(The RP World Event is a thread dedicated to the World Event that is currently rocking the Realm Supernatural. It might become irrelevant when the event ends, or it might not. It may be temporary. It functions as an RP PUBLIC, which means all gods can be here at the same time as their Realm/Niborkerese/Conclave/etc. All Gods are assumed to have heard a variation on the 'rumour' given below, detailing the area, which is how - in character - they know about it. In addition, there is a 'story' given behind it - not necessary to read, but perhaps an extremely good idea as it gives OOC insight as to why the thing exists.

RP World Events are extremely dangerous, unpredictable places. By coming here your character is engaging in the history of the world, but there is a price - the immense risk. Characters may very easily die here. It is a given. It might be for a completely arbitrary reason. If your character is one of the unfortunates, sorry in advance.)

The Rumour

"They say.. out there, in the sands, to the far north.. yes, past Niborkerese - watch the cultists, they're drawn like flies to the slaughter - they say there was a city, built of sand, by the Dreaded Lord himself. Built of sand! Filled with all manner of chimera and dragons and snakes and.. and Osiris-Ra! He has obviously returned to destroy us! Oh, by Odin, by Thor, by them all!"

The Story

As the doomed prophet had known, on the sixth day the Star of the Eye had shone a blasted red. It was an omen, and the omen bid him continue the purification rituals. He was completely confident that it would work. They would get a day of light, now.. twelve hours, more than the paltry sixty minutes they'd been granted last time. He was secure, ecstatic, but scared. He knew what the ritual would mean.

He would have to die.

Die, so that the Dreaded Lord would live.

The star twinkled in the cold night, casting its evil stare upon the hooded cultists. Each had the mark of Osiris-Ra tattooed in scathing ink upon their backs - an eye within a star within a sun. They had all been groomed, trained for this night. The prophet was of the fifth degree, one of the few chosen rulers of the Cult of Osiris-Ra, and he wished - secretly - that it was proper for a lesser being to be used. One of the first-degree acolytes, perhaps. But no. No. That would be an insult to the Dreaded Lord.. one he would not stand for. They needed someone who had mastered the invocations of the sun, braved the seventeen nights of the arid salts, conjured the demon Barvasaul and spat in his face, murdered an Isubanite..

Completed the initiations. He was right. It was his turn.. it would be his honour. Joy filled him again. He was a deeply conflicted man. The prophet would always be deeply conflicted. The stars were right.

"Ready?" he rasped, beneath the iron mask, to a first-degree. The acolyte nodded.

The sacred spot had been chosen by consulting the spilled innards of Bravus, God of Merchants, abducted as he was from the pathetic marketplace of the Conclave. White sand, white stone. Grasping the eight other fifth-degree masters by the arms, they thanked him in their way, slapped him, spat at him and cheered him on. He was lashed, seventeen times.. the number of Osiris-Ra. The lashings didn't hurt. He was used to worse.

He removed the black cloak, and noted the deathly chill of the night. It was never this cold in Tushmuthut.. another omen. They brought the torches, and he was held down as the scorpions stung his back. It was to be a scar, a permanent tattoo that would become irrelevant before the hour was over.. they tattooed the binding invocations, the calling evocations, the summonings, the blasted glyphs, the mark of the Red Star..

He screamed. This was necessary, to show proper respect to the scorpion-folk.

Finally, it was done, and the prophet turned to his fellows - his fellow masters of the fifth-degree, the overseers of the fourth.. down to the acolytes of the first-degree, who - unknowingly - would be slaughtered after the return. He grinned with unseen malice; the mask kept his face an iron image, caught in a scowl.

It was easy enough to get the Holy Desert on this eve. The Lord Councilman Lictros - rat servant of the Conclave - was easy enough to pay off. His duty was to watch Tushmuthut and to guard it from all invaders, but tonight a sudden illness had struck most of the Conclave guards, and the others were easily murdered. The True Sons of Metatron, typically easily to manipulate, had been turned so that they'd raid the Shrine.. three enemies down. The Servants of the Nuclear Eye didn't care either way about Osiris-Ra, and left the Cult well enough alone.

Suddenly, the prophet's brother stabbed at him with the consecrated silver blade, and he fell, gurgling. It was not his place to scream here, unless it was with joy. He gave a verbal oblation to the Dreaded Lord, and was slashed again and again and again. He knew, though he would never see it, that he would be chopped into five pieces, symbolic of the five cut pieces of Osiris-Ra..

And he was dead.

A minute passed. Another. Sixteen.

They Cult waited. They knew the sacred number. The sacrifice was given, the stars watched..

Seventeen.

The corpse of the prophet stirred.

There was rejoicing among the brothers and sisters of the Cult of Osiris-Ra.

The five pieces of the doomed prophet stirred some more, stopped. A rustling.. and they turned to fine black sand.

The cult yelled in dedication, screamed their love.

The sand rose, formed into a humanoid figure, took the black robe and the iron mask. He waved a hand in acknowledgment.

Every first-degree cultist - those who had not mastered the Invocations of the Sun - turned suddenly to white sand, the fine powder gushing out of their robes. There may have been a smirk beneath the iron mask.

"I have returned!" boomed Osiris-Ra.

It was only temporarily, and in twelve hours he would be blasted to oblivion once more.. but for now, the Dreaded Lord had returned. Twelve hours was a very long time. A lot could die in a sun's day.

Now:

It was the seventh hour, and Osiris-Ra had returned to his ancient realm.

He'd done much this day.

Now he looked upon the desert, accompanied by the fourth-degree overseers. He waved a hand over the sacred spot, where he was reborn, and looked upon it.

"Tushmuthut.."

The words were like daggers, castrating the Conclave, cutting the throat of Metatron, and blinding Isuban.

Another hand, and a violent motion with his palms.

The sand rose suddenly, swirled. The Dreaded Lord was lost in the swirl. It rose higher and higher.. a tempest of white sand, obscuring the sky. Finally, it settled. In it's place was the lost city of Tushmuthut, labyrinthine, made of white stone and designed to kill all intruders..

It would be here where the Black Callisti of Isuban would be gathered, and where they would be shattered. Here where Metatron would have his neck cut, where the 'Highest' would have his blood pool. Here where the bastard Roid would have each of his eyes burnt out with a white-hot flame..

Here where the Cult of Osiris-Ra would seize their headquarters. The profess-houses of Niborkerese would not do. This was their new home. When Osiris-Ra would be blasted to oblivion once more, they would continue the work, and resurrect him once more upon this place..

He stood, now, outside the City of Tushmuthut.

"My children." His voice was a single boom. "Come here and inflate your ranks. Secrecy is no longer needed. Come here and draw all those who would fight for me! Smash your fist upon the enemy!"

He saw with pleasure that the cultists were more than eager to have an entire city to themselves.

"Now!" he cried. "I call my generals. Gather before me!"
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:19, Fri 16 Oct 2009.

Arrived. It was surreal. He felt this natural... calling to this place. He felt right. This place feels like a second home. But where is this?

Sura Al'Amun takes in his surroundings, craving the sight.

He knew the place from thousands of years gone..

Tuthmuthut. Once his home..

Joy filled Sura Al'Amun as the robed figure with the iron mask turned towards him.

"You are the first. I am pleased, Lord of the Rod of a Thousand Crying Curses. You have brought the scepter?"

This... being talking to him... a voice of most chilling embrace. The words seemed to come naturally to him.
"Forgive me, Lord."

Why would he call this person Lord? It seemed so right though... fitting.

"This... scepter i have no memories of. Infact my memories are all but abolished... I'm not even sure why i am here..."

"A shame."

His disgust made Sura curl over and vomit sand.

"It is too late. When next I return, for a sun and a moon, you will have the scepter."

He waved a hand.

Sura felt himself involuntarily tuning to sand..

A rushing sensation.. he couldn't stop retching..

And the sand was blasted to a thousand points. A powerful wind bore it, breaking the God, ending his life.

Next time, Sura would not fail.

(This came out surprisingly long. Don't expect me to play nice either.)
Reiuji came, almost the instant she heard the rumor. Isuban, Osiris-Ra, the were both enemies of the Conclave, and they probably would be a threat to her own well being at some point. She had made sure to stay away from the city, at least until she could be sure it was safe enough. Obviously, if the rumor about Osiris-Ra was true she'd be in deep shit if she just ran in like a moron.

"Well, if it's a city made of sand, my ultimate energy can turn it into a city of glass." She muttered, a spike of slight disgust in her voice. "But honestly. They could've made it out of something better. Sand get's everywhere and takes ages to get out." She activates her Energy Radar power, attempting to find out where any sort of gathering was, most likely in an attempt to go around it.

There was a massive spike of energy to the east.. bigger than anything Reiuji had ever experienced.

Suddenly, the energy diminished - just by a little. Only a little.

--

Dundabladin, God of Mathematics and General of Osiris-Ra, spoke calmly, passion restrained. He had not expected this.

"Lord," he said, prostrating himself. "Forgive me for not coming immediately. I was hunted by those who would see you fall.. and your Cult had not passed on the message, so to speak. The numbers, however, were right. I can see that now. The black equations had been weighed. You have returned. My heart is filled with joy."

"Indeed."

Dundabladin could not imagine what expression was behind that iron, scowling mask, but he had witnessed the death of Sura, once his greatest friend.. and he was terrified. His stomach was hot. There was a reason for this, but one he was not trying to think about..

"I can have the Legion of the Starving Eye ready in twenty four hours. I will sound the gong that sings the song that will end the world. I can have them in Tuthmuthut within two days, three if there is further difficulty. With them, of course, I will bring the gong. I have acquired.."

His voice was perfectly restrained, a little calm.. a little desperate.

Osiris-Ra's, of course, was cold.

"Yes. Forgive me, General Dundabladin, Lord of the Legion of the Starving Eye, if I seem a little brief. There is an unknown visitor in Tuthmuthut.."

"Forgive me, Lord, forgive me. I will deal with them. Roses at your feet. My sword will be the song that spills the blood of the intruder.."

"No. You are unfit. The Legion of the Starving Eye will go to Sura, perhaps, or to Blaine or Ristarte or to someone more deserving. The gong is no longer yours.."

Desperation, now. The calmest voice of the rational God of Mathematics was desperate, a pleading whine that knew..

"Lord, please, forgive me. What have I done? How have I angered you? I promise, promise, I promise that I'll make up for it, promise that I'll work.."

Osiris-Ra slapped him, a vicious swipe that left blisters across his face, blinded the eyes..

"It is the technology taped to your gut. The listening-device. For the new League of Divine Right, perhaps, or for Isuban. I do not care."

"No, Lord, I had no choice oh please I had no choice please.."

He was crying now, sobbing madly.

"You mastered the Invocations of the Sun. You understand the penalty for treason. Eternal death. You will be stripped of whatever lives remain."

A scream, and the God of Mathematics was forever sand.

Osiris-Ra walked, almost jovially, towards the intruder. He was in a murderously good mood, despite the cases of ineptitude and treason. More blood would be spillt.

He had all day, after all.

An immeasurable and endless plain of sand stretched out to the horizon in all directions, utterly featureless for as far as the eye could see. A place that was utterly devoid of all existence and had been in that state for aeons, a place filled with total tranquillity due to the absence of anything to disturb it. Yet now, a trail of massive footprints had appeared within the formerly pristine sands, starting in a growing sliver of twisted silver metal that lay somewhere within the desert and leading to a towering figure that marched endlessly through the sandy plains, heading towards some strange white protrusion in the distance.

This figure was Chalybis, the God of Industry who had felt Himself attracted to this strange place for a reason He did not know. He despised the desert, filled as it was with abrasive sand that ground between the components that made up His body. Apart from this inconvenient and annoying inevitability, His arrival had been extremely uneventful - a pleasant change compared to the welcomes He had received in all other realms He had visited until this point - with absolutely nothing but sand anywhere near Him.

However, something had been gleaming near the horizon, a large white shape which protruded from the desert sands. At this distance it had been impossible to make out what it was exactly, but as it was the only feature He could see in any direction, Chalybis had decided that it was the place He should be going to. He had embedded another silver lance within the sands below Him before He had gone on His way, inserting His own corruption into the infinite desert so that this infernal place might eventually - after countless years had passed - serve as something more useful than itself, as well as granting Him a beacon of influence which He could trek back to if the white thing turned out to be nothing but a figment.

After that, He had started to walk, slowly progressing through the dunes of sand as each of His steps sunk deeply within them. He was not suitable for wandering around in deserts, and He despised it because of that. Fortunately, He could march on forever despite the sweltering heat and hostile sands, steadily making progress towards the white object that lay ahead of Him...

     Having heard some rumor about this dreaded place and being informed as to how to get here, Desafon portals over to this location, blades drawn as he comes in search of some adventure. Once he sees it is Desert, however, he frowns. "I'm seriously going to be missing an ocean at this point. Why doesn't this realm happen to be an Ocean?" He grumbles, complaining to himself. He looks around to see if there is anybody nearby. He makes a pose that tries to show himself as a swordsman of some renown.

Max stepped out of  a glowing white portal, closing it behind him. His blade was in it's sheath.

Why are we going here?

Just humor me. I'm pretty sure a protagonist hero like yourself will have an interesting role to play.

Sighing, Max glanced around and saw nothing but sand.. and Desafon. He waved to the swashbuckling god, smiling.

Reiuji remains motionless, except for bringing her third leg up and pointing it infront of her. She waited for the energy spike to drop back to normal, and she would wait for as long as she needed. Unless something else happened.

For such a place, there was surprisingly little wind. Not exactly a problem for Crailek, just a bit of a hindrance. The shadows of the dunes, hills, even the individual grains of sand seems to dance and waver a little as he passed through. The shadows of each person heading towards the city rippled and paused in odd and contorted shapes, as though regarding them, for only a moment each before heading to the next.
The last god to be regarded was Max, as he was the last so far to appear. His shadow contorted and changed quickly, until it became the shadow of another. For a moment it did nothing that a normal shadow wouldn't, but quite abruptly pulled itself out of the ground, and standing up quite calmly, looking Max up and down, as Max's shadow returns, and Crailek's appears and moves about in no particular way related to his own movements.

He stares silently at Max, glancing over at Desafon occasionally.

