I now deeply regret spending 30 Power to assure my control of Destruction. I was convinceced a bunch of people would fight me for it.
Schylerwalker Member
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- Old Guild Username: Schylerwalker
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- Schylerwalker 11 yrs ago
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Most Recent Posts
What are ships and/or what is ship-to-ship combat like? I'm assuming well under Star Wars/Star Trek/WH40k levels. Are armed ships even a thing? Are there space pirates?
New turn coming today.
Real quick, did I save 1 Power by using Create Order on a Blessed Race?
<Snipped quote by Schylerwalker>
One of then is currently Travelling i think
That was Willy Vereb, I believe, the Blackstaff's player. Lone Wanderer simply stopped posting.
Did we lose Lone Wanderer / Morvakhin? Haven't seen them post in a while.
We’re so close to filling the world’s landscape up. Finally!
I feel we're cuttin it close. We're all low on Power and there's some big chunks yet left.
I say nay.
Did I spend the correct amount of Power?
From Whence This Darkness
Xanaros watched. Xanaros waited. And Xanaros would not forgive. Xanaros would not forget. For as much as the King in the Waste despised its own acts of creation, it was still theirs. Something that the King could claim as its own. Not an unwanted gift from their Father. Not some misguided act of kindness from one of its siblings. A beautiful, and horrible, stroke of its own black brush on the canvas that their father had laid out for them. Again, a reminder of the folly of creation. A symbol of the entropy, chaos, and madness that the King represented. Even the Gods and Goddesses themselves were not immune to this end. NOTHING was. And that was Xanaros' legacy. The King walked along the mountains that its siblings had created. To "contain" the Blistering Sea. As if it offended them.
You cannot contain me. What a foolish act of...spite? Defiance? Petty jealousy? That was it. The others feared the creations that the God of Destruction could forge. They were imbeciles. They thought in linear manners, confined to the boxes they'd carved for themselves. If it was conflict they wanted, then the King would be more than happy to oblige.
A Human man stood in a meadow, looking upon a fine house of clay, with sturdy branches for a roof. It was his neighbor's house. He had a rich field, a good woman, and many healthy sons and daughters. Envy burned in the heart of this man, but he knew not what to do. The man's shadow deepened. Red lights winked in to being. And a voice like steel rasping stone, the crackle of a dying fire, echoed in his mind.
This world is doomed, human. You are maggots, crawling through the corpse of eternity. All of you. You will all die. The gods you worship? They will die as well. The sun you draw light and life from? It will be extinguished. All of this will come to pass. And your wretched, pathetic life will have meant nothing. The man wept. His shadow stood beside him, and caressed his spine. The man shivered as black and blue runes slowly crept down his back.
Do not despair, human, the shadow crooned. Your life could mean something, if you so choose. I could make you great. You may fear me, but why? I could teach you. I could teach all of you great things. Take what you want, human. Who will judge you? Certainly not I. Here. A maul of black wood and cold iron appeared in the man's hands. Your neighbor? He is weak. His woman? She despises him. Their children? Sheep for the slaughter. Their fields? Well, it is just dirt and shrubs. Yours for the taking. The man nodded, his chest heaving, his eyes feverish.
Remember this, human. Spread this word, this message. All things must end. But your life, the lives of your fellows...they need not be in anguish. Certainly, some must suffer for you to prosper, but what of it? Go. Sow destruction. Plant anarchy. Raise chaos. I will give you the strength, the knowledge, the will to bend this world and those within it beneath you. But when your end comes...your soul belongs to me. Seems fair, doesn't it? And Xanaros gave the man a gentle push. Nodding excitedly, the man went down the hill to his neighbor's home, darkness in his heart. The shadow watched. The crack of broken bones, the confused screams, they were as sweet music, and terrible clamor, to the King. It was good. It was terrible. It was just. It was wrong.
Remember me. The whisper faded on the wind as the farmhouse slowly went up in flames and crumbled in on itself. There were howls of despair, of joy, of sorrow and vengeance. Remember me.
Xanaros watched. Xanaros waited. And Xanaros would not forgive. Xanaros would not forget. For as much as the King in the Waste despised its own acts of creation, it was still theirs. Something that the King could claim as its own. Not an unwanted gift from their Father. Not some misguided act of kindness from one of its siblings. A beautiful, and horrible, stroke of its own black brush on the canvas that their father had laid out for them. Again, a reminder of the folly of creation. A symbol of the entropy, chaos, and madness that the King represented. Even the Gods and Goddesses themselves were not immune to this end. NOTHING was. And that was Xanaros' legacy. The King walked along the mountains that its siblings had created. To "contain" the Blistering Sea. As if it offended them.
You cannot contain me. What a foolish act of...spite? Defiance? Petty jealousy? That was it. The others feared the creations that the God of Destruction could forge. They were imbeciles. They thought in linear manners, confined to the boxes they'd carved for themselves. If it was conflict they wanted, then the King would be more than happy to oblige.
A Human man stood in a meadow, looking upon a fine house of clay, with sturdy branches for a roof. It was his neighbor's house. He had a rich field, a good woman, and many healthy sons and daughters. Envy burned in the heart of this man, but he knew not what to do. The man's shadow deepened. Red lights winked in to being. And a voice like steel rasping stone, the crackle of a dying fire, echoed in his mind.
This world is doomed, human. You are maggots, crawling through the corpse of eternity. All of you. You will all die. The gods you worship? They will die as well. The sun you draw light and life from? It will be extinguished. All of this will come to pass. And your wretched, pathetic life will have meant nothing. The man wept. His shadow stood beside him, and caressed his spine. The man shivered as black and blue runes slowly crept down his back.
Do not despair, human, the shadow crooned. Your life could mean something, if you so choose. I could make you great. You may fear me, but why? I could teach you. I could teach all of you great things. Take what you want, human. Who will judge you? Certainly not I. Here. A maul of black wood and cold iron appeared in the man's hands. Your neighbor? He is weak. His woman? She despises him. Their children? Sheep for the slaughter. Their fields? Well, it is just dirt and shrubs. Yours for the taking. The man nodded, his chest heaving, his eyes feverish.
Remember this, human. Spread this word, this message. All things must end. But your life, the lives of your fellows...they need not be in anguish. Certainly, some must suffer for you to prosper, but what of it? Go. Sow destruction. Plant anarchy. Raise chaos. I will give you the strength, the knowledge, the will to bend this world and those within it beneath you. But when your end comes...your soul belongs to me. Seems fair, doesn't it? And Xanaros gave the man a gentle push. Nodding excitedly, the man went down the hill to his neighbor's home, darkness in his heart. The shadow watched. The crack of broken bones, the confused screams, they were as sweet music, and terrible clamor, to the King. It was good. It was terrible. It was just. It was wrong.
Remember me. The whisper faded on the wind as the farmhouse slowly went up in flames and crumbled in on itself. There were howls of despair, of joy, of sorrow and vengeance. Remember me.
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