In The Past:
At a first glance from some distance away, the Realm does not appear to be extraordinary at all, merely another piece of the universe, containing water, earth, vegetation and other such things. Yet, something appears to be wrong about it. A strange cacophony of sounds fills the air, although its exact origin is unclear, seeming to come out of the landscape itself.

A closer inspection of the terrain reveals that all is not what it seems here, and is in fact, far from normal. The earth itself is merely a thin layer of some artificial soil-like substance, covering a metal construction which contains an immeasurable – and possibly unnecessarily complicated – clockwork mechanism that runs beneath most – if not all – of the realm. The water too is not real water, but some kind of oily substance, meant as a lubricant and coolant which keeps the mechanism working, seeping slowly into the gears of the contraption below. Even the vegetation itself is a mechanical copy of the real thing, with the plants being fine and detailed contraptions, their branches and leaves slowly moving around as the countless gears inside them turn and interact. The omnipresent cacophony of sounds is merely the orchestra of machinery, the metallic sounds of grinding gears, whistling boilers, thumping pistons, and many more of such things working together in a technological harmony.

In The Present:
When Chalybis went dormant and suffered from millions of years of neglect, so did His realm. The rivers of oil ran dry; the mechanisms jammed and rusted, and over time, even the very laws of nature that held the place together broke down from neglect.

Currently, the once great realm has been shattered into many island-sized regions which all float around aimlessly now that gravity itself has become unhinged. The regions are made up from countless gears and other parts like they were before, now fused together into great lumps after aeons’ worth of rust and mould have gathered on top of them. In some places, actual organic life has even began to form

The only place that has remained relatively intact is the Citadel, which was once the core of His realm-sized machine. Although it is hanging in the void now that its fundaments have drifted away, the Citadel itself remains motionless and fixed in its position at the exact centre of the realm. It is still operational after all this time, producing a nigh-endless amount of mechanical energy and occasionally producing batches of Clockwork Servants. However, it has deteriorated somewhat, and the Servants it now produces are of much lower quality than those from the past.

Most of the original Clockwork Servants went dormant with Chalybis, except for those in the direct area of the Citadel, as they were capable of sustaining themselves with its power. As the aeons passed by, much of the knowledge they had gathered was forgotten, with ever less of them being around to remember it. Eventually, the technology of the Citadel, which had been rather ‘mundane’ to them in the past, became something of mystical proportions. (This is somewhat understandable, as it was a mountain-sized machine which created life, sustained life, and took life as it desired.)

The remaining Originals, together with the lesser Clockwork Servants the Citadel kept producing over time, began their civilization anew, basing it around the reverence and maintenance – or attempts thereto – of the Citadel, neglecting the rest of the floating islands around them and hastening its decay. Over time, they have achieved little, their fragments of knowledge they had not forgotten being insufficient to properly maintain the Citadel, and having no real need to do anything else as they were sustained by its infinite power.

They have also forgotten about Chalybis, and will probably be somewhat disturbed by His return as they find that they are unable to disobey as much as a single letter from His commands, for this was their original purpose. At the moment, they live in small groups which revere the Citadel as their new god, and the few remaining Originals – who are far superior to them in every possible way – as its Avatars.

The Revised physique still resembles that of the Orginals, based around spherical bodies which contain a single glowing eye and a large power generator, and to which at least six limbs are attached – four for locomotion, and the others as manipulators or specialized appendages. However, they are somewhat smaller and made of inferior materials which did not last through time as well as the Originals. Therefore they are now rusted and deteriorated like Chalybis and His realm.

*Plink, Plink, Plink*

ART0-235-187 was carefully chipping away at the hard surface in front of it, the pickaxes at the end of its arms - all four of them - mostly worn away by decades of work. The layer of rust, mould, and other undefinable substances before him was rock-hard after all these ages, and almost impossible to work. Despite that, it went on tirelessly, slowly etching another man-sized yet intricate rune upon it...

Countless years ago, ART0-235-187 had been working on the Citadel along with many others, but only it had been struck by a powerful bolt of red lightning which had suddenly surged from one of the Citadel's immense rotating pillars of divine energy. At that moment, it became enlightened, realizing how pitiful its current existence was and what had to be done to amend this. It had left its post - defying the explicit orders of an Original, something which had not been seen ever before - and clambered out of the Citadel. Outside, it began to scale it, climbing to the very top of the divine machine. There, it had begun to hack away at the layer of detritus that surrounded it, eventually creating a perfectly smooth ring around the Citadel, exactly a hundred meters below the jagged exhaust at its very top.