Reiuji

Reiuji was in the outskirts of the city. Ancient white stone surrounded her, still ruined, as if once a part of the great city. The stone was worn down, but an adequate place to hide. The patch of ruins might be a streak of luck.. she felt the spike of energy come closer, slowly, towards her. Her heart was filled with fear, even if she did not succumb to it; it was an unnatural terror.

The energy came closer..

Chalybis

Soon, Chalybis saw the huge white shape ahead for what it truly was - the ancient city of Tushmuthut. It was a menacing site, some of its towers larger than those in Niborkerese, and the stone had been crafted in a fashion that sparked deep admiration in Chalybis. Everything fit.. every piece had its place in the great architectural design of the thing, like clockwork. Like a perfect machine.

He thought he saw figures ahead.. dark figures, wandering about the hallowed streets, dressed - despite being in desert - in heavy black robes and wielding silver blades.

Max & Desafon & Crailek

It was hot. Stiflingly hot. The sun was a great sphere of fire, almost close enough to touch, dominating the azure sky. To Crailek, he felt deeply disturbed - at this hour of the day, even as it was in late afternoon, with the proximity of the sun most figures did not cast anything more but a glimmer of a shadow. The place was unnatural and made his skin crawl. There were still the shadows of the hills, dunes, scrub... but it was minimal at best. The light made things tricky.

As the darkest, deepest shadow ripped itself out of the ground and manifested in front of Max and Desafon, they were both rather surprised. The man stared silently at them. Max knew, despite his casual demeanor, that this city was a bastion of great evil - evil that had been vanquished in the past many times by heroes even greater than he. It would be a struggle, yes, if he were ever to rid the land of that evil.. a struggle he looked forward to.

Desafon was also struggling in the deep heat. It was like the finest beach, stretching eternally, with no water in sight.. deeply disquieting. The desert was a new concept to the God, and not one that he accepted easily. There did not seem to be even the most pathetic of oases about - the place was a white wasteland. Here, under the harshest rays of the light, Desafon felt the twin Blades of Efficiency vibrate with a strange need to be let loose. There would be blood spillt here, they knew, and they wished to be as ready as possible - so that the killing might be as efficient as need be.

The three were within a few meters of each other - the pirate, the boy hero, the ancient shadow. Was it destiny that brought them together.. or simple dumb luck?

<i>I know this guy.. Crailek or something. Despite appearances, he's trustworthy. Just don't get on his bad side- even with the DMS he'll be very difficult to defend against.

Max smiled at the shadow, extending a hand. "I'm Max of Xi, descendant of Maccus. It's nice to see some shade in the wasteland." Max said.

He glanced at Desafon, and blushes. He remember their earlier meeting..

This city was unlike any Chalybis had visited before - the fact that He did not immediately feel a strong urge to destroy it, turn its remnants into steel, and then rebuild it into a mechanical entity meant a lot - and there was something about it which felt rather disturbing to Him. It felt as if He was not alone in this place - not counting the mortals that were undoubtedly around but far beneath His notice - but that there was a large congregation of divine creatures - or just a single very powerful one - somewhere within this place. This was an issue, for He was not intent on getting into a serious fight here, at least not before He had discovered a method to deal with the hostile environment here.

The sand around Him was grating between the components that made up His body, slowly wearing away their edges and points as they moved around, clogging pipes and tubes where they seeped into the fluids therein, and generally making a mockery of the fine machinery that churned deep within Him. Although this decline would not be fatal and could easily be remedied afterwards, it was highly annoying and slowed down His already sluggish movements. This place was simply not suitable for Him, so whatever lay in the city ahead would have to be of great importance to keep Him here.

Chalybis continued to make His way to the city, sinking deep into the desert sands with each of His steps, but never diverting off His perfectly straight path towards it. When He came closer, He slowly became aware of the mortals that inhabited the city, starkly contrasting its white with their black clothing. Somehow, they did not appear to be bothered by the discomforts of the desert heat and sand, and as they were undoubtedly related to the divine power that had created this city, Chalybis decided to let them live - for now. He simply went on until He had reached the gates of the city, and awaited there, letting His gaze pass over the strangely clad mortals beneath Him...

Crailek gives a small, unseen smirk at the pun, and shakes Max's hand firmly. "I am afraid I will not be as much use here as I might somewhere else. But my talent's shan't go to waste, all the same."
He turns and looks off towards the city quietly, watching to find any sort of change forming in it.

"Yeah.. you don't really have that much to work with in all this light. Still, a shadow is a very quiet thing. C'mon shadowman, let's go talk to the Pirate."

He began walking over to Desafon, expecting Crailek to follow.

Still new in the world, but the whispers of memory and the heart cannot go unheeded especially by him. He walks through the sand following the steady beat of his own heart which was now held in his hand in this case a silvery ring with a single gemstone. It was a engagement ring at one time long ago, but it had been forgotten through time and through the dark sands of fate. He would not shed a tear for this loss, but he still felt it bitterly. A sharp pain in his heart when his eyes meet with the dark figure he knew all too well. His hood would cover his face mostly in shadow, but the god would more then likely know him already.
..._crailek...

     Looking at Max as he notices that he's here, Desafon points at him. "AHA! I know you, boy! You hurled an insult at me as you ran like a rabbit through a portal. That was definitely not being a good sport. You can't just issue a challenge and run through a portal expecting a man to follow. No, there are rules to dueling. Rules that must be followed. An what's more negotiation and deliberation as to what those rules are." He says, looking at the boy, though not drawing his blades just yet. "Though if you wish to continue with this confrontation, I will no doubt honor the attempt you might make with blades."
     Otherwise, he looks around, "I don't know exactly what is going on other than the fact that some great evil is here. And that's what this place is: evil. I think someone should bring rain and tons of water to cure this place of its insidious plague of heat and dry sand."

"My friend is a god of mist, my other a god of words. With the help of a competent water and life mage, no doubt this place could become a paradise with the proper ritual.."

Max smiled at the Desafon."But that is a thing for the future. I would like to apologize for my insult; I did not mean them. I knew that you were a man of honor, and hoped to draw you back into my realm.. you see, I was under attack by a fierce beast, and knowing of your skill, I hoped to gain an ally in the fight. In my distress, I forgot that a simple request for aid would have met with a far better response."

He then took a serious tone, which was a bit comical since he was a fifteen-year-old boy. "As can be plainly seen, you wield two blades to my one, and I can tell they are fine work- magical, in all likelyhood- as compared to my rather mundane weapon." Max smiled. "You fight with two blades, and I am trained to fight with sword and shield. Allow me to acquire a suitable defence, and I will engage in honorable combat. Is that satisfactory?"

     Listening to Max, Desafon stops to stroke his chin, thinking calmly and rationally on what was said, "Perhaps you are right, that you should have asked for assistance instead of giving insult. Much as my chieftain had offered as advise, I am not required to take the challenge and don't demand one either. Only if that was requested by you again." He bows his head though he looks towards Crailek, nodding his head, bowing slightly lower, "Desafon of the Island Chains of Perigo, Near-Master Swordsman though I have yet to see someone who is better than me in martial combat." He smiles, retaining his pose of importance.
     He looks to Max again, "So, what is going on in this land that needs the attention of a God of Dueling? Piracy is really a formality in my land, a means to achieving great mercantile enterprise."

Reiuji

Reiji suddenly sighed with relief once she realised the energy was moving elsewhere - soon, she couldn't even sense it. It was gone.

Chalybis

Chalybis rippled and felt pain as a wave of paradox hit him - suddenly, he was wheezing, clanking, burning, filled with bullet holes and rust, leaking his black blood.. the sand only complicated matters, getting into his wounds and causing more agony. He felt himself slowing. He simply couldn't reach the gates at anything except the speed of a crawl. Anything faster, and he might fall to pieces.

Damn the sand.

As he got closer to the city, however, he saw a seemingly familiar, dark-robed figure wearing an iron mask look up at him and disappear in a swirl of white sand. It was undoubtedly the ruler of this place - Osiris-Ra.

Max & Crailek & Desafon & Foun

It was a good thing that the two didn't duel. Under the direct heat of the afternoon sun, Desafon felt as if he would collapse if he exerted himself too rigorously, and Max had a funny feeling that if he did the same the boy's heart would stop. They needed to find shade, and fast. The city was the only place. Talking wouldn't hurt, but..

Desafon felt the Blades of Efficiency twitch towards Max. They wanted blood.

Crailek was feeling a little impotent as it was.

Suddenly, a dark-clad figure, sadness in his ancient eyes, approached the three. Crailek immediately recognised him as an old friend.. or was it enemy?

"...crailek..."

The beings whisper was weak. Foun did not feel good in this place. It was so unlike Utopia, so unlike the beautiful past..

Max threw up the hood of his scarlet cloak, wrapping it around his body to shade him from the sun.

"Let's go to the city, Des."

     Nodding, Desafon sighs. "This heat is beginning to get too much for me." He senses the blades' wants and needs, but refuses them for now. He keeps them sheathed, beginning to move off towards the city. .oO(Domoni, I told you I wanted calmness, not bloodthirst.)

Chalybis suffered as the inevitable but always untimely act of paradox struck Him in this place as well, the only one in which He did not have a source of metals readily available. Or did He? Even though the desert itself might be utterly devoid of all metal, He had already brought large quantities of it into existence with sheer willpower when He had created His weaponry within His own realm. Even though this was not His own realm, there was no reason for this power to have abandoned Him here, for He had already used it within another realm that had not belonged to Him - the realm of Xi - with the desired result.

A single powerful thought went out from His mind, instantly creating a cloud of strange and unidentifiable shapes around Him, every single one of them unique, but all of them made out of the same silver metal. His gaze went over these shapes with approval, noticing how His vague call for a material rather than an object had led to a group of non-objects, merely shapes that were made out of the material He desired. In several moments, He would absorb these forms into His own body, but first, He had to rid it of the grinding sand that now ran within.

He concentrated upon the fluids that still filled Him - various types of oil and lubricants, all contaminated by the sand - and realised that they were beyond recovery and had to be replaced. Normally, this would be a lengthy process, but the 'bleeding' injuries that covered His form would make this a far more easier feat to accomplish. The power of His mind brought a stream of liquids into existence inside Him, forcing out the old filth-ridden ones to replace them with something fresh. Pipes swelled up under the increased pressure, and it was not long before the open wounds started gushing out the contaminated oil, creating a large patch of black mud beneath Him that contrasted the pristine-white desert city.

With His inner systems purged of sand - at least for a short time - He then continued to assimilate the steel forms He had created, restoring His body to its previous perfect state. This form of recovery had become an almost trivial exercise by now, and within instants His wounds were gone, allowing Him to walk again and enter the city. With the ruler gone, He would have to interact with its occupants instead, something which He was not looking forward to in the least...

Crailek at first begins to follow Max, but quite immediately stops in mid-step, cocking his head to the side. After a pause, he turns towards Foun silently. His eyes widen and he simply stares at him, trying pretty hard to process exactly what was going on in his mind.

Reiuji

Suddenly, the energy signal is back, and a darkness descends upon Reiuji. She panics, lashes out..

"Hello," growled the dark figure.

Reiuji didn't respond. Her screams were silent. She had joined the sand below.

As she dies, a whisper in her ear..

No price..

Chalybis

Chalybis, fully healed and purged of all except the pettiest amount of sand, wandered into Tushmuthut..

From the angle he had entered, things were relatively quiet. The sun still beat down furiously, but it was cooler under the white architecture of the Dread City. There was still sand, but Chalybis wandered mostly over the white stone, and didn't suffer any problems. Empty houses surrounded him, often adorned with horrific images of all manner of demons and chimera, mostly with a strange desert bent.. on every door a shining red eye had been painted. Far above him lay spires, bridges, balconies.. and far above him he heard the cry.

"Tchal Habbis! Tchal Habbis!"

Desafon & Crailek & Max & Foun

As the four got closer to the city, the vicious sunlight wearing them out, they saw the strange beauty of the place: pure arches, strange architecture, hideous gargoyles, spires that rose to the clouds..

Within they also saw a group of five or six black-clothed individuals - cultists of Osiris-Ra. They each turned to look at the four, drawing large silver scimitars as they screamed towards their foe. "For Osiris-Ra! Death under the Blood Star!"

As the cries seemed to be somewhat similar to His name, Chalybis gazed up at the spires above, trying to determine which of these individuals was doing the shouting. It was interesting to know that the inhabitants of this place knew about Him, but at this point He could not yet be certain whether or not this was something beneficial. Of course, He had just been returned to His prime state, so even if it was not, there would be little for Him to worry about in here - apart from the great divine presence that was its owner that was...

I: Which Of These Mortals Dare To Mispronounce The Divine Name Of Lord Chalybis And Proclaim It As Thus He eventually decreed upon failing to locating the source of the voice that echoed through the city. It was not that He was truly offended - who could expect mortals to learn anything significant within their diminutive lifespan? - but still wanted to know who here knew about Him. If there was only a single scholar or philosopher who knew of His existence, that could be considered an amusing coincidence, but if large portions of this city knew about Him, there might be something else going on - something of which He did not like the idea...

Max drew his blade, divine energy coursing through it; he slashed at the approaching cultists, generating a razor-sharp blade of wind in front of him; the same technique he had performed on the Harvester. The blade should cleave through all of them..

I'd expect you'd have a moral compunction against killing, hero-boy.
Evil Cultists are standard adventuring fare. They're evil, hostile, and impossible to persuade. It's actually a virtuous action because I'm defending innocents who would otherwise be harmed by them.

He turns serious quickly, Now is not the time crailek. We shall remember each other soon. Quickly pulling out the terre morte he begans his attack as well. Using of course his standard fighting style of mixed combat and teleportation moving himself within small areas quickly well slashing.

Crailek begins to walk towards the cultists, holding his hand at his side. Suddenly, a long black blade forms in it, seeming to pull in light. It flickered a bit in such light, and Crailek concentrates on it not disappearing. Once close enough, he slashes at his nearest target's shoulders, knees, and arms. He does this carefully, taking care to block whenever needed.

     Looking towards these cultists who come closer, he takes a frown and turns it upside down. He looks towards the blades, unsheathing them with his Quickdraw, and moves forward to attack one of them, feeling more in tune with his anger as he can't stand the heat for too much longer, giving into temptation. "Avast ye blasphemous curr! I'll hang your scimitar from your gizzard and leave you to rot if you're an insidious and honorless dog!" He thinks about how the blades aught to enjoy this show of bloodshed, happy to oblige them at this moment, "And I'll take your symbol too, mate."

