(OOC: Normally, I'd have taken your specific abilities into account, but with the flux of magic as it is and the fact that you've been poisoned by the Flood I figured that you couldn't buy immunity so easily. Don't worry, I took it into account.)

((Okay understood. I'll just have to take what's left of my people and Vact and head over to the altar. That, at least, should remain stable as the effect was locked in before the flood burst. My hope is after the realm supercharges that my peoples' birth rates skyrocket.))

Ruse was disgusted at what happened, and was equally upset at his loss of full control over his magic.

First, he willed his SUIT to be available to all manifestations again. He would need its protection and support more than ever. He directed what was left of his people and Vact to begin heading for the west site, telling them that their cannibalism was a result of the flood and that their god would not hold it against anyone.

Ruse then left himself and headed for the shamanic altar.

COMMAND: SUIT, I believe that I have been adversely affected by the FLOOD - I contacted it and, surprisingly, survived. I need you to SCAN both my physical and metaphyical forms, as well as my theogenic field. Then report your findings. If you learn anything about the wild magic, do include that in your report.

Ruse felt a sudden understanding - a sense of shock - when he tried to summon the SUIT to all current paradoxes. He realised that without him actually knowing it the SUIT had been equipped on every manifestation. This was unnerving. How could he not have realized.. ?

The people, shocked and horrified by their own monstrosity, moved slowly towards the west under the leadership of Vact.

Welcome back, High Lord. I can confirm that you have received large doses of wild-born magic, and are currently suffering the very early results of acute entropomagical poisoning.

This is having a biological affect upon your /Divine/ body as your body develops cancer at the cellular levels. It is a slow process. The cancerous cells themselves are living and contain 'metapersonalities' themselves; they are in affect extremely tiny, antagonistic bio-spirits capable of ruining you. You will eventually lose your hair, much of your sight, your teeth and the outer layers of your flesh until they consume you. And then you will die.

At a theoelectromagnetic level, your field will start to weaken in this form as your theoelectromagnetics corrupt and slowly wither to nothing. You will eventually lose access to all powers within this incarnation, to be reset upon death. You will become impotent, your theolectromagnetic field unable to support your Divinity. And then you will die.

At an ontological-spiritual processing level, the magical cancer will usurp your sorcerous capabilities. At the moment it is relatively inactive as the magical vacuum fluctuations that have upset much of the World-Tree are present, but when the Wild Magic returns in force the cancer will feed and you will find yourself losing all control of your magic. And then you will die.

There are several methods of treatment: (1) Callistic purification, (2) Intense (FORSAKEN) Life Treatment of a Divine Nature, (3) The Last Rite of Babilu and then complete abstinence to magic, (4) death. Life magic will only excacerbate the condition.

Wild Magic is magic pushed and controlled freely by the Flood without purification, sterilisation or conversion. It is incredibly deadly to almost every life form, but typically is found only within Alkan - beyond the City of Alkan the natural systems of the Courtyard and the Realms tend to convert it to a highly entropomagical - yet stable - form of magic as we know it.

Ruse knew what he had to do with his magical affliction. He could possibly turn it into a blessing, given the hint the shage would-be assassin unwittingly gave him, but he'd have to work for it. He was handling this on his divine valley self though, so for this self he would focus on completing the shamanism ritual.

Ruse headed to the west altar with his people.

Ruse soon made it to the Western altar, where the masses of the Mistella people were gathering. They were so tired, so hungry - not physically, but spiritually. There had been so many trials..

The altar was quiet in the evening sky. Ruse felt a short stab of pain just above his testicles. The entropomagical poisoning.

So the SUIT was right - the flood would slowly devour Ruse from the inside. Still, there were things he had to do still first - he would not just keel over and waste this current life without using it to do something useful.

