into something bestial and primal, it is a terrible fecundity that breeds and breeds without ceasing, and it is the surrendering of social norms in favour of primal cruelty and reckless abandon--where reason is forsaken and only a twisted mockery of what once was remains. Though it is what mortalkind at large is not, it is not a construct that can be set apart from mortality and all its conditions: the greatest monsters are born of mortalkind’s convictions that they are right, and of their lusts and passions inflamed until all else falls away. To be monstrous, and thus to fall under the domain of Monsters, it is not enough to be primal or wild--monsters are grotesque and macabre mockeries of the sane, things that defy the natural order, taken to horrible extremes and born or twisted in flesh to match this ideological perversion.

Ahtziri is (or at least considers herself to be) the mother of all things monstrous, be they born or created, and her powers are concerned with the creation and manipulation of the monstrous. She is a goddess of exceptional fecundity, birthing many monsters herself with horrifying regularity and speed--and this propensity for creating life is something she can also bestow (or force) upon any sentient living being. In addition to birthing or allowing others to birth the monstrous, she is also able to twist flesh into a monstrous caricature of what it previously was, so long as it becomes something that the being considers to be monstrous (or causing their current form to match an already monstrous psychology). Ahtziri is, notably, a goddess of life--she possesses the capacity to facilitate the creation of living beings on a staggering scale, but this comes with the caveat that any life blessed by the Mother of Monsters is tainted, and destined to become a monster in ideology or in form (and quite often both).

Ahtziri is a capricious and melodramatic creature, who lives life to its extreme in every moment: she loves fiercely, despises utterly, and experiences rage with the entirety of her being. She flows from extreme to extreme without apparent rhyme or reason, in one moment drunk on her adoration for you and in the next a flurry of claws and teeth and sinew, rabidly attacking without concern for life or limb. After her mood swings, however, she forgets any lasting consequences of any of her fickle changes of character almost immediately--love gives way to hate, and fury is met with a gentle, nurturing side that longs only to be your mother and love you completely.

Ahtziri’s only true constant, above all else, is her maternal love for everything monstrous. She never loses her affection for all of her children, and many of her flights of fancy are motivated by that maternal love in one way or another, however unjustifiable it may seem. She considers herself the mother of a large and abstract family in a simultaneously sincere and twisted way--genuine maternal love exists, but there is also a motivation of possession and jealousy in her love that can lead her to express a certain cruelty towards her children if they evoke her spite (but she is never unable to forgive them completely).

---

A Myth; A Monster

"It was written in the Scrolls of Kur-nugia, long ago, that death is irreversible. That once a soul has reached its final resting place, the doors are barred and no return is ever possible--and this, for all we know, is still true now."

The hoarse, throaty voice of a man rang through the eerie silence like the peal of a clarion bell, and several shadow-draped figures turned their eyes to look at its source in unison. They came to rest upon a frail, tottering old man whose hands could only barely stop themselves from shaking at the mercy of a seemingly absent wind, knuckles white and bony from the exertion of holding on to a clay tablet as if it were the last hope for all that ever was and would be.

"... yes, death is irreversible once the soul has departed. But when the soul remains, safely ensconced within what remains of the husk of this world, there is a spark of possibility--so say the teachings of the Great Mother! That if our lives are stored here, they may be transmuted--changed--and that hope might continue, no matter how bleak it seems now. That we will be spared the endlessly grasping hands of the dead!"

The words seemed to pick up faint traces of some unidentifiable and bone-dry powder on the ground, little puffs and ringlets of the stuff just barely forming before settling once again into the dirt. The old man squinted in the dying light, somehow still suspended in the sky, and took a lurching step forwards so that he was just barely caught in the umbra of its looming shadow--within it, some semblance of strength seemed to return to him, and he rose himself a full inch taller than he had been to address the swaddled and huddled figures craning their necks to hang upon his every pontification.

"... there is a tree, said to have been grown by the Goddess, that does not take life but stores it within its many branches--a tree once so great it could have sheltered the world 'neath its boughs! Death... death is certain for us, now, and the shades of Kur are not long behind our heels. Even now they nip at us, and soon even shadow will not cloak us--so to it we shall travel, and to it we shall offer what little remains within our breasts. Perhaps, ere long, our sacrifice will placate the shades and something new will begin. Perhaps..." the words trailed off as whatever momentary strength the man had mustered left him with a shuddering cough, and in the half-light the air seemed dewy with a little ripple of his rapidly leaching life essence. He brought a hand up to his mouth and wiped away fresh, bright blood--and then he brought his quivering hand to the threadbare cloth of his tunic and feebly wiped it away as best as he could.