Chalybis

Chalybis only saw shadows above. He occasionally saw movement, but it was gone too quickly before he could react.

As he got deeper into the city, a feeling which could only be called dread descended upon him. Nothing allowed itself to be seen. This area of Tushmuthut seemed to be empty.. but he knew that it could not. In the distance, he could still hear the cries: "Tchal Habbis!"

The Boy Hero & The Pirate Lord & The Psychokinetic Assassin & Lord of Terre Morte

Desafon's blades flashed like lightning, slicing clean the arm off one cultist and slashing his throat in one clear motion. The pirate talk really only made him seem more menacing, and he truly felt the value of the Blades of Efficiency.. was sure - maybe? - that he would've missed the cultist that first time, but the blade seemed to curve slightly inwards, removing the man of his own arm and blade..

Max's wind strike split another cultist in two, his gory remains splattering upon the white sands, but another cultist lunged at him, piercing his heart with the silver blade. Max's eyes went wide, and he slumpt to the ground, the Master Divine Sword wailing.. only to pick himself back up in a bolt of red fire as the Fierce God and tear the man's eyes out with his bare hands. As the cultist screamed, he was silence by the Fierce God's broad strike to the stomach.

Crailek barely managed to parry the vicious strikes of the cultist, whose eyes were wild and mouth frothed, and he felt the serious strain. He made no ground, either, flailing wildly at the antagonist as sweat poured down his face. As he was busy parrying another well-executed blow, his took a misstep, and stumbled a little - allowing another cultist, face leering, to swing his blade down. Crailek tried to parry, but lost his right arm in the attempt - it was a simple bloody stumb, the shadow sword withering away in the harsh rays of the sun..

Foun parried the first blow of the cultist, but it was pretty evenly matched - he might have been killed if it wasn't for the psychoportation, which allowed him to get the drop on his enemy, appearing behind him so that his throat could be slit. Foun's head hurt - the combination of heat and psychic abilities wasn't a beneficial one for his strained mind.

There was something about this place that unnerved Chalybis, some vague but dreadful notion of a prophetic nature that rang through the empty streets with the continuing cries of His mispronounced name. He felt that He was not quite alone within this place, surrounded by unseen beings that hid from His sight within the deep shadows cast by the towering spires. It seemed that He was not the supreme being within this place - far from it indeed - and that was a very unpleasant sensation for a being like Chalybis. Still, He was not intent on giving in to any of these dreadful 'feelings'; He had come here with a reason, and would not depart again before He had found what He was looking for.

He marched on through the streets of stone, unhindered by the trivial emotions that were attempting to wear Him down from within and freed from the endless sandstorms that raged outside of the city. As He continued to follow the sound of the cries that called out to Him, His gaze continued to sweep back and forth over the utterly lifeless buildings around Him, certain that there was something amongst them which awaited His discovery. He felt that it would not be long before He would learn what all of this strange situation entailed; the white city in the eternal desert, its black-clad occupants, the deity that ruled this place, and of course, the name Chal Habbis...


OOC: I bet Crailek wishes he was here. :P

The Fierce God immediately set upon the two cultists assaulting Crailek, cleaving them both in twain with a single slash from very large sword. He then picked up Crailek's arm and pressed against the stump, healing the two back together with Life magic.

A headache brewing already he continues to fight, but to make things easier he focuses on the heart for a moment. Feeling the beat of it and suddenly he begans to glow and when he opens his eyes he smiles continuing the fight with new vigor. Although he doesn't exactly appear to be himself anymore using more skill with the blade then before as he too goes after those attacking crailek.

((Would certainly be better then the current situation, sadly, Mister Habbis.))

Crailek looks up at the Fierce God in confusion, and sets together a string of random curses under his breath to express his feelings, then pushes himself back up onto his feet. He looks around to see if there are any more living enemies, as they all seemed to have been fairly dispatched by those not especially skilled at failing, such as Crailek seemed at the moment.

     Desafon looks to see if there are any other opponents around, looking forward to fighting if there are any. Otherwise, he'll sheath his blades (or attempt to if they are feisty), and search the body of the one he killed. "I hate bloody cultists."

Chalybis

Chalybis soon enters a pure white courtyard, the central fountain spitting fine sand instead of water. The shadows are deepest here, the pavement well-crafted, as if recently, beneath Chalybis's feet. The sun is obscured, and while it is still quite warm a chill passes through Chalybis..

There is a gathering of darkness.

Behind him..

"Tchal Habbis. I will admit, you have always been the most courageous of my enemies."

The Schizophrenic Kid, The Lunatic Sorcerer, The Pirate With Anger Issues and The Battered Shadowman

The shining blade of the Fierce God shimmers, swerves, shimmers again.. and cuts the cultists in twain, it's elongated blade slashing their innards with ease. Black robes drenched with crimson blood fall to the ground. The sand is stained red. The overwhelming silence of the desert returns.

The Fierce God then picks up Crailek's arm, attaching it to matching bloody stump, and attempts to heal it. Nothing happens. Crailek himself is in agony, and losing blood really doesn't help.. he could feel the sun beating down, ruining him, taking the precious moisture.. see black dots dancing around his vision..

Sighing heavily, Crailek passes out.

Foun, it is assumed, rushes to his side.

(I have magician-level Life magic..)

The fierce god sighed, dropping the arm and letting a lick of flame cauterize the wound, before channeling life energy into Crailek to heal him.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:20, Fri 23 Oct 2009.

As He heard the voice appear behind Him, Chalybis allowed His gaze to spin around within His head until it shone out from the back in the direction of the sound. He had already established that the powerful divine entity was rather close by now - presumably it was the being that stood right behind Him at this very moment. It was addressing Him as its enemy - which was somewhat concerning - but so far it had not undertaken any offensive actions against Him yet, and He would not be the first to do so in this vile place. It could probably destroy Him with ease now, but in doing so He would be made far stronger than this vile fiend could ever imagine...

II: Chalybis - an unnaturally strong emphasis resounded on His name this time, echoing about far longer than it should before eventually fading out - Is The Enemy Of Countless Insignificant Beings Across The Entirety Of Both Time And Space And Even Of The Organizations That Rule The Current Universe So If You Feel You Are More Worthy Than One Of Them You Should Further Specify Your Identity To Elevate Yourself Above The Infinite Others Who Dare To Oppose The Might Of Chalybis - and again, His name echoed throughout the city, leaving no doubt as to how it was to sound when spoken.

Whilst He awaited the response of His presumed enemy, His body began to reform somewhat, gradually changing so that the front became the back and vice versa, allowing Him to turn around without actually having to move away from His location at all. He was expecting an attack by the being any moment now, but when it came He would be more than prepared for it. If this greater being dared to attack Him right now, its powers would become His to wield forever thereafter, instantly levelling the battlefield during their inevitable next encounter...

Crailek lays there in unconsciousness.

He concentrates his aura into crailek to help in anyway he can. I have no healing abilities, but I am not stupid. Someone take one of their selves to the market or some other place we need to get him medicine NOW. You He points to the fierce diety, continue doing that, but we need to get him to the shadows it will help trust me. He needs to be in darkness. Then turning to the pirate, Your realm is a chain of islands on the sea use paradox grab a large amount of water and bring it through paradox here. He'll need that as well to cool down. Don't forget to get some medicine and we're probably going to need the necessary items for a ritual to reattach his arm. If we can't do that then I can craft a decent replacement or find someone who can. Already in his thoughts he knows who that person would be.

Chalybis

There stood Osiris-Ra, black cloak billowing about him in response to some unfelt breeze. His iron mask was curled in a mocking scowl.

Chalybis felt a twinge of fear, and then it was gone.

"Tell me, old enemy," spoke Osiris-Ra. "Why are you here? Why shouldn't I kill you now?"

"I confess to dearly missing conversation, and enjoying the interactions between myself and my lessers.. forgive me if I do not seem my typical brutal self."

The Schizophrenic Kid, The Lunatic Sorcerer, The Pirate With Anger Issues and The Battered Shadowman

Still, the wound did not heal. It would take more, the Fierce Deity knew, then sheer stubbornness. His magical might was not powerful enough. He would need salt untouched by man, thirteen liters of boiled water, and fresh maple leaves for the operation..

Crailek began twitching rapidly. The heat was getting to him. He'd soon be dead from loss of liquid if something wasn't done soon..

This was a somewhat strange situation for Chalybis. The being before Him - owner of this realm and obviously a divine of great power - claimed that He was one of its greatest enemies, yet it appeared to be mostly intent on conversing with Him right now. Whilst Chalybis could not deny that speaking with the divine was likely to be preferable to being destroyed by it, the whole thing seemed to be somewhat suspicious. Furthermore, the being did have a certain point; why had He come here in the first place considering it was such a hostile environment that did not seem to possess anything of interest to Him? This had to mean something...

III: Chalybis Cannot Explain The Reason For His Presence Within This Realm To You At This Moment But He Assures You Whoever You Might Be That Any Attempts At The Vanquishing Of Chalybis Shall Only Lead To An Increase Of His Might And The Inevitable Destruction Of Those Who Dared To Defy Him So It Would Be In Your Best Interest Not To Attempt Any Such Things He decreed after some time, not so much lying as He was exaggerating. The other divine seemed to know why Chalbyis was here, and He was now intent on finding out what that was.

He was not completely satisfied with the way things were going right now though, for the other also appeared to be somewhat better informed as to the events that had come to pass in the past, events which He had long since forgotten completely during His nigh-eternal disappearance from this reality. Because of that, He 'needed' the him mostly alive to acquire this information. However, Chalybis was rather offended by the mention of Him as a 'lesser' being, something for which the other divine would dearly pay soon enough...

The Fierce God pulled the needed ingredients from within his cloth wrappings; thirteen liters of boiled water, fresh maple leaves, and a bag of salt that had never been touched by anything, to be honest. He then began to go about the ritual, clearly enunciating words from a long-dead language as he did so.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:26, Sun 25 Oct 2009.

     Desafon grumbles about the comment about going and paying for medicine for someone he doesn't even know, "Unfortunately my paradox in my realm is currently fighting a Mad God, please bear with me for a moment." He says, looking upon Crailek, "If there was something I could do at the moment, I would... unfortunately I'm committed in my tasks at the moment. I can't really break free." He grumbles, though he tries to see if these cultists happen to have any liquid on them such as water... though nothing at all of tea.
     He looks to Faun, "I can portal him to my realm, however, to cool him down... and then back, perhaps that would work?" He asks, though knowing that this realm is different than his, thus no doubt a different paradox might visit his realm.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:02, Tue 27 Oct 2009.

Chalybis

Chalybis got a response.

It wasn't verbal.

It did, however, involve a single maniac Machine God suddenly turning into several thousand liters of sand.

As Chalybis died, a single thought arose in his mind: Desolace.

The Petty Thief and Co.

Just as the Fierce God had seemingly conjured several things out of his mysterious portal, there was a flash of red light and where the Fierce Deity had once dwelled sat only Max, the water, salt, and leaves next to him.

Desafon cannot easily take what he wanted to take, and does not.

     Desafon looks towards the body that he had killed and takes the symbol off of it. He looks towards the others to see if they happen to be taking their own kills' symbols. "I don't know what to do in the sake of your friend. I'm still fighting against a Mad God in my realm, albeit I believe he had switched to some form of weather form or perhaps an eclipse." He sighs, looking towards the others, waiting to see what he can do.

Growling he wasn't about to let something horrible happen to crailek. He needed something anything to help him and out of desperation he looks about observing the area. Only his green eye is glowing now he's looking for shade or anything that might help a hand on crailek he's ready to portal him out of here and into his realm if necessary. Think of something and quick anything will do. He's mumbling a tear starting to well he couldn't handle seeing crailek die.

Oh You Crazy Pirate (and co.)

There is shouting from the white city, and Desafon counts eight or nine shadowy blurs in the distance: cultists, no doubt. Some of them have streaks of red or silver paint on their robes, probably a sign of rank.. they certainly looked more menacing.

Crailek started to twitch more violently. He was not in a good way..

Max, at a loss of what to do,  fanned Crailek's face with the maple leaves and splattered the cold water all over his body, getting him rather wet. He tore off a piece of Crailek's cloting and wetted it, pressing it against his forehead. He also poured some water into crailek mouth and made him swallow, then did it again. <blue>"Get him out of here, Foun. Make sure he gets lots of water."

Max made sure the wound was cauterized, then stepped back.

Foun nodded he'd teleport crailek to his realm there care would come quicker and easier. Psychoporting crailek to his realm and the self in his realm.

     Desafon grins, looking at the arriving Cultists, half-whispering/half-singing with a smile, ~What will you do with the drunken cultist?~ He looks towards his two blades again, drawing them swiftly before he turns to the others, "We're having company again." He looks to them, "At least this time I'll get to take down more than one." He begins to feel his blood pumping again, "This is more fun than my realm at the moment." He says this, setting himself for a charge as soon as they get close enough. "Which is the higher ranked?" He asks, hoping for a quick answer. If so, he'll charge that one.

The Vaguely Repentent Boy and Co.

Crailek flickered and was gone - teleported to another Realm. There was an illegal psychic among them - obviously Foun. Foun himself remained. Since there was an incarnation already in the Isles of Penta, Crailek would be fine until the paradox hit - but when it hit it would hit hard.

The cultists were close now. Three had two streaks of silver; a single one had four - obviously a sign of rank. Four were unmarked; eight in total. Obviously a sign of rank..

"Almadahbs'Ra!" screamed the four-painted one, and the trio were thrown into combat. Desafon felt the Blades of Efficiency tingle as he flung towards the cultist with four marks, but - to a small amount of surprise - felt both blades be parried.

     Finding himself in the thick of combat, Desafon let out a loud "Desafon'Ra! Whatever the bloody hell that means!" He shouts out at the cultist as he intends to continue with his great fight, channeling his Fury of the Duel against the cultist leader, making a motion that he intended to fight him separately, "Fight me alone if you consider yourself of any ability, honorless curr! Eight against me? Get in a line!" He calls out, believing that there might be some sort of chance if he could get them all to line up in a line to honor duel him.

(Sorry, Des, we'll wait for Foun. If he doesn't show by tomorrow we'll continue without him.)

