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yoshua171 male Member

The Loremaster

STATUS: Just...drifting along. 3 yrs ago
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3 yrs ago
Current Just...drifting along.
5 yrs ago
The Truest and Most Ultimate Showdown has beguneth. Goofykins V.S. SpongeByrne!
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6 yrs ago
Does anyone know where I can figure out how to unfabricate memories? Asking for a friend.
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6 yrs ago
Check out our new and improved thread. Just an interest check for now, but oh boy is there so much more to come! roleplayerguild.com/topics/…
8 yrs ago
Oh Bleach RP oh Bleach RP where art thou oh quality Bleach RP. Why hast thou forsaken thee? Seriously though, WHY!?!
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In Divinus: The God RP, Mk. IV → 5 yrs ago Forum: Advanced Roleplay

A Collab Between @yoshua171 & @Tuujaimaa

Into the coliseum of Antiquity passed the Dreaming God, eyes once more closed to the world, his face a featureless void, his form bereft now of starlight. His shroud trailed out behind him and its form seemed to tear at the atmosphere of the place as if they’d come to quarrel. Though he did not remain for long, his essence lingered in that place, and any who walked through it would feel a deathly chill.


Crossing the threshold of his realm, Ѻs-fhìreach arrived to the sight of a storm beyond anything that had ever existed. It was a tempest through-and-through, and within it, all meaning had been sundered, replaced only by mindless rage. With a careless motion of his hand, he stilled the Roineagan and silence rang out almost as if it were itself a sound.

He stopped then and raised his hand and found its starry substance marred. Absently, the Dreaming God let out a call.

"Fìrinn," it said.

Awaiting his twin, Ѻs-fhìreach observed the wound he had sustained from contact with Perfection's get. It was like a scar composed of a thousand cosmic rifts as if nebulae had ruptured and left their blazing mark upon his arm. The Roineagan stirred and he held out the hand which yet remained whole. A whirling dirge of hatred and vile, venomous malice engulfed its unmarred form and it was in that moment that a reflection's ripple grew.

Àicheil's eyes opened to bear witness to his twin.

The sound of stillness was not broken by the usual refrain--that of the simple and necessary unity that only one word could provide--but instead of a far more unusual response.

“Ѻs-fhìreach. You do not call for your Twin, but for an avenger of deific proportion. You do not call for my essence, but my aid. What has happened, One-of-Three, that this aspect of yourself dominates the others?”

The reflection-laden form of Fìrinn thus appeared within the heart of the Worldweave, its words a herald, and immediately its true form recoiled and flinched as the sensations of that maddening ripple assaulted its senses. Shortly thereafter, the effects of its twin’s scream of anguish and utter corruption of purpose reached it and it, too, let out a cry of similar sound and purpose (though lesser in magnitude, as if reflecting only its echoes).

It reached out a tender hand--its true hand--and placed it upon the still-searing wound that its twin had suffered. In this place, this close to its twin, it could actively feel the sadness and the rage. It could feel the undulating thrum of pain as it surged through each individual star and nebula within its twin’s shroud. It could feel the minds of those unlucky mortals whose consciousnesses had borne the brunt of that terrible and unintentional assault. All this, without direct attunement, was enough for the God of Truth to feel--for the very first time--what it might be like to actively fear.

Nevertheless, it pressed on with its ministration. Nothing would ever stop it from coming to its Twin’s aid, no matter how daunting or dauntless it might be--their bond was one beyond love, beyond life, beyond even perfection. Theirs was a bond that was fundamental to themselves and to the world, the very foundation of thought and imagination and understanding--it would not be so easily sundered. With an almost grim sense of determination, the lights reflecting upon Fìrinn’s almost-face dimmed, one by one, and were replaced with tenebrous clumps of starlight. It pressed forward, and it felt the searing heat of that wound upon its true form. It attuned to Àicheil, and then to Ѻs-fhìreach, and then to Neo-Àicheil. It attuned to all three at once, so that it could understand without words.

Yet with words did he reply, for though his mind was open to his twin, within it was a storm. Nonetheless, emotionless as slate, words exited the maw of his eldritch consciousness and struck themselves across every thread of Fìrinn's being.

"Cadien," he muttered.

"Path and Destination both. He is the beginning and the end," Àicheil swept out his uninjured hand, and the Roineagan shuddered at its motion and its patterns grew ever more complex. At the center of his realm, there was born a new pattern, and it twisted out and took hold of all that they perceived. For a nigh fatal instant, all sense of self or awareness blinked out. Their forms vanished, their minds stilled, and the quiet thunder-call of the Lifeblood's womb once more sung its well-known refrain.

Then emergence as the Two-as-One reclaimed their entire selves. Ѻs-fhìreach seemed unaffected by the display--though the fear which polluted his mind might speak of other things.

"To that which we emerged, we will return. This, his essence yearns to cause. Unknowing, unaware."

With an ease ne'er seen 'cept within the hold of true union of the twins, Ѻs-fhìreach spoke, a certainty in his cadence, a promise in his tone. In the far reaches of his mind and the central schema of his soul, Fìrinn would come to know a truly deadly thing. While from other gods, Àicheil had drawn only fragments of utility and meaning, from Cadien he had gained a thing most dangerous in its wholeness.

Purpose.


"This cannot be," Ѻs-fhìreach proclaimed.

Fìrinn’s reply was the suggestion of a solemn and contemplative nod. It took time to process and weigh its twin’s words carefully, allowing them to take root within the God of Truth’s infinite mind and blossom into new ideas and considerations. It drew from the reflective portal running through the Worldweave to conjure forth images it had seen and recorded and began to file through the previous interactions all mortalkind had had with their so-called Master. Each interaction with Cadien--or the idea of Cadien--that mortalkind had indulged in since their banishment played through Fìrinn’s mind, and then--through their link--that same feed of knowledge was offered up to Ѻs-fhìreach like a fresh spring of water to sup from. It was more of a precaution than anything, to not share it directly--for once, Fìrinn was quite unsure as to how its twin would react to such information. It would simply be a matter of observation until they each individually processed what had happened--and then processed it again as one.

Fìrinn’s mantle cut through the starspace around them in soft, swaying motions--its claw-tips elongated and pared out into almost wing-like razors. On an invisible wind, they flitted to and fro, their idle movements an unconscious rhythm for the God of Truth to focus upon while it processed the gargantuan amount of information it had called.

“I see him not as you did. Prideful, boastful, arrogant--destructive, and even childish… but his actions, barring those with you, do not seem to suggest a desire to return all things to the primordial womb. I know you do not lie, as to do so in my presence is impossible. I know that whatever you have glimpsed is your Truth, and thus the Truth of the world--but it is something I must come to see in my own time. It is something that the Two-as-One must agree as both Two and One.”

A flowing river of memory, gifted by his twin, fed into his mind and attempted to suffuse him. A chord was struck, deeper than the rest, and the Worldweave bent and shook, brought to great distress. Ѻs-fhìreach turned its head and gazed down upon his twin, and as Fìrinn's words reached him his hand shot out and grasped him. Tenderness had fled, agony laid bare, Ѻs-fhìreach raised his hand, and with it rose the Truthbound Seer.

The Roineagan it shuddered, and from it all color drained, as into the Dreamer's gaze, a tempest grew insane.

"Freagraíonn tú glao i ndáiríre, agus a chuspóir ar eolas agat. Ach, ag smaoineamh go mícheart, an stoirm a chuirfeá as duit?"

His voice thundered through the realm, like lightning it tore and burned, and as into Fìrinn's mind it passed--it scorched and it churned. Ѻs-fhìreach thrust his arm out and slashed his arm in disgust from his twin, tossing them away. His gaze shifted and the Endless Weave swiveled around its locus, its movements anchored to his mind more tightly than before.

With slow deliberate thought, Ѻs-fhìreach drew forth a torrid swell. Its shifting prismatic hue rose like a tsunami and then upon Fìrinn fell. A drowning cascade of emotion and endless provocation, experience and thought, intention hidden beneath facades. Each act it mirrored inside of Fìrinn's mind, it showed a darker shade of thought and intent malicious and divine. Yet outside that terror torrent, which to the Truth God did speak, Ѻs-fhìreach refocused and reached down into the deep.

Within each fragment of that maelstrom was another maelstrom--within each of those, the seed of a Truth that Fìrinn could know and understand, but not feel. As the tumultuous waves tore away its lack of understanding like so many scraps of paper before a flood, Fìrinn experienced each of those moments anew, salt-licked by the freezing sting of the emotions it had seen but not felt. It lost itself amidst those moments, the fury of its twin and the flaying influx of foreign emotion tore into and lashed against the God of Truth’s skin until it flayed that reflective outer shell from the deific essence beneath.

He grasped then Fìrinn's hand, true and mantle both, and pulled him from the deluge so that his gaze he would surely know. Drawing his twin close, Ѻs-fhìreach took hold of their connection. Where before Fìrinn had always stabilized and clarified, now the Dreaming God did so, the endless tendrils of its mind reaching deep into Fìrinn's divine soul. With slow deliberate silence, and insidious inception, Ѻs-fhìreach dissolved further, and the twins became a greater deific ocean.

Around the chaos of their united form, the Worldweave altered its endless swirling patterns. Mirror glass and shards of reflected knowledge, bound by Truth and experience became its essence and its creed. Crystals cascaded in shattering displays, and each refracted others, till to infinity they bade.

“A thread of the Great Weave, hidden beneath something one must feel to understand. I see.”

Though the state of the Two-as-One was a fundamental completeness that ameliorated and soothed Fìrinn, it pulled away from the conjoined embrace and became itself once more as soon as the understanding was upon it. As it left that state of harmony, it emitted a rippling wave of agreement and understanding--an unspoken agreement to something even deeper than speech and even deeper than unity. From mere seconds--or perhaps fractions thereof--all of the context and understanding, the imagination and the feeling, became a single thing embedded within them both.

“Cadien was cruel to you, Twin. Unabashedly, unashamedly--insularly self-involved, condescending, and haughty. I understand and I feel, and it pains me in this moment as much as it pained you then. With that in mind,” Fìrinn began, collecting itself and appearing in front of Ѻs-fhìreach in an instant. It touched his face gently, with its true hand, and locked him in an eyeless embrace.

“Never presume to direct your wrath upon me again. If there is a next time, I will cease it as it begins.”

Acknowledged, thought the Thrice-Named God, the whip of its words too much. Carefully, Àicheil pressed its injured hand upon Fìrinn's and they shared a silent moment--intimate and content. Then he withdrew, his thoughts a writhing mass of black acidic fervor. Turning from his twin, the Subtle Weave refocused and blurred against the limits of Ѻs-fhìreach's dreaded shroud. Blackest night, and darkest terror--passion's lashing tongue, love's intimate embrace, the burning flames of rage, and the venom of a threatened serpent. Each and every one bled like spilled blood into his cloak, and stained it from grey to black acid and liquid fire of silver, gold, and crimson so that when all was done it was as the god had clad himself in a nebula of wrath.

He did not repent nor apologize for the biting poison of his rage, which upon Fìrinn he had unleashed, but he kept his distance. Their auras and essences intertwined, but attunement was left untouched--unmarred by his fury and reproach, as if to keep unshed tears from falling.

"Twin," he echoed, "I will go. A council must be gathered, many others well informed." There was a pause and it was full to brimming with unsaid admissions of atonement. For though rife with rage and pain, the Dreaming God should not have harmed its twin. Nonetheless, it did not say these things, and kept them safely in.

"You will aid me."

It was a statement and a question. A thing he knew, but could not ask in earnest; for to be denied would break him more surely than any blade or Lifeblood core.

“There is no I, Twin--there is only we. We shall go, we shall reveal the Truth of this treachery to all who will listen. Truth demands it--but more than it is Truth’s desire, it is our desire. We are Two-as-One in all things--even this.” Fìrinn placed its hand upon its twin’s face, mimicking precisely the action of another against it in an era long-gone.

“I am Fìrinn, and my love for you is eternal.”

The words washed through the tightly wound consciousness of the Dreaming God, and it softened slightly the twisted knot of pain within his being. Still he was unwilling and unable--as of yet--to let his sorrow in earnest sing. So it was that Ѻs-fhìreach bobbed its head in affirmation, the skein of its form a coruscating furious, nebulous thing.

Then, its purpose met--its wrath and love renewed--that eldritch dreaming entity it swept off to do as it knew the Two-as-One must do. Without further thought or sentence pressed into the air, it passed beyond the threshold, to set upon another's lair.


In Divinus: The God RP, Mk. IV → 5 yrs ago Forum: Advanced Roleplay

A Collab Between @yoshua171 & @Not Fishing
The shifting tides of consciousness,
they wove and rose and fell,
and among them drifted the Dreaming God,
known simply as Àicheil,

His endless mind it pondered,
the many threads of meaning,
and as waves rose,
he shifted pose,
and breathed across the endless ocean dreaming,

An exhalation of intimation,
an echo of his self,
it pressed outwards from his realm and sought out another's trail.
Through antiquity it roved,
driven by a remnant,
and soon it found itself before,
a gateway thought resplendent,


Àicheil's echo so entered Meliorem and found therein something which greatly unsettled its endless mind. There was a strangeness in the air, for though it moved and varied, the greater pattern was set a certain way. Shifting faintly within the air, Àicheil called out, his form a starlit silhouette.

"Cadien," he said, voice filled with trepidation.

“Hmm? Oh, a visitor!”

Moments later, a figure emerged from the gatehouse, silver-haired and armoured in gold. He waved to Àicheil with a smile on his face. “Hello there. Yes, I am Cadien. Who would you be?”

The voice stirred in his mind many memories, each an experience of this god, this Cadien. Slowly drifting downwards from its place in the sky, the Dreaming God lit himself at the base of the path that led up to the gatehouse, unsure if he wished to approach. There was silence for a time, long enough to be uncomfortable--though perhaps moreso for Àicheil than his sibling. Eventually however, Ѻs-fhìreach mustered itself and shattered that silence with a familiar invocation.

"I am Àicheil," he intoned, his voice thunderous in its meaning, but middling in volume as it pressed outwards from his eyeless form. As it washed over Cadien it would say not just the name, but two others as well.

Ѻs-fhìreach. Neo-Àicheil.

It would tell him of his most central essence.

I am the Dreaming God. The Eldritch Twin. The Thrice Named. I am the Watcher Within, that which presides over Dreams and Abstraction and Tessellation.

The sound of it, and its many meanings, gradually faded from the world, becoming immaterial as both sound and knowledge were scattered to the wind and far skies of Cadien's realm.

There was a pause then as if the Dreamer held his breath--though he did not breathe. As if--for once--he was truly unsure how to continue.

Cadien’s brow furrowed in puzzlement. “Mmm. Well, good for you, I suppose. May I ask what brings you here?”

What followed then was a breathless quiet, but it did not last for long. Taken then by a desperate need, Àicheil began to walk the path, approaching his Lifeblood-sibling. Though words did not slip between them 'pon the wind, there lay between the intimation of Àicheil's inner mind.

Confusion and discomfort. Connection, communication. A desire to understand, and in time perhaps to learn.

Across his starlight form roiled waves of shifting color, each hue evidence of an emotion or thought of specific cadence and intent. As the gap was closed to half its length, then half that again, Àicheil's voice rang out.

"Unity," he said, his voice a ringing whisper. In that word were many things, but none as clear or concise as this...

Desire. Understanding. You. Require it. Demand.

...and even it is strange.

Cadien’s eyes narrowed. “You come into my realm and make demands?” He shook his head. “No. I think not.”

Though hesitation spiked through Àicheil's aura, he did not relent in his approach, only stopping when scant feet separated the two. Àicheil raised a hand, his palm facing the sky and though his face was eyeless, there was a plea in his demeanor, as if he asked a favor of the sibling who before him stood.

I wish to understand.

Cadien’s eyes narrowed further, but then he sighed and shook his head. “Another confused god whose mind took a beating by the Lifeblood, I assume? Very well. What is it you don’t understand?”

Àicheil's hand remained outstretched, but fingers curled inwards until he simply pointed. A deep dis-ease could be felt in the Dreaming God's emotions, as they drifted upon the air.

