Time passed, the project stopped. Sura felt the rush of mystical energy envelop him and then fling itself to further, sun-scorched deserts where it would be needed. A fate had been cast, entwined with the destiny of Tushmuthut.

The magic continued, and Sura soon felt himself be overcome by the energies of Fate. It was a good, confident feeling, but the Lord of Sand knew such feelings could be misleading.

He stalled his creation fully for now. He now began to prepare an attack to use in Tush or even Nibor.
This message was last edited by the player at 10:34, Wed 28 Apr 2010.

Sura begins the preliminary invocations, breath-work and trance, manipulations of the sand which ran through all time and space..

And he stopped. There was an uncomfortable feeling in his gut. An edge, a tension, like something was going to drop. It was a relatively alien feeling - less sudden, easier and yet more pervasive than the ruining of a Fate - but it was a feeling that Sura, as an experienced and powerful magus, was trained to know and fear. A shifting of Higher Forces, of Sorcery most pure; if he was to attempt black magic now, he'd be struck down, possibly robbed of his powers.

It is assumed that Sura stops to consider this. When he does, however, the tension is replaced by another, keener feeling of near-exasperation, a higher tension which ran through his entire being. This, too, he recognized; it was the feeling of a Fate about to be confirmed.

He stopped his attack and dropped to his knees, embracing the sand. He breathed slowly and heavily - a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Tushmuthut was saved for now. His beloved city will rebuild, stronger than ever.

He looked to his creation and smiled. The thought of its capabilities filled him with several shades of happiness. He craved to continue work on it. But there was something he would create first, something smaller. He gathered the sands and formed a mighty eagle, with keener senses than its counterpart. It was to act as a radar - a scout. Once formed it was to survey the realm, looking for the source of the darkness. Sura missed his sun.

Once the eagle was made he continued on his masterpiece until he heard word from the eagle.

The Fierce God manifested in this realm, garbed in more than a thousand wrapped strips of white cloth. The armor laid beneath, his white blade sheathed.

He sought the master of this realm. His realm had been a desert.

There were two others to visit, after this; The Blazing Hell of Fire, and The Dungeon. Desert realms. These seeds would form the  bedrock of the Golden Realm.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:20, Fri 30 Apr 2010.

Sura

Sura was a master at his work, and the eagle was soon created and set loose upon the land.

It soon returned, bred for alacrity as it was.

Sura was to learn that there was an unknown God, of a different nature to most, near Akhenatan. His own thoughts confirmed this. As for the source of the darkness, Sura learned that the blazing sun of Tushmuthut had itself been completely snuffed out, destroyed; there was nothing left of the sky-furnace. The eagle reported vague meteoric activity from the destruction of the orb, to the south.

Fierce God

The desert was extremely cold. There was no sun, only darkness. Everything was cloaked in the shadows bought by a few flickering stars. Fierce walked for the longest time, in the twisting, turning of the deserts, until he reached a massive pyramid - black stone scraping the sky with its majesty.

Sura will solve both problems shortly. He leaves his creation for now and heads into Akhenaten.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:58, Tue 11 May 2010.

The fierce god beheld the monument. The grandest of tombstones. He would not trespass; as a spirit, he knew the ways.

Expending a portion of the energy that maintained him, he contacted this realm's master with telepathy. Sand-god. Will you not extend your hospitality? It is the custom.

Sura

Sure receives the telepathic message, spoken by the intruder: Sand-god. Will you not extend your hospitality? It is the custom. As he received the message, deep in Akhenatan, he finished his work with a sigh. The eagle flew off, out of Akhenatan and into the night.

Fierce God

It was deathly cold in the night of Desolace. There was not yet a telepathic answer, but the Fierce God knew that his message had been sent. Nothing yet stirred from within the pyramid.

He settled on the sands, crossing his legs, awaiting his host.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:21, Wed 12 May 2010.

Sura came to the mouth of his temple and watched his guest closely. He kept his distance, but they were in talking distance - he did not say anything, however.