Foun knew that this was not going to happen. Not now not ever he had remembered his time as a mad one. There was no real honor, although metatron had had a penchant for it in small amounts. He smiles putting his hand on the sand psychoportation was a beautiful thing. His green eye blazing as he begans psychoporting sand into the enemies bodies.

(am I still here? if I am...)

Maxine ducked and rolled to the side immediately, moving faster than if she had just ran. She swung her blade in a precise arc to create a current of razor-sharp wind, sending it hurtling at the three gathered cultists. The whole process took about two seconds, and she then assumed a guard position to fend off any attackers as she surveyed the situation. The satisfying weight of the sabre her hand told she could cleave this men in half if need be. If only she had a gun, this would have been over before it started!
This message was last edited by the player at 01:49, Wed 04 Nov 2009.

(Max, you'd left, sorry.)

The Pirate and the Magiscientist

As Foun used his psionic abilities upon the sand, only two of the unmarked cultists fell to thr ground, clutching their hearts and screaming softly. The others were born of Sand, had received the Invocations, and remained unharmed.. Foun saw three more of them, two with stripes, move towards him, blades in hand..

The cultist leader had accepted Desafon's duel with a nod. Desafon knew he would be an extremely capable fighter. Another, unmarked cultist, had gotten in their way and the Pirate cut him down. With a roar, the two lunged at each other, blades flying.. Desafon knew the guy was fast..

     Desafon was fast as well, however, invoking his Fury of the Duel against the opposing swordsman. "If you are a servant of the Mad Gods, send the one in my realm a message when you die. That I don't appreciate uninvited guests." He growls, getting into the conflict though trying to calculate his opponent's defenses as he fights.

He smiled the battle would be fitting remembering the fury of seeing crailek on the ground he would began teleportation mixed with fighting. Porting all over the place would make him difficult to track. Focusing more on offense then defense since he could port the moment he saw an attack. He made sure to watch their moves carefully so that he didn't accidentally port into a blade. Also using the spirit of murpheous to enhance his fighting skills. The aura of the heart may negate any negative energy as well.

Anik appeared here... why was he here? To gather ingredence of course! The sands of the city would provide a supernatural element filled with power. As for OsirisRa... he remembered him, who couldn't. He had watched as he took on several of the high councle and destroied most of them before needing to retreat. Not sure what happened after that. Anik walked calmly towards the city, should any sign of trouble appear... the would find the powers of a craftsman works well in a place filled with the ingredients of glass.

Anik stops in his tracks... and looks around. Something didn't feel right, here, something errly familar. He left.
This message was last edited by the player at 11:26, Sun 08 Nov 2009.

The Pirate and the Magiscientist

"Mad Gods?" growls the head cultist, deflecting one of Desafon's near-perfect blows. "Ha! Hahaha!"

Apparently, he found the idea funny.

The duel continued, with no real advantage gained by either individual. They were both good. Desafon would occasionally nick the cultist using his Duel power, but the cultist himself, blade flashing, seemed to have combat powers of his own.. incredible speed, strength to shatter blades perhaps not as finely made as the Efficients..

Foun struck another man, taking him by surprise, and he fell, dead - but soon after, Foun stumbled instead of disappearing, his head filled with pain, and he knew he could teleport no more. Another cultist moved up to him, smashed his blade aside, and pierced Foun in the gut with his heavy saber. Foun, bleeding, fell to the ground..

Foun grips his stomach he had overdone it to a point evidently. He would need to be healed quickly and magic was not an option it was too slow and complicated. Fleeing? That wasn't an option he needed to fight and he would building rage he remembers a saying he once heard. 'If a man doesn't care what he loses in the process even his life to bite your ear off he's more then likely going to bite your ear off.' Crailek's face in his mind he decided to do just that. Beastly rage bellowing forth as he charges not caring if the next blow is the death blow as long as he brings this guy down with him. Three targets are possible there is the jugular and the bridge of the nose and the eyes. A strong enough hit to the jugular to stun then to then to the nose upward enough could be a killing blow if that didn't work the eyes well that's just fun.

     Hoping to have taken advantage of the laughter, he realized that he himself was caught unaware at that moment, unable to make a decent strike at that point, "I take it you aren't from a Mad God?" He asks, uncertain just what he was fighting, "Ah, well, you're still one heck of a combat practice." He says, fixing in a little bit of his godly luck ability as he tries to get another good hit in with his Fury of the Duel, "And by the way, I am the God of the Duel."

The Pirate and the Magiscientist

As Foun threw himself at the man, clawing and biting and ripping and fighting, the Cultist fell, stunned. Foun tasted blood in his mouth, and the last thing that he realized before he was decapitated rather spectacularly was that he'd ripped out the man's throat with his teeth. As he fell, he fell satisfied..

Desafon saw Foun die, heard his screams, but did not turn. He was better than that. He knew how to fight. Turning would be death. Sparks flew. The swords were flashes in the air, clattering and screaming as the went to war. The cultist leader parried, riposted, fought back, stepped back, parried again..

The other cultists did not interfere. They knew what this meant.

Desafon was hot - quickly running out've strength - but he knew the cultist must be feeling the same thing.

"God - of the - Duel?" said the Cultist, spinning wildly - the attack, of course, was parried. "Such an - able - able fighter. Why not - join us?"

     Desafon chuckles, though in truth he is definitely feeling the effects of the heat. Unfortunately he isn't stronger with magic or else he might be able to manipulate the forces of Chance instead of simply reading the statistics. He draws upon whatever strength he can, continuing to fight as he may, "I don't... even know... what you're called. Or about. Lastly... I don't like the heat!" He says, trying to back up enough to use magic that he had only just now recalled, dabbling with his powers of Water to summon enough water to cool his body down even just a little to continue on.

Raelis appears here, his portal a link to his own past when he walked these streets in their heyday.  He concentrates hard on returning to the house he once owned in this realm.

Desafon

Desafon didn't have the mental energy to spare to engage in a little act of magic.

He felt himself getting worn down. It was so hot, and he was so tired.. the blades shimmered, danced, clashed.. he stepped forward, back, matching, parrying..

Raelis

(OOC: You actually owned a house in Tushmuthut?)

Soon, Raelis is halted by an official looking cultist bearing a silver strikes on his torso and a single silver blade.

The cultist gave no introduction, instead preferring to throw himself at Raelis with a bloodcurdling cry.

(Well I lived here for several years so I must have had a home of some sort.  That being said the house could easily be long gone and would certainly be looted)

Raelis reacted without a thought at the sight of the charging cultist.  One hand comes up and a power word streaks out at the cultist.  BLIND.

Raelis moves backwards, his almost visible lips curving into a grimace.  His voice when he speaks is flat and emotionless.

"I am Raelis of Litheris.  You will contact Osiris and inform him the ninth of the black council wishes to speak with him forthwith."

Desafon

(repeat)

Desafon didn't have the mental energy to spare to engage in a little act of magic.

He felt himself getting worn down. It was so hot, and he was so tired.. the blades shimmered, danced, clashed.. he stepped forward, back, matching, parrying..

Raelis

The Cultist, perhaps blind - perhaps not - screamed and struck Raelis with his long silver blade. Raelis felt a serious physical discomfort as he staggered, fell, cut by the Blade of the Sun.

Raelis swivelled and hurled another power word at the cultist this time ceasing to even attempt to save his life.

WOUND  hurled itself at the cultist's throat attempting to slash it open even as Raelis rolled sideways in the dust to open up distance between himself and the cultist.

     Desafon could do little else than attempt to defeat this Heathen Cultist, this monstrous and possibly honor less Curr of a salt dog. "I do wish we could continue this in a more controlled climate than this blasphemous desert. It's getting too warm out here to fight in true fashion." Even though he was losing, Desafon attempts to continue onward at least a little more.

Desafon

The swords were mercury, slipping and slashing in the heat of the sun, almost liquid, and the battle continued.

Suddenly, without action from Desafon, the Blades of Efficiency struck out, hitting the Cultist's own blade and sending it flying off. He was unarmed, now. Two other Cultists looked on eagerly, but Desafon knew they were not going to interfere.

Raelis

The wound struck true; the Cultist screamed, dropped the weapon, and clutched his throat. Raelis was aware of his screams attracting the attention of other Cultists - if he weren't careful, he'd have a legion on his hands.

Raelis looked around him and then gestured.

"ENFLAME"

He attempted to evoke a circle of flame round himself and the fallen cultist before walking forward and attempting to pick up the sword.  As he did so his bellow split the night.

"I am Raelis and I seek Osiris.  If I have to destroy this city I will despite having lived here.  Eridu was greater than Tushmuthut and it fell before me.  Do not believe that I will spare you if you oppose me."

     Desafon looks to the Cultist that he has disarmed, "Knave, last time I had allowed an enemy to yield they shot me in the back. I will give you a similar chance, though this time my eyes will remain on you. I will allow you to surrender and explain to me what is going on, and hopefully you will also share some water with me and I shall spare your life. My mission isn't to kill cultists, but rather to understand what is going on that I might stop whatever evil is afoot. Of course, if that evil is your master than perhaps I should not spare you."

Desafon

"Just kill me," said the Cultist through clenched teeth. "Kill me and get it over with. I need no mercy."

Raelis

There was a sudden silence. As if everything had stopped moving - as if everything had gone. Still, nothing came to meet him. The sword felt heavy in his hands.

Raelis turned around to face the fallen cultist.

"Let us see if your master can be called by your blood then." The flat emotionless

The sword descended, flashed silver in the sunlight and the silver turned gradually to red.

Finally the bleeding wreck lay on the sand.

"Listen all of you.  I am Raelis of Litheris.  Long ago I walked the streets of this city and called it home. One of you has attacked me and paid the price.  Find me Osiris or another of his trusted servants."

Sura appeared here, heading for the city.

     Nodding, Desafon decides that though he isn't a cold-blooded killer that this being is indeed an evil being that needs to be removed (just like the Mad God in his realm). He ensures that the cultist's death is swift if possible and readies himself in case the other cultists turn towards him. Otherwise, he's prepared to grab anything of worth on the man (including religious symbols on both him and any of the other fallen cultists) and removing this paradox just long enough to make himself more comfortable and less dry.

Desafon

Desafon's blade falls, ending the Cultist's life, as another leaps towards him; the second blade flashes, efficient as ever, and cuts the Cultist in twain.

The last Cultist - from his stance and the way he held his sword, Desafon realised he wasn't a very able fighter - stood, staring at Desafon and his mighty blades.

Raelis

The Cultist dies a little too easily; no other comes to his aid.

Sura

Sura is unmolested as he enters Tushmuthut.

The City - at least where he entered from - remains empty, untouched as it was. He soon comes upon a memory.. an ancient hall, where he'd eaten and drunk and fornicated and laughed, lying empty..

Raelis turns and looks around himself searching for any sign either of other cultists or of Osiris-Ra or his divine allies.

This place that felt so familiar was a tremendous comfort to Sura. Although questioning deserted streets, he heads further in, seeking the heart of the Cult.

Desafon

(repeat)

Desafon's blade falls, ending the Cultist's life, as another leaps towards him; the second blade flashes, efficient as ever, and cuts the Cultist in twain.

The last Cultist - from his stance and the way he held his sword, Desafon realised he wasn't a very able fighter - stood, staring at Desafon and his mighty blades.

Raelis

Suddenly, a shadow forms, and the Dread Lord himself is in front of Raelis.

"I do not - have long left, mentor. What is it? Why are you here? You have no business in my place.."

Sura

Soon, Sura is recognized by a Cultist with five silver strikes on his black robe. It was a Divine, someone so deeply familiar to Sura.. as he walks towards the God of Sand, he is joined by a dozen other Cultists of varying rank.

"Sura, Sura.." sneers the Cultist. "Why are you here? "

He spat at Sura's feet. This action set a trigger of memories within Sura, finally culminating with one name: Laktos. Laktos had served below Sura in the war against Tchal Habbis.. never hid his contempt for the general. The rats had come far.

"So the Master returns, and you decide the cause isn't lost after all. Welcome to the Cult,  treasonous Odhinrakha," he growled. He'd called Sura the worst insult the Cult had - Odin-fucker. "You've finally figured out where the power is, it seems."

Raelis stares imperiously at Osiris-Ra.

"I have come back to inform you that I have reclaimed my memories and wish to ask you some questions.

one - are you aware of the location of the blade Ultima?

Two - what happened to the books and writings stored in the dwelling I lived in here?

Three - Did other gods survive the destruction of Eridu?

Ultima is the key to the Last Word.  I require its return."

Sura gave a deathly stare to Laktos. "I am the Masters favourite. You are pathetic. Remember your place. Sura took a few steps towards the cultist. "I am taking command here in the Masters absence, objections?" He readied a sand defense: grains of sand spread out so they are barely visible, poised to cluster at a thought - Sura expected objections.

Desafon

(repeat)

Desafon's blade falls, ending the Cultist's life, as another leaps towards him; the second blade flashes, efficient as ever, and cuts the Cultist in twain.

The last Cultist - from his stance and the way he held his sword, Desafon realised he wasn't a very able fighter - stood, staring at Desafon and his mighty blades.

Raelis

Osiris-Ra stares at Raelis, almost blankly.

"I - cannot - must be - paradox -"

With that, there was something louder than thunder, and OSiris-Ra collapsed, turning to darkness.. finally, he was gone.

Sura

"I am a Master of this place, Odhinrakha, one of the few fifth-degree lashes of the Cult," replied Laktos, simply. "I was reborn long before you even gathered upon the sands. I hold the Third Invocation, and the sacred Gloves of Nakhutan," he said. Sura, despite not being able to remember what the Gloves of Nakhutan were, knew he was right; he wore the dark, tomb-coloured glove. "And what are you?" he spat. "Traitor - worm - jackal. Perhaps you'd best find a new lord - perhaps the Isuban is better suited? I am the Master of this House, the Resident Lord of Tushmuthut, and your power pales against my own. You may leave this place, Sura, or you may die."

     Looking at the remaining cultist, Desafon peers at him, no doubt tired and slightly worn out, but definitely still possessing the strength to dispatch one more fiend, "Tell me all that you may about the cult that you belong to and what great evil you seek to unleash. No doubt your God might be mighty and full of wrath, but that is something you have to experience later. I am here and now and I swear to you, I would find the magic to reclaim your spirit and give you tortures that your Cult's God might never envision. I am not the God of Pacifism, as you might have seen. Though I am strong in blade, I'm also deadly persistent."

