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When god dies

The necromancer had spent at least 3 centuries on this plan. Now it was so close to fruition he could hardly contain his enthusiasm. He had spent so long turning a faith of one of the gods against it, telling the Paladins and Clerics that their god was conspiring with the Hells to begin a war of the heavens and be the only true god left. Aghast, the faith began the year long ritual to temporarily break the Divine Gate and pull their god down to the mortal realm and deliver justice to the fallen god.

The ritual was a success and the Paladins and Clerics fought with such ferocity one would think they were mad; but after a 3 day long battle the god was beaten and lay on the ground demolished. It’s celestial aura slowly fading from its corpse. It was when the aura was just about gone was when the necromancer made his move. He quickly pulled out his scroll with the ancient spell and began reciting the lines of arcane; letting the wisps of magic encircle him he quickly glanced around and saw the survivors of the faith all rejoicing with one another unaware of his doings. Perfect.

With a clap of his hands the scroll disintegrated and the wisps attached themselves the fallen god. At first nothing; but then the necromancer felt the connection he knew so well. In a booming voice he yelled out, “Rise my creation! Rise and forever be mine!” And with that, the body of the fallen god wretched and began to stand. The survivors all looking in horror only just realizing what they had done. Infuriated they all began their march towards the necromancer, and with a voice of dominating presence he looked out to the field od the holy warriors and exclaimed, “What is a mortal to a man who controls a god?!”

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Stronghold

What comes to mind when that word is said? Some, if not most, would think of maybe some form of castle; but why must it be stuck in a single location? A stronghold is something that will need to be defended in the future. What if I told you that with a little imagination and creativity, that anything can become a stronghold? A favorite of mine is a warship.

The Factions of Myria

Elves: With their secluded island, the Elves are not like many in Myria. They have mastered the ocean and have the strongest naval fleet. With enchanted barriers protecting the island, only the chosen may ever dream of seeing the nature molded architecture of these mysterious folk. They have an alliance with the Dwarven Kingdom that dates back to the Forge of the World, and an uneasy alliance with the Humans who know of only war and bloodshed.  The elves mostly refuse to deal with any of the other races due to them believing that the others can’t comprehend their intelligence.

“Our bond with the Dwarves is as strong as their mountains and are valued allies and friends; but to near a human is to dance with a demon, never knowing when they will strike back at you.” –Illi’athor Windspeaker, High King of the Elves

 

Dwarves: The two kingdoms of the Dwarves have always bickered at their other kin, but will never turn their back when the chips fall. Master smiths of the plane, the Dwarves use ancient magic to warp ore and gem to their will giving it new shape. The Great Obsidian Gate to the south and the Sun Gate to the north have never been breached. Unlike their Elven allies, they will deal with any and all of Myria’s races as long as coin or trade is involved.

“The Forge of the Mistress is ever trying. May she guide and protect us when the embers cool” -Grand Priest Dunbrack Onyxbeard, Leader of the Northern Kingdom 

“Through fire and hammer, we shall craft our own destiny. For our Mistress is strong, but when the Core Light extinguishes we will be there to defend.” -Gorn Spitfire, King of the Southern Kingdom

 

Humans: The humans are a newer race to walk the fields of Myria, but one they do with sword in hand and a trail of death behind. Known to all as the war-fueled race, they carved their kingdom to the east as well as a smaller kingdom in the center of Myria so many would be forced to involve them in trade and business.

“Many mock us as the weak race to walk this realm, well I’d like to see them try and take this kingdom from us. We built our world on the blood of their corpses and I’ll be damned if they think they can take it away without a fight.” –King Ryan Sanguis the Mad, Second King of Humans

 

Myrians: These are the races not of the Grand Alliance. They include: Orcs, Half Breeds, Gnomes, Halflings, Demon-Touched, Draconian, Beastian, & the ones known as the High Sentient.  Many have their own pacts and truces with each other and do deal in trade with the Grand Alliance, but tend to take care of their own and those known as Myrian.