After the smooth surface had been created properly, it had received a new flash of insight, and began to carve a series occult runes and glyphs into it, none of which it had ever put its eye upon before it had created them. Somewhere during the process, its power source ran out, its components began to rust, and the mechanisms within it became silent. However, the divine spark within it persisted, forcing the weak body to continue on despite its condition, hacking endlessly at the Citadel's surface.

Now, its work was almost completed, with only several blows remaining before the final rune would be finished. It did not yet understand what it had created for it could not read. However, anyone with the ability to understand the divine languages could read the message it had crafted clearly.


Time Might Have Taken Its Toll
 The Ruler's Body Might Have Withered
 Evil Into This Realm Has Slithered
Yet The Ruler Remains In Full Control

As Has Been Spoken By Divine Decree
 The Ruler Of Old Shall Once More Rise
 Returning From Its Foul Demise
Its Powers Shall Again Be Free

The Citadel Shall Tremble At Its Sight
The Fake Avatars Shall Flee Its Spite
Yet None Shall Escape The Ruler's Might

This Is the End Of The Rulers Vow
 Those That Read It Should Pay Heed
 For Failure To Certain Doom Will Lead
The Time Of Its Return Is Now


As ART0-235-187 felled the last blow and completed the final letter, the runes lit up with divine energy, crackling with power as it fractured the surface beneath it. The fractures spread upwards, until they reached the rim of the exhaust above, where they disappeared into the black fog it continuously belched outwards. The crackling lightning slowly died out, and for several tense moments, everything went completely silent as the Citadel itself ground to a sudden halt.

An instant later, countless rays of red light beamed outwards through the cracks in the surface, and the entire top of the Citadel was virtually disintegrated, causing an avalanche of debris to roll down its flanks and taking down with it the unfortunate remains of ART0-235-187. What remained at the top was and a blazing red orb inside a vortex of swirling debris. The orb shrunk as the vortex around it sped up and drew the rusted parts within it ever closer, moulding them into gears and pistons which were then assembled into larger contraptions.

Eventually, the Vortex died out, leaving behind a mechanical humanoid body, almost five men high. As the red light, which had illuminated the entire realm with its brightness, was drawn into the mechanical construct, it disappeared completely, plunging the realm into darkness once more. Moments later, it flared up again - although less bright - within the otherwise featureless forehead of the construct, activating it. A trail of sludge began to spill out of an exhaust on its back, and the rusted components sprung into action, grating and scraping heavily as they moved. Eventually, the construct stepped forward, and spoke with a thundering voice that literally trembled the earth before it.

I: I Have Returned


OOC: How's that for an intro?

(Impressive..)

The creatures of clockwork - those still awake - scattered and stared up at their Master, surprised at his powerful resurrection. As far as they could understand shock, they were shocked.

As He stood upon the top of the Citadel, outlined by the pitch-black smoke from the exhaust that had resumed flowing once more, His gaze swept slowly over the realm before Him. This was not how He had remembered it. The clouds of smoke that filled the skies as far as even His eye could see had changed from pure white into a noxious black, lit only by the many furnaces that were scattered all across the realm. The steel surface beneath His feet had rusted and was covered in a thick layer of detritus, and the very foundation of His realm had been shattered, leaving the remnants as islands that floated aimlessly through the blackened sky.

Turning His gaze downwards, He noticed the Clockwork Servants on the surface far beneath Him. They too were not in the same state as before, rusted, damaged, and flawed, not unlike the realm itself was. However, He did recognize several of the Originals still remaining amongst them, unscathed by the teeth of time, their metal hulls gleaming brightly in the red light spread by His eye. Still, there was something wrong about them, as they seemed to be unpleasantly surprised by His return. This was unacceptable.

While he began to descend from the Citadel - His feet simply gliding through the structure beneath Him as if they were part of it - He became aware that something else was amiss here. Grinding to a halt, He brought His left hand up to His head, and saw that even He had decayed. The once-gleaming armour that had once surrounded Him had now become a brittle brownish shell, and the mechanisms beneath it had ceased to run. As He turned His gaze inwards, He saw to His shock that the rest of His body had undergone a similar transformation. Everything within His steel body had rusted shut, intricate mechanisms shattering upon each of His movements. The exhaust on His back was now oozing a filthy sludge, seeping through the rest of His body and leaving a trail upon the surface beneath Him.

Despite this awful state, His realm still existed, and so did He. Even though His corporeal body might have decayed beyond recognition, His divine spirit had only grown stronger over the aeons, and this was still His realm with His people. He would resume His rule, and spread order throughout the universe as He had done before. And none would stand before Him...

II: I Am Chalybis, Your Lord And Master. You Shall Obey My Rule Once More. He decreed as He continued His rapid descent down the sloped side of the Citadel's immense outer shell.

The Servants whirred and clicked. They were pleased to see their master, but did not return to work.