Sura's eyes lit up with rage - redder than the setting of the deserts sun. He spoke maliciously, "I am bearer of the Sceptor and the Gong that Sings the Song that will Kill the Earth. I have direct orders from Osiris-Ra himself, who now has faded. Unless you wish to work against our Master, you will stand down, worm. Sura did not know why this man called him a traitor, for now he assumed it was out of mere hate.

Raelis looked around.

"You have not answered my questions.  As you wish.  You cannot attain your desires without my assistance."

Taking the silver sword and the cultist's symbol he was gone.

Raelis

(Sorry, Raelis, but did you mean to declare that you'd left Tushmuthut for good?)

Desafon

"We are the true servants of Osiris-Ra," spat the Cultist. "We are the Invokers of the Sun, the Bane of Isuban, the Wanderers of the Sacred Desert and the Enemy to the Conclave. We do not fear death; I do not fear death. If you wish to kill me, then do so."

Sura

Laktos smirked.

"The Dread Lord did not mention such an edict to me," said Laktos, the Cultists about him sneering at the God of Sand. "I am the God of Fury and the Master of the House of Tushmuthut. You are not welcome here. Perhaps you should seek Parjust at Niborkerese, or flee like the jackal you are to the Sphere.. but you are now to leave this place, Sura, never to return unless it is by my own or the Master's permission."

Yup - it seems the logical response to the events!  I've left this realm for now at least.

Sura stood his ground. He grin came upon his face - a grin the stretched far enough to disfigure his illusion of a normal man, to that of his true form: A man that looks like he has been without water for a century, but couldn't die. "It amuses me that he did not tell you of this - perhaps your time is over? That, or he does not trust you."

Sura thought for a moment. This man could be a traitor to Lord Osiris-Ra and of so, Sura felt it his duty to dispose of him.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:18, Wed 02 Dec 2009.

     Pondering, Desafon decides instead on a new course of action, not killing him just yet but seeking to knock the individual out so that he might be able to take him prisoner to the Conclave. Of course, he's going to make certain that whatever holy symbols (except this guy's) he can grab he'll take back. And anything of value on the accursed cultists.

Desafon

By the end of it, Desafon had nine pendant-symbols, and, if he wished, could take one of the silver blades of the Cult - but they didn't wear much else.

The Cultist was easily knocked out - Desafon was more than enough a warrior to accomplish the feat.

Sura

"Oh, no, he mentioned you quite often," sneered Laktos. "Mostly as the fool who'd lost the most sacred Scepter. Oh, he was very impressed by that feat. Your petty illusions don't scare me, either. You've always played in a league greater than your own."

He spat.

"You will leave, now, scum," said Laktos. "Or I will have you killed. You remember, of course, the last time we fought?"

     Indeed, Desafon wished to take the silver Blade of the Cult, transferring both the prisoner (if possible) and the items he gathered to the Paradox he had in the Valley. Of course, (as I will post in a second), Desafon intends for that Paradox to leave immediately for the Hall of the Sun. As for here, Desafon will continue onward to whatever signs of water he may find to gather his strength.

"So be it" Sura tried to remember the way Laktos fought while at the same time, raising the sand a little in front of him. That was a distraction however - the real attack would come from behind in the form of several spear shaped sand projectiles.

Desafon

Both the prisoner and the Blade are taken to Desafon's paradox in the Hall of the Sun.

There are no signs of water to assure him - not here. He was so thirsty..

Sura

Sand, deadly and concise, was thrown towards Laktos, and Sura felt a wave of satisfaction as he saw the image of Laktos be obscured by the storm of dust. The Cultists underneath Laktos's command - roughly a dozen - did not intervene.

Suddenly, Sura was thrown to the ground as he was struck by something large, black, heavy.. a giant scarab?

No, he saw, Laktos - and he remembered what task the Gloves of Nakhutan performed. Laktos had taken the sacred aspect of the beetle upon himself, and had been gifted with transformation. He was covered in an obsidian carapace, mandibles twittering upon his face, his arms and legs bladed.

Reacting as fast as he could, Sura made a sand storm to obscure vision. Then made several illusions of himself, attempting to confuse further. He then aimed to sever the gloves from Laktos' hands, using bladed sand.

     Finding that he might die here of thirst, Desafon grunts and decides to remove this Paradox until he can revive himself elsewhere.

As everything was caught by sand, Sura struck, but not fast enough - Laktos was gone.

"You best, hrruh, leave, before he returns," grunted a Cultist, coughing on the sand.

Sura turned to the cultists. "Your insolence is beyond comprehensable. Lord Osiris-Ra has given me direct orders in his final moments of life. You dare disobay him? I will have this place purged of all betrayers.". Sura had hoped to get the cultists on his side. At least then, if he loses to Laktos, he'd have the support of the city itself.

One of the Cultists - perhaps the bravest - spat at Sura's feet.

"You are in a world you cannot understand, Odinrhaka," he said.

The others remained silent. They were terrified.

"Me? Certainly not. You cannot perceive the true world.", Sura then attempts to decapitate the man with a sand blade, as to make an example of him.

The man, obviously a simple first-degree member of the Cult - having not heard the various tales regarding the Generals - fell as the sand did.

There was still no sight of Laktos..

"Do you see what happens to traitors? Serve me, and through me you serve Osiris-Ra!" Sura hissed. He knelt down, placed one hand in the sand hoping to communicate with the sand dwelling insects for information on Laktos' whereabouts.

The insects were silent, as were the Cultists. This was a sacred battle, they knew now - most had realized just how important Sura was.

Sura stood back up and made several mirages of himself and walked them around, hoping to draw Laktos out by thinking they were actually him and attempted a surprise attack.

The trick worked.

Laktos flung himself at one of the mirages, falling through it, only to turn and face the several images of Sura about him.

"Fight me, you coward," he spat.

Sura made all the illusions bar one vanish. The final one got into a battle ready position hoping to trick Laktos in believing it was the real one. Sura then rose sand spikes behind his mirage, meaning any attack that went through his mirage would result in being impaled.

"You forget the eyes of the scarab," yelled Latos, backing away confidently. "You must realise that the broken sight of the beetle can see through any illusion!"

The Cultists, once watching, had each scampered off. This was a little too serious for their tastes.

Sura creates another sand storm to obscure vision again. He then sent the sand spikes through the mirage at Laktos, aiming to bring the impalement to him.

The sand was raised, but hit only the air - Laktos had dodged elegantly, throwing his body to the side. As he rolled, he threw something at Sura. A blade of glass glanced Sura's clothing, shredding it, but missed the flesh - such as it was - itself.

Laktos was proving to be more difficult than he had originally thought. Sura then used his magical arsenal to incinerate Laktos' arms and legs.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:53, Tue 29 Dec 2009.

Sura felt a massive amount of energy leave him, and he fell to the floor, a wreck; he had the raw power, but not the finesse needed to successfully control such a spell. The world spun, and his head throbbed. He felt dreadfully cold, as if all the heat had left his body. The sun was so far away..

He was rewarded with screeching and screams. An acrid, smoky stench filled his nostrils. When Sura had finally composed himself, a few minutes later, Laktos's entourage had their heads bowed in reverence towards Sura, and Laktos himself was charred beyond all recognition.

Sura slowly made his way over to examine the corpes and Laktos' possessions

The corpses were burnt, nondescript, caught in poses of horror and extreme pain. Rings of molten gold were caught around the necks - the remains of the pendants of Osiris-Ra - but the Blades of the Sun were entirely unharmed. Laktos, Sura saw with a shudder, must have been boiled from the inside - the carapace was still up, the Gloves still, logically, caught beneath.

He would have to crack Laktos open.

And so Sura did. Without a flinch, he uncovered his newly earned rewards.

This was more difficult than it seemed. Unfortunately, the sacred scarab armour was did not make Laktos as deliciously crackable as a lobster, and he remained sealed within his chitanous tomb.

Sura used sand to creater impacts on the armour, hoping the force will break it.

The shell bent and twisted under the repeated blows of Sura, but eventually crumbled under several dozen powerful strikes. Inside, Laktos's flesh had been completely boiled - blisters and scathings covered the entire length of his body. The fabric of the dark robe he'd been wearing had completely melted away, fused with the broken flesh of the Cultist.

Sura delighted in this sight and searched for his possessions - mainly the blades of the sun and the gloves.

Covered in thick red-black gloop, still exceptionally warm to the touch, was the Blade of the Sun. Even covered as it was in the boiled gore of Laktos, it still shimmered silver, albeit slightly. Sura felt an immediate sense of homecoming as he weighed the thing in his hands.. as if it were made for him.

Access to the Gloves of Nakhutan was more difficult to obtain; Sura would have to either crack the armour surrounding the arms, or otherwise gain access to the hands.

He took his new blade and tore at the armour around the arms.

Slowly, surely, the arm began to crack, to peel, and beneath it Sura saw white stained, rather meekly, by black and red - as if boiling blood could not fully tarnish the thing. They were the Gloves.. such powerful Gloves.

Sura peeled them off the dead Laktos. He grinned and put them on.

The Gloves were sticky with the fluids of Laktos, but slipped on smoothly. As soon as Sura felt them on his hands, he began to experience a strange sense of power, felt maniacal chirping and clicking - like that of an insect - just beyond his range of hearing..

Sura took a moment to analyse the gloves power before seeing who/what was around him.

Strangely enough.. at the moment, there was nothing about him. There were no steps on the sand save his own, no shadows against the sun-bleached stone. The City was quiet. Perhaps the Cultists were distracted elsewhere, or maybe they'd decided to give him this sacred moment.

Sura stood up, took one last look at Laktos and moved on to find the cultists.

As Sura walked through the great city of Tushmuthut, draped in the shadows of an obscured sun, he saw a familiar figure sitting by a large pool of water - the water hole that served, once, as the meeting place and business area of the Dread City. Now, however, it was empty, save for the single individual, draped in white and red robes, sitting on the stone.. Sura knew that they had been friends, once.

"Sura," said the God. "It has been too long, my brother."

Sura looked upon the figure and tried hard to remember. He knew he could trust his feelings - this once good friend. Sura spoke carefully. "Forgive me, i have limited memories of the past... You are?"

The man looked hurt. Sura saw his long, brown hair, the strange cut of his teeth..

"Wounded, you've wounded me, brother. Still - the name will ring a bell, I am sure. I am called Gourdus - the Gorgeous Gourdus! - and I rule over everything wet and screaming. Remember? Do you remember these chiseled good looks, this adorable face?"

Sura did remember -

- they'd been close friends, once, despite his over-the-top demeanour -

But what was it?

What did Gourdus do to break that friendship?

Tchal Habbis..

"Ah yes... I do recall... if only vaguely." Sura spoke softly. "Once a good friend..."

"Come now," said Gourdus. "Let's let bygones be bygones. I've never been proven guilty, and I still assert that it was all a set-up organized by Laktos. Bastard. Let's not let it get in the way of old friends.. especially now that I'll be taking Tushmuthut. I'll be Lord of the House, Sura, and you can be my lieutenant.. how does that sound?"

Sura remembers, now, that Gourdus was accused of treason against the Cult - selling their secrets to Tchal Habbis. But was it true.. ? That much was unsure. And the God had a strange set of powers, a domain unlike most others found in the Cult..

Gourdus, Lord of Water.

"I'm afraid i'll have to decline. I will be taking House Tushmuthut." Sura had a feeling he was playing on his own hatred of Laktos. "Why would you seek house Tushmuthut, Water Lord?"

Gourdus smiled. Sura had known the man long enough to know it was an artificial grin. "I desire House Tushmuthut because it is rightfully mine, sand-man. I have waited here, contesting against Laktos for supremacy for nigh on three years, now. And now he is dead - thanks to you, I've heard - and I will take my position."

The smile, now, was genuine.

"Come, Sura. You know administration - the actual leading of things - was never for you. You're a soldier, a warrior, but not a thinker. I will rule Tushmuthut, and you can be by my side."

"Three years?" Sura coughed and spluttered - but this was just Sura's genuine laugh. "Three years you have spent and made no progress. I have only just returned and already things are progressing."

Sura ran his feet through the sand. "The desert people shall inherit the desert, not you water lord. I have evolved beyond my previous station. It was my leadership that led our armies to coutnless victories if you have forgotten."
This message was last edited by the player at 08:29, Wed 20 Jan 2010.

Gourdus stiffened at that. "I have made progress enough. You would not know - you only returned when the Dreaded Lord came knocking back. And to think I defended you! Perhaps Laktos had a point when he called you on charges of treason against the cause."

He grinned.

"Water is destruction here. The place is more fragile then you would believe. What better than a harbinger of destruction to rule such a House? As for the claims you've made previously.. ha! Without my strategies your armies wouldn't have made a single difference. Without your blunders we'd be ruling the Realm Supernatural."

"You know nothing. Its was only because of the trees sickness that i was awoken in the first place.  The Dread Lord himself spent his final moments with me, entrusting his sacred possessions to me.

Sura's eyes narrowed. "This banter with you is pointless. For the friendship we once had, i ask you to stand down."

"I cannot allow you to rob you of what is rightfully mine," said Gourdus. "My apologies, Sura. Go to Niborkerese, or one of the border Houses - I hear there is a lovely property within the Deathmarked Gardens of the Realm Savage. Three Gods, fifteen mortals, and a Shage or two. No contest - you'd claim it easily. I can even give you directions."

He laughed.

"Please. It is more fitting to your style. Tushmuthut is mine - and even if you were to, say, kill me - hah! - then you'd have to compete with Mhaje and Horus. It's not worth it, Sura. Go home."

"I will take the other houses soon, but Tushmuthut must be under my control. It needs to be strengthened. I will not give this up. What will you do, friend?"

"I might kill you," said Gourdus. "But that would be impolite. How about a deal? If you liberate three Outer Houses for me - say, House Deathmarked, House Craterborn, and House Vajkhan, all in the Realm Savage - I'll stand aside and even aid you in your attempt to take Tushmuthut, for then I will be the Dread Lord of the Realm Saavage and quite content."

Sura knew this to be a good deal. He wasn't sure he could handle Gourdas as an enemy. "If i accept this deal of yours, you would not contest control over the cult?"