"True Hero of Tushmuhtut. I know your lord. In the future of another Tree, it was I whom free'd him from his prison. He had fallen to madness, in that time. What Path do you walk, Hero?" He politely questioned.

His voice was ancient, his tone slow, solemn.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:56, Wed 12 May 2010.

An eagle cawed high above the two, circling, finally descending upon Fierce God's shoulder. It then methodically began to claw into said shoulder, pecking occasionally and with some malice at his head.

The fierce god used telepathy to alter the bird's mind, forcing it to stop being annoying and sit quietly on his shoulder like a good bird.

He stare at Max for an extended period of time. "The path i walk?" Sura rasped. His eye twitched slightly. He didn't answer the question, instead he asked his own. "Why do you intrude here? What is your purpose?"

The Fierce God rose.

"I have come to remind you. Sands are shifting, a tempest to the east-Écrasez l'Infâme. If you do not decide the path, you will be lost."

 And then he was gone.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:03, Mon 17 May 2010.

The Lord of Sand heard the Word of Power, spoken almost casually but with force - Écrasez l'Infâme. He felt the alien theoelectromagnetic field, like being struck in the kidneys by a hidden knife, and Sura soon realized it wasn't the attack itself that horrified him - it was the nature of the thing, what it represented. He had spent so much of this recent incarnation squabbling for occult power, for authority over the supernatural, for true magical potency..

And Sura felt it being taken from him, locked away. He was a Grand Magus, a sorcerer of the fifth - and for most, final - scale, and he knew what this would mean. He felt it slipping, stumbling away, further and..

There was a tension bubbling from within him. Sura understood what they represented; the Urge. Protecting its investment. Fierce had fled - the coward! - but as Sura allowed his Word of Power to rip through his form, he also allowed the titanic subsequence of colours and light to be released, filling the barren Desolace with a thunder of prismatic visions that none save himself and the dead would see, a blaze to rival the furnace of the sun.

What did it mean..?

Sura awoke, in the dark cold legacy of Wyrn's sun-smasher, knowing that - somehow - justice had been done. Certain forces would not allow themselves to be reckoned with so easily. The Fierce God - or his master - would have to pay for this.

Sura tentatively felt that his magical hadn't been sealed away, either - the Word of Power had been extinguished. Perhaps - somehow - he'd come out on top. Perhaps.

Sura let out a long 'wheezing" sound. He then creates the rust eating insects from before and sends them to feast on the shadow forge thing. He then continued with his creation.

Sura blinked, began to flex his supernatural muscles, and then collapsed. He was completely exhausted - it was a sudden thing, as if some cosmic force had sapped all of his strength at once. He knew he must sleep..

He rested for now then.

Sura awoke to a roaring, crashing, tumbling - and yet immensely peaceful - sound, all about him. It was the sound of hundreds of gracious, sparkling waterfalls, falling majestically upon the reddened sands below. There was a light breeze and above it all Sura heard the palms move, ever so softly. There was the smell of fresh water moving through hot sand, of various blossoming fruits, hidden under deep shade, of spices and small fires..

"Do you miss it?"

Coldness. Shadows. Stone and curses. The smell of dust and of the dead.

In front of Sura was a tall man robed in lush grey. He sat peacefully next to the God of Sand's slumbering body, glimmering silver blade held in both hands as he did so. He looked at Sura, and his eyes were orbs of hidden wisdom, one white and the other black. He was familiar, somehow.

"The Oasis, Sura," said the man. "You never miss it?"

Sura sat in quiet conflict for a long time. He finally spoke, "Who are you?"

The man smiled, and waited a moment. His eyebrow rose, as did the corner of his lip, and his eyes twinkled with a sort of malicious mystery.

"Who do you think?" he asked.

"You could be Ygg himself and i wouldn't know." Sura simply said.

The man laughed at this. It was a heavy laugh, a booming laugh, carrying the weight of years, decades, centuries, millennia...

"The question remains," he said, suddenly serious. "Do you ever wish for your Oasis opf the Forbidden to return? It can be done, you know. For a price. A small service, against a common foe."