“If you help us when in time of need, then we too shall send aid. Any clan or tribe to break the Oath of the Myr shall be exiled.” -Spirit Seeker Kuju, Half-Orc Shaman & Speaker of Myr

When realities collide

Samuel was a simple mage who had lived half his life learning the arts of magick. He used to be an adventurer, like so many others; but the constant dangers of the life began to make him search for a new purpose. It was at this time that the Elder Deity, Ckle’pyth, saw a new vessel for his “inspirational thoughts’. The deity sent Samuel thoughts and dreams of other worlds. Worlds that shined with metal structures and explosive propulsions, and even more mind bending; the dreams had flight among the heavenly bodies in the skies.

Thoughts of this magnitude began to drive Samuel insane. Not before long would he go on day long rambles before succumbing to a pitched fever and passing out. Only once when he began to act upon these dreams, did the insanity begin to subside. Slowly he learned the crafts of carpentry and smithy to help make his thoughts, those insane visions, a reality.

It took him just over 40 years. Forty years of non stop, ever evolving work. A beautiful combination of magick, wookwork, and metalry was this behemoth of a creation before him. With a sigh of relief and awe in his work, the voices subsided and nearly vanished. An eerie quiet was sweeping through his mind until he felt it. The presence of the one who gave him the curse of visions. A single word was whispered in his ear; a word that gave this beast life and purpose. The elder deity mumbled into Samuel’s consciousness, “Spaceship.”

A River That Carves Through The World II

It’s been at least a week and I’ve noticed subtle gaps in the security here. The guards, for the most part, will give you small portions of extra rations if you simply show them a little extra skin. Ha. Fools the lot of them. If only they knew what went on in my head as they give me more rations to build my strength. My ‘fellow’ prisoners have all been completely subdued by the high bitch. Not me. Not ever. I already have the start of a plan to get me out of here and how to use some of the prisoners. 

Walking back with her escort to the holding cell, River continued to “accidentally” allow her rags to fall to gain the guards gaze at her bosom so she could continue to learn the layout of the prion; it seems to be mostly an open cave system with rope bridges connecting adjacent stalactites together as miniature bases. Simple, gullible guards. They will soon look at me with fear rather than lust. Pushing her in, the guards locked the cell for the night then joined the small patrol sitting at a table 50 feet away.

In whispered tones, River said, “Elf, have you been able to complete the task?” In an irritated look, the elf male looked to her with a frustrated sigh, “How many time do I have to tell you my name is Elian’oor? You must have some sort of manners ingrained into you since you’re a female drow. It wouldn’t hurt to use them from time to time…… But, yes. I have finally been able to file two rock shards down to pick the manacles and the locked door.” Nodding, River looked over the other prisoners, “Does everyone understand the plan? If you don’t, speak up now.”

One of the human females raised her hand rather shakily, “I- Uh. I don’t remember my part.” Damned humans. Had to be the frail one to forget too. She seems like even though she lives…..lived on the surface that she’s never seen daylight shatter across her skin. “You said you had some knowledge of the arcane, yes? All you are to do is to cast your spells to try and keep the guards from getting too close.” The other drow spoke up; odd since he’s hasn’t said much since I arrived.

“I believe your plan is folly and all it will do is get us killed. I will remain here and survive while you lot go running around to die. I won’t speak of the plan to any of the guards, but I will not join you either.”

Weakling. No wonder he’s been here for so long. Could even be a spy left in here by the priestess in case anything like this were to happen. No matter, if any suspicion is raised before the escape he will be the first to go. “Then do whatever pleases you.” River sneered.

Looking back to the rest, “We enact our plan in the morning. Elf- Elian’oor, if you would be so kind as to begin picking the locks on our manacles. Once all are done I’ll setup the distraction that no guards see you go after the door.” It took longer than what River wanted but mused it had to be either that the elf was incompetent or that it is actually difficult to pick a lock with two filed rocks. Probably the elf is just stupid.

Walking up to the cell bars, River whistled for a guard’s attention. “Excuse me, guard? I believe the sickly looking human might need a small pouch of medicine to do her rounds for tomorrow.” Inaudible arguing with two of the three guards laughing at the one who was shaking his head stood up and began to walk over pulling a tiny bag of herbs from his pouch. “This is the last time this week. If she continues to get worse, she’ll just be left for dead you hear?” Nodding, attempting to give her most innocent face, as she smiled sweetly to the guard.