"Not at all. If it is the toppling of Herosiphastus you want, then no, provided that I am given - in the aftermath - an aligned House Savage and that Realm is solely under my own jurisdiction I will not vie to remove you from your seat of ultimate authority."

"Liberating the Houses in Realm Savage would make me powerful enemies in the sphere. When the time comes, i will need allies. Will you be one of them?"

"If you swear on my Callisti friend to aid me gain House Savage, and not to threaten my position at a later date, I will swear to support you as an ally - and as a friend."

"I will agree to this. The cult needs stability, i will carry this out, mark my words.

Gourdus drew a small, shining metallic ball from his pocket - a tamed Callisti.

ROSES at your feET Sorcerer

"Thank you, friend Callisti," said Gourdus. "I bought this beauty of a sorcerer in Niborkerese. Enslaved to my will, my own patterns shackling the thing. Now, are you entirely sure you wish to swear on it?"

"You say its tamed to your will and synced with your patterns? Does this mean its not bound by normal callisti laws? It could trap me in an agreement i do not want."

"There is no way to break the inner laws of the Callisti, Sura. Your distrust saddens me. It simply means that it reports to me, and obeys my command - psychically enslaved. I do not have the skills or the motivation to tamper with the inner core of the thing; that was beyond even the abilities of the greatest Callisti blackworker in Niborkerese."

"You must understand my precautions. With the Dread Lord gone, i cannot ignore anyone as a prospective traitor." Sura looked at the callisti. "I will swear on the callisti, i would ask you to swear on it first."

"Of course," said Gourdus.

"Provided that Sura grants me the Houses Savage before he rises to power, I swear an Oath on this Callisti declaring myself his ally and friend, and I declare that I will not strive to usurp him from that position," said Gourdus. The Callisti hummed.

Oath taken.

Sure then swore on the callisti "I declare that I will gain control over Houses Savage and then hand them willing to Gourdas to control. Furthermore, i will not seek to threaten his position of leader over the Houses Savage once obtained."

It was done. The two were bound by Callisti.

"That wasn't so hard, now, was it?" said Gourdus. "Thank you very much, Sura. I'll hold the fort here, make sure the place stays unstable enough not to realize you plan on taking it, while you go handle the batshit-crazy Shage and their scary weapons."

"Very well. I'll begin straight away." Sura said as he turned around. "Its a pleasure working with you again, Gourdus."

"The pleasure, God of Sand, is all mine," Gourdus grinned. "I'll hold the fort, don't you worry about that."

Sura then leaves Tushmuthut.

There was a crashing of sand - the unbearable heat - a withering -

And it was done.

Deep within the bowels of Himself, Chalybis felt a remarkably vengeful presence within one of the other versions of Himself that floated around Him. It appeared to have been an incarnation that came not from the present but from the past, a version of Him that had met an untimely end at the hand of some unworthy being in a past He did not bother to remember. It seemed that this version of Himself was trying hard to open up another gateway to the outside of reality, as if it was intent on returning to the place where it had been slain to have its revenge. Chalybis approved.

The white plains that surrounded the Dread City became black now that they were cast into deep shadow for the first time in millennia, the searing sun above them disappearing from view entirely an ominous dark form began to take shape in the sky. The darkness suddenly burst open, spreading itself all over the heavens as the infernal machine that was Chalybis came into view within it. A swarm of past versions of His gaze rushed into reality now, spreading themselves over the titanic gears and pistons which made up His form.

All of Him saw the dread city lying in the sands beneath, a stone eyesore which was an offensive reminder of one of the lesser moments from His past. This time things would be quite different though, for His power had risen far beyond that of this pitiful place, and the dread lord was nowhere to be seen. Without him, Chalybis could easily dispose of whatever resistance remained here, and exact appropriate revenge upon all that inhabited this realm. They had dared to defied Him due to their faith in another false god, and now they would pay the ultimate price for this intolerable insolence.

His main gaze here - the vengeful one which had been the entire reason for His appearance in this desolate and useless realm - began its revenge immediately, collapsing upon itself to form a vortex of nothingness which extended itself all the way down from the heavens until it became a massive inverted hurricane. This cone of destruction swirled around as He swept it over the sands beneath Him, tearing apart the surface of the realm itself as it steadily approached the white citadels before it...

Sura appears, feeling the danger to his beloved city. Sura looks around quickly for Gourdas or some high ranking offical, the cultists will need a leader - and Sura was quite capable.

Chalybis

Slowly, painfully, the cyclone of destruction headed towards the city. Chalybis saw with some satisfaction that there were hundreds of dark-robed figures in the white walls of the citadel scrabbling about madly, like ants when one decides to go burning..

The cyclone edges closer, whipping dust, sand, a score of poisonous, vicious beasts into its cone of feasting..

Sura

Sura found himself deep below the Dread City of Tushmuthut, in a deeply familiar room: it was the Chamber of Audiences where the Cult of Osiris-Ra, in the older times, would hold meetings, tribunal, and temple mass. Its great white walls, adorned with the heiroglyphics of the Cult, seemed to grasp those within it - half a dozen men and women situated around the Altar of the Undying, which itself was filled with maps and schematics..

Sura felt shock as he recognized each of the five faces. Gourdus the Gorgeous, Lord of All That Cries in the Ocean, Contestant to the Savage, with...

With Sura's one-time wife. He remembered now.. her deep black hair matched only by the ebony hue of her skin, constrasting entirely with those great silver gauntlets - the Gauntlets of Ghadur, he knew. She was Ghaduraigna, mistress of Tushmuthut.

And there was the eccentric hyper-mathematician, Mister Lord Davies, who was too fond of games of chance and cards but was the most brilliant tactician the Cult had ever found. There was somber Khor, whom Sura was never fond of, God of Murder, high priest of sacrifices and curdling deaths, herald of the Cult.

Finally, there was Babbling Diviner, God of the Bones, who was the official fortune-caster of the Cult of Osiris-Ra and aide to the Dread Lord himself. Diviner, whose only useful ability was the fact that he could mildly see the future when he played with those bones of his..

Sura immediately thought Gourdus had betrayed him, but when he saw the Lord of Water's grim face, and his gesture towards Sura to meet them, he knew that there was something much more serious: something to unite the squabbling factions of the Cult of Osiris-Ra.

"Come, Sura, to the Altar," said Gourdus solemnly. "Do not hesitate. I am glad you've heeded my calls. We have a situation.."

Gourdus smiled thinly. Khor and Ghaduraigna, however, did not - their faces were twisted in obvious hate. Mister Lord Davies smiled warmly at the Lord of Sand, and the Babbling Diviner ignored him utterly, studying the charts.

Sura dwelled on Ghaduraigna's face for a few seconds too long and then looked to Gourdas. "So i hear..." he said in his half whispered voice, approaching the alter. "Tell me, what is this threat?"

So far, everything appeared to be going exactly how Chalybis had intended it, His mighty presence destroying the resolve of the cultists before He would ultimately destroy their bodies and capture their not-quite-immortal souls within Him to satisfy His wrath. Although He was only consuming useless matter right now, along with a large amount of insignificant creatures - literal vermin of some kind - He already felt that the harvest was working out just right.

The hapless creatures that found themselves within His vortex stood no chance at all, being torn from the surface - or torn along with the surface if they were particularly steadfast - and thrown into His form where every metallic atom was forcefully ripped out of their bodies to add to His already nigh-infinite bulk. Every other portion of their corporeal forms was then burned up to fuel His might, whilst their puny souls became trapped within one of the many black orbs that dotted His surface, doomed to remain there until He decided to use them for His own goals.

Chalybis simply continued His progress towards the city walls, knowing it would only be a matter of moments before the first of the white stones would fall prey to His power. After that, the entire city would crumble before Him like the insignificant pile of dust it was, destined to join the horrible fate that awaited its occupants within Him...

Chalybis

The cyclone of destruction whipped across Tushmuthut's outskirts, taking masses of sand and stone, but eventually coming to the city walls, which crumbled as if dust. As they fell, Chalybis felt the watch-snakes and vultures be thrown into his form as he came across them. Very quickly the walls were no more, but the destruction did not spread. Could not. There was the faintest line of black silt beneath the walls, a magical core, that protected the city.

But compared to Alkan, it was pitiable.

Sura

"The Filth," said Khor. "The Mad."

"A single Mad God," said Gourus. "Our sources point towards him being a low-level outlaw to the Conclave. Aspect of machines, industry, that thought of thing. Seems he'd gotten himself some power, feasted upon the wine of the Outside, and decided to crush those who might have stood in his way. We don't have the resources or the weapons - save, of course, the Hammer of Yarkh-Huit.."

Sura remembers the Hammer of Yarkh-Huit.


"He Who Speaks In Machines And Is The Constant Toil Of Industry," said the Babbling Diviner.

"He is against us because he has always been against us," said Mister Davies. "His name in this incarnation is Tchal Habbis. It is so obvious. He has come for revenge against those who cast his jackal-form to the sands of death."

And Sura remembered Tchal Habbis.

"It would seem likely that he has been sent to destroy us by the Monastic Order of the Nuclear Eye," said Ghaduraigna, spitting to the floor. "They've finally gone beyond petty cowardice and attacked us head-on."

"You're a fucking imbecile," said Mister Davies. "There is exactly zero proof that the Monastic Order are antagonistic against us. If anything, they're our only rival that truly understands our religious beliefs. Furthermore, the profile of Tchal Habbis, for those of you who haven't been listening to a goddamn word I've said, indicate that Tchal Habbis is a loner. Delusions of grandeur.."

"Delusions?" asked Khor. "Has us running scared."

"My point," said Mister Davies, "Is that he cannot be working for the Monastic Order. No. Impossible."

There was a horrible tearing sound from far above, and a silence fell across the room.

"First... First Boundary crossed," said a shaken Khor.

Sura's gaze dashed about the room, eyeing its inhabitants. "Stop your petty banter. This is not time to be at each others throats. He is one divine, and one i have fought before... long ago. Gourdas, ready the Hammer. If the intruder makes it past me, use it to stop him. I will meet him head on. If the city falls, i will go with it." Sura felt his loyalties to the city kick in. Even if it meant his death, he would defend this city and protect it from destruction. Sura span around to leave to the surface and said "Do you understand?". He waited for their response before he left.

Although the magical barrier was rather disappointing to Chalybis, He cared little for this interruption of His progress. Nothing was daring to resist Him, His power was growing larger with every creature He consumed, and He quite literally possessed all the time in this insignificant world. Such a minor obstacle was but a speck of dust before Him which He could erase from existence at His leisure. The city would fall before Him, and there was nothing within this pathetic realm that could hope to prevent it from happening...

The vortex became somewhat less disrupting as He focused His attention upon the magical seals below, and for a moment it appeared as if His powers were waning. Nothing could be further from the truth however as the only thing He did was change His target from the physical towards the ethereal, leaving the remainder of the debris where they lay for now but rending the magical barriers apart with the same horrendous powers that had ravaged the stone walls moments ago.

As He rapidly eroded the pitiful spells that held Him at bay, Chalybis became aware of other powers that lurked within the city, powers which appeared to be strong enough to disturb His peaceful obliteration of this realm, but which were also large enough to feed Him. Perhaps something of interest - other than the destruction of Osiris' cult - would be happening in this place after all...

Chalybis

As the antimagical currents hit the threshold they threatened to dwindle, to fall. His powers were waning, slowly, but even the power sorcery of protection laid upon the city was pathetic compared to his destructive abilities. Soon, very soon, the Second Boundary would be crossed.

Sura

"This is my home and my faith, my place and my makkah," said Khor, resolutely. He placed his hand to his belt, drew the wickedly curved knife that had seen so many lives murdered. "You have my blade, Sura. I will fight with you. Even as I am on my last life, and face Final Death, I will fight."

Gourdus stepped forward. "It would almost be cruel to make that bargain with you, friend, and then see Tushmuthut razed to nothing. And there is the Dread Lord to consider. Yes, I will fight with you, Sura, and together we shall be mighty. You have my considerable gifts."

"I'm afraid that my combat skills are close to nil," said Mister Davies. "Nevertheless. You have my prayers. May the desert be kind to you all."

"I'd love to fight, really, darlings, I would," said Ghaduraigna. "And I have the capability to do so. But I'm awfully tired, you see, and the Hammer won't throw itself.."

"Coward," said Mister Davies. Ghad was silent.

"Very well, stay behind me and follow my lead. Davies, divine on Tchal Habbis. analyse his attacks and his weakeness." Sura created a simple bug from the sand. "Tell this bug what you find out, i will hear it." Sura then motioned the two forward, up to the city.

Although Chalybis knew that possessing more power would be somewhat preferable right now, there was no reason to hurry in acquiring it - the city was as defenceless as it had been before, He was about to crush the last wards that held Him at bay, and its population would soon be devoured by His infernal hunger. He refrained from absorbing some of the trapped souls within Him for now - He did not truly require them this instant, and it would be much more gratifying to feast upon the human souls He was about to acquire. All He did was continue, continue exactly as planned...

Chalybis

Soon, the Second Boundary was crossed, the magic wasted away to nothing and the Dread City of Tushmuthut was ripped up and destroyed. Solid stone crumbled to dust under the vacuum, sand and ash was flung above, the bodies of infidels and the stray mortal cultist were thrown to their unimaginable doom. Darkness had fallen upon Tushmuthut. Sacred temples were thrown above, never to be seen again. Ceremonial barracks were pulverized and assimilated. Armouries were crushed, fountains smashed, homes were turned to nothing more than memory. A solid two fifths of Tushmuthut had been taken in this way, leaving nothing more than the rocks below, when Chalybis suddenly stopped at the Third Boundary. It was the sacred hand-print of the Dread Lord himself, smeared as if bloodied upon each wall of Inner Tushmuthut, and Chalybis felt an irrational fear as he saw upon it. Each building was marked in this way.

Sura

Khor took the Wicked Blade, that knife that had seen so much murder, out of its ancient sheath, murmuring his assent. Gourdus became clothed in the powerful liquid armour that was nigh-impenetrable. They would both fight to the death if they had to.

Rushing up the hidden stairs to the Inner Tushmuthut above, they saw that Tchal Habbis was larger than the three could have comprehended. He dominated the entire cloudscape, a writhing, seething mass of steel and madness. Outside of Tushmuthut there was nothing left. Only dust. Much of the city had been taken already.