---

The plateau had not been that far away--but in the absence of light and wind and time it was impossible to say how long the six or seven survivors had walked. They had passed the ruins of wonders they'd thought would never cease in the sky, stone and metal streaking in patterns across a canvas of infinite depth. The sustension of the last rays of light had not yet passed, and they glittered like the promise of something against the infinite void that had already swallowed their source. They trickled into the extant ruins of the wonders that had been and bounced off of them, into the eyes of the crawling enclave of survivors, and traces of histories they'd never known were revealed to them: a roiling storm possessed of a motherly aspect; a glint of silver that contained another world; a half-remembered love so fierce it had almost burned everything around it to tears and ash. These things survived only in the twilight of existence, and were wholly unappreciated by their final observers--with the exception of one.

A great claw of withered and gnarled wood tore itself out of the ground, like the futile defiance of a shade not ready to embrace the eternity of the void. As the man approached it, his pulse quickened within his veins--and he coughed again, the tiny red droplets suspended in the air for just a moment before pulling themselves on invisible currents towards the shape in the background. The old man did not speak any more, merely continuing to walk, until his flesh sloughed off of his bones and slumped to the ground in a heaving, steaming pile. Then it, too, crawled towards the last bastion of hope until it dissolved away into a fine mist and nestled itself within the folds of the wood. Another joined him, and then another, and then another--and when they were done it shimmered and glistened with the fluids of life and a gentle rhythm began to flutter from within it. The wood pulsed and writhed, suddenly possessed of a strangely hale and vital aspect, before contracting--and then expanding, and contracting, as the ligneous gave way to the pulsing of flesh and sinew. As each pilgrim crawled ever-closer, the greedy hand of death snatched the breath of life from them until at last there were no witnesses or supplicants left. The writhing of the flesh-that-was-wood grew and grew, until its din suffocated even the silence.

Thu-thump. Thu-thump. Thu-thump.

The cry of a mother birthing a child pierced what remained of the world, and Ahtziri was born.

---

The Mother

Ahtziri’s head is rarely human, often taking the form of an animal (or monster) based on her current mood and who she is interacting with. The only real constants are her wings (which may be made of scales or feathers or sinew, but are always present), having more breasts than is normal (three, in this aspect) and that she is always heavily pregnant. Her form is equal parts alluring and grotesque, and her flesh seems to writhe and pulse of its own accord even in the absence of stimulation. She possesses a long tail that begins as a furry appendage, then becomes sinewy and stringy, and finally ends in scales and the head of a serpent with uncountable rows of razor-sharp teeth.

The Maiden

In this form, Ahtziri loses her obviously pregnant belly and the most monstrous of her features. She becomes cloaked in a gossamer veil of ecstatic beauty, the perfect imagine of fertility, but her third breast remains--and its areola and nipple become a closed eye. Her wings remain but her tail disappears, and eyes become soft and dewy. This form is designed to appeal primarily to those who are distinctly not monstrous, and to trick them into copulating with the Mother of Monsters--only for the deception to be revealed, the glamour shorn away, and for the child to be born. It is a personal favourite when Ahtziri interacts with the falsely pious, a wicked tool of deception to show them how monstrous they are within and how anything born of them shall look.

The Truth

Ahtziri’s true form is a monstrous, life-bearing creature so unfathomably alien and abhorrent to the fundamental rules of reality that merely the sight of her causes inescapable madness and perversion. She might not break the mind of a mortal completely, but it is guaranteed to be twisted and perverted to the extent that the person who once was most certainly no longer exists.

She is a towering mass of undulating and ceaseless flesh, various distinct forms of life emerging and changing all at once: she is the essence of every monster that ever was, every rule of sanity and decency broken in some way or another. Her true size is impossible to fully grasp, as is any semblance of shape--new life constantly forms within and from her, splitting off and tearing away into the night. She perpetually gives birth to untold horrors from various unknowable orifices, obscuring the sky with hordes of winged things and covering the ground with a ravening mass of flesh, tooth, and claw. Flesh that comes near her is immediately and irrevocably twisted, and it immediately betrays its previous owner: Ahtziri’s true form overtakes and subsumes life on a staggering scale, devouring it in order to birth new horrors from the memories contained within.