Reaching the cell, he handed the pouch over and began to turn to leave when River reached out her hand and ever so gently tapped him on the shoulder. “Hmm? What now prisoner? If you waste more of my time it’ll be down in the pit for three nights for you!”

“Oh nothing to bother you good sir. It’s just-” her voice seemed much gentler than he has heard since she arrived; it was oddly soothing and he could not walk away. “Just that it’s been so long since I’ve felt the touch of a powerful man. There were so few back in the city, and not many here; but you seem to be one who suits my interests. What if I was to go to the pits for another reason?” Her eyes flashed a beautiful ocean blue gleam that is a rare color for drow. Her hands so soft on his arms bringing him closer to the cell bars.

“Now if you’re trying to bribe me for more ration or easier rounds it won’t work prisoner. We follow all orders given by the High Priestess.” he leaned in closer to whisper something in her ear, but that was when she heard the click of the darksteel cell door unlock. Her hands, quick as a whip, grabbed the guard’s throat and pulled him into the bars. Squeezing tighter and tighter, all the guard could do was look into the eyes of River as his life ended quicker than he thought. Those eyes. The eyes that were as clear and beautiful as the ocean were now blood red and filled with the rage of an angered god. His body fell, hitting the stone floor with a heavy thud, “Now!” she screamed.

Gods yes! Blood! Death! Great Bane above, grant me the power to slaughter all in our way!

A River That Carves Through The World I

In Drow society the women are the priestesses and the ones in charge, while the men do all the grunt work and the arcane magic. River’s house was no different and she, being the only daughter, was being pruned into a faithful follower of Loth. Growing up she never like the ideas of Loth, the subtle backstabbing, the poison, through chaos comes opportunity. River was a bit more forward in her thoughts and believed that sneaky tactics to get what you want is silly and never useful. If she wanted something she would crush who had it and take it. This brought her attention to a certain God, Bane. Bane’s domains were Tyranny, Destruction, and Death; all things River could get behind and did so vehemently. One day while there was only one of her brothers guarding her she grabbed his sword and pierced it straight through his gullet to the hilt. Sliding it out, covered in blood, she felt a love for death that had never been felt before. In a frenzy fueled lust she roared out in a sound that could only be described if heard as a howl from a mad beast. Running from her room into the main house she slashed and slaughtered any who even dare look at her; as she made her way into the city and out into the vast Underdark. Pledging herself to Bane she vowed to destroy the world below before conquering the world above.

 

This is the first step she took to becoming a conqueror not of lands, but of lives.

 

She knew the city well enough to run through the streets that most tried to avoid and made it out of the back gate of the city. Running. Rage. Exhilaration. She was free from her damned house and on a warpath to show the world what she was capable of. But then, darkness.

Waking up she felt the cold stone against her face and feeling around found her limbs bound by darksteel chains. Well this is a bit of a change from what I remember. Must’ve been struck by one of the Shadow Guards of the city; but this doesn’t look like the prison I know of. Glancing over she saw other races, most of which don’t even belong in the ground below. Two humans, a Dwarf, orc, another Drow, some poor existence looking fish thing, and an elf. Well fuck, looks like I got caught by slavers. “Oh look, she’s awake.” One of the humans pointing at her talking to the other. Kneeling down by River the human female seemed to frail to even walk in the sun, let alone be here. And the other one looked a bit more hardened, but still seemed too weak to be here. “Are you okay miss?” Miss?! This idiot obviously has never met one of my kind or she is too trusting. Glaring at the human River sat upright and let out a low growl.  Looking at the other Drow, “You. Male. Where am I?” It seems this one was trained well since his posture immediately straightened when spoken to by her, “We are in a High Priestess of Loth’s cell. They wish to transport us for a ritual.” “And you lot are just waiting here to be slaughtered?! Fight these captors and free yourselves. Mostly for me. “They would if they could, but you see little dark bitch I have control over them as long as they are here by me.” Turning, River saw their captor and warden. A beautiful dark priestess whose spiderlike gown flowed and gave away almost too much for the imagination. In a hand was a staff with strange flexing tentacles. “And I guess that you, the oh so high and mighty priestess, is the one running this shit show? Congratulations are in order for you since now you are number one in my life. You, you crazed bitch are top of the list to get fucking murdered by none other than myself and these lovely hands of mine.” The priestess smirked and without even a flick of her hands, the tentacles swiftly struck out, lashing at River until blood fell from over two dozen wounds. Glaring into the cage, “Looks like we have a fighter. No matter. You soon shall become a follower like the rest of this pathetic lot.” Walking a few paces from the cage the priestess look at a guard who was more decorated than the rest, “You are to guard them and to make sure that insolent bitch knows who has her.” Saluting, “Yes ma’am.” Looks like I’m going to have to think of a way out of here. I wonder how I can use these maggots to my advantage.