"He stops at the Third Boundary," said Khor, smiling despite himself. "Let him cross the Hand of the Highest."

"Lead us, Sura," said Gourdus. "Lead us into glorious death."

Sura discloses the plan to his comrads.

He calls out orders to the cultists - "Sons and daughters of Osiris-Ra! Head underground if you cannot stike the opressor from the ground! Sorcerors, forget your attacks, group together, focus on larger, slower strikes!" He then gathers his strength and moves what seems to be the whole desert, throwing sand into the wind. The sand storm was thick and unforgiving.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:47, Sun 25 Apr 2010.

The unhallowed markings upon the buildings puzzled Chalybis - although only for a mere instant - as He became aware of them, arcane symbols much like the previous ring which were warding Him off. They were equally annoying to Him as removing them all would mean another disruption of His progress, something which He did not approve of and thus had to be avoided if at all possible. No, He would not be destroying them all individually. If He could not tear the buildings from their foundations, then the foundations would simply have to be harvested with them instead...

Whilst the vortex began to wane, shapeless globs of silver metal began to drip out of His form around the remainder of the city, shattering the bedrock below them as they fell down. The silver metal began to seep into the rock below, transforming it as it crept deeper and deeper underground, gradually spreading in all directions as it did so. A silver hue came over the formerly pristine white rock, a ring of animated metal that was ominously growing all around the city.

Meanwhile, Chalybis awaited patiently, several of His many gazes watching over His creation as they approached the city from below. He knew that the power of the wards was not unlimited - His form above the city was not hindered after all - and it would not be long before the silver metal would find a path beneath them. When that happened, the entire city would be torn free from the solid rock beneath it, its feeble remains ready to be consumed by Him in a single strike...

Chalybis

The area within the Hands of Osiris-Ra, protected by the Third and Last Boundary, was suddenly consumed by a seeming tornado of sand, obscuring Chalybis's sight within. The silver shards dropped, striking some of the remaining rock outside of the Boundary, turning the land slowly to that of the same stuff as Chalybis, but those that were aimed within the Third Boundary were stopped by the stand, turned to nothing by the violent, wicked whips of dust that could skin a man alive. The slight silver presence that encroached upon Outer Tushmuthut slowly - very slowly - grew brighter..

Sura

Gourdus does as he is asked, and is soon encased within a sphere of liquid. He follows Sura, as does Khor, Murder Knife in hand. The knife could cut through any substance, Sura knew, steel or no; he was glad to hold his old enemy as a comrade in battle.

Most of the cultists had long ago entered the Chambers below, unable to weven comprehend how their meager magic might harm such a mighty being.

"Hrrrh," said Khor, seeing the buzzing creations fly about Sura's frame. "Impressive."

Slowly they rose, protected by the sandstorm and by the Third Boundary.

Sura continued as planned. "Tell me, Khor, Gourdas," Sura began. He lowered his voice, cautious of ears.

Although the silver metal would most likely be more than capable of dealing with the dread city on its own, Chalybis was growing somewhat impatient, and decided that He would accelerate the process of destruction somewhat. Now having experience with the destruction of such defences, He allowed another titanic construct to form within Him, a duplicate of the weapon with which He had almost brought down the mighty wards of Alkan, compared to which His current adversaries were literally nothing. Red lightning crackled loudly within His form upon the cannon's completion, and moments later another beam of destructive energy was cast down from the heavens, bringing a new type of doom to the city down upon Tushmuthut...

Once again Sura felt the emotion of incredible bliss as prophecy had been fulfilled: his direct Fate had been the cause of Chalybis's death, among other things, and he felt good, immediately relaxed.

There was a massive crash as steel hit sand below.

"Was that.." asked Gourdus, skeptical.

"Perhaps.." said Khor, also not willing to bet on the death of Chalybis.

Sura was surprised Tchal Habbis fell. "Lets go down for a closer look." Sura then directed his sand platforms towards the reckage, swarms at the ready.

This message was deleted by the player at 02:14, Fri 30 Apr 2010.

(Max, deleting an action without the approval of myself is flagrant abuse and metagaming. You've been fined fifty percent of a Degree.)

The wreckage was twisted and torn, a metal scar slashed upon the blistering face of a once-beautiful (admittedly only in the view of its inhabitants) land. None other than the holy land of the Cult, of Osiris-Ra, of the Sun itself. It was not moving. Oil, the blood of the Mad, stained the purest sand. Geears and wreckage filled most of the surroundings. There was a sense of deja vu - a second Tomb for Tchal Habbis.

The others were speechless.

"What.. did we do?" asked Gourdus, half-serious.
This message was last edited by the GM at 08:40, Tue 11 May 2010.

"Aside from my behind the scenes... Nothing." Sura thought for a moment. "Tchal Habbis was also in Niborkerese... Perhaps he was struck down there or somewhere else."

Sura gathered up whatever moisture he could and spat on Tchal Habbis - however it was hardly saliva but grains of sand. "It matters not, he is dead and Tushmuthut is save." Sura went back up to the sky to assess the damage.

Gourdus and Khor followed. Gourdus openly grinned, while Khor grimaced at the destruction wrought by such filth. The sands were filled with shrapnel, with shattered stone, with sand and with dust. There were no corpses. There had been deaths, certainly, but they would not receive proper burial. Forever gone.. it filled Sura's heart with anger. The Cult of Tushmuthut had been dealt a hideous blow.

But the Third Boundary, the Black Hands of Osiris-Ra, had stood strong. They had protected the temples, shrines, inner sanctums of Tushmuthut even when magic and stone could not. The Dread Lord saved them even in death.

Sura took a moment of silence for the dead. After this moment Sura finally spoke. "Even in death, the Dreaded Lords power is beyond our comprehension. " Sura bowed his head. "Spare what thoughts you have of the dead for later - there is work to be done."

Sura looked to Gourdas. "We need to erect the barriers that were taken down immediately. See to it that it gets done."

He then looked to Khor. "Have everyone combat ready and replenish our numbers."

Sura released the swarm of insects onto the wreckage of Chalybis. "I remain here. Gourdas, return here when you are ready to establish the barriers. Khor, i will seek you out soon.

Sura grabbed a piece of Chalybis using sand to bring it up to him. "We still have other enemies."

Gourdus nodded. "I'll return to Inner Tushmuthut, gather Davies and whatever sorcerers and craftsmen we have left. We'll attempt to rebuild the boundaries within a few hours." He smiled grimly, and moved towards his task.

Khor nodded at his command. "They'll be shaken but nothing my Murder," he said, showing Sura the gleaming knife, and the God of Sand remembered how it could inspire soldiers truly. "Can't solve. We'll have to save morale. Suggestions, Sura?"

As Sura thought about the creation of stronger barriers, Khor still stood near him, waiting for an answer, so his sand-project couldn't begin.

"Let it be known that it was no one here that saved Tushmuthut, it was our Dread Father." Sura said passionately. "Let it be known that the Tchal Habbis is dead. We have grown stonger because of this."

"I... yes," said Khor, nodding his head as if in shock. Two thirds of the holiest city in the universe had just been destroyed. Khor's usual somber face held a hidden bitterness - mixed with a new found, yet just as bitter, admiration for Sura. "Heirophastus will want to visit. Inspect the damages. Perhaps insert one of his own men into Tushmuthut. I'd - we'd originally planned, hmm, Sura, for myself to take Tushmuthut, but now.."

His voice trailed off. It wasn't easy to conduct a Deep and Meaningful between two mass murderers and servants of a vicious jihadic cult, but it was possible.

"You may contest my rule if you wish Khor. However, my love for the city and the cult will not allow me to hand it over." Sura then said hastily, "Khor, we do not have much time. We are weak and our enemies may seek to take advantage of this. We will discuss such matters once we are up and running."

"Apologies," said Khor. "I will go."

And with that Khor retreated within Tushmuthut, to ready whatever force they had. Sura saw him, in the heat-blurred distance, speaking to one of the holy city's remaining officers.

Sura continues with his creation and thinking on the barriers, hoping some stroke of genius will hit him.

Slowly, for Sura was exhausted, the creation starts to form, though no stroke of genius save that which he brings himself comes. He spots Khor organizing the scattered troops of Tushmuthut, as well as Davies and Gourdus overseeing the construction of a sand-wall about Inner Tushmuthut - Gourdus, it seemed, had decided at this stage not to bother with placing the wall in the same area it was originally built. Why guard empty land? They could always build a second wall..

He takes a moment to rest, but only a moment. He then continued hard on this one creation.

It took an hour and a half, and was very rough, an imperfect creation, but the first sand guardian - a golem made of dust and the blood of zealots - was created. Down below, the construction of the Third Boundary - a stone wall - was being erected, underseen by Gourdus. Khor was nowhere to be seen, but soldiers marched on, below.

Sura sensed the presence behind him just as whoever it was spoke.

"This is.. mightily impressive," said the hot, heavy, rasping voice. "We haven't met, you and I. A shame. I've heard the tales, the myths. Sura of Desolace, Lord of the Forbidden Oasis. I am Hierophastus, Lord Invoker Perfect of the Sphere of Force and Fire and First Brother of this dandy Cult. You'd have heard of me, I'm sure."

The First Brother of the Cult of Osiris-Ra was tall and widely built, dressed in elaborate robes of simple black, his eyes filled with sand. His hair was wild as the desert's kiss and his grin as sharp as the knife. He held no weapon, only an ornate pendant with the image of a twisting, destructive snake on its face. The image seemed familiar to Sura, but from where.. ?

Sura staggered to his feet slowly - he was incredibly exhausted. He looked the man up and down, memorizing the image. "Hierophastus." Sura managed to hiss out. Sura faked a smile. "Yes, your reputation preceeds you..." He said, coughing violently after. "By what do i owe this... pleasure?".

What was the significance of the pendant, Sura asked himself.

"I've been drawn from my otherwise deeply engaging responsibilities to personally assess the damage done to our Holy City," said Hierophastus, ignoring the insult. "The Machine God did quite a lot of damage, I see. I have been told - by Khor, of all people - that the salvation of Tushmuthut was due mostly to your own actions. Is this true? It has been - aheh - a very, very long while since you have been with the Cult. You understand that there are sentiments within the Cult that it would be best if you never engaged in our matters."

"I have always been with the cult. I escaped from Yggdrasils forced slumber to return here - just in time too. The cult is in tatters, mostly due to poor leadership and infighting. You, and the other figure heads, put yourself above the needs of the cult and it has suffered from it." He looked Hierophastus directly in the eyes. "Don't you pretend to govern over me. I have only one master, and you are not it."

Hierophastus smiled, rose his hand, and Sura felt involuntary fear as the man seemed to take the form of the Apophis, the Snake of Destruction, invisible but incredibly real mate to Nadhaggr. Hierophastus's entire body was electric, quick, his eyes filled with lightning. There was a fluid method to even the presence of the man, and his teeth were longer and dripped with poison. His hands were curled, bent, broken. The pendant shone bright red - the red of the falling sun. His features were cloaked in the shadows of dusk, and a tension filled the air, sudden as death.

Hierophastus hissed at Sura. "Sstand down, dog," he said.

Sura looked upon his rival, and studied him hard, remembering this form. He then grinned, "Very well. Tell me, are you helping rebuild Tushmuthut?"

Hierophastus shrugged. "I am here to warn you that my contacts in the Conclave suggest that they are preparing an invasion force," he said, smiling. "And also - it seems Tushmuthut has no ruler. That is a terrible oversight. I believe Khor would make a terribly efficient leader, wouldn't you think? Perhaps you could fetch him for me? I will sit here and admire," he smirked, "The scenery."

Sura again attempted to gain saliva for spitting, but a dry retching sound only came. "Osiris-Ra is the leader of Tushmuthut and everywhere else under our control. None can claim leadership, only regents of His throne. Khor belongs on the battlefield and even he will admit that, you will talk to me."

"Hah," said Hierophastus. "Hah. Heh. So it has come to this. You believe yourself an," he paused for a moment, "Efficient leader. Tell me, then - was it under your leadership that this mess occurred? Only a small third of the Holy City remains. We were better than that. Why did you fail to adequately defend this place?"

"I'm sure you have much to say on the battle against Tchal Habbis. You, afterall, had front row seats safely in the Sphere. So do not presume to lecture me, coward. Especially when this internal bickering makes us weak in a time where we need strength the most." Sura rasped. "Now, do you have anything useful to say? I have defenses to see to."

"Coward?" said Hierophastus, slowly. "You will watch your tongue, jackal. I had more pressing matters at hand while you were fighting. Do not speak to your superiors in that way, Sura, lest you lose everything you hold dear."

"Hah! Superiors! You believe yourself above your station? Go back to your "pressing matters". the sand around Sura began to raise slowly and rotate around him. "Tushmuthut must be defend from the Conclave at all costs. So leave or help."

"I see," said Hierophastus. "I have her body, you know. Wrapped in silver bandages. She is dead, but not doomed, and she can be recovered. There is still time for.. a refund. If you are feeling particularly intelligent I expect you to infer my meaning, consider my offer and accept." He smiled, and his eyes flashed the deepest yellow. "Perhaps a Conclave-driven Tushmuthut is exactly what I, the Cult, the Dread Lord desire. Perhaps it is what we need. Perhaps it is a trap. You no longer hold the Scepter, no longer own the Key, have long forgotten the Invocations to the Sun. You have forgotten our ways, but I know - you cannot have forgotten the pain. The sacrifice. Accept, Sura, and accept rebirth."

Stepping out from behind an Obelisk somewhere, Pitcarn was in Tushmuthut. He needed his bearings, and he needed them fast.

Sura looked confused. "If you bring up my past in an attempt of some sort, you have failed. My memories are shakey at best of the old days." Sura grew impatient. He was being tied up on both fronts - his realm and here. This was not going well. He had one option.

Sura

"Hrrrm," said Hierophastus, his eyes narrowed. "Perhaps it is the truth. Perhaps old Sura Al'Amun of the Silent Desert has lost his scorpion's sting. Do you still believe yourself the worthy Lord of Tushmuthut? Your strength of will and," he smiled, "relative honesty has impressed me. We could use sorcerers like you in the Sphere of Force and Fire. Of course, regardless of your intent you will need to take the Invocations.. without them, you are nothing to us. You hold no right. No right, Sura."