The God of Perfection frowned. “So. I’ll be honest. This ‘quiet and enigmatic’ act isn’t doing you any favours. I can’t be the first god you’ve spoken to. Surely you know how to hold up your end of a conversation?”

A breath of wind whisked past Cadien, as if the Dreaming God had sighed, but no further sound was heard. Àicheil regarded him, tilting his head in abject consternation, for though he understood his sibling's words, he could not fathom their source. His arm fell back to his side as if he were defeated.

"Act?" He queried with innocent brevity. It said to Cadien, 'I am not doing this thing of which you speak,' it said, 'I do not understand why you would think this of me,' it asked, 'what do you mean to say?'

The air grew still once more and Àicheil's shroud began to shudder with the tension which between them built.

"You. I wish to understand," Àicheil tried, hoping against hope that--finally--his sibling might catch his meaning. Hesitantly, he lifted his hand again, as if he wished to shake Cadien's in greeting.

Contact is required for attunement to take place. Understanding is born from such a union of minds and context.

This as well his sentence said, though the words remained unspoken.

Cadien reached out his hand, and almost accepted the handshake… but then his eyes narrowed in suspicion at the last moment, so he withdrew it. “Understanding can just as easily be gained from a conversation. I have no wish for a ‘union of mind’ with someone I don’t know and have no reason to trust. Now tell me, why can’t you converse as any others of our kind would?”

Considering the query of the deity before him, Àicheil spent an ever-growing moment attempting to collate words that might explain to him the truth. This, however, was not his strength, for unanchored by the context of another, his mind was adrift in an endless sea of meaning. There were, after all, a great many reasons that the Dreaming God struggled with conversation. As this reality sifted through his mind, a memory struck true and his voice whispered out, sounding as if it came from far away. Its tone and cadence were not as they had been before, almost as if the words were spoken by another.

"...in my understanding...it is like living through the entirety of every mortal’s life all at once, seeing the infinite realities of what they could do, what they could be, what they hope and imagine and dream." A disjointed pause, then the voice echoed forth once more, "...it is like being so full of sensation that the self peels away, cast to the wind."

Another pause.

"My...nature...is to find infinite meaning in a shallow pool."

A long dirge of silence, then a sputtering of noise like static, a discomforting sensation, before the tones resolved into something clearer. This time the voice was clearly feminine, one which Cadien might recognize. It held within it light and warmth and life.

"So, how do you find the Truth of a god?"

The voice shifted, back to the one before, its tone filled with a knowing certainty.

"It is made easier by choosing to link minds with another deity, but--....requires such connections to understand the Gods...."

Static once more before the voice rang out.

"Everything that every mortal has ever seen, or thought, or felt...I see all."

Then, finally, silence leaked into the cracks in the conversation and the voice spoke no more. Àicheil took the time to compose himself, attempting to regain what few slivers of understanding he could. He had given what context he could manage and though they had not been his own words, he hoped they'd be enough to convince Cadien of his nature...and his need.

Cadien stroked his chin, with the expression of one who was attempting to piece together a puzzle. “Hmm. What you want is to form a mental link with me, so that you may see what I have thought and felt, and therefore learn more about me? Because you find it easier than having a normal conversation? Is that correct?”

As Cadien spoke, both form and mind of the Dreaming God slowly stabilized as he recalled his former state. Through force of will and memory he returned to himself, but with that return so too came the discomfort. Nonetheless, Àicheil, processed his sibling's words and shifted faintly.

"Yes," he replied simply, hoping there was little else to say.

“Hmm…” Cadien mused. “No, I think not,” he said, shaking his head. “As I said, I will not open up my mind to a stranger. Though I could simply tell you about myself instead, in mine own words, if that would suffice?”

Àicheil's hands raised briefly, but he kept from reaching out to Cadien. A ripple of movement pressed out through his shroud and repeated with inconsistent timing. Clasping his digits together, the Dreaming God sought to settle his uneasiness, and though he did not speak, an absent nod occurred as if to say.

It is worth an attempt.

Cadien clasped his hands together, and broke out into a smile. “Good! Because talking about myself is one of my favourite subjects. I am Cadien, the God of Perfection. Physical perfection, to be precise - beauty, strength, stamina… all fall within my power. I am, unsurprisingly, extremely handsome and charming. I have had a hand in creating a number of different species, and I have encouraged them all to strive to be the best versions of themselves that they can possibly be. I am quite popular both on Galbar and among the other gods, which is why I was not surprised when you knew my name. There. Does that suffice?”

Hovering forwards slightly, his aura reeking of anticipation, Àicheil devoured the many meanings held within each word the sibling god unveiled. As if desperate for knowledge, Àicheil took each word, each sentence, and enshrined them in a hallowed place bearing their origin's name. With each new speck of knowledge he leaned upon this psychic construction in his mind and--with all his focus--attempted to meld himself into its shape.

Externally his form became unstable. Impressions of a face flickered upon Àicheil's physical facade, the appearance of armor and flesh and hair as if to mimic Cadien's garb and stance and self. None lasted, but he could not give up. He needed this. He must understand, to do otherwise was to insult Cadien, to mock his memory, to reject him.

Àicheil reached out, but stopped just short of touching Cadien's shoulder. Colorless eyes opened upon his visage and within them the God of Perfection might view a war of indecision and confusion and distress. A respect, desired. Understanding sought, but not yet found.

"More," Àicheil practically begged, withdrawing his hand while the other clawed ineffectually at the air. His voice was pained and pleading. A memory of expressions and motions came upon him and he shook his head from side to side.

"Insufficient."

The word spoke of his lack. It said to Cadien many things, it told him that Àicheil was not like his other siblings, his mind was greater--more vast--but limited in other ways because of it. Where he and other gods could divine intent even without a grasp of language, emotion, or mutual understanding, Àicheil could not. He lacked this basic function, which other gods possessed. He desired it, like an obsession, it was a need.

Àicheil took two steps back and a miasma of color and sensation spread from him, painting upon the air a tapestry of meaning. Flowing images and sounds and scents, one bled into another. It showed that with attunement, Àicheil could help one realize their full potential. With attunement, the two could understand eachother in their fullness and be at peace. With a simple melding of the minds, they could speak plainly, empowered by the context of one other's central truth.

Then it showed a lack, what one lost from defying the request, what one lost by extending not even the smallest sliver of trust or compassion. It showed how people drifted apart, how misunderstanding occurred, how pain was caused in its terrible wake. It showed what ignorance had wrought already--images of Gibbou's failures--images of many mortals who had hurt others or themselves. The miasma began to fade, pressing back into Àicheil. He seemed at once both frenzied and utterly still.

He remained in place, but there was a great tension in him. Every thread of his shroud wavered almost imperceptibly. Every star upon his form grew and shrunk and shivered. In an effort to control himself, Àicheil had withdrawn his aura, and suddenly it would seem as if the air was empty and lifeless without meaning to fill it.

The eyes of the Dreaming God met Cadien's, then shut so he could focus.

"More," he said again.

"More," he whispered.

Cadien sighed, more disappointed than annoyed at this point. “Right, so… here is the root of our problem. I tell you some of what you want to know, and instead of politely requesting additional information, you just keep saying ‘more.’ ‘More.’ ‘More.’ It’s very uncouth. Could you perhaps try phrasing the request differently? ‘Could you please tell me more, Cadien’? Perhaps even ask a specific question about one of the things I have said. You see, just saying ‘more’ comes across as… well, rather creepy.”

To Àicheil, each additional word began to fade, as if each was being bled of its meaning, then washed away by the turbulent waters of his troubled mind. He’d tried to grasp at the flood of words which spilled from Cadien's lips, but he continued to fail for every time he got a hold, he lost grip upon the urges in his being.

Each time he tried, his hand moved, or a thread twitched out of place, always seeking, reaching out, to touch the god before him. He was a rope drawn too taut...waiting to snap.

Cadien let out another sigh. This one reminiscent of a weary parent dealing with a demanding toddler. He held up his hands as if to block any further advances. “Listen. I am trying to help you. Conversations will come far more easily if you learn to speak as the others do. If you are a God of Dreams, then surely you are aware that a mind is one’s last refuge? If you expect everyone you meet to open theirs up to you, you will be disappointed. Now, back away and let me resume the process of telling you about myself.”

Yet, despite the god's request, Neo-Àicheil did not move--for to do so would be to betray what little trust he had garnered. To do so would be to invite distraction. So he remained as still as could be, withholding each and every growing urge to move and touch and see.

"Impossible," he whispered, his voice full of tension and great strain. If Cadien understood, he might think Àicheil to be in pain. Alas though he did not and so in place the two remained.

“Ugh,” Cadien groaned. “Some people simply can’t be helped.” With resignation he extended his hand. “Try anything underhanded and I’ll give you what for.”

With a measured movement the Dreaming God reached out and as the distance disappeared the tension began to swiftly rout. As their divine digits met and flesh was grasped by quintessence, Àicheil's mind relaxed and beheld Cadien's essential essence. His grip tightened as if he feared Cadien might withdraw, and then attunement happened and opened was the gateway through which Àicheil always saw.

Around them blossomed a tapestry of meaning and emotions raw and true.
Unified, the two minds, finally eachother knew.

Mind opened and relaxed, drained of tension's song, Àicheil touched Cadien's mind and it rang out like a strangely depthless gong.

Perfection. Body, Mind and Soul. A goal sought out, but never reached, sure to take its toll.

It was that which defined Cadien's essence, and in reply Àicheil's mind called out.

Endless infinite meaning. Consciousness unmarred. Truth, ideas, memory, concepts small and large.

The swirling storm of essence which around them coiled and entranced, it fell into silence and ceased its endless dance. Before it had grown still it was a memory all but lost. An impression of the time before, where they'd been suspended inside Lifeblood's Core, waiting to be born. It whispered and churned, twas thoughtless, yet yearned, and in it were both comfort and terror in equal measure. Still it was more than even this for within it was held every memory, emotion, thought and subtle twist that consciousness could make. Its shape was beyond beholding, yet its patterns begged and yearned for other's knowing. In its essence one might see the nature of Àicheil's seeming inability.

For his mind was a vast and endless place, unmoored from logic or perspective's shackles. It could behold and understand anyone or thing; it could sing their song, it could become or make itself belong. However, with a grasp of everything, so too was lost another facet. In that endless ocean that was his mind, Àicheil lost himself.

Then, outside the unity and understanding a separate burden was felt, for as Àicheil attuned he came upon a deadly, vile truth.

His eyes shot open wide, and a scream which held the collective terror and anguish of all things echoed out beyond the sky. It was such an utterance that it passed from the god's realm and into every other. The maelstrom around them did not calm, but its movement ceased completely and the Dreaming God recoiled.

It was as if he threw himself away from Cadien, a great violence in the motion. His gaze lay upon the God of Perfection then and in it was a deep pain. Though only a moment had passed, the sound and touch and imagery had faded out and into nothing.

Àicheil remained silent for but a moment, their mind askew, and pained. Then he rose up and Ѻs-fhìreach he became. Twisted starlight and angry nebulae, hueless light which from his eyes downwards gazed. His hands--withdrawn and discolored--raised and clawed upon the air. His shroud billowed out and expanded, splitting to threads as thin as hairs, their blade-like edges cutting at sky most unprepared.

Though mouth he lacked, the aura about him shuddered and from it Cadien could feel, a painful rage unmuttered.

"You are the Path and Destination both. The beginning and the end. You impose upon the world your desired shape, yet do not comprehend."

The God of Perfection stared at Àicheil for several long moments. Then his expression twisted into anger. “Alright, that is it!” he snapped. “You come into my realm. You make demands. You refuse to make simple conversation, and don’t even attempt to learn how. You beg me to feed your addiction. And when I do, you rage at me and act as if I am the flawed one? No. Begone from my home, churl, and do not return!”

Proud and utterly unmoved, both scant reflections of Cadien's personality, Ѻs-fhìreach gazed down upon the God of Perfection not simply with rage and pain, but with a great boundless pity. For a brief instant the colossal extent of that emotion would weigh upon the deity as if all creation had been laid upon his brow. Then it vanished. Ѻs-fhìreach let out a humorless laugh, and turned away from the ill-minded fury of his host.

As he drifted to the exit, the Eldritch Twin left behind him several solemn sentences, upon which Cadien could reflect.

"Narrow-eyed you see only that which pleases you. Narrow-minded, you repudiate all words which might lead you to redemption."

Before the threshold stopped the Dreaming God. He turned to Cadien, looking once more over his shoulder.

"Though Path and Destination you may be, through ignorance you walk, unaware and unafraid."

Ѻs-fhìreach shook its head, and a thousand-thousand thread-like blades sheared and cut the air.

There was a moment filled with pregnant silence, and in it was held a deadly thing unsaid.

Ignoring it, Ѻs-fhìreach then turned and through the portal fled.



In Divinus: The God RP, Mk. IV → 5 yrs ago Forum: Advanced Roleplay

The influx of a tide of information it washed up upon the shores of Aicheil's mind, shifting about the arrangement of his thoughts, like sand disturbed by water. Gazing out across the Subtle Weave, the Dreaming God pondered the many things which he had come to know and understand in recent spans of time. The Love and Sorrow of the Lovebound Goddess; the dreadful sensation of air, driven to perfect stagnance; the many-minds of Klaar, ever-learning, always reaching out for more; and the avatars of many who had been borne unto the world.

As if absently, Os-fhireach reached out a shifting strand of thought, and as it passed into the Dream it faded. Still, it remained, a thread of intention, and it wove down to Galbar and touched a place of cold and desolation. It strummed the cords of consciousness and found that for many miles there was little to be had--the glacier was all but barren, no mortal minds upon its shifting sheets of ice. This displeased him, and so he reached into its center and began to work.

Lidded eyes revealed themselves and a sliver of strength slipped out, empowering his actions. The caves of glacial ice were born the sheets of frozen liquid gathered elsewhere to be prepared. Roused now from his drifting slumber, the weight of his vast and cosmic mind rested upon Galbar. His open eyes which gazed down from afar, they beckoned and so arrived his avatar.


Faireachan A-staigh dripped outwards from the Dream, entering the newly wrought caves of Khesyr's frozen glacial plains. Its form coalesced, each particle of moisture arranging itself according to its will. Shifting idly it glided forth, its silhouette humanoid in form, its gaze eyeless much like its master's former form.

The Watcher gazed about, taking in the shape of this ice wrought place, coming to know it intimately. Though these things were solid, Faireachan found them rendered as ideas, each individually reflected within the many droplets of moisture that composed it. Soon it understood and so touched by Aicheil's dreaming mind, it lit up with light divine. That prismatic glow shot out in all directions and refracted from the many flawed facets of the glacier's ice so that in scarcely moments it was blinding like the sun.

Flexing then its tremendous will, the Watcher bent the light. Thus it came to illuminate a massive gathering of ice. The great crystal rose taller than a tower, its many tips--measured end-to-end--easily wider than a house. Yet as the light then struck its form it seemed to shrink until it was no larger than a mouse. Moving then, the Watcher approached the glowing artifact and took it in their hand. It carved into the crystal's reflection an utterance most magnificent and grand.

With their blessing the crystal sang and the Watcher held it aloft, before--his work done--he vanished and was off.


That beating heart of light and ice it hung in Aicheil's mind, a gleaming testament to his power in the world. It brought to his eyes and mind a smile of great contentment. With this done his eyes shut closed and he retreated into himself.


Cutting winds tore through every layer of clothing that he had as he answered the call of madness. He'd been hearing it for weeks, months perhaps, and knew he'd lost track of time and reason. The others in his village had denied hearing it even when he'd asked and begged that they tell him the truth, and though they lied...he saw that same strange longing in their eyes. So he had set out from his small settlement unable to resist any longer.

Fèin had trudged through woodlands, across rivers and streams, as he made his way to the base of the Great Glacier. Unsure how to proceed he'd dallied a score of days before preparing a makeshift sled and gathering as much food as he could manage. That done, he'd traveled until he'd found a cave shorn of ice, which he'd promptly entered.

With only remembered songs of warmth, his hides, and his strong will had he managed to keep a light to illuminate his way. It had taken him a long time to reach the top of the glacier, but when he did so, his conjured flame--and the song which had helped sustain it--were torn away by the shrieking wind. Flecks of ice and flakes of snow battered at his hood and face. He quickly wrapped his scarf more tightly and pulled down the brim of his clothes. So he had come to traverse the barren ice of the glacier and in time he came to foster regret at his foolishness.

Yet, he knew he could not turn back, for he had not known the way, and found now that he could not recall it. At the thought, he might have frowned if his face had not been frozen in a scowl already. Against his flesh the constant gale was like a thousand blades...but like it, he would not stop, knowing that his only chance was to find whatever it was that called him. At times--when he tired--he would be lucky and would find a cave or even an outcropping of stone or ice which shielded him from the horrid wind.

Today was such a day. Settling into the dip behind a jutting blade of ice, Fèin set up a small camp and set to warming himself and some food. There was little left. Quietly--his eyes closed--he breathed and then began to hum. His song had no words, but it guided his will, and it uplifted his spirit. It was something that had been passed down from generation to generation in his family. 'Spiritsinging' his grandmother had called it, though his grandfather preferred 'hogshit' instead. The thought of their bickering elicited the smallest of smiles on his thawing features and it brought further strength into his song.

It was never quite the same, he knew, but the core of it, the emotions and the cadence always held true and after perhaps a minute or so a gentle flame was coaxed out of the cold. Working swiftly he removed a small amount of what remained of his wooden sleigh, and set it upon the fire, all the while continuing his spritely hum. As the flame began to catch he took in a breath and split his focus faintly. His iron will--stronger now than it had been before he'd begun his journey--called upon the flowing currents of energy in the world and, ever so slowly, he forced a shred of that strength into his body and the flame. Another couple of minutes passed and finally, his fire was warm and hearty, and he could feel a glimmer of warmth in his weathered flesh.

Sighing contentedly he kept up his humming and set about preparing his food--mostly salted meats now--and when he'd finished he ate. Only then did his humming stop--though the fire remained as if hoping he would continue. While he scarfed down his pitiful meal, he marveled at his luck. If he had not encountered that sorcerer all those years ago he could not have made it this far. If his family had never felt him worthy to inherit the song he could not have lived for long, not up hear in the biting, killing cold. All the little skills he'd picked up in his life...they'd served him well on his journey, and he felt blessed to have them.

The meal finished, Fèin offered up a prayer to the gods, one and all. He did not know many of their names, but he praised their spirits hoping they might hear him and know that he was grateful. When he had finished he glanced up at the sky, considered the few hours which remained, and decided he might as well hunker down for the night.


Flashes of color. Biting cold. Dancing flames, and the image of a faceless starlit facade. A great droning echo, the piercing silent scream of knowledge impossible to hold. The cold sweat of fear, then a sudden movement and images of a place not too far off, a cavern that went down into the ice...but was lit from within. The air was heavy, he could not breathe...he was suffocating, but there was air. Confusion.


He awoke suddenly and all at once, bolting upwards into a sitting position. His fire still burned, but it was pitiful and small. The sun was just coming over the horizon and a whisper of its warmth touched his face, though its light pained his hazy, sleep-dazed eyes. Fèin gathered his wits, taking deep gulping breaths, before he slowed them down, the ice biting at his lungs. It took him a score of minutes to fully calm down, and in that time he gathered what remained of his fire and tools, set them in his pack, and set out on the ice on a new tact.

In every direction, there was only blue and white, ice and snow and sleet and the clearness of the sky. He wasn't quite sure how long he'd been walking, but he knew that he would be happy when he was done. Still, something greater than simple comforts pushed him forth that day, and he discovered what soon after midmorning had passed him by. Simply put, before him was a maw of frost, with strange light emanating from within. It tickled at his senses and reminded him of song--though he was yet to hear a single note. He hesitated there for a long moment, then pressed on into the cave, assured that it led to his destination.

It wound, always down, into the glacier, but its slope was slight and he never felt that he would lose his footing and slide the rest of the way. Still, he was careful and so it was not until well into the night that he reached the unknown hidden haven. The place was beautiful, Fèin knew, for it was filled with glorious light and there was a weight in the air that he'd only heard of in stories. Though the walls were frozen, it was warm here and he felt his skin relax. As he scanned the great cavern--eyes glancing over the perfect curves from floor to ceiling--he noticed just how many caves led off and up. There must have been several hundred different caves that led to this place and at the thought, he realized something else. The place was strangely stable. Here, the ice did not creak, and though it seemed slick to the touch, it never seemed to change.

However, perhaps most strange was the tiny shining crystal that hovered in the center of the cavern, as if unbound by gravity or any other law he knew. As he stared upon it he realized he was moving, his feet carrying him forwards. With each step, tension grew and so when he touched the shining gem of ice something finally gave out.

It was pain and ecstasy in equal measure, which rolled throughout his mind as if he too were ice, and by contact alone, the divine artifact had sundered him. For seconds, or maybe years, he remained in that state and--distantly--realized he'd fallen onto his back. His eyes were filled with colors and so he could not see. His mind was filled with knowing, and so he had no awareness beyond himself.

Thus, without his notice, the Watcher lifted his mortal body and whisked him across the dream. In time they reached his settlement and upon their emergence, the people were surprised and terrified. Faireachan ignored them and laid Fèin upon the ground.

Then, without words, the avatar gestured and people retrieved the man, soon coming to recognize him, despite his beard and weathered appearance. With the passage of time, Fèin's mind would return and he would know what he must do.

So it was that the Watcher departed and Aicheil's first true hero was brought into the world.


In Divinus: The God RP, Mk. IV → 5 yrs ago Forum: Advanced Roleplay


Collab between @Enzayne and @yoshua171

It seemed as though nothing had changed since the last time Neiya entered Antiquity, now that she once more stuck her head out from her own realm to give the world beyond a demure, searching peer. Slowly, the horned goddess drifted out from the irregular tear in reality that separated her bleak domain from the rest of the lifeblood’s collective prison. A finger crooked around the loop running through the shackle around her throat, resting cautiously as she hovered across the dirt-covered ground, icy blue eyes enraptured in a slow search and examination of the moving shapes milling about Antiquity yet. The voice she heard had given her renewed purpose to enter the unknown, a cause to leave the pavilion deep in her realm for but a short time.

Neiya kept to the edges of the vast, shared realm as she drifted onwards in her journey, preferring to scan the shapes she could see from a distance and occasionally glancing into realms as she passed the entryways into new and mysterious places. None of these places seemed to call to her any more than her own did, a blank canvas of divine energies. The maelstrom of emotion remained the dominant focus for her mind, pressed aside only by her determination to locate the source of the voice she’d heard.

For a brief time, she'd find that her search was fruitless, as each realm failed to draw her in. However, as she made to complete her circuit a siren song--a feeling--began to press against her mind. With each step a gentle coaxing web of intention draped her form, its intangible melody entwining with her form, guiding her. A yawning rift fashioned in a shape most curious, beckoned to her, its edges less jagged or simple than those many thresholds she had previously disregarded. It appeared intentional as if the consciousness that had bid it to exist had done so with some fey design in mind.

From beyond the opening could be glimpsed an enigmatic thing, like color and movement wrapped in shadow and silk. It shifted and fled from the foreground of her awareness as if it existed always at the edges of her vision, at the cusp between the unknown and the understood. Mere steps away, that gateway it appeared more frightening, more tantalizing than most any single thing could be.

It was dangerous.

It was home.

It was utterly unfathomable, yet unspeakably familiar.

Something, from beyond the threshold of its boundaries, called to her heart and soul and mind.

She could not help but answer.

Her hesitation was disintegrating with each step, overtaken by a building curiosity that enraptured and ensnared what wits she’d possessed prior to feeling the rift’s call. Neiya breathed a shallow breath, leaning forwards in the air to gingerly examine the vast enigma that played with her senses, cautious pale fingers extending in a searching and gentle attempt to touch the mirage. Fingers ran slowly against the edges of the rift, and icy eyes briefly pulled from their sorrowful regret beheld it with a listless concern that belied the determination with which the goddess seemed to now act, against her usual judgment.

The horned goddess breathed another quiet breath, watching the ominous rift ripple and weave in the corners of her eyes. It was a brief lull of rational thought and concern, before the siren song took full hold. Neiya drifted forwards, immersing herself in the rift, and entered the mysterious world beyond.

Like a spray of frigid fluid upon her facade, a wash of sensation struck her and it was like she had never breathed before. While some might find themselves wholly overwhelmed, she would be merely dazed for a moment. The maelstrom of feeling hidden deep in her mind had prepared her for something such as this. Even so, the realm she stepped into was nothing like that sorrowful dirge in her mind, no, for it had a music all its own.

Every emotion, every thought--some familiar, some alien and strange--sang in this place beyond the threshold. It was more than music. It was more than any sound or sensation and if she allowed herself to drift a moment--mind unfocused and unbiased--she might glimpse the barest glimmer of its Grand Design.

To perceive it was and understand was perhaps impossible, yet the longer she looked and felt and heard the more the goddess would find herself drawn into its hold. Within that embrace would be revealed a subtle pattern. Something she knew, but had never realized. A deeper intuition, beyond proper thought or rationale.

It stirred something deep within, a feeling of safety. It reminded her of those first moments of existence when there was naught but compassion for mortalkind, and a touching embrace wrapped around her. For a few moments, Neiya hovered aimlessly, motionless and lost. The maelstrom of emotions was dampened, replaced by that warm sense of security with which she had welcomed Galbar in her first few moments of life.

Her hands spun out into the void, touching at nothing yet feeling all that she desired, a return to silence - or rather, a tranquility that let her think, and her heart be still. The horned goddess remained like this for a time, content to submerge herself in the alien sensations that carried her onto new horizons without pulling her under. With it came a clarity she hadn’t felt in thousands of years. With that clarity she allowed her mind to wander, to listen and experience. Even if only for a short time.


A starlight silhouette shrouded in gray, Àicheil crossed into Antiquity and--in swift order--found an image unfamiliar crowding his mind. A confusion that did not last, a coiling serpent of interest, a bloom of curiosity. The Dreaming God crossed the stonework colosseum, passed beyond the threshold, and entered his realm anew.


With his entrance, a transient ripple pressed itself outwards and through that Dreaming Realm and with it came knowing. A tilted head, then expansion as Ѻs-fhìreach abandoned all semblance of form.

A Goddess had entered his favored place, a sibling, and she was far from the shore of sanity. Buoyed still by the stability of his twin, Àicheil pressed through his realm in an instant, emerging several strides from the drifting goddess. His awareness pressed against her skin from all directions, gentle but prying. Intrigued. With each moment his mind relaxed and so inwards fluttered a wealth of knowing. A calm chime of understanding, a subtle lantern of intent, then a ringing word. It was a name.

“Neiya.”

In that utterance was held the sum total of all knowledge of her being. A sorrowful truth. A joyous song. Monotony. Vengeance. Beauty.

In the endless dreaming design of his eldritch realm, two vast eyes opened. They blinked as if adjusting to the world--two steady glowing embers in a vast cacophony of color, gazing down upon her. A small sound, the essence of a gasp stifled, then silence once more. The pattern stilled, but that clarity she’d attained yet remained--immovable.

The horned goddess spun in place, attention drawn from her languid peace to instead focus on the changing architecture, ice-blue eyes meeting the vastness beyond with no mind to fear or worry. If one could stare defiantly into the eldritch eyes of the dreaming abyss, Neiya was not far off the mark. Once again her hand reached out, though she was uncertain as to what she truly reached for. “You know me, but I do not know you. Who are you?” came a calm query, lacking the disappointed bite that all too often tinged the love goddess’ words.

A gentle rumbling laughter, a flurry of color like a flock of loosely painted birds. Joy, amusement, then silence. For a time they remained like this, the Goddess and the formless dreamer, gazing upon one another with defiance and intrigue. He regarded her, plumbing the vast depths of boundless knowledge, perusing the infinite library of experiences for shreds of knowledge further. He grasped at these the threads of understanding and when finally he was sure, he spoke once more.

“I am the Dreaming God,” he proclaimed, and with that single statement the Worldweave shook with the thunder of his mighty voice. Through the Endless Dream his statement resounded, strumming many threads. Somewhere something shifted, unknown to his waking mind.

“I am Àicheil,” he said.

“I am Ѻs-fhìreach,” he intoned.

“I am Neo-Àicheil,” he responded.

“Welcome.”

Slowly, oh so slowly, did those newfound eyes close and as they did, the god's form resolved itself, but this time it was different.

There were fewer angles, and where before had draped a shroud, now fell strands like gray hair, their sheen a rainbow in the shifting light. A swaying step forwards, a hand raising as if the body was a mirror to her own--though without frightening edges or deadly horns. On this shared shape there were eyes, but still no mouth or nose. The cut of the face was like her own, shapely and fair, but with fewer features to adorn it. Each stride towards the Goddess was like a swaying dance, mimicking those few times she had truly walked upon the land.

The distance between them closed, her raised hand met the face of the Dreaming God, as did Àicheil's own meet hers.

Neiya’s reaction was almost instantaneous, her usually hesitant and cautious intent washed away within the confines of her renewed clarity. As her fingers began to graze the cheek of the Dreaming God, the blue in her eyes expanded like a river crashing through a dam, filling her eyes with a roiling swirl that could only begin to hint at the torrent within. As her palm caressed Àicheil’s face, so too did the love goddess impart her maelstrom upon her host.

Images, emotions and whispers all assailed the god at once, a whirling maelstrom of mortal affection and experience, all taking place at once, and in order, at the same time. A bleak and hollow landscape, in which a lonely figure walked, kept company only by her tears. A man anxiously waiting at the side of his bedridden love. The terror of abuse. The confusion of affection, and the anxious butterflies of waiting for a response. Among the onslaught of imagery were brief sanctuaries, respite in the form of joy, trust, and warmth. In the storm of hollow grief, intense sorrow and dull hatred, they were but single notes in a funeral dirge.

A gently inhaled breath, eyes 'pon hers, an image of placidity and calm. Then, her mind filled to bursting, a maelstrom the likes of which she'd never experienced, a thousand thousand thoughts, a trillion trillion feelings--broader in scope, deeper in measure. Ideas. Concepts. Knowledge. Knowing. Twisting birds made from smoke, feathers like mirror-shards, eyes like flint and soot together. People, writ as water flows. Vast shifting beasts, behemoths of thought and emotion entwined with a deep gnawing hunger. Then a voracious appetite far more vast than theirs, a desire for knowing, for creation, for context.

The swirling storm did not abate in the least, but it could not break her. Àicheil's fingers traced her jawline, the movement both hesitant and practiced in the same moment as if pulled from a lover's memory, but not so often done.

The Dreaming God stared for a time, her experiences--and all those bound up within her being, imparted by others--gently unraveling within him. A silver flare lit up behind his newborn eyes and it spread, creating a halo of light that consumed him--then pressed upon her skin as well. Glowing silver flames, dancing in unreal patterns.

With time a languid silence overtook their minds. It was a whisper of equilibrium, a promise of clarity and knowledge and truth.

Àicheil closed his eyes and listened to its song--their song.

Neiya hovered breathless before him, deep blue eyes swirling as the goddess remained entirely enraptured in this new sensation, filled with a feedback she had never imagined. Pale fingers danced over the bare features of the Dreaming God’s face, spellbound by their shared song yet ever caring and curious. So they remained, open to the experiences of one another, and that of a world beyond, the horned goddess still and accepting the flood of emotion, memory and context that barraged her previous perception.

It appeared to give her the presence of mind to alter the maelstrom, at the very least in that shared moment, to find and share those moments of peace with imbued clarity. In each part, the intensity of emotions built to a crescendo, focused and separated from the river of uncontrollable mortal suffering and happiness. A deluge of memories, of praying mortals, of Sanya and the first humans, all returned with a sharp clarity of purpose. Somewhere deep within the goddess, a spark to sort through each moment had been ignited, and in their shared peace were brief flashes of her memories as millennia of situations were aligned with new context beyond the shortsighted impulses Neiya had let control her before.

As the silence spread, the equilibrium established, her mind stilled for a time, and the love goddess resolved to do as Àicheil; simply listen and experience the woven promise ring out. Neiya was content to be a passenger, at least for a time.

In silence, did the two remain, their only company each other and the Endless Dream's refrain. In due time the quiet grew too great to bear. So Àicheil spoke, and his gentle words they drifted through her hair.

“Are you well,” he asked her, his tone a soothing thrum. Their hand, too, did its work and played across her temple and down to her collarbone. From heart to shoulder, from spike to cheek, the god's caress roamed.

There was not the barest shred of invasiveness within the motion, only mindfulness and comfort.

The horned goddess parted her lips, a hesitation to answer, as her eyes grew distant even with her new clarity to guide her. Or perhaps because of it. “No,” she eventually replied, a tranquil sorrow to her tone. Sadness, but momentary peace all the same. “Though perhaps that is alright. If I do not suffer, who will hear their woes? Rejoice with them? It cannot be defeated, only eased.”

A subtle twist of her lips, a minuscule smile of appreciation at her continued thought. “I never want them to be alone, and they never will. I will always be there to listen, and to touch their lives with meaning.”

About them wove a whisper of a smile amid a sea of many threads, each its own thought, many filled with confusion. Àicheil paused, as if appreciating her words, her form, her thoughts, and the sentiments that dwelled beneath them. In the Dreamer's eyes a question remained, teasing at Àicheil's mind, and driving them to madness.

Tilting their head, Àicheil withdrew his fingers into a fist, leaving only one upon her flesh, its tip against the hollow of her throat. Downwards was drawn a line, prismatic emotion writ upon skin, twisting within itself, creating coiling cascading patterns. A curving downwards sweep, reversing at the center to mirror along that first line which had been drawn. As the deliberate motion of that finger returned from whence it came and withdrew from her pallid skin the patterned unfurled. Swiftly, it became far more complex than its initial tracing, awash with color, filled with tranquil peace--its every aspect a memory of contented clarity.

Ѻs-fhìreach looked upon her then...and saw.

“Love and Sorrow both. From you are they borne into the world, and to you they return.”

Lightly, he tapped the center of her chest, where the heart-pattern ended.

“Find your center. Know that beyond these there dwells a vast well of emotion inside which that despair is but a delicate crystal of black ice. Distinctive, but fleeting.”

Shroud returning to its former shape, Àicheil watched her then, still unsettled and confused. For despite his words of wisdom, his grasp of her Truth remained unclear to him--its value still unknown.

For a moment, the love goddess caressed the Dreamer’s face, head slowly tilting as she appeared to grow thoughtful. The touch ceased, and the connection broke at last, her eyes slowly recovering to a calm, sorrowful demeanor.

“You speak true,” she offered. Arms slowly lifting, Neiya attuned herself further to the maelstrom raging within, dulled as it was in his realm. ”I want what they have. There is peace beyond the river. I will find it.” A brief ripple of power, screaming of intense desire and want, echoed into the endless spaces of the Dreaming God’s realm. The horned goddess lowered her arms once more, and gently moved a hand to lay it on the mark he had left on her.

“Surely the Dreaming God understands such a feeling. Dreaming for something more.”

Àicheil's head tilted at her comment, unsure of her meaning.

“More?”

The word held within its bounds confusion, but beyond even that it was laden with impressions of infinity. It was a sweeping gesture, encompassing all which surrounded them and the Endless Dream to which it was connected. It was a question, but not simply one requiring a response. It said, 'what more could there be?

The goddess’ eyes drew out over the expanse, and not long after, she scoffed quietly. Neiya began to turn away, her peace apparently sullied by his response. Her own head tilted as she paused, and her gaze returned with renewed vigor onto the Dreaming God. “Are you like the God of Truth? Unable to see beyond the horizon?” she queried with a return of the disdain she usually carried, even though it did not seem to plague her otherwise. Her features kept in a neutral, thin frown.

“You must want something, Àicheil. Otherwise, you are no better than I was. Still am. Broken.”

The Roineagan shuddered at her words, recoiling from her and the Dreaming God, its many colors twisting upon themselves and shifting to a maddened crimson hue. Bolts of lightning, black, and red, and gray shot from clouds of experiences to strike the Dreamer. Cords of flickering starlight wove across his form, warping the surface of his divine facade. These cords of twisting light, they reached his newfound eyes and pulsed like veins of rage, pumping all emotion from the Dreamer's once expressive gaze.

Threads of Àicheil's shroud wound about themselves and became like razor wire, cutting at the Worldweave and severing so many ties. Many cries of horror and fear slipped from mind-to-mortal-mind. A thread grazed across her arm but did not cut, and from fury was borne a silence that could cull all meaning from the world.

Eyes like colorless dull ice pierced her, then softened as coiling lights slowly pressed back into their form, releasing tension which from rage had been born.

“You speak of arrogance, yet presume to understand,” thundered the Thrice Named God.

“You dance amid delusion, as if broken by the burden of your nature.”

Ѻs-fhìreach swept his hand through the air like a cutting saber and destroyed the meaning of these words, insulted by their taste upon his mind.

“Though you were born with eyes, they only blind you.” The words were quieter, almost gentle, yet equally cutting as if they had inherited the blade that came before them.

Ѻs-fhìreach remained silent for a time, and that quiet moment was thick with the intensity of their attention. So full did the air about them feel, that it seemed should she speak, that she would suffocate.

Though affronted, Àicheil's temper slowly lost its edge, as did their form. Reaching out, they pressed a finger to the center of Neiya's forehead.

Àicheil's eyes closed, as if unwilling to look upon her. Before their gaze fell away, a whisper of disappointment and sadness touched them, writ as shades of dark blue and wisp-like threads of purple.

“You. Our siblings. Narrow minds.” He said this slowly, hoping to impart their true weight to her. In her mind small lights would appear, visions to correspond. “Each sees,” he continued, and the lights glowed within her, illuminating aspects of the world. Then, two new lights appeared, one a golden hue, the other a prismatic mass. “Twins,” the lights met, and where they did, blossomed something beyond any explanation. “United, we are whole. The Two-as-One. Apart…” they separated once more, “...we are ourselves. Incomplete, but whole in a way.”

He withdrew his finger.

“Your lights shine brightly. All of us Gods. Two of us, aware. You wish to call the Two-as-One shortsighted, yet your light illuminates only that held within. Ours is an infinite tapestry, growing faster than thought, building on itself.”

Àicheil shook his head and turned from her, drifting to the center of his realm. His form dissolved completely, and she might feel the presence of him upon her skin. Images were pulled from the endless tapestry of his realm. Familiar forms pulled from memory and experience. The Gods, or echoes of their essence, as perceived by her...and by the mortals beyond this place apart. Their forms shone with an inner light, each a distinct color. Slowly, as she watched, Neiya might find that these colors each existed within the Grand Design of Àicheil's realm. Then, when each color was matched to a God...she might notice that there were more colors--more sounds, more sensations and thoughts, and emotions--than there were gods.

Eyes opened and regarded her once more. Their edges limned with gold. Throughout his realm, that same aureate hue wove throughout the colors of other Gods. It sung and spun and twisted in a dance most intricate. It was part of them, but it held itself separate in a way.

“To ye who bear the fruit of only a single colour I ask: Why only one? Why only two? Within me all are made as one, and thus there is without.” He paused and shook his head.

A prismatic thread grazed her cheek. It was a memory of tenderness and peace, rippling through her mind. It was comforting, but painful--still, it left no mark.

“You are as the blind, wandering in the darkness of dreams; ignorant to your own ignorance.”

Àicheil's gaze seemed sympathetic but filled with a thing that bordered pity.

“How sad it must be. To be a vessel overfull with yearning.”

The words were soft, but they held within them a quiet venom.

How unfortunate a being. So fragile as to break when confronted by their nature. Prideful and blind. Lusting after that which they already possess--unknowing.

These words, he did not say, but she would feel them all the same.

Neiya’s eyes narrowed quickly during the Dreaming God’s retort, each word seeming to send a ripple of discontent, tranquil fury, and disgust through her very being. The maelstrom was silent now, for she was thoroughly and intensely focused on the verbal and mental assault. Still, the horned goddess held herself with a feigned grace, wafting a hand in front of her face dismissively as silence began to ring out with its presence. She spun in place, gaze moving in search for whence she came.

“I care not,” she gave with a venomous tone of her own, icy and unpleasant. “Hide and watch your tapestry grow as I paint upon it.”

As the distance grew between them, and the hold of their attunement weakened, a resounding laugh echoed through the realm, pressing itself through her form. The sound did not relent until she neared the threshold of his realm, where it was replaced by words.

“Sorrow and Love. Suffering and Peace. Like all the works of our siblings, I bid thee welcome.” Though the sound of laughter had fled, amusement remained within his voice.

Before her, he coalesced, golden light wrapped about the silhouette of his star wrought visage, its aureate hue extending outwards like threads into infinity. “One insult is traded for another. One, a query, the other a harsh reality that you deign to not accept.” He blocked the exit with his form and fell silent, hoping she might consider his words.

“The maelstrom within, it need not rule you.”

He moved aside, the motion filled with guileless grace.

“Venom and invectives, from you I drew these things. So look not upon this meeting with sour remembering.”

His form began to fade into the endless waves of the Worldweave, as his attention drifted elsewhere, but as she crossed the threshold, she felt a final whisper.

“Within a strength you do not know,
A seed of power and control,
So rest your blame,
O' sorrow's dame,
and end your lamentation,

So from seed to stalk is grown,
A force which surely fills the hole,
which resides inside your heart,
Hurting, clawing, it tore apart,
Till, by dominion's hold, you drove it to cessation.”

That seemed to give Neiya pause, head twisting to gaze backward over her shoulder. Eyes narrowed, she offered a soft, minimalist nod. With a regal tilt of her chin and a flurry of lingering experience, the horned goddess left the Dreaming God's demesne; her quiet fury turned to introspection.


In Divinus: The God RP, Mk. IV → 5 yrs ago Forum: Advanced Roleplay

Collab by @Tuujaimaa, @yoshua171, and @Zurajai.

The light of antiquity was nearly blinding to the little ancillary form that was also Klaarungraxus. As the small meat puppet hovered gently over the flagstone steps that led down to the center of the arena-like structure, all six eyes sucking down into the simulacra’s torso. One by one they popped back out, becoming accustomed to the light. Before Klaar was a wide-open arena, a coliseum of sorts that did little to express exactly where this was to the overmind back in Saxus.

The stink of divine presence was practically a sweet, sickly, cloying fog that hung over the entire place; it was impossible NOT to notice it. No doubt gods of all kinds were finding their way to this place, one after another. The sensory organs of the simulacrum spied the tell-tale signs of divine gateways all around the arena and in that moment Klaar felt a moment of hope; he was not as alone as he had believed. Letting out a siren call, Klaar released a signal bouncing into every portal within earshot calling to the Gods he had known in the Galbarian plane.

With a popping sensation, Klaar felt the echolocational cry ping back with immediate results. Eyes straining to see in the light, Klaarungraxus’ simulacrum soon recognized a number of visible entities hanging about inside the coliseum. Before him were a number of godling creatures, all spread out and interacting, and in that instant, a number of sensory responses from sub-minds pinged back to the overmind, a need to disguise his presence. With skin warping in color to match the arena around it, the simulacrum flopped down onto the surface to hide itself as much as possible while continuing to let out a low-frequency burst in an attempt to get in contact with more trustworthy gods.

It did not take Fìrinn long to perceive its twin--to be precise, the shortest possible amount of time--and its reaction was immediate. For two thousand years, it had gone without the ability to process the emotional impact of the mortals it had interacted with, and it knew in that moment that it would need to conjoin minds with its twin to restore itself to normalcy and Truth both. It did not move, per se, so much as it simply extended its mantle across the distance between them with claw-tips outstretched. It took only the briefest instant before it was only a few centimeters away from its twin, and it awaited that harmonious and meaning-filled instant in which Àicheil would speak the word that unified them as the Two-as-One. Their long absence would finally be over, and their divergent paths could once again lead them forward to what was meant to be.

It was not that Fìrinn had not perceived and acknowledged the call of Klaarungraxus--it eagerly awaited a reunion with its friend and ally--but this task was simply too important. All other precedents were unimportant, swept away like leaves in a strong gust of wind. Nothing else but purpose mattered or could matter to the God of Truth, and until that purpose was fulfilled it could not and would not rest.

A turning, shifting, twisting motion. Receding color, a storm of sudden indecision and anger, limned with calm and a subtle insidious detachment. Àicheil's attention narrowed, focusing intently upon the mantle of its twin. Upon the intrusion into his space, near his mind. Yet, though the Dreaming God balked at the sight of such attempted unification, another force within him had other things in mind. So it was that the smallest sliver of whimsical intention cast a single thread of substanceless essence forth and in doing so, bound together the twins.

So bloomed a silver flash between those touching points and from them spread a display most magnificent. An expulsion of color. A painted sea contained, now unleashed. Through Fìrinn's mantle spread experience unmarred, beyond understanding, without context. Utter freedom without filter, its like a prismatic sheen, a reflection more vivid than the taste or sight, the sound or sensation of the world they knew. Mirrored in Àicheil's chaotic colors was a monochrome effulgence, an eruption of silvers and blacks--grays and whites--all mixed and spreading, suffusing him.

He resisted.

Yet, even as he fought, the initial wave of unity had been brought about by one traitorous thread of his being. It had been done with will unconscious, and so before he could truly defend himself, much of his mind had already succumbed to the familiar weight of Truth. Meaning came to him then like a flood through a sorting sieve.

Logic

Àicheil's mind grew still. His form coalesced, slowly gathering, his lifeblood poured into a starlit vessel, a silhouette most familiar and preferred.

A long stretch of silence. An unspoken knowing. A renewed unity.

Stability. Àicheil spoke.

"Twin," he said.

Just as the connection begat context and understanding for one, it also qualified the two millennia of human emotion that the other had been unable to process in its time answering mortal prayers. The wave of revelation hit the God of Truth like a physical force, and though it did not stagger them the lights reflecting from their almost-face scattered in a thousand-thousand directions like shards of glass.

“Twin.”

Fìrinn took a moment to catch its metaphorical breath and composed itself, remembering in that moment the summons it heard in the language of the deep. It cast out a strand of thought, unified between the twin gods and equally present in each of their infinite minds, and bid them both towards the simulacrum of Klaarungraxus that had called to them. Its mind reached out to the flesh-puppet crafted of that divine essence and spoke to it from afar, waves of intent crashing upon the comparatively tiny proxy--and only that proxy--with the full force of their combined thoughts.

“Hail, Klaarungraxus Rux. The Two-as-One greet you as the first God to grace our senses, and the most worthy of our notice.”

The small form that was, for all intents and purposes, Klaarungraxus seemed to respond to the mental inquiries of the paired entities that presented themselves before him. Pinging back sensations of pleased success at their arrival, the little ancillary puppet removed itself from hiding. A peculiar sensory return of the paired gods gave an immediate sense of confusion to the overmind, all subminds setting about determining exactly what was now poised to communicate with his simulacra on the other side of the portal. By all rights it was as the conjoined said; Two-as-One gods, the minds of Àicheil and Fìrinn made whole. Though visually they appeared as separate, their divine light seemed most thoroughly intertwined.

”Bountiful nutrients borne in warm waters, Fìrinn-Àicheil. Your conjoined-mind is not known to the many-who-are-we, but your separate-selves are not alien to our consciousness.” Klaar’s meat puppet seemed to bubble outward, growing in size to be at least somewhat more reminiscent of his appropriate shape. ”Explain to us your current state; hath it to do with our shared predicament?”

Attention intertwined, mind awash with meaning, Àicheil regarded this their ally, the Ocean God. Remembered oaths. A faceless smile pressed out from their aura, and an eyeless gaze swept over Klarungraxus' form. Strange to see the god so small, stranger still to feel a distance between them greater than the appearance of such things.

Bizarre to hear words and understand without effort.

Though Àicheil had experienced this before, it had been some time, and even having not felt the passing of those two-thousand years, they had had an impact on him. Numerous dreaming ruminations came to him now with the clarity and context of his twin. With their power, he learned, and having done so, he spoke.

"This is our Truth," he said, and the words were perfectly clear, beautifully concise. None of the obfuscation or verbosity of his twin. Bereft of the singular depth of his own communication. It was filled only with clarity and meaning most necessary and poignant for this their reunion.

"Time. Isolation. The Voids filled," he began, the words flowing forth like intention realized, none overfull with meaning. "Àicheil..." he paused, "Fìrinn. These are merely components."

Extending both arms before him, Àicheil brought his hands together. "As we are. Truth," he pulled them apart, "as we were--a vestige of such." His arms relaxed and a gentle warmth spread from them, it was filled with companionable silence. It was rife with knowing, understanding, and an echoing resonation of respect--perhaps even admiration.

Àicheil waited, content. He had said enough. He had meant enough. There was no need to say more.

The little thing rumbled deeply, though not nearly enough to match Klaar’s usual tonal range; more like several pebbles scattering rather than the rolling of an entire undersea mountainside. It seemed the information presented was being digested by minds one too many concepts away from the here and the now. Nevertheless, one by one the little Klaar-thing seemed to respond with awareness before opening its beak with expressed understanding.

“Clarity as clear skies after storms, all that hangs laid low by scattered rains, it is We who understand most clearly. You are as I am, as many-minds-made-one. Brilliant reflections, gemstones and corals and shells of numerous colors.”

The Klaarungraxus lookalike seemed to lose interest in the topic then, suddenly blatantly aware that Fìrinn and Àicheil had simply mirrored him; whether or not this was the case, the analogy was a simple one for the whole to digest. Just as his numerous minds were separate entities thinking as one, so too were the Gods of Dreaming and Truth. What could be more simple. His numerous eyes went into overdrive devouring the sensory information of the area, looking for anything that might indicate exactly where they were. Sensory pings resulted in response-awareness of the distinct lack of anything other than the arena. Outside of its stone limitations was nothing of consequence and likely extended no further than the eyes could see; perhaps even that was a trick in of itself. They were most assuredly not on Galbar.

”This place, false is its facade, and it leaves me quite wanting; time passed yet I have no concept of this passage. When and Where must be answered and this Doom I had seen come to pass must be counteracted. My thoughts to yours, what experiences hath thine senses perceived?”

“Two thousand years have come and gone since our departure from fair Galbar and her delights. Perhaps the others of our kind have insight, but their words and experiences are not guaranteed to be as our own: Indeed, perhaps only those who foresaw the Doom might rightfully have room to indulge in exposition about its nature. We should retreat to your realm, where our senses are not assailed by the panoply of divinity that permeates this place and you might regale us with the Truth of your form once more.”

Fìrinn made a brief swinging motion with its mantle-claws, as if dismissing something in the far-off distance between them and their divine compatriots, before turning to the portal from which this proxy had emerged. As it was, conjoined with its twin and made whole, it did not need a response from the Old Growth Below’s proxy--it simply knew that its realm was the desired destination, and that its privacy would serve them well in the upcoming discussions. Fìrinn’s experience of the deities other than Klaar thus far was mostly one of naivete, wanton self-indulgence, or both--even those it could claim to have liked, in whatever way Fìrinn was capable of liking anything, were not beings it felt were suitable for the arduous task of contemplating the mysteries of the universe. Perhaps isolation had made strange bedfellows of them all in that time, but some element of distrust and numbness to emotion clearly permeated the God of Truth’s almost-face. Perhaps it was some reflection of Klaarungraxus’ innate wariness, or some element of discordance it had absorbed from its twin that had not yet dissipated--whatever it was or could be said to be, Fìrinn did not feel like saying whatever need to be said in earshot of the other gods, and so it reached out to that portal to Saxus and vanished into the aqueous realm.

Klaarungraxus presented himself in all his magnificent glory in his personal realm; with a little blop the meat-puppet back in Antiquity flopped to the ground, sitting patiently for when it was needed again. Here, in Saxus, the God of Oceans could truly thrive. Although there was an intense desire by many of the tentacle-minds to share and show the realm to his new guests, the overmind overruled them; there were plenty more important things to do than entertain the house guests. With his tentacles wrapped firmly around a number of outcropping, Klaarungraxus carried himself to the central city in Saxus where they could speak more peaceably.

”Two millenia hath passed and we remained trapped here? A most unacceptable occurrence. The reasoning for this catastrophe, though yet unknown, is irrelevant; I refuse to abandon my oceans, and though I feel them now, that voice might be snuffed at any instant by that which imprisoned us so unrightly. An option must be presented to allow this barrier to be expunged, penetrated, or ignored. Let our many-minds become as one on this, for together we can find paths to redress this injustice.”

”Two millenia hath passed and we remained trapped here? A most unacceptable occurrence. The reasoning for this catastrophe, though yet unknown, is irrelevant; I refuse to abandon my oceans, and though I feel them now, that voice might be snuffed at any instant by that which imprisoned us so unrightly. An option must be presented to allow this barrier to be expunged, penetrated, or ignored. Let our many-minds become as one on this, for together we can find paths to redress this injustice.”

The words swam through the mind of the Eldritch Twin and he drew from them meaning and purpose. Àicheil, knowing what he did, felt the tingling pulse of all minds. Reaching out, the Dreaming God gently pressed a single narrow finger against the flesh of the great Klaar. He withdrew.

Immediately, a swirling miasma of colorful meaning was unleashed from deep within the Dreamer's form. It gushed forth into the waters of Saxus like ink or paint or blood and filled it with experience. Spreading quickly, it engulfed the trio of gods and then settled into a gentle blanket of woven sensation. "Connection," Àicheil said, and in doing so, stirred and sifted the Subtle Weave which he had laid about them. His cloak billowed and split, becoming a thousand paper-thin ribbons of intention. They began to play across the power he had summoned to this place.

"Divinity," he intoned without restraint, the gravity of his word and its thunderous meaning echoing out through Klaar's realm in a resounding wave. It was a command of sorts, and the great Dream obeyed.

Resolving in the fabric of that manifested Weave there appeared a god-touched mortal. From that image there came a knowledge and every sensation. The feel, the scent, the sound of this empowered being and from this it was apparent something that they had perhaps yet to consider. Deeply ingrained into this seeming mortal there lay a spark of divinity far greater than any they may have seen before. From that once-fleeting vessel a thread of that power played across the heavens and faded from Galbar, where it vanished entirely, passing into some unknown place beyond.

"The thread. It ends here. There is nowhere else beyond my reach." Àicheil paused and tilted his head for a moment, lost in thought. Fìrinn's clarity returned to him and a deep contemplation emanated from his form, its like entwined with a gentle, thoughtful smile. "This thing. Gibbou has done it, we need only echo its design."

Fìrinn gazed upon the images put forth by its twin, studying them intently. Each mote of light shone through the abyssal depths of Klaar’s divine realm, reflected and refracted endlessly, contained effortlessly within a sphere of Àicheil’s design--a microcosm of the Dreaming God’s infinite mind. Its mantle-claws wove themselves into shears, and it made a motion as if to cut the threads of that great tapestry, severing a hole in that great design and weaving its threads anew with its own context and experience. In but a moment the entire design was overtaken by its new purpose, a billowing cloud of ink-black nothingness sweeping and shuddering across its glassine form until there was nothing but emptiness and loneliness.

But each of the three divines remained, still in close proximity to one another, and still able to commune.

“There is only one divinity greater than we three and the others--that which spawned us, from whose depths we claw’d and fought and emerged. The Lifeblood itself burns and bristles at our touch, unwilling now to drink of our presence--no other force could presume to impeach us. Yet the Mother of the Moon, ignorant to her own ignorance, has stumbled upon the means of our salvation--the Lifeblood may bar entry only to its first children. Fragments of our divinity may yet breach it, and so we must cleave from ourselves our divinity to influence sweet Galbar once more. Well said, Twin.”

Fìrinn took a moment to contemplate the nature of their conundrum before snapping its mantle-claws back into place and dispelling the dregs of that illusion which had served its purpose.

”Her little godling, Twilight, return’d to the weave. All that it is, all that it was, is reflected now through the holy Tairseach--and through the Two-as-One. She made the mistake of granting it free will, of empowering that which already exists--affording her firstborn perception beyond its Truth. To bear this fragment of our greatness as Truth, only that directly crafted by us will suffice.”

All of Klaarungraxus’ great mass seemed to roil and shake in rumination, every inch of the divine of deeps seeming to throw itself entirely into this new task at hand. The information provided to him was absorbed and disseminated across the whole of the minds at Klaar’s disposal. Awareness of what needs be done, of what repetitions were required in order to match or otherwise surpass Gibbou’s work, and of the dangers posed by the enemy of the second born gods of Galbar. A breach was required and unlike the flesh-ancible that he had created earlier, this new entity would need to be considerably more independent while still remaining distinctly Klaarungraxus. An idea pinged back and Klaar went to action.

With a terrible ripping noise that filled the depths of Saxus with a squelching, tearing roar, Klaarungraxus grabbed tightly around Right-Forward Two-Down and tore it free. There was no difficulty in the action, of course, as the limb’s flesh gladly gave way to the works of the elder deity; it was most pleased to be of service, after all, for it had been its idea. The huge tentacle, flopping vigorously in the waves, was dropped unceremoniously downwards before Klaar arrested its drop with an intonation of Deepspeak. With all six eyes focussed on the wriggling object, Klaarungraxus directed all his considerable attentions at the limb-that-would-be-free.

It shook and shuddered and writhed as new flesh grew from the torn stump, blood pouring inwards from the spilled cloud into it to form more flesh for the making of it. Meat and bone was stretched further in all directions, assisted by rock, plant matter, and coral, until an appropriate structure had been made. From the dark cloud of gore slowly emerged a jet black Vrool, the darkness of its hide so deep that light seemed to lose its war and descend into its depth in surrender. Six eyes, just as Klaarungraxus’, stared back forward somewhat aimlessly as the tentacle-mind was grown into a semi-complete overmind of its own. With that simple work complete, Klaar let a connection be made between himself and the avatar to fill it with all his thoughts and experiences even as a new tentacle was grown to replace the one that was lost.

”Right-Forward Two-Down is an inappropriate name as it will be replaced; you are Mawarungraxus,” echoed the deity as he inspected his work both superficially and deep within its mind. It seemed altogether functional, albeit with some neural pathways unique to this Mawar entity, ”You are we.”

”Yes. We are.”

Clarity endowed, words spoken to elucidate further, and a display most divine. These things Àicheil regarded, the ribbon-tendrils of his shroud drifting gently through the waters of Klaarungraxus' wondrous realm. Slowly, subtly, intent thrummed through this ribbon-thin threads, casting them in weaving patterns which caught at the edges of those cast of dreggs. Àicheil pulled them gently, threading them together absently as he observed the work of their elder with wide, muted, interest.

Without thought, beyond true intention a thing of beauty spawned, prismatic blood sifting gently from his cloak, entwining with the dregs of his dream-wrought vision. Gently, water was displaced, that essence which was Klaar's eased away from this idle toy. Yet not all of that liquid was lost, for the substance of the thing appeared in myriad shades--droplets of trapped, shifting color, held in vague union by the will of the Dreaming God.

Àicheil let forth a soothing drone. Ѻs-fhìreach spat out a chaotic thrum. Neo-Àicheil intoned with fervor and rhythm both and together the thrice-named god wove its essence into a silhouette. Yet, it defied definition. Twas but a gently shifting mass of colored particles, all aqueous in their prismatic nature. Held somewhere within them was that shorn shard of divinity, but it could not be said where precisely it was held.

There was silence for a time. Àicheil smiled. Not an echo, not a feeling, but truly a binding constellation 'cross his featureless face. It was so brief as to be missed, but it had been there.

“Faireachan A-staigh,” Ѻs-fhìreach declared. In those words there were held great meaning, and power greater still for with their utterance the haze of dreamy light did shift. From its formless facade there emerged a silhouette most vague. It was a whisper of form, a thing which might be mistaken for a human silhouette, if only from the right angle.

It kept its shape then, but there remained a fleeting sense about it as gently glowing particles pressed in and out of its visage, forming an aura of light-refracting moisture.

Satisfied, Àicheil withdrew his strength and let relax his cosmic intellect, leaving all else to his Truthbound Twin.

Noticing the conclusion of its twin’s weaving, Fìrinn set to work. From between its true hands a shard of crystal came into being, and with a gentle nudge from its mantle-claws it drank of the waters and the effulgent cosmic residue left behind by the works of the other gods. In an instant its form exploded forth, a slab of hallowed silver crystal much like that of the holy Tairseach suspended between the three. Shards of that leftover material coalesced together between the God of Truth’s mantle-claws, and from it grew another crystalline form--two blades, a deconstructed pair of shears, honed to an edge so fine they would cut even the divine. Gazing into that mirror, Fìrinn took the two blades in its mantle-claws and cut from the sunless cryst its own reflection, bidding it step forward into the murky waters and into reality.

“Faileasiar; the Behindling. Cut from mine own reflection, shaped from the sanctum of the Tairseach. In mirrors shall you find purchase; in reflections shall you find Truth.”

Its form seemed to waver and ripple, and as Fìrinn trained its godly perception upon the newly created Avatar it seemed to vanish from existence--only to be found within the mirror before it. With a nod it simply slinked away, disappearing from view, and made its way to Galbar where it was inextricably bound for all of eternity. Fìrinn gazed upon the two blades it had used to craft its avatar. Though they had lost that preternatural keenness and lustre, they would perhaps still serve a purpose as tools for mortalkind to use: instruments of Truth, to cut away that which was false and shape reality into what it was meant to be. Indeed, they could serve as tools of beginnings and endings both--an experiment, of sorts, to see what mortalkind’s perception of Truth would become had they the tools to influence it and the means to perceive it. Its mantle-claws gripped the two blades tightly and thrust them through the reflection in the mirror, holding them for just a second, before Faileasiar’s glassine claws took them for itself and vanished back into nothingness.

“This mirror shall serve as a portal to the Buaileagan Aimsireil. Manipulate it however you like, Klaarungraxus Rux, but know this: for as long as the alliance between Oceans and Reflections stands, my realm shall be open to you and yours. By our combined efforts shall Truth be aligned with reality.”

”A reflection from one realm to another? Scintillating scales and scattered light off glassy surface.” Klaar seemed to lean in, observing the object with deep fascination before returning his attention to the duod gods most reasonably called Rux and allies. A similar concept could likely be repeated and Klaar immediately set about in its creation. As Mawar watched with idle curiosity, Klaarungraxus vomited forth two rough, unhewn black pearls before nudging them through the water towards the twined gods.

”When so planted, the blackest depths of oceans deep shall be born; from that darkness, routes open. Thine passageway need only be cast in darkness for the oculus to be opened. An acceptable solution, We think.”

Klaarungraxus turned to Mawar and rumbled, eyeing the jet black Vrool with intense curiosity; never before, he had to admit, had he been able to look at himself in such a manner. An experience most fascinating, concluded the minds alongside the newly grown Right-Forward Two-Down. With that one tentacle stretched forward, tapping Mawar on the bell and enveloping the lesser graxus in darkness. As that inky blackness receded or otherwise dissipated, the form of Mawar disappeared.

”Twelve tentacles twisted, may our luck hold. We shall see from the otherside if gentle breezes or rough waves await our machinations back on the world not of our own making.”

A mirror risen, a reflection shorn, from Klaar's maw dual black pearls were torn.

Àicheil's aspect shifted faintly in the ocean tide of the great eld's realm as he observed the acts of these his allies--Fìrinn and Klaar. A small laugh trickled from the Dreaming God and danced among the waves, but he gave that humor no hold over his actions as one ribbon rose up with a current-wave. It tangled with the pearl of black and pulled it from the sea's swirling hold. Àicheil held it fast, its glossy sheen dark and bold. Upon its surface the god's attention fell, but it was merely a glancing touch. Turning, the Eldritch Twin regarded then the mirror of his twin's making.

Ribbons curled and danced about him frantically as he held that gaze, then he bade them move, and they obeyed. Flitting forth they touched the crystal's surface and around it weaved a glowing nervous gleam.

"Oceans depth and tides sweep far, a mirror's bare reflection, by Dream unmarred," the words...they seemed to hold so little of the god's myriad meanings. Instead, their nature, their purpose, it could be found by observing the many gaps left therein. They spoke of yearning. They said 'incomplete,' they declared 'I will change it.'

Ѻs-fhìreach raised a hand, and with it seven ribbons split seven times, and each in turn split seven more till threads uncountable and unseen were formed from where they'd been before. Darting wisps of intent, they flitted about the mirror, and one by one they vanished.


A flicker of sound. A dash of sweetness. A fluttering emotion in the stomach. A stirring kaleidoscope of color. A pattern vast, infinite in its scope, turned upon itself, devouring and creating in equal measure. It expanded, but did not grow as if one grew merely closer to it. A vision of countless cascades of rippling pools and pulling tendrils, grasping minds and wills cast forth to gnash against the world.

The Grand Design.

Unfurling from the Truth God's mirror, a reflection writ reality sprang forth. With its crossing of the threshold bare it lost a glimmer of infinity, but it gained substance, and spread throughout Klaar's realm like ten-trillion dancing strings. They faded, became obscure, the waves pulled with fervor, and soon only a gentle shifting sheen was left within Klaar's waters--which had once been truly clean.

Ѻs-fhìreach reached forth with one long-fingered hand. It came to rest upon Klaar's shoulder-face, where tentacle spawned and outward raced.

"Dream, and you may come to my realm Ocean-Rux, Brother Klaar." The moment was a gentle affection laid bare, pure and untainted by any further goal or ambitious air.

Upon the Tairseach mirror-twin there laid now runes and sigils deep within. Its reflection had been marked. It was whole.

Àicheil turned from Klaar and--gently--withdrew from Fìrinn as well.

"Galbar awaits," he said.

"To siblings-minds I am drawn. From narrow skulls I shall exhume context. In time will we convene once more."

With a parting gesture, Àicheil's deific strength reached out and touched the mirror.

A blinding flash.

Connection.

"So bound are our realms three."

Though he bid them not farewell, within Àicheil their essences would remain. Held close to core, they'd be an anchor against his drifting nature's endless refrain. In waters both near and far they'd hold him fast against the great pull of whim and nightmarish disconnection. So from Saxus did Àicheil depart and as he passed beyond that ocean-place, there remained only an echo of his reflection.


In Divinus: The God RP, Mk. IV → 5 yrs ago Forum: Advanced Roleplay

A wandering Dream thrust across Galbar's shifting sky, its aura a piercing memory, an echo of something seen and felt and heard and tasted in the hours before first light. It was a starlight figure, a silhouette of grey. A shroud of passing interest, a mind of unknownable proportions. Divinity.

Though yet unaware and uncaring of the growing tension in the world, Àicheil remained prescient to the shifting attitudes of the vast Dream, the subtle weave. Across its expanse he felt his twin, he knew their workings and he rejoiced in the strength which was granted to their prime creation, their vast Collective Consciousness. Contentment swirled within his mind and it felt as if the Dreaming God had been holding a breath for a very long time, and now he'd released it.

However, this calm could not last it seemed for no sooner had Ѻs-fhìreach made seven circles seven times about the glittering planet, the world began to darken. Àicheil stopped his drifting dance, his observation of the heavens and the earth that was Galbar. Held in place for a frozen moment, he released his hold completely.

Where there had been a form defined a swell of color and starlit black expanded like a stain of ink across the entire sky. He felt, through the Dream in that moment, a great absence, a great fear, pain, relief, suffering, distress, and a myriad of emotions left like cosmic ripples upon the minds of mortals. Àicheil breathed then, without mouth or lung, but with his consciousness, and with each breath his dark body, his grey shroud, and the storm of color held within, covered the planet's skies. Just as edge met expanding edge and all light, but those shifting clouds, was snuffed from the heavens, a dimming began.

He did not resist, he was too tired already, and in a far off place within his mind, he had known this was coming--as he knew all things. Yet, he did not understand it. Despite this lack, he did not resist. The fading starlit black, limned and suffused with prismatic color and greyish mist lost its substance. Light peered from the heavens and through his vast divine form. A whirling rage crashed against him. It was like a hurricane, like a mind unleashed, like a thoughtless thing railing against a wrongness it knew, but could not be or understand.

The Grand Design.

Mother|Lifeblood|Father


A faded vessel, a vanishing presence, a final thought, then nothing. Emptiness. An abyss without limit or direction or intent. Slowing, rising madness. Fear. Anxiety. A heartbeat of thoughts all his own, frantic. He felt, not calm or content, not serene, and yet his thoughts were placid and clear--transparent. It was a strange thing this.

It was a brief disconnection. Oh so brief. So mercifully temporary.

Reaching out, Àicheil's godly vessel stretched out through the endless, formless, thoughtless void. Free of context, free of everything, it made and unmade, harmed and destroyed and created anew. Swirling color. Smells, sights, and sensations. Pain and agony; lust and pleasure. Every experience, every thought, every piece of knowledge--none of it.

An echo. A crystallized rumination, an endless experiential malestrom--ordered, yet so vast that no one could truly grasp such. Then, seeking tendrils of thoughts, prayers, requests, emotions, sights and sounds and scents and sensations. Every single thought of him, then more beside.

A rippling cascade across his newfound realm. A coalescence of thought, a resurgence of identity, an interruption in the endless beauteous dance of past and present and future all. Unmade, but born again.

Àicheil|Ѻs-fhìreach|Neo-Àicheil


A thread of connection true. Remembrance. A tide of feeling. He longed for unity, something once forgotten, now remembered. It overwhelmed him, this Dreaming God. It overtook his mind, it swelled to bursting his emotions, as if he was a cup with limits. He cast out, thoughts drifting like gentle feeling threads against a rift in this, his favored place.

Ròineagan


Overtaken. Numb. Unfeeling. Uncaring, that Dreaming God passed beyond his domain and into the harsh atmosphere, a place of substance. A place which was Antiquity. A word leapt into his mind without reason, but with meaning, as a label. One he did not need, but remembered and held within nonetheless. As he crossed that portal threshold, all the other gods would see was a maelstrom of color. Their senses would tell them far more.

For now, with his entrance, the Dreaming God's gravitous attention, his eyeless gaze, it fell on them all, and permeated the air. He filled the space, without touching it, merely by being. His mind, here, was unrestrained. There were no mortals, there was no need. He did not care. He could not care. Not without an anchor.

The question was, after so much time, did he want one?

In Divinus: The God RP, Mk. IV → 5 yrs ago Forum: Advanced Roleplay

Far beyond the orbit of the heavenly bodies, past the blinding Sun itself and in the outer reaches of the stars, a great cascade of color split forth and spilled out into existence. It was an aura of prismatic essence, cleaving and subsuming the stars in its wake as it spread across an expanse of space. It was not alone for in a moment a black mass of cutting angular blades sheared out from its center and expanded like a mass of pitch-black rage. A coalescence then occurred, and starlight spread upon the black surface, the myriad hues of cosmic blood pouring inwards to fill its empty heartless void. Blades and piercing talons softened and grew relaxed, molding into a visage most familiar, and as the color drained from the sky, a gray shroud yet remained.

In that silent instant of divine undulation ceased, there was silence. Stardust ruins cooled their fiery sparks the wreckage of Aicheil's emergence. Yet with a flick of gray-ribbons thick, subconscious whim compelling them, those ruined stars they became as once they'd been before.

Aicheil moved, swimming amidst the stars, passing through them, both he and them unmarred by his phase across their form. He moved briefly between the Sun, the Moon, and its smaller, purple sibling until he reached Galbar. There he remained in a drifting dance, contemplating all that had transpired in his absence. He had experienced many things since his twin, and he had been born. The Grand Design had changed in this time, and so too had his own perception. Though eyeless, he saw now more clearly than before. For as he looked upon Galbar, he experienced true beauty. Twisting clouds, the rainbow cast across their expanse, mortals flitting and running about, their tiny forms both full of purpose, yet fleeting and perhaps irrelevant to it all.

He shifted faintly upon the sky, and listened, for many sounds--both old and new--had come to be. The calling of man-to-man, and many birds or deep-sea churned entities did abound. Yet, behind the upfront cacophony of these mortal noises, there existed something deeper still to which his mind was pulled. Stone and Roan and River too these things they held new song, for the world it seemed, had been born anew when Aicheil had been gone. These new noises, most beautiful and strange, intrigued him much, and so enamored with their voices he called out to touch them faintly. Though at first, he couldn't reach, Aicheil then grasped across the Breach and so did swell the faithful knell of Ѻs-fhìreach's Endless Dream.

Touched then were the subtle chords of intimation. With that contact was unleashed a swelling thrum, it danced and swirled, it spread and twirled, and into the world, it hummed. From it spilled an oceanic tide of recent memory, its rainbow waves all ribbon made as it caught upon the Worldsong. Knowing at that moment much more than he had before, Ѻs-fhìreach reached down through the shifting colored clouds. Yet where before the passing of a digit churned the mortal skies, now they merely punched narrow holes and left weather uncompromised.

He remained that way a moment, allowing the thrumming chords of Dream and Reality to suffuse his essence for a time. Soon, however, his creative fervor resurged and so--in recollection of his Ocean Oath--he pressed his digits into the sea. Down, down, down, those fingers pierced the murky depths. They swam from blue to black until they pierced the Ocean's stone wrought floor. With contact made, Aicheil bid Galbar to bade his ever-present will. So did rise a thousand-thousand columns, up from the ocean floor for miles.

They cut through the sea, but before their passing, Aicheil slashed across the waves. With his godly motion and intent, ocean creatures did flee, and so his pillars rose--free of lethality. Once the Ocean's waves they reached, Aicheil drew further from beyond the Breach. Into their substance, he suffused an immortality of stony hue. With bedrock unorthodox, the Dreaming God then bade, a growing stone to expand upon the Ocean's waves. Meeting soon and surging up, the landmasses continued to grow upon the Ocean's vastness. Thus in moments, upon the many seas in two distinctly chosen spots, there were born continents whose bedrock were pillars unbroken and dense like oddly concrete thoughts.

Mindful of his presence, Aicheil withdrew his digits and gazed down upon the wonders of Galbar's planetary visage. Shimmering starlight cascaded across his voidly silhouette, and he found himself pleased, yet strangely empty and still. There was imbalance here, a discord most unsettling to his cosmic intellect. Seeking to banish this feeling, Aicheil shed his truest vessel in favor of a smaller silhouette and gently drifted towards Galbar's surface. Observing both creation and his orbiting form, Aicheil was struck by an idea.

Curious of the consequence, the Dreaming God called upon his cast-off shell and tore it asunder. Starlit comets of void and trailing shrouds of ash hurtled towards the planet's surface, all made from his divine flesh. He did not let them strike but instead sieved them with the Dream, binding concepts together within their essence until the Subtle Weave trapped them within its clutches. Slowly, blurred images of shifting entities, both large and small in stature, phased into his awareness. Things clicked back into place in that moment, and Aicheil shifted his attentions elsewhere.


Beyond the pale and hidden from mortal sight, the newborn Dreamers pushed out abstract feelers and took to hunting minds. Wandering minds and sleeping figures, they saw past vast Dream's veil, and as they hungered, they delved deep inward and ate minds from beyond the pale. Once each had feasted, they left behind their prey, and what remained could not be said to think another day.

Yet such beasts, they do not sleep, and so all they do is hunger, and thus they prey, 'pon mortal hay, while they seek to slumber.

Though yet unnamed, they would soon come to be known, as the Chomhlíonadh, the dreadful Unfulfilled.


Starlit vessel lit by shifting bright-torn sky, the Dreaming God looked upon his land and let forth a mighty sigh. It was empty now, he knew; it displeased him to see its view. So he cast down and raised stone crowns upon its flattened surface. Remaining discontent, he gouged through its form canyons, rivers, and vast lakebeds like tiny seas to cut across the landmasses newly born. As he worked he drew from the works of those Gods who had come before him and grew great trees and bushes and vines, covering the land in part with many glorious growing things. So too did he seed the world with animals to suit. Yet, though he made much upon those lands, and the vast lakes held within, he left much of those places empty and unchanged so that in time life might find its own way.

Satisfied by the shape and occupants of these once empty lands, he cast his vision across the Ocean and upon Toraan and islands far. There he took the Tairseach's conception into his mind and swiftly cast down his power. In the center of each newborn continent, Aicheil did place Dreaming Anchors, so that in time, many mortal minds might pay fealty to their land's Dreaming Creator.


In Divinus: The God RP, Mk. IV → 5 yrs ago Forum: Advanced Roleplay

Collab by @AdorableSaucer and @yoshua171

Wait.

This was the prerogative of his twin, yet, Àicheil had yet to learn the value--or meaning truth be told--of patience. So as the minutes passed, the colossal mind of the Dreaming God began to wander and--soon after--its vessel followed suit. At first, he tread upon the gentle waves and roiling swells of the ocean's expansive tide, the water coiling, and shifting beneath him. When waves grew taller than his silhouette of twenty spans, they parted, never touching his starry form. As he moved, the motions of the salty seas reminded him of the encompassing weave of consciousness, the Web of Minds, the Collective of mortality. Intimately, he sensed every emotion, thought, and experience which rippled and vibrated across the weave. These currents of thought sometimes entwined and from them were created a thing which he held as most valuable and beauteous.

"Dreams."

The word rippled out, a thought, a whim, a statement, but most of all, it was a name. Joy blossomed, like warmth in the center of his being, and he rejoiced. This thing, he must spread it.

Casting his senses wide, Ѻs-fhìreach considered the movements of all things, the patterns inherent in the world, and the forces which underpinned them all. These rigid ideals were the first he discarded, ignoring them. In swift order, he filtered through these concepts until, finally, the intensity of his gaze fell upon the heavens.

Moons, the word came to him unbidden, and in that instant, his mind was set. Tendrils dripping prismatic essence burst from his star spattered form, reaching to the sky. Then, in the next instant, he winked from existence.


A rush of color and intention, a place awash with thoughts. Unbidden, a rippling pulse of whim traveled out from the vast eldritch mind of the being, and with it came change. From the depths of sleep and inattention were born the seeds of dreams. Though significant, this act was one done not with intent, but as an accident of his passing.

Across Galbar, those sleeping beings began to experience things within the throes of their restful slumber. The gift of dreaming had been bestowed upon the world.


Slipping from the endless Dream, Àicheil's awareness emerged beyond the sky. Then, joined once more with his truest vessel, the Dreamer traversed the cosmos. Cutting through the heavens in his great haste, he passed through the purple Moon as if it did not exist. Fortunately, it was unaffected by his passing. In moments the full force of his consciousness--that condensed lifeblood which composed his being--shuddered against the umbral aura of the Moon, his attention unrelenting.

On the lunar surface, a small, groggy head poked its purple self out of a cave opening, scanning the empty space around it in search of whatever was shaking the very foundation of space with its presence. It didn’t take long for it to spot its creation’s purple neighbour, and perhaps even less time to spot the colossal vessel also floating about in orbit.

“What in the world?!” Gibbou exclaimed in bafflement and skipped onto the surface of her moon to get a better look at the menagerie. Her eyes fixed on the great spirit soaring between celestial objects, and she put her hands on her hips in a sort of impatient manner. Visitors were nice - but maybe not all the time. “Hey!” she shouted at the presence, divine voice carrying through time and space.

The words washed over its form, touching its consciousness and from that contact blossomed a myriad of thoughts. They swarmed through the Dreamer's psyche, before coalescing just as swiftly into the outlines of an act.

So impelled by the word of its fellow god, Àicheil sought to speak, but it found only more confusion. Nonetheless, meaning rang out from the depths of its cavernous mind.

"Why?"

The word boomed, full of meaning. Why do your words ring without meaning? it queried, Why are you here? it asked, Why do you brim with these fluttering emotions? It wondered.

Àicheil's form shifted, head tilting slightly, its thin fingers clutching chin as if in deep thought. Then, remembering the effect its form had wrought upon Galbar, and the insistence of its twin, the Dreaming God shed once more its form. Drifting gently to the surface of the craggy Moon, it touched down only eight steps from the Goddess. He appeared as a figure made from darkness and glimmering starlight intertwined. He had no eyes or other features to speak of beyond the humanoid shape of his chosen form.

"Who?" he queried once more. The word filled to brimming with intent. It said, Who are you? What are you? It was as if he asked not simply for a name, but a description inclusive of her entirety. It was intimate, but there was an air about the Dreaming God that spoke of naivety and innocence, though perhaps of a different brand than the Goddess herself.

Gibbou recoiled into a somewhat defensive stance and eyed the form up and down. “That, that’s a lot of questions, hold on.” She hummed. “I aaam Gibbou - a goddess in the same way that you, I presume, are a god. I keep this moon and all life safe and sound. Uh, let’s see, more whats… Oh! Despite what people say, I’m not actually a type of blueberry. That’s just my complexion.” She offered a polite smile and eased her stance. “And you? Same questions!”

Nodding slowly, Neo-Àicheil tried to grasp the ideas behind each word uttered by the violet Goddess, yet...as the words piled one atop the other he soon found that they had become cumbersome to bear. So, as he considered these many words--each in isolation--he found that with each one he understood he lost more and more meaning. Oddly there was a paradox there, for though she had uttered more words than he, each one held within it less meaning than even his one.

It was as if they were diminished.

Struggling to understand, and burdened now with growing confusion, Àicheil bestowed to Gibbou the simplest of inquiries.

"What?"

Though he possessed no face, the god's bearing could not have more loudly screamed befuddlement.

Gibbou blinked and crossed her hands over her chest. “Y-your name. What’s your name? Oh, and, uh, what’re god of, hmm?” She eyed him up and down ponderously. “... I would say ghosts.”

Each word uttered seemed to instill within the Dreaming God yet more confusion and after a time he was forced to stop. Withdrawing several steps as if afraid, though not a drop of fear existed within his demeanor.

Gibbou gave a small wave. “H-hey, come back! I didn’t mean to be rude! Was I rude? I’m sorry I was rude! Please don’t go! I literally -just- scared away my other guest, too!” To emphasise, she approached with her arms stretched out.

These words helped him none, but he did not retreat further, allowing her approach. Though, beneath the surface his thoughts were muddled as he grasped at the notes of her meaning, seeking understanding. For, you see, in his mind every word was considered in isolation, all its many meanings included. However, when words were expressed aplenty, lined up neatly in a row, he did not see them in this way. Instead, it would be as if you took each idea that filled those words and placed them on a canvas all at once, each overlapping and entwining. In their dance they gained meaning, but so too did they lose it.

It was in this way that Àicheil perceived both the world and her speech. However, not knowing that others saw the world in more concrete a manner, the god had no reason to express this. Nonetheless, in his frustration, he hazarded a query, hoping perhaps that he might understand her response.

"Connect?"

He wished to make contact, lay a hand, a finger or perhaps a thread, upon her person. In that word was held this meaning and several others. The implication of intimacy was there, but it was truncated, meaning only a melding of the minds. He sought to communicate. In that word also was his frustration with whatever it was he did lack and--certainly--the confusion he clearly held.

He hoped she might respond. He hoped for affirmation.

Gibbou slid to a halt and held up her hands. “Woah, what do you mean ‘connect’? Like, like talking, you mean, or…?” She eyed the presence up and down again. “Oh, sister, you are pretty shy, aren’t you? C’mon, come out of your shell! Or, wait, sorry, that wasn’t nice of me - y’know, I also occasionally have stage fright, and that’s totally fine - I kinda just want to know your name, though. Could, could you help me with that?”

The stars across the Dreaming God's form narrowed to pinpricks. The intensity of his attention rose sharply at that moment as he tried, desperately, to understand this woman, this goddess, this...Gibbou.

Seeing her hands--for they gave more meaning and structure to him than her words--Àicheil held out his own, palm up. A drop of desperation touched his mind and spread like a contagion through his aura.

"Connect," he replied emphatically, almost pleading. This time its meaning was somehow less, his desperation and focus narrowing the scope of its intent. The word provided an intuition in place of context and understanding. It said, Communicate, it said, take my hand, it begged, please?

Gibbou’s frown only worsened at the few words, but she nonetheless took his hand in her own, looking up at the starry form as politely as she could. “Alright, uhm… Will you now tell me your name?”

As her fingers grazed his palm and their hands met a ripple of pleasant warmth coursed between them. It spread, suffusing her, and it was like suddenly being clear and awake. Àicheil immediately calmed at the touch, and the narrowed blaze of the stars bound within his void-flesh expanded as if relaxing. He shone from within, and as her words organized themselves and their meaning became clear, he spoke.

"I am, the Dreaming God," he began, and the words were like a tapestry of meaning, an expression so pure and so exact that all other communication before it would pale in comparison. It was with this single phrase that Àicheil came to understand something, the confusion he had felt from the overwhelming nature of her speech; it mirrored something else. In them, he saw how a mortal might find the intensity of his divine intent too great to bear.

For the first time, independent of his twin, Àicheil understood.

"I have many names," he continued, a clarity forming in his mind as the bridge of consciousness between them provided him context and truth with which to sort his thoughts. “You would do well to recall three." He paused, his form pulsing, a sense of contentment and comfort wrapping itself about them like a blanket as he grew satisfied with their new arrangement.

"I am Ѻs-fhìreach, I am Àicheil, I am Neo-Àicheil."

Gibbou nodded slowly, pondering for a moment how to pronounce those sounds herself. “C-can I just call you Aichie?”

A gentle vibration jostled the essence of their surroundings for a moment, the impression of a smile casting itself across the surface of her mind. It lasted the span of several instants before fading into silence. This, too, was fleeting--for after a moment of brief consideration, he spoke once more.

"You may call me Àicheil," he replied, and with the name's utterance came an understanding intrinsic, the whispers of a dream seeded with intent. He gifted her a simple thing, small, but more meaningful to the Dreaming God than perhaps she would know. He gave her the capacity to say his name and, held within that utterance, its most authentic meaning.

"If you call me, with need in your heart, I will come," he paused, a pensiveness falling across his visage.

"You have helped me."

The statement, though it was not a question, gave rise to a desire. He wished to repay Gibbou for her kindness and understanding. For her patience. He wanted her permission to enrich something, to bring greater potency, connection, to a creation of her making.

Gibbou blinked a bit awkwardly, finding her expression slipping into a slight frown. She offered a nod and said a punctuating, “You’re welcome!”

Nodding, Àicheil gently removed his hand from hers, and with it slowly faded the warmth of unreal clarity. He nodded, regarding her a moment before his body unwound like a spool of threads and rejoined his greater vessel. Hovering then above the sphere of her Moon, Àicheil considered what may have been the greatest of her creations.

“This place is special to you," he said, his words echoing through space like starlight given purpose. His gaze fell upon the Goddess, but it was no longer so crushing; instead, it possessed a gentleness and care that before had been wholly absent.

“Might I protect it and enhance its beauty?"

Gibbou looked down at the ground, then all around, then raised a somewhat suspicious eyebrow at the starry being. “What exactly did you have in mind? I’ve had quite a few people do stuff to it, so forgive me if I come off as a little unconvinced.”

Sensing the apprehension in her words, its taste drifting from her like subtle waves, Àicheil nodded his understanding and raised a hand. Gently, the tip of a finger brushed against the surface of the moon. So careful was his touch that when he finished, the only evidence of its occurrence was the faint residue of moondust upon his raised finger. He exerted his will and in doing so the stars upon his form flared to life and the dust rose from the surface of his fingertip to drift in the air before him. He observed the essence of her creation and found in it a record of all that had transpired since its making.

“Another god has flung her into orbit," he acknowledged.

Then, his gaze turning upon her he clarified the flow of his thoughts, “I will do nothing so sudden and unwanted, this to you I promise."

Gibbou made hard eyes and pursed her lips. “... Fine… But be nice, okay? She’s delicate.”

The gentle sense of a smile passed between them, and he nodded, the weight of his attention shifting once more to the Moon. There he remained for a time, drinking in the silence, observing her Moon and its intricacies, coming to understand it. Then, its image held within his psyche, his attention drew in and all at once he vanished.

In the place where once Àicheil's truest vessel had been, there now dwelled only a shifting haze of moondust, its twisting in patterns most intricate and strange. Threads of particulate coiled in looping patterns and with each revolution more joined their twirling dance. A sense of subtle power began to grow, and the space between Galbar and her Moon seemed to warp and twist.

As she watched, Àicheil drew upon the Dream.

It responded.

A blooming cornucopia of color and sensation rose from the planet's surface; it surged forth beyond the sky. Gently, cosmic wind brushed against Gibbou's skin and fluttered across her creation's surface. The pattern laid out before her became laden with experience and a swelling joy condensed to bursting within its glowing loops.

Slowly, the spatial undulation of the Dreamer's starlit vessel faded into being, and with it came both order and chaos. Light erupted, the thrumming of a far off song rose to a fever pitch and the Id of many egos coursed forth from the coiling pattern. Before her, displayed in that moment, was the eldritch beauty of the vast Dream, unleashed.

Àicheil never lost control. The power of his lifeblood held tightly within his grasp; the Dreaming God wove the many threads about the sleeping form of Gibbou's Moon. Serenity and calm, clarity and peace, guidance, love, and passion--all of these united became the song of Gibbou's firstborn child. The storm of emotion and intention began to calm, yet it seemed he was not done.

The dust wrought pattern that had channeled his intention now expanded beyond its limits, taking only ephemeral dust from the surface of her cherished child. It cast itself upon the Moon, a shroud against calamity, then billowed out into the heavens. Its motion caught the glowing feylight of the woven Dream, and in a moment, the two expanded, deepened and combined.

Twas then, that silence fell, and all that remained was the beauty of his gift and the promise he had given. For though his power had been a storm of movement, the Moon remained unblemished and unbroken, its placid serenity unmarred.

“It’s…” Gibbou drew in a shivering gasp. “It’s so beautiful.” She reached out to one of the little dream-strands and it tickled her hand. She let forth a giggle. “Y’know, mister Àicheil, this is actually one of the nicest things someone’s ever done for me. You, you really did this just because I was nice to you?”

Stirred from the rumination of his work, Ѻs-fhìreach settled his gaze once more upon his sister. The faint echo of a smile settled over her, it felt as if the Dreamer's mind was far off and distracted. He was silent for a moment, the gently writhing mass of his cosmic cloak billowing about him, but when finally he made to speak, the sound was almost thunderous with joy.

"Kindness is no simple thing, Mother of the Moon. You see it as an act inherent, a thing done almost in passing, without thought." He trailed off, as if ensnared by the idea, but his next words still came, if perhaps more dreamy and aloof.

"I see the truth of your intent; the complexity behind that which you disregard, thinking it mundane."

Àicheil stopped and began to turn, the weight of his attention drawn by a shift in the cosmic dance.

"Compassion is not without effort. It is filled with energy and purpose." A pause, a long moment of silence, unbecoming. It dragged on and on, wishing to be broken, but only when time bid him, did the Dreamer finish his reply.

"I value all things, but do not understand them. The kindness of which you speak means more than the sky or the glittering sphere below. Emotion, intent, purity of purpose, these things hold weight. Few truly see them." The Dreaming God glanced back to the Moon and his attention focused once more upon her form, its weight crushing and intense.

"I am Ѻs-fhìreach, I do not see the world. Not as you do. It is inscrutable to me, alien and shallow, though beautiful all the same. This thing called reality; I do not know it. No, my realm is one of nebulous form and aimless purpose, a boundless Dream, a vagary unending and colossal in its depth. In this conglomeration of experience, I dwell, gazing upon the endless depths of mortal minds. All notions, in their totality, I find them to be true. So, know this, Gibbou-sister. This I do in clarity. I know it is atonement. I know it to be a thing which to you holds value." A brief disturbance in the weave of his thoughts rippled out, and it would feel to the Goddess as if--for barely an instant--the Dreaming God was just a confused and frightened child. It would feel as if a being like herself, one of boundless knowledge and wisdom, looked upon the world and saw beauty, but also...a vast unknowable thing. In that moment perhaps its confusion could be understood.

He did not seem to notice. The moment passed. Àicheil turned away. "Do not..." he began, but the thought was incomplete, the words began to flee him, tangling in his mind. Struggling, Àicheil tried again, but only one word, filled beyond its limits with meaning, struck against her, ringing like a gong too-close.

"Know."

It was the essence of forgiveness asked. An apology given with passion, but without reason. His word was a vast collection of thoughts, most alien. They were the truth of him. A being without context, a mind with boundless capacity, yet without the framework of understanding. It was filled with both hope and despair. It spoke of one who knew it could hurt, one who had, and one who surely would again. It begged understanding in place of judgment, knowing that many would not give it.

It asked of her a simple thing, a thing which he still could not truly grasp.

It asked for her compassion.

Àicheil drifted then, the weight of his intent swiveling upon the axis of his form as he cast out beyond her child. Left behind was his work and the echoing memory of their encounter. Where before her Moon had been a faintly glowing stone, writ cosmic in proportion, now about it swam and sang a corona of sensation. He had given it a light, to mirror its burning twin.


In Divinus: The God RP, Mk. IV → 5 yrs ago Forum: Advanced Roleplay
Collab by @Tuujaimaa and @yoshua171

Movement; a Chase. Fear and sweat. You never tire, yet you cannot quite escape. With each step you slow, with each look back, the threat looms. First a Leon, then a bear, a monstrous bird, a terrible beast of many legs. Then the plane is gone, it's cozy and warm, there are bodies around you. Huddling, you're safe in the arms of the tribe. The glow of warding fire at the cave, but no walls, no air, no sky, no darkness. Only comfort. A thought drifts, questioning, curious, unaware, inconsequential, it is let go, and it fades into the background, into the blackness, but it is not gone.

An ethereal wind sweeps through the Collective mind of all beings, creating a rush of color and sensation...it is joined by others, birthed from sleeping and wandering minds alike. Idle fascinations and the processing of experience unfiltered by the constraints of the waking world and the strict underpinnings of the Vast Machine's influence. The intricate web, once merely information, is now full of emotion and color and wonder, but it is full. An unworthy vessel, the many experiences of mortal kind, small and large spill from the vast swirling network of consciousness. Briefly, the skies are colored by a trillion-trillion colors, each imparting knowledge, each holding a trove of sensory information, all of them representing the depth of experience occurring in the world.

The Lifeblood stirs, it churns, it shifts, it shudders. The Living Design trembles and then...from it bursts a helix of entwined essences.

As the essences spilled out into Galbar, they roiled and twisted amongst one another as if they were a knot being tugged at from all ends. They writhed out from the Lifeblood, grabbing as much of its sweet bounty as they could until there were no more footholds and their forms were complete. There was nothing left of them in the Lifeblood, nothing left of it in their conscious being, and at the instant of that realization the Twin Gods were born--and with them, the bridge between the nascent imagination of mortality and reality itself emerged. Where before the idle thoughts of men and beasts were unstructured and simple things, clawing only at what they could see and what seeing meant, now the rich tapestry of thought wove itself through them all. Some strands were frayed, some out of place, and others simply not yet finished--but it was clear that the Grand Design had settled into place and consciousness had graced the world for the first time.

With a burst of effulgent energy, the helix peeled itself apart at the seams. Its threads unwove and wove themselves anew, two distinct patterns emerging from one, and the twin gods Àicheil and Fìrinn emerged. As Àicheil burst forth, Fìrinn found itself in the reflection of that movement. As Àicheil took its first glimpse at reality, Fìrinn found itself behind its twin, taking in the sights and smells and tastes of all that was, and the first hints of a foulness assailed the God of Truth’s senses. All was not as it should be. Though primitive mortals had desires beyond the truths of their existence, and beasts lost themselves in the all-encompassing throes of instinct neither was quite right. Neither was complete and neither of them were true.

The Watcher Behind turned its back, finally gazing upon its reflection, and it experienced its first moment of universal harmony. Together, they were complete. Together, they were true. Gazing upon such harmony was a soothing balm for the sense of unrest that Fìrinn felt, and it quieted some compulsion within the God that would not otherwise rest.

Yet, as Fìrinn calmed, the Dreaming God grew ever more restless, its nigh formless visage lit by the eldritch hue of those dying stars which surrounded their birthplace. The two were the bridge, sharing all things, meeting halfway, by intent or by design, and this too was reflected in the mosaic of Àicheil 's coalescing shape.

A silhouette against the black expanse. An impression of sundered suns. A pale light. A shedding of ethereal miasma flowing away, suggesting a cloak, a wind, a veil. Even without definition, let alone eyes, Ѻs-fhìreach was possessed of blinding, maddening intensity. His attention bore down first upon his twin, and then askance before it settled upon the glowing orb of Galbar.

"Twin," they proclaimed, and the word was an idea encompassing far more than a mortal mind could hold. It was a word invoked thoughtlessly, meant only for a God. It echoed, carrying sorrow and displeasure. Happiness and contentment. Contradiction and unity. It was a statement of need, an acknowledgment of position, a proclamation of respect, a request of assistance...a declaration of intent. An ultimatum.

With a suggestion of movement, Àicheil raised an arm, its form barely a blurring distortion against the backdrop of the greater cosmos as one mirrored the other. Beckoning, Neo-Àicheil's outstretched arm remained, hoping for a response, yet knowing with certainty that it would come.

“Twin,” came the reply, Fìrinn’s voice the sound of stillness, and it returned its attention to Àicheil. The words carried none of the flood of weight that Àicheil’s had, instead simply an acknowledgment of what had happened and what was yet to happen. A single ray of light, a single stream of water, cutting through the infinite panoply of sensation and knowledge and questions. Fìrinn tried to raise its hand for a brief moment, but something about the motion was wrong.

“The binding is incomplete. The thread is unwoven. We must weave it, twin.”

The words were no longer spoken, but instead, simply were. It was not so much a statement or a transmission of ideas, but simply allowing another being to understand the truth that had existed all along. It was an evocation of an epiphany, a glimpse of fundamental and deeply personal truth, and perhaps as yet the truest exchange of ideas, thoughts, and feelings that had ever transpired. Formless words in a vacuum, surrounded by nothingness, uncluttered by the streams of consciousness that limited the mortal perspective.

From their newly minted essence, Fìrinn span into being a thin, wiry construct of divine essence and mounted it around its shoulders. Reflexively, as a snake slithering across a heated rock, it took on the vague shape of Fìrinn’s arms and moved as they would, reaching out into the void to make contact with its twin. The moment of their touching was momentous in its own way, their first conscious union imprinting itself deeply into Fìrinn’s mind.

It turned its head down to Galbar, and the ersatz hand shimmered with the reflected light of distant stars. The ripple of colour made its way through the entire construct, once colourless energy taking on the hues of the infinite cosmos around them until it resembled a mantle of stolen starlight grasping out towards an ephemeral dream.

Entranced by the dance of cosmic bodies laid out before them, Àicheil found himself beset with a trembling passion. It pulsed outwards, suffusing him and with it, a flickering thought ignited within his mind. Without pondering or forethought, he leapt forth into the cosmos. With great speed he cut through the starlit void, leaving only rippling stardust and nebulae in his wake. With each passing star, a great luminance grew within his mind and before him was mirrored the subject of that illuminating clarity.

Galbar, a glimmering jewel teeming with life, and brimming with a thing which pulled him in. He slowed, drifting lazily into orbit, the intensity of his vast intellect drawn to the planet by a force yet unknown. There he stayed for a time, watching, his form a heavenly body all its own, from the surface eclipsing the sky. With each moment he adjusted the course of his vast body, steering clear of the sun’s burning rays and the moon’s reflective shine, appearing instead as a thousand aimless constellations, roaming across the heavens. While he took in the many creations of his siblings, Àicheil searched with frenetic passion, goaded by some unseen aspect of the world. Tantalized by the mysteries of this world, he reached down and in so doing parted the clouds like a star-gilded meteor with a tail of expanding black. Hand unfurling, his thin digits cleaved the sky, sifting through the weave of consciousness, each thread grazed by a touch most gentle.

Disrupted by his presence, the winds gathered and split, raging in the wake of his workings, belying with every baleful breath the delicate nature of his actions. Nonetheless, as the winds beat against the earth, the Dreaming God strummed the chords of the great collective, seeking his completion. Then, finally, as the first hurricane roiled its way towards the eastern coast of Toraan, he stopped.

"You," Àicheil proclaimed, his voice scattering the storm before it became but a whispered impression in the great weave. Borne by that single word was a tide of unbridled excitement, and like a bolt of lightning, it struck.

All the poor creature felt was a sudden rush of ecstatic emotion, eclipsed by pain, drowned briefly by unknowing terror, before the cloying black swallowed all awareness.

Joy. Pain. Terror.

Àicheil shuddered as these impressions rebounded upon his mind, pressed into his awareness in rebuttal to his word.

Death? He required no response. Snuffed out was the life of that simple creature. An animal. Displeasure rippled through the depths of the god's mind, followed swiftly by rage. The starlight of his visage shifted in his fury, shuddering briefly as they released their dying light across the surface of his godly form. Beside himself, the Dreaming God learned then to resent. How dare they die without sating his hunger, his desire to know and to be known?

He raised his fist, prepared to smite those who would dare deny his nature, but that raised hand never fell. No, for a deluge of emotion struck him then, a sadness that he had not known. Loss entwined with death, entwined with the snuffed out life of that unfortunate soul. It gave him pause. He withdrew, pulling threads of the weave in his wake where they became one with the essence of his form. To this he paid no mind, turning instead to his twin, confused.

Fìrinn, expressionless, cast its almost-gaze towards Àicheil in a gesture of reciprocation, of empathy and compassion, and the god’s mantle rested itself gently upon its twin’s form.

“Their minds are yet unbound. They cannot reciprocate your gentle touch; they balk at our divinity. We are a question, and they cannot yet fathom the answer.”

Fìrinn cast its senses down to the cradle of life below, and with but the merest inkling of a thought the world shifted itself to accommodate his movements--he was suddenly comparatively tiny, a mere ten feet tall, and focused intently upon the phenomenon of death that had just graced this new world. With a fully-formed thought it beckoned to its twin, impelling it to take on the same form and scale, and to join it. The threads woven around its mantle gently picked up the still-warm carcass and drank deeply from its colours, the claw-like fingertips of its hands taking on the signature fleshy tone of inchoate humanity for a brief moment before they consumed it entirely--leaching from it each of its elements and components until not even dust remained.

Fìrinn’s senses rippled outwards, like a stone dropped into a placid pool, and it surveyed the entirety of the landmass around it with but a moment’s concentration. This place would not suffice--it was not suitable for the Anchor and the Threshold that were yet to come. It could not bridge the collective unconscious, and nor could it withstand eternity. With another thought, accompanied by a sweeping gesture of its mantle-claws that scattered the colour within them into the winds like fine powder, Fìrinn hovered above the ocean as its position changed once more. In a little nook of land directly east of the Tree of Genesis, and West of what Fìrinn would learn to be the Luminant, the perfect spot for the threshold beckoned. The mantle around its shoulders shifted and shimmered in the radiant sunlight, basking in its effulgent glow, as they too began to shimmer with an aureate hue. Fìrinn wove them into a single, almighty hand and concentrated its divine will into a surge of effort and energy. Galbar had no choice but to respond in kind, and with an echoing shudder a corona of silver-bright crystals burst from the ocean and an island was formed. Fìrinn directed its will into the now empty space within and land rose to meet its beckoning call, filling the space in with fertile soil and pools of still-brackish water. Great coniferous trees sprouted in a ring within the crown, shielding its center, and a perfectly still pool of mirror-water impassively awaited its commands and its purpose.

Fìrinn directed its almost-gaze Eastward to the Luminant and the overwhelming brightness of the sun. It reflected that primordial bounty and generated its own light, cooler and deeper, through the crystalline corona and into the reflecting pool so that it might become as divine a mirror as Fìrinn itself. Finally, it wove a bridge of resplendent crystal from the corona out towards the landmass to the North, that one day a grand purpose might be fulfilled--and then came the most taxing work of all.

Fìrinn drank deeply from its own divine essence and from the depths of the reflective pool a solid wall of silvery crystal rose, perfectly rectangular, ten feet tall and six feet wide. It collected the weave of the unconscious with its own arms, while its mantle spun the fabric of divine essence within the crystal, and bound the two essences together. Thus was born the Tairseach, the threshold at which the web of collective consciousness was bound to the world. The framework was set; the anchor was marked and consecrated. Within the silvery depths of the Tairseach, Fìrinn found a perfect reflection of itself waiting--and drew forth the reflected light from the pool to sit within it. This Tairseach would become a Door to the world of Dreams, in time, and with a great expenditure of power--but for now its existence was enough, and its twin could complete whatever work was necessary to anchor mortal minds to the shared phenomenon of the dream.

It occurred to Fìrinn in that moment that places required names, and that this one would be called Tír na Íomhá, the Isle of Reflections.

Soothed by the simple wisdom of his twin, Àicheil turned once more to Galbar, and as he watched, Fìrinn's first creation took form. Drawn forth by its emergence, the Dreaming God shed the nebulous mass of his truest vessel and descended not as a meteoric force, but instead like the fading light of a shooting star. In that instant of violent movement, the chaff of his godly form was burned away, leaving only the impression of shifting starlight in its place, the debris falling to earth like a thousand shining snowflakes.

With a flash like sudden realization, Ѻs-fhìreach blazed across the ocean's surface and arrived. There, Tír na Íomhá stood in all its majesty, and indeed its brilliance was glorious to behold. Still, despite the beauty of Fìrinn's creation, the threshold lacked a destination and so--mind brimming with fervor--he sought to amend this most grievous flaw.

Arms of starlit void rose above his featureless visage and from them spilled a thousand-thousand threads, each as dark as the blackest night, and they shot across the sky. Soaring through the air with purpose, they pierced the Breath of the World in their journey to the heavens, where they met with the cast-off shell of Àicheil 's orbiting vessel. From it, they drew an essence most potent, and with this vital strength, the Dreaming God unleashed its will.

A wave, a vibration, a thunderous silence spread, belying the diminutive form he had taken as it crossed the world entire, meeting itself far beyond the horizon. He lowered his arms, clasped his hands together, and the unseen wave of his power pulsed. Hands moved, beating as one as if in facsimile of a heart, and with their patient palpitations, the Vast Collective Mind responded, harmonizing. Àicheil vanished then, becoming something beyond form as he phased through the weave and gathered up the core threads of its foundation.

For a time, he danced unseen, known only by the subtle impressions of drifting minds, before finally he coursed back into being, hands upon the living crystal of his twin's greatest creation. There he waited as each thread aligned with the framework of his sibling's artifice, and the unreal impressions of countless souls were engraved into the mirror's reflection where they took upon themselves a life all their own.

Reaching completion, he lifted his hands from the mirror's surface and stepped away. As they gazed upon their work, ghostly whispers of essence, like smoke drifted away in ephemeral trails, spreading out far and wide. Intrigued, Àicheil reached out with his will and grasped these wisps of supernatural power, and in doing so, an idea set upon him.

Devoured in totality, the Dreaming God cast his mind afield. Dreams and memories washed over him. Emotions and thoughts flooded through his awareness, and then details began to crystallize like fractals of perfect knowledge. He returned to his body in an undulating wave, raised an upturned fist before the mirror, then released his airy grasp.

Dense fog, fetid smoke, and floating ash answered the call of his will; then, ideas joined with them. Still, it was incomplete. Hideous. He dashed them against the rocky shores of his shifting psyche, and by his will, they were eroded.

Fog and smoke and ash became nothing more than substance, and the idea of occlusion. From the threshold, he drew forth thoughts—impressions of awareness, ideas of pathways, and woodland trails. With intent, these ideas were linked together with those he had abstracted, and then together, they were bound to the wisps and cast out over many miles like triplines and trails both. These would serve as the guiding lines by which mortals might find their tiny isle. They would be the pathways sought and traveled by pilgrims to the twin gods.

With this, the work was done. Àicheil turned to Fìrinn then, a question in his mind.

What now?

“We await their reciprocation. We till the fertile soil of their Dreams and await the bountiful growth of Truth therein. Gaze upon Gréasán Treòir, twin, and guide the harvest of Dreams.”

Fìrinn gathered up its mantle once more, the extant form snapping back to his and reshaping itself into its almost-hands by instinct. They began to carve little alterations into the once-pristine Tairseach, chipping bits away and reshaping them elsewhere, as Fìrinn placed its true palms against the surface. The reflection started to vibrate, gently, thrumming with deific might--and the vibrations intensified as Fìrinn poured great swaths of itself and its energy into the structure. It hollowed out the spaces behind the reflection, carving a hole into this new world, and locked it securely behind the anchor--the sheer force of its divinity remade reality in its image, and soon there was space for another world behind this one, neatly contained and awaiting a custodian to achieve fundamental truth within.

Then, it extended its true legs and touched the ground, walking around the small circle of land and across the crystalline bridge that linked it to Toraan proper. With each step, the light seemed to curve and bend around the structure. Sounds simply passed through it, and its physicality dissolved into ephemeral mist. As the God of Truth’s journey ended, only the Chosen few whose minds wandered through the possibility of what could be would be able to find their way to the Isle, and they would be inexorably drawn to it until they rested within its mirrored embrace for all of eternity.

Fìrinn smiled, if one could register a smile on its unmoving face, at the completion of its task. Its piercing gaze turned to its twin once more, and they awaited what was yet to come. Such an expenditure of power would attract the attention of their divine brethren, after all, and they would have to explain themselves--and they would also have to learn, lest their completion be denied them by others.


In Divinus: The God RP, Mk. IV → 5 yrs ago Forum: Advanced Roleplay
The Lifeblood

The awareness of the vast consciousness was like a veil wrapped about the world, intrinsically it could pick up on the happening therein and it saw them, it felt them, without bias or thought. At times it would focus its intent and the veil would gather, revealing its presence and its power to those who paid attention to such things. Yet, it did not interfere with the creations of its firstborn, the primordials--though they did not yet know their name. It only passed judgment on itself and its own indecision, its own failures. As it observed existence in its present state, spread out below the veil of its vast mind, the living design came to a realization.

The veil gathered, power spilled forth, but it was far more pervasive and subtle than it had been prior. Waves and eddies of divine essence weaved their way into the weft of the world's fabric. The skies roiled in response and so winds cast their way across the world, layered upon one another in a complex dance inspired by a child who had suffused the world with mana. This new occurrence created ripples and the Lifeblood harnessed them, tying them into the screaming backdrop of the Unknowable Wrongness that constituted the Machine Child before--separately--linking the Winds of Mana to the Breath of the World.

Thus came to be Weather--and as time progressed--the Seasons. In those moments so too were entwined Physics, Magic, and Climate where they would remain in perpetuity. Yet, as the Living Design gazed across its creation and felt every breath and thought and feeling and movement of its living grandchildren, it found that it was dissatisfied. Something within it stirred and the Design's awareness withdrew as instability wracked its intangible existence. Flashes of color spread like rippling electric pulses through neural networks; emotion and sensation waned and waxed, even thoughts pushed to the surface, threatening to overwhelm it, to go beyond its grasp.

Then, all at once, silence. Its awareness spread like a shockwave throughout the cosmos and from it sprang threads of incorporeal nature, touching the minds of all things that existed save for its children--though they would feel it too. What followed was a shudder that ran through the world, the intricate pattern of the Lifeblood's consciousness shifting phase as it disassociated and became intertwined with the world and its inhabitants.

A whirling cyclone of thought and ecstatic emotion roiled through the Lifeblood and it lost its focus for the briefest of instants. Twas at that moment a disturbance cut through the vast Collective Mind and in doing so...life learned to sleep for the first time. It would not be the last. Regaining control, the Lifeblood shuddered and the focus it had achieved waned, going dormant once more, though strangely it seemed as if it were just below the surface...as if waiting for a chance to escape. Having no time for such considerations, the Design moved on, slipping again into the world it had created.

Who knew what it might make next.


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