The origin of Berry

Faeries are a peculiar bunch. No one ever really finds them; in fact it is usually the opposite. The Fey tends to come around when not wanted, but a meeting with one will always leave you changed; whether for the better none can truly say. One such meeting was when an Elven prince stumbled into the Feywild due to a miscalculation in his transport spell.

Knowing the time magics of this realm he decided it best to rest up prior to setting out again. During his rest, he dreamt of a beautiful being who seemed to have elfish features, from at least what he could see of her. Staring for too long blurred the vision and gave pain to the eyes. A blink and she was gone, another and she was standing behind him, sniffing at him in curiousness.

“What brings you to my realm of the Prism Meadow?”, asked the woman with a voice that if listened to hard enough could detect at least 3 distinct vocals. Taken aback by her forwardness, nothing like the elves back in his kingdom, he coughed to gather his thoughts before interacting with this — thing? Being? What was she?

“I am High Prince Lah’ lanithil, son of the King of the Forest and Weaver of the Stars; and I offer my humblest apology if I in anyway barged into your realm. I happened upon this place when I was working on a new transport spell. If you’ll have me for the day, I will leave once I recover my energy and not bother you anymore.”

She tilts her head in thought and stares hard at the little Elf prince with her cat-like slits. A small, ever so subtle, grin appears on her delicate featured face. “Grand Mr. High elf, you mean to tell me that one of your stature comes into my home unannounced and asks to stay awhile all while presenting me with no gift to give my favor? You wound me.” She feigns distress and trying her best to hide that grin of hers.

Flushed the prince bows, “I offer my deepest and sincere apology, but I have not on me save for the clothes I wear. I have no gift to give.” A quick flash in her eye and that sly grin barely showing now. She puts her hand over her mouth to hide it and feign contemplation.

“I believe there is a gift you can give and gain my favor to rest here until you regain your magic once more. All I ask is for a simple offering. You see I don’t get many visitors here in my realm of the Wilds and I do so love company. I happen to dabble in magics as well and have recently finished a formula for a ritual to create what you would consider a person of company……. A friend some say? But to complete my spell I need something not of this realm; it requires a vial of blood, a lock of hair, and a single thing of importance from the same person.”

The prince ponders for a moment, “I see no reason not to aid you if it will allow me safe passage until my leave, but I have nothing of importance on me.”

“Nonsense, you silly Elf.” Her eyes begin to light up a hint of yellow not seen before, “You could give me your title. What’s a little title to a elf prince? I’m sure you’ll get more down the line. Weaver of Stars does sound so pretty too.”

Thinking that this woman must be mildly out of her mind, what could a title do for a spell anyway? Believing he got the better end of the deal he agrees; filling up the vial, cutting a small bundle of hair, and “I offer up to you my title of Weaver of Stars in accordance to our deal.”

Then,

Darkness.

Never-ending darkness.

The feint sounds of laughter can be heard before sight is brought back to him. Standing next to his father, the King of the Forest; but there seems to be something wrong. Why are guards surrounding me? He goes to speak but no good, his voice is gone. “Take this failure of a son away. I must start my line again….. He has no magic.” No magic? That’s impossible, he is the Weaver of Stars; a title given to those who are strong in high magics……… But wait, he gave up his title to that woman didn’t he? Did she somehow take his magic as well?

Darkness consumes him once more.

Finishing up her ritual the mistress of the meadow speaks the final word and winds begin to sweep up around her, covering her sight of the magic circle. After a few moments the wind dies down revealing what appears to be a baby half-elf. Picking up the child, “It is done then. My son has been born and I shall soon walk among the material plane once again. You’re name shall be Berry Meadowgem.”