Okay, that one genuinely hurt. :/ I know its in good fun and all and the character is an asshat, but I was actually a smidgen proud of that scene. I'm not exactly expecting praise for my writing, but can we tone down a bit on actually tearing my idea apart?
It's only directed towards the character, not the writing or idea.
Can I champion the idea that we mess with existing creatures rather than creating new ones? Slate-apes that hew houses and halls from actual slate, as made by Teknall -- or Tender Birbs that sing great epics from the tree tops, from Illunabar.
Or you could go further with your changes and just base them on the original style of animal. We've got a tonne of unique animals right now -- we could focus on these rather than making humans, or dwarfs.
Or we could just have humans and dwarfs. That's also fun. We've already got these animals as animals, that's unique enough.
@KangutsoAll wars are natural. Plus, bugs are people too!
The war was going badly for the weaker side. Their positioning was wrong, their tactics ragged, their strategy hopeless. The Red army advanced across the whole front, dismembering the scurrying remnant of the collapsing Black battalions.
There was room for only one anthill on this lawn…
Death found War down among the grass blades. He admired attention to detail. War was in full armour, too, but the human heads he normally had tied to his saddle had been replaced by ant heads, feelers and all.
Have you all maybe considered that Logos MIGHT actually make a good king to keep everyone from destroying shit?
That doesn't make any sense IC though. The only people that would ever agree to let him rule are those who already aren't going to mess up creation (and hence don't need ruling), while those who would need ruling to not mess stuff up aren't going to support him (obviously). You would need to fight them, but that doesn't need anyone to rule. And once you won, you'd need no one to keep the universe safe 'cause it'd keep itself. There's no actual reason to support a monarchy of any form, for the gods.
Sorry, I've been out of it a while (and catching up on OOC is pretty much impossible) -- is there anything that happened/is happening I should know about?
There was a light in the dark. It grew, slowly, burning bright against the silence. The un-world stuttered. Air rushed past and tugged at His fingers, at His brain. The blaze swallowed Him whole.
Lightning arced around His swirling body. Thunder rolled above His head. Waves crashed and thrashed against his hands and feet. Electric fury coursed through His veins. Fire rose, metal chimed, eyes glared and a grinning snake danced within His mind and it wouldn’t end. The universe shuddered. He raised an arm against the blinding light only to realise He was a word. He saw himself upon a clear white page until his gaze was torn away.
And then He opened His eyes.
And then He froze.
Shards of ice punctured through His brain and stunned His mind to silence. Thirteen billion years he writhed in static agony. The universe struck Him like a hammer against anvil. A pounding reverberated through His stomach. The stars blinded Him. The crush of earth and stone thrashed through His being. The endless growth of life -- wonderful life! -- rent Him apart again and againt. He relished every second of it.
The ice melted. The mind returned to baleful plasma. The Adversary looked upon the universe with clear eye and saw what lay in front of Him.
He saw the world He had been condemned to prowl in His thirteen billion years of wonder. A world that lay inside all things. The submaterium. A hall of endless energy, a realm of magic made by His own hand. A length of burning red lead from one material object to another. Lightning crackled across each line, the black energy of the universe clashing and crashing and pressing against its bonds. Just one small push, and…
He smiled. The material world ripened, rotted, burst its sweet sickening vapours. A careful worm could feast. He licked His lips. He grasped the ropes of coiled power and pulled. He broke the bonds of lethargy and released the magic that demanded to escape. And He brought the course of fire to His own will.
Out from the corners of the word flowed a sickly oil. It bubbled and burst the seams. A river of dread dripped from Him, long fingers of grasping nothingness. A foul miasma of brimstone rolled across the world, attacked the back of the throat and made one wretch. The escaping fires of the submaterium burnt the air. The world was fixed, surreal. The pressure popped and hissed. The air screamed. With a thunderous crack the slick darkness split, tar roiling apart. Thousands of dripping members fell to earth, wriggling and writhing like worms in a bird’s beak. They twisted into formless figures, smooth muscle segmenting into legged chitin. Their gasping mouths searched for food, longed to consume. And they found it. They collided with the ground with a shattering snap.
Wide mouths swallowed land and sea and burrowed deep inside the planet’s crust. Deep and deeper, to the depths of the world. A hundred thousand punctures marked the surface, a hundred thousand testaments to the world’s glory. The wyrms were not satisfied. They needed to eat. They turned under the earth, leaving smooth tunnels in their wake. A latticework formed beneath the dirt and ocean. A labyrinth in eternal flux.
The holes in the world were chained to the submaterium. They were the locked doorways to the occult energies that dwelt therein. Magic would pound against them, ready to rise above the levee and swamp the land. It would be so easy to lift the latch and let the fires flow out, if only you knew how...if only you would make the sacrifice.
Braziers burned against the cloying darkness. Within His chamber sat the King in Red, a crown of quartz and lead upon His head. The coloured light of a hundred stained windows played across the Adversary’s hands, the crackling majesty of the submaterial cables. His bleak throne was simple, and smooth. He clicked His hands against black pillars wrought with centipedes and snakes and worms and eels, His glimmering incense smoke floating up to reach His vaulted ceiling. The Adversary had a plane to match His wretched role.
Let the universe be tested in a lake of frozen fire, in a sea of burning ice.
-The Adversary arrives -He is shocked into paralysis by the world's beauty, but recovers after a few billion years of wondering the submaterium. The process forces him into levelling twice -He creates the well labyrinth, focal points for occult magic -He creates a plane of his own within the submaterial world
1 creating the well labyrinth 9 levelling to level four