Pitcarn

The sun above was very hot and fierce. Somehow Pitcarn had begun to sweat before his appearance in Tushmuthut, and now he was drenched in his own juices. Even in the shade it was much too hot. He was standing beneath the shattered rubble of two far-reaching spires, made of white stone and shattered by some unseen cataclysm. They collapsed together, forming a small, narrow cave, otherwise surrounded by kilometers of broken masonry. Behind the spires was the never-ending sand; ahead, much further ahead, the remains of a tiny city - Tushmuthut proper. Pitcarn vaguely saw shadowy forms marching far in the distance. Rubble surrounded him, a wasteland of damaged stone.

Pitcarn began to make his way towards to city proper, traveling as fast as possible, while still trying not to make too much noise, and remain a little stealthy.

Sura let out an apparent laugh at the thought of impressing Hierophastus. "I am no Lord of Tushmuthut. Osiris-Ra has that claim. I only strive to be reagent of this great city." Sura thought back to the defenses of Tushmuthut, he was wasting time. He turns to Hierophastus, "Tell me, what can you offer to the security of Tushmuthut? We must prepare it for an attack."

Sura

"I have learned word, as I mentioned, of possible Conclave invasion," said Hierophastus. "Strategically, it makes sense. The Conclave might be the pioneers of cutting-edge scientific technology, but when it comes to weapons of mass destruction.." He smiled. "I have brought the utter culmination of everything the Temple of the Razor within the Sphere of Force and Fire has worked towards. Our own technology. A weapon capable of leveling entire armies. I call it.. the Eye of Ra."

Hierophastus gestured to one of his men, one of a handful standing inconspicuously in black robes within the distance, and he carried a large golden chest towards his master. The chest was bound in protective seals, inscribed with sacred invocations to the sun, branded with the mark of Osiris-Ra. It was chained and locked and chained again.

"I can contribute up to a thousand men, in addition," said Hierophastus. "But I cannot accept you as Regent of Tushmuthut until you take the Invocations of the Sun as proper."

Pitcarn the Sneaky

Pitcarn soon came unnoticed to the edge of the deeper ruins of Tushmuthut. There, shattered monuments lay resting within spoiled fountains, obelisks were crushed, solid white stone scattered everywhere. Pitcarn saw three Cultists patrolling along one of the surviving - yet probably structurally unsound - balconies deeper within the battered city. They were the only presence he saw, besides the troops training to the far east.

Not five hundred meters ahead of him he saw the surviving city, surrounded by a small wall that had been smeared with the black hands of Osiris-Ra. They were ominous, somehow.

"No superweapons until its the last resort... unless it has no effect on the realm or city?" Sura was curious about the super weapon. "And i don't need you to accept me as regent. I need you to defend our Lords sacred city."

Feeling foolish for having just paradoxed it away, Pitcarn again finds his diamond rifle, and aiming carefully, sends a volley towards the three patrolling cultists. He aims not for them, but for whatever supports the balcony they stand on, hoping that their death will look like an accident.

Not looking to see the results, Pitcarn made a quick, hopefully silent dash to the wall, looking for a crack, about the size of a fist. He paradoxes the 3 Grenades he received from the Chalybis struggle, in case he can blast a hole.

Simultaneously, he looks for anywhere he might be able to climb or jump over. The blast may simply act as a distraction.
Sadly, he feels, sneak may soon have to be exchanged for force. Time is running out elsewhere.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:07, Wed 21 July 2010.

Sura

"No affect on either," said Hierophastus. "It was designed by Ra himself, before the melding. Only now, a thousand and something years later, have we received the technology to build it and make his eye manifest. It is a strange, mechanical object, to be worn in the eye socket. It allows hyper-divination in the present sense as well as for the user to manipulate the sun's deadliest rays - lasers, some would say. I have brought it as a gift to your efforts."

He frowned.

"And I said I would defend the city," he said. "Not in person, of course, but a thousand of my best men are yours."

Pitcarn

Pitcarn, despite never using a diamond rifle before, is incredibly proficient with it. A hail of diamond-splinters, the crackle of the nanobots, and the crash of the balcony proceed. All three of the Cultists scream as they fall to their deaths, crushed as they were by the whitest stone. There is yelling in the distance, further within the city.

By that stage Pitcarn has found the wall, but there are no walls within. It is incredibly smooth, perfect craftsmanship, perhaps designed by the Dread Lord himself.

He could not jump the tall wall, but perhaps he could fight his way through one of the four cardinal gates that dot the Third Boundary of Tushmuthut.

Quietly, Pitcarn questions the SUIT: "SUIT, unless you can grant me temporary flight enough to get over this wall, find me the direction of the closest gate into Tushmuthut."

After hearing the result, Pitcarn begins to run, staying as close as he can to the wall without touching it to try and avoid detection, ande stopping once he comes within sight of the defensive towers beside the gate.

Sura

(repeat)

"No affect on either," said Hierophastus. "It was designed by Ra himself, before the melding. Only now, a thousand and something years later, have we received the technology to build it and make his eye manifest. It is a strange, mechanical object, to be worn in the eye socket. It allows hyper-divination in the present sense as well as for the user to manipulate the sun's deadliest rays - lasers, some would say. I have brought it as a gift to your efforts."

He frowned.

"And I said I would defend the city," he said. "Not in person, of course, but a thousand of my best men are yours."

Pitcarn

Accessing mapworks..
Gates at 3.45, 6.7, 9.1 and 0.0.

Pitcarn understood exactly where the four gates are. His vision was augmented with a minimalistic map of the Inner City of Tushmuthut with the four cardinal gates. He knew he was closest to the west gate. He is very close to the entrance, however, when four guards assault from the cluttered wreckage of the side.

The first swings his curved Scimitar of the Sun at Pitcarn's head, while the second attempts to assault him with a poisoned blade at the rear. One is running for assistance towards the gate, yelling that he'd found Pitcarn, and the other is back within the wreckage, twenty meters away, muttering incoherently and reading from an ancient, faded scroll.

Dodging the blades, Pitcarn ignored the fleeing cultist and sent a volley from his rifle towards the chanting wannabe mage.

He drew one of his vibroblades, and faced the attackers, hoping to keep moving around them and ensure that only one could physically fight him at a time.

Using the Vibroblade to ensure that the cultists stayed out of arms reach, he fired the diamond rifle from the hip, hoping to cut down the followers of Osiris-Ra with out being too close.

"Quite a powerful weapon in deed. No doubt it will play a key part in this battle." Sura kept his thoughts on Hierophastus not staying personally to himself, he knew it was not wise to push the issue. "With your contribution, our chances have significantly increased." Sura looked out towards the city which he loved so much. "I will not see it fall so easily."

Sura

"No," said Hierophastus. "Neither would I. I am afraid.. it is time for me to leave. The men will arrive ready for battle shortly enough. Will you be keeping the Eye of Ra? Simply place the orb within your own eye-socket and it will do the rest.."

He smiled pleasantly and manically towards Sura. "And Sura," he said. "You might want to remember that he who tries to survive within Tushmuthut, but has not taken the Invocations of the Sun, is doomed to failure. There is a certain sentiment that you are scared to take the Invocations - that it is fear that stays you. I cannot say myself what it is, but know that if ever you find the Scepter.. it will kill you immediately if you are not worthy. You need to Invoke, friend, and quickly. Before it is too late."

Pitcarn

Pitcarn felt the first blade pass close by to him as he dodged the second one, and was satisfied to see the sorcerer fall down in a hail of gunfire. The second and third cultist fell easily after that. Pitcarn saw a dark mass of people ready themselves at the gates - and yelling from above the wall. Yelling in the distance, behind him, too. He didn't have much time to make a move, or to adapt his strategy if he needed to.

"Yes. I will have to renew my vowels of course.. If i survive this. Farewell then, Hierophastus. No doubt you will hear the result of the coming battle." He then turned and looked for Khor.

Pitcarn charged towards the gate, but instead of attacking the cultists in an honourable fashion, Pitcarn pulled one of his Conclave issued grenades from his robes, and (provided that the cultists have assembled outside or in the gateway) throws the grenade at the mass when he feels that he is close enough to do the most damage. After ducking into cover for a moment during the blast, Pitcarn covers his own advance on the gate with the Diamond Rifle as he runs towards the gates, praying that they do not close before he gets there.

Sura

Khor had gone.

Sura noticed - rather, heard - a commotion at the western gate. An intruder, perhaps =- this wasn't unusual. There was the scraping of metal blades and the yells of the faithful. Sura knew that Khor would be with them.

He heard a large blast near the western gate - possibly a grenade. Surely the Conclave couldn't have rallied already.. ?

Pitcarn

Pitcarn threw the grenade, and saw the robed cultists scatter in organized fear. The blast shook the gate, chipping stone, but only one cultist was killed - though three or four were wounded. It was as Pitcarn was firing and finishing off several of the slower enemies that he was attacked by a large black figure from above, throwing him to the sand and cackling like a madman. He held his murderous grip on Pitcarn's neck, a vicious ceremonial blade - tinged with red - in his teeth and a manic glint in his eyes. He wore all black, and was incredibly heavy. Pitcarn felt the grip tighten as they hit the sand, with the attacker on top of Pitcarn..

Sura quickly rose into the air, sand flowing all around him. He quickly flew over to the fighting. He hoped that it was not the Conclave... Tushmuthut is far from ready.

Fear gripped Pitcarn, but also a flash of clarity. He knew a path from this.

He punched the relatively unprotected underarms of the god, then, as he lost some of his tension, Pitcarn slipped his wrists inside the god's elbows, pulling the head of the unidentified divine towards him.

Pitcarn felt that the divine would only use the position to leer and gloat as an egotistical Cultist, and squeeze tighter in his neck.

As the weight dropped on his body, Pitcarn grabbed both his grenades and with one in each hand pulled the pins with his teeth and wrapped his arms around the divine's neck.

Sura and Pitcarn Awesome Team

Sura rose in a gush of sand and saw the burnt corner of the western gate, surrounded by broken stone - the work of a grenade or similar explosive. There were Cultists scattered nearby, but it was not clear where the enemy was..

--

Pitcarn felt the grip tighten around his neck. The maddened Cultist began to cackle loudly, manically, even through his teeth. as Pitcarn punched the first underarm, he felt it snap back, half of the grip gone. Before he could attack the second arm, however, the Cultist's fist returned to smash Pitcarn against the cheek. He felt himself be crushed towards the sand. He still managed to get his arms behind the lunatic Cultist, however, and managed to spring the two grenades..

There were several seconds of struggling as the Cultist attempted to reach for the blade at his teeth..

A strike, strangling, sand in eyes and ears and mouth..

White light and a deafening roar.

Pitcarn felt his life fall from him, felt the paradoxes in the other realms waver and remain, felt himself gain power even as he met death for the first time..

--

Sura immediately heard the second blast; it was farther down the eastern side of the wall. Who could.. ?

Sura rushed to the second explosion. He had his fears..

with his death, Pitcarn's manifestation here vanished

Sura

The sand about Khor of the Knife was blackened and twisted by the force of the explosion. Pieces of shrapnel along with disembodied, charred limbs surrounded him. His own robe had been destroyed in the blast, and thus he was nude save for tattoos and the murder knife in his teeth. His torso was covered in blood and black ash. Hot pieces of twisted metal had been embedded painfully in his flesh and he was groaning in soft agony when Sura reached him. The enemy had been killed in whatever blast had occurred.

His eyes were afire with some unseen madness. The murder knife itself was cracked, dark red, almost broken. It had taken most of the blast.

The Cultists watched on from a distance. They were fearful, reluctant, curious.

"Murder.." cried Khor softly, reaching out for Sura. "I need.. murder.."

Sura became concerned. Khor is a danger to all cultists and himself. He acted quickly and rushed down to the remnants of his foe. He quickly divined, hoping to for a name and location of the person who attacked. It was his plan to send Khor to this persons realm to achieve his murder.

The magic came with a little difficulty. Such a simple divination was hampered by the unstable vacuum of the Urge.. which Sura felt changing. A crash would come soon. Magic would rip through the sky. It would return..

Nevertheless, a name: Pitcarn.

A Realm: Bilbligh, and directions were given.

"Murder!" screamed Khor to the heavens, lashing out at one of the Cultists stupid enough to approach him, to tend to him. He slit the throat of the stupid cultist, drinking the blood as it poured, and still screamed his rage. "Murder!"

Yes, Khor of the Murder Knife was very cross.

Sura quickly span around to Khor and opened a portal to Bilbligh. "The one who attacked you is beyond this portal Khor! Head there to sate your hunger!"

The beast within Khor did not see reason or any sense of logic except for that which complied to his own twisted sense of vengeance and lust for murder. He howled at the sky, and Sura saw the red veins circling his eyes - the demon, it seemed, had been unleashed. He was entirely nude save for the cracked, tormented Murder Knife. He was a killing machine..

"Murderrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!"

But an intelligent one. He knew what the gate meant, even in this rage-filled state. He leaped into portal with the electric grace of the tiger, and the thing shimmered and closed behind him.

Oh, there would be murder.

Sura drew a long sigh. Crisis avoided. Sura then sat down calmly in the sand and took a brief moment. He asked for a high ranking cultist, perhaps one who was working with Khor in organising troops. As he waiting, he began cultivating the realm by raising the sand from underneath the city, creating a hill. Any army wishing to invade would have to climb up treacherous sand in the scorching heat. He knew this could exert him so he took his time.

Sura had risen the sand about the city by about a centimeter - the endeavour was both taxing and lengthy - when he was met by Brother Caliph of the Fourth Degree. Caliph was Khor's direct underling and served as a lieutenant-officer amongst the troops.

"Master Sura," he bowed. "How might I assist you?"

He continued while he spoke. "Tell me the status of our men. Khor had to step out for a moment, so you're in charge. Also i need preparations for me to take the innvocations of the sun immediately. Before the battle commences. " He then spoke quietly
This message was last edited by the player at 17:01, Sun 15 Aug 2010.

"I.. yes, of course," said Caliph. There was terror in his eyes. Khor was a disturbingly frightening man. "Our legion is some eight hundred men strong. They are prepared for combat, though morale is still shaky - the Battle with the Mad will have longer affects, I fear, on their psyche. Nevertheless, each one is fully trained and committed - mortal holy warriors, soldiