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Member Since 13 Sep 2013
Offline Last Active Aug 24 2021 02:28 PM

{OPEN} The Fearful King

17 July 2020 - 12:08 AM

Inside his high fortress in the clouds, the imposter king ~Eli was pacing the length of his throne room, back and forth. Great worry plagued him, as it had for several years now. This charade had begun innocently enough; for all intents and purposes, he was Eli. He felt no different than Eli. The memories -- creating the Dimensional Plane, presiding over the Embodiments, fighting the Harbinger, losing his brother -- those were all his memories. At least, they felt like his memories. However; they were not, in fact, his memories.


Still, it had to be done, he had told himself. If he did not step up and rule the Embodiments, they would fall into chaos. Especially seeing as how his idiot brother had gone and gotten himself killed. Where was Destruction now? He was not sure. That much worried him too. At any moment, Destruction, or worse, the real Creation, could rise up and reveal ~Eli's lies. What would happen to him then? The Embodiments would not look kindly upon an imposter having lived among them as their ruler, and as much as it pained him to admit it, ~Eli WAS an imposter. All the more reason for me to build that... Thing.


~Eli approached a tall window and peered outside it at the clouds of North. He had lived here for thousands of years. Not in this body, maybe, but the memories were his, damn it. Who else's could they be? The "real" Eli had gone and gotten himself killed too, something ~Eli did not understand. He had hated his brother. Why die with him? It didn't make any sense. More importantly, why hadn't he named a successor? It was a real problem.


~Eli let out a deep sigh as he allowed his mind to wander to more pleasant things. He knew North like the back of his hand. It had essentially become his domain. Now that his actual domain was inaccessible to him, it most assuredly was where he spent all his time. He had never wasted much time on the City of the Embodiments. This was where he belonged, and he would do whatever it took to remain here. For now, that meant finding a way to stop anyone from finding out the truth, as much as that pained an embodiment such as he who had placed such a great emphasis on always being truthful. These are the small prices we must pay, I suppose, he told himself.

The Konoqi

16 July 2020 - 08:42 PM

Mesorae Goldlight, AKA The Konoqi (Shadow Prophet)




The Umbra Faith


Long ago, a splinter group of Perfect left the populated cities and headed for a hilly region in East known as the Dirtlands. These Perfect did not see themselves as gods, but as a humble race that had gained great power, and thus should seek to understand their power and existence as a whole. These Perfect detested the name their brethren had taken for themselves, and instead called themselves Scholis. Over time, they grew to be a culturally distinct region, with their own language and religion as well.


Thirty eight years ago, Mesorae was born among the Dirtlands. Not much is known about his past, but it is known that, from an early age, he became a student of The Umbra Faith. He moved from temple to temple as a child, and eventually ended up at the Grand Shadow Temple, rising through the ranks of the faith. For some reason, however, his growth track met an end, and he was sent to represent the faith in Faviste, arguably the cultural capital of the Perfect. There, he is the Court Astronomer at Aedier Palace, where many of the elite Perfect reside, spending their days in luxury and decay.


There, Mesorae has gained the title of Konoqi. In his own language, it is an honorary title meaning "Shadow Prophet" -- a title he has not earned. In the court, it is a title used in contempt and jest, an insult to his form. None the less, many a Perfect at the court has come to him for his insight into scholarly topics. While he is heeded for his advice on practical matters, few give his words on religion weight, as he preaches that someday the Shadow Lord will return and once more submerge the world in darkness. Still, he preaches on..

This is a topic. You are a topic. No, you're a topic.

28 June 2020 - 08:03 AM

The phrasing of the universe is mine to determine.

I am the master of my own reality.

I am the master of my own circumstances.


Is there beauty in this chaos?




SPHERES         ;;                  univeses


Red explosions upon the page


Blue explosions upon the page






You will bow before me.








the universe was created by me



27 June 2020 - 03:26 PM

It was late, and the boy knew better than to be dreaming of a warm, comfy bed. He would not have it tonight, for he was too busy tending to his flock of sheep. The night was winding down, and many of his sheep had laid down for bed. A few still idly grazed. The boy watched them contemplatively, as he lightly strummed upon his gyark. The notes of his instrument seemed to please the sheep, some of which lightly baaaa'd during the pauses in between his playing.


The boy's faithful guard dog sat next to him as well, constantly on alert for predators that might threaten the flock. The hound was in an alert position, eyes constantly scanning the horizon. Together, boy and dog, master and hound, were sitting underneath a tall willow tree. The temperature was brisk, and dropping fast. This was not an easy life, but as the youngest son, it was the boy's duty to Shepard the sheep, wandering the back country. How long would he be estranged from his loved ones back home? How long would he be away from his warm bed?


"Zhalit," a calm female voice spoke softly, from behind.


The boy nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of his sister. He rose to his feet at once, trying to formally present himself as he dusted off the dirt and grass he wore upon his person. What was she doing here!? It had been many weeks since the boy had seen his sister. A great joy filled his entire being. When he saw her standing beside the willow tree, he at once dropped all pretense of formality, and swept in to hug her.


As she welcomed his embrace, the boy's eyes caught sight of another figure behind her. He recognized this figure -- it was Kojack, a worker from his father's estate.


"Father needs you to come home at once," his sister revealed as the hug ended. "Kojack will tend to the flock."


"Is... Is everything okay?" the boy asked.


"Yes," his sister revealed, "There is good news waiting at home. Come quickly, Zhalit. Oh, you must," his sister replied, lightly tugging upon his hand.


"V... Very well," the boy replied, a storm of emotion building up inside him.


The boy turned to his faithful canine companion, patting him on the head and glaring at him with sad eyes. The dog looked up to Zhalit, seeming to sense that he would be leaving soon. He lightly licked at the boy's leg, as if he was saying, "It's okay, master. Go. I will be here doing my job."


The boy gave the dog a smile, and turned to Kojack. He began to explain the particularities of the sheep, and to express any information the worker would need to Sheppard the flock. The boy could hardly contain his excitement. Here he had been, dreaming of returning home, and what fate! He was to receive his wish. Or so he thought...


A cold wind blew upon the pasture on this backwoods planet. From a nearby hill, a cloaked figure watched the scene, peering through the darkness with glowing blue eyes, light as frost. He wore a serious expression upon his face. It did not seem as if the party below had noticed him, standing here, watching this scene play out.


He spoke to someone not obviously present -- someone hiding even further in the shadows. "No... I don't think he's ready. The beginning is nigh. However; this may not be the one we are seeking."


A pause.


"Another game, you say? The last one did not turn out so well."




"Very well. I say, that should we give him an adventure, he shall fail. He is a simple Sheppard who has never known magic, nor any advanced science. All he knows is his sheep."




"I accept your wager."


A new journey was soon to begin.

{Satya} You Are A Mistake

22 June 2020 - 11:47 PM

Blood had been spilled here, not long ago, on this strange island that was not supposed to exist. Where was it? Who knew. It simply was, somewhere. However; it was not supposed to be anywhere. An island that was not supposed to exist, floating in the middle of a blue sky, location unknown. What's more; the island was slowly dying, crumbling, eroding. What happens when an island that isn't supposed to exist dies?


The island itself was mostly sand and volcanic rock, with a small jungle making up the interior. At the center of the jungle, the only seemingly man made object existed, a large temple that radiated with power, as if it was screaming, I'm here! Come see what ancient secrets I contain! As if it was the most audacious temple that had ever existed, despite its rather unflattering stone architecture.


Here, not long ago, the island had cried out for help. Somebody save me! It had forcefully teleported unwilling bystandards to its shores, and not everyone had made it out alive. However; despite its best efforts, it apparently had not been saved, and the island was once more empty. Alone. Destined to perish in solitude, or so it seemed.


On the beach, the air began to swirl with a dark, sinister energy. This dark energy had hints of color -- some red here, some blue there -- but overall, it took on a black hue. This energy convalesced to form a portal, from which a man with grey hair and a stocky build emerged, his face somewhat wrinkled and apparently not amused. He wore a simple black sweater and khaki pants, and a very nice pair of leather shoes. Frankly, he looked like somebody's uncle or grandfather, somewhat out of place on this crumbling volcanic island in an unknown sky.


Having emerged on the island, the stranger waved his hand, and the portal behind him faded away. He turned his attention to the temple at the center of the island, the top tower of which was visible even from here on the beach. He could feel the magic radiating from that place in pulses, like an SOS being sent through the air to anyone who would listen. The stranger did not seem particularly moved by this powerful temple. If anything, his face expressed pity towards the lonely stone building.


"You poor abomination," the stranger spoke, his voice the kind of deep that reeks of authority. He started to draw a circle in the sand with his foot.

"You are a mistake. But we shall soon fix that, now won't we?"