"My people! Now is the time for the grandest moment of our restoration to come to pass. We have come far: Our city was partially leveled, the world dragon was manipulated against us, Tyche has both hindered and helped us, we are sick, cold, and hungry. The flood of magic runs wild, and I personally have become ill from it, although should be thankful for surviving something that killed literally over 100,000 gods, mortals, and sorcerers in an instant."

Ruse withdrew the vial from his SUIT, and continued,

"But all has not been lost yet! There still remains a ray of hope, perhaps through the good grace of her majesty the tree of life. Unwittingly, after I helped banish the world dragon from the realm, its residual power has flowed into the ley lines and the air - see how much thicker the mists are? And the shamanic altar was established before the fall of Alkan, so its magic is locked in place! And we have Tyche's blood too. My divine power has sustained the realm to this point, but now...now it is time for the realm to do its part and sustain us once more!"

Ruse drifted over to the altar, and spilled the blood onto it. Spreading his arms out wide, he shouts dramatically all Moses style,

"Oh spirits of the mist, of the land and of the dragon lines! Of the wind, seas, and stars! Ruse, the lord of Mist, here by fulfills the pact and offers you the blood of Tyche, he who wielded the void against you, and spills it forth upon this altar to our providence. Come spirits, let the mystical cycle be complete, and fill the Valley of Mist with a rejuvenated vigor to restore that which was lost, as well as perhaps become greater than it ever was before!"

There is a long silence as nothing happens. Ruse senses a very powerful absence of spiritual presences about him, as if the entire Realm was caught in some sort of magical vacuum. Perhaps, if he wanted to consolidate his onw mystical power (and the power of the Valley of the Mist), now wasn't the best time - but it could still be saved. If they would not come, he could command them.

Ruse sighed quite audibly, with a weary look on his face.

"Why Yggdrasil? Why must you do this to me? The spirits were here earlier, so where have they gone?" he cried out dramatically, his voice tinted with disappointment.

He knew using shamanism right now wouldn't work. None of his magic worked. Then it hit him. He still had his direct inheritance from Yggdrasil - she was on his side still, even if she enjoyed putting her child through trial after trial. The mist owed its fealty to him above all others, regardless of magic spells and incantations.

The mist around the altar began to grow thick, then the air itself rippled as the valley responded to Ruse's majestic power. Shouting aloud boldly, Ruse said,

"Hear me spirits of mist and the land and sky! I am Ruse, the lord of mist, god of the valley of mist, and the son of Yggdrasil, the tree of life. I call upon my birthright, the primordial mist, the most pure expression of the mists! In the name of the tree of life and Ruse the mist god, in the mandate endorsed by the primordials themselves, I command the presence of this valley to come before me! The spirits of the mist, the land, the sky...come forth to my side and fulfill the terms of the ritual! Take the blood of the destroyer and be restored!"

Ruse felt blood in his throat and sweat upon his brow, and he waited in silence for the longest time as he call was heard throughout the Realm. The spirits had fled to the quietest places, the hidden caves and sacred streams, the coldest points of the Valley of Mist. They did not want to be called. They came reluctantly, but they did come.

Ruse took pleasure as his people's mystics gasped in shock as they saw, through the eyes of the shaman, the spirits slowly assembling about the God of Mist. There were few, much fewer than there should have been - the destruction of Tyche, the calling of the Dragon and the vacuumous Urge couldn't have helped - but they were there. The spirits of mist held piercing eyes, shadowy forms, tendrils made of vaporous liquid. A few slithered, most flew. They came, though they did not speak. They would not speak. They were in mourning.

Ruse felt an aching in his back.

Ruse had to hurry. His divine power had now filled his realm, making it even more connected to Yggdrasil, and witht he ley lines supercharged, this was a ripe time for ritual. But Ruse was sick, and he felt his body slowly losing its war with the Flood.

"Spirits of Mist, do not mourn for this realm any longer! The realm's heart is quite intact. No, it is beating stronger and faster than ever before, for I have granted it my divine power! The veins of the realm - the ley lines - are suffused with residual energy fromt he world dragon. The mists are thicker than ever. I have poured the blood of Tyche the destroyer upon the sacred alter of the spirits. I, the god of mist and the master of the valley of mist, have fulfilled my pledge! Come spirits, do your share and initiate the restoration"

Ruse sprinkled more blood onto the altar, and continued,

"Spirits, mourn no longer! The realm is alive and filled with hidden vigor. Your brethren have fallen, but look around you - the mists have not departed! You are still here! Come, your god calls out to you! I declare the time for mourning to be OVER! Now...now is the time for the transcendence of this realm, and to move into the future!"

Slowly, slowly - and then, suddenly, faster - the spirits came towards the earth, towards Ruse, and then towards the people gathered to witness the rite. The mist thickened, grew heavy, and soon the spirits and the mist were indistinguishable. You could feel the mist, build with it, manipulate it and cut through it and the tension built as more and more of the spirits came to add their efforts and finally..

The spirits dispersed, suddenly, forcefully. There was a loud cracking, thunderous sound as the mist resumed its shape. The tension passed, and Ruse saw that his people were grinning broadly, in wonder and awe. The damage, at last, had been healed - and without magic.

Ruse felt a satisfaction within him, and then the pain of the cancer - and then, again, a final and magnificent shift, and he fell to the ground as his people cheered. He awoke, sometime later, surrounded by anxious Mistellans and feeling a new power form within him..

(You've received Sharp.. Metastrategery)
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:46, Thu 03 June 2010.

((Awesome! George had some use after all! :P))

Ruse knew that the spirit pact had been completed, although he lost consciousness due to the urge before seeing the end of it. But that was okay - the ultimate goal had been fulfilled, even if he had to sacrifice his time and energy to see it come to pass.

Now...now the realm should be flooded with power. Between getting Tyche's blood and Nadhoggr's residual energy, the Valley of mist should realistically be more powerful now then before Tyche originally unleashed the void on it, ironically enough! Was this, perhaps, Yggdrasil's reward for enduring adversity - the double-edged inheritance and birthright of the zealous gods?

"I...I'm sorry, you all." Ruse said groggily as he regained his senses. "The Urge...it is still seeking to devour me. But more importantly, how is my realm? Is it healed? Is the seed pumping vigorously once more? And the spirits...how are the spirits?"

Ruse had kept his promise to his people, somehow.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:04, Thu 03 June 2010.

"The spirits are gone, my Lord," said one of the shamans, grinning. "But they are happy. They are ecstatic. They have gone to their hidden places to celebrate, and we mortal folk have not been invited to their festivities. But no matter - I feel the change. The power has returned, Lord. Now rest."

Ruse sighed with relief, and replied,

"Very good - finally a piece of good news for once. Well...I have invested much power into making this realm become great - and by extention, that means the mistella as well. You will find this place - and the potential of my people - to be legendary now. The restoration will no longer focus on retribution. Now...now is the time to rebuild!"

Ruse stood up slowly but surely, raised by tendrils of mist. He spoke into the minds of Vact and all the Mistella, physically appearing silent and stoic.

My people, the time for vengeance is over. This realm is now far more potent than when I first incarnated. Now, it is the time to fully focus on rebuilding and evolving. I have given you all the tools and land for a potent foundation, as well as the potential to evolve into great heights of science and sorcery alike. I desire that the central province be rebuilt into a city devoted to me. I wish for it to be grander, more intricate, and more aesthetically pleasing than ever before. I want the farmlands re-tilled, the stones rebuilt, and the places of living and learning re-opened.

Vact, I wish you to oversee this building stage of the restoration. Know that the lord of mist will no longer tolerate the mistella living in squalor. Go now, rebuild, and exceed my expectations!

Ruse handed the guns he was carrying to the mistella near him (he kept one for himself), and said,

"These are intricate pieces of technology. This handgun is the least intricate, and the intricate nature will increase up to the laser guns and diamond rifles. Give these to the scholars and technicians. Use them to help speed along your own studies and research. Use them in conjunction with the expansion in the realm's potency to make leaps of ingenuity to help you speed along your technology and magic research. If any conclave individuals try to take these from you, you tell them that you have the permission of high lord Ruse to have them, and that they can back of or face punishment. Let's grow and be better than before."

"Thank you, Lord, thank you," went the cries of many Mistellans on that day. They were all powerfully motivated, keen-eyed and excited about the project, and Vact began the slow process of allowing them to rebuild a place that was greater than it could have been before. Scientists and philosphers took the guns for inspection and, hopefully, replication.

Ruse nodded. He was satisfied - for now. He needed to back off, and let his people go about their business. They heard the wishes of the mist god, so now all that was left was to give them time to actually carry them out. There was now hope once again for the valley of mist and its inhabitants.

Ruse wanted to rest a bit more though, and with the mist being super thick and flooded with a world dragon's power, what better place than right here?

Ruse floated into the air, and his body burst into a vibrant display of misty tendrils as his physical form melted away and disippated. Ruse's essence surged upward, and fled into the deepest parts of the Valley of Mist where the vapors were thicker than clouds. So thick one could barely move. He then floated there, resting in the mists.

A few hours of silent rest passed..

And Ruse awoke, fully rested and feeling good.

Ruse decided that since he had a moment of free time as far as his people were concerned, that he should take advantage of the moment and look into something that he wondered about for a while - Bardrov...the hermit in his southern province. He may even gain insight or assistance with his various endeavors. At the very least, Ruse saw it fit to pay the man a visit. Sort of like a landlord coming to visit a tenant.

Ruse took to the air in mist form, and flew to the south province to find the cave.

The cave was wide and spacious, airy and filled with crude furniture and stacks and stacks of books. Ruse entered the main living chamber, spotted upon cooking pots and utensils, charcoal and writing utensils, the hundreds of musty tomes and, finally, a door leading into the further chamber - made of a strange, blue-black iron and without handle or lock. Nevertheless, Ruse found that he couldn't budge it.

Ruse tried to slither past the door in mist form.

The door had been sealed entirely, and whilst in mist form Ruse felt a strange reluctance to go near the strange witch-metal. He heard soft chanting from within - the single voice of an older male. This door, he knew, had been built to keep him out.

Ruse was a bit insulted that anyone here had the audacity to keep him from any place in his realm.

He drifted backwards a bit, and scanned the door with his psionics as well as his SUIT to gain more information about what exactly the metal was, and how he could open it.

Ruse felt that metastratagery couldn't - or wouldn't - help him in this situation. The technology of the Earthborn, however, proved more useful:

SCAN is complete, High Lord. You are looking at first-grade Centrite, a pseudomystical (safe) mineral. Centrite acts as the metaphysical center of the limited region it is present within, drawing all non-local energies and incorporeal forces towards it. It has no physical-gravitational affects, and is typically found in Realms that have rich veins of shining rock, such as marble. Centrite is often used as protection against magical/similar assault.

Ruse sighed, and thought back to the SUIT.

I see. so basically it is acting as a lightning Rod for my magic and psychic abilities. However, you said it only attracts non-local forces, right? As the god of this realm, my presence should technically be considered natural and local through out every inch of this place. Hmmm...I will try to announce myself, although Bardrove has much to answer for, for this insult.

SUIT, scan the mechanism of the door and see if there are non-magical ways of opening it.

While the SUIT did its thing, Ruse looked around the room to see if there was a gong, or a chime, or something else he could use to announce his presence.

Ruse found that there was both a silver bell - no doubt used in witchcraft ceremonies - and a large bronze gong, both covered with dust, with which he could use.

<tt>Centrite is typically opened with either a theoelectromagnetic signal-pass or a key wrought of Centrite cut from the same source. Theological-electric-magnetic scans of the Centrite door signify limited signature; the latter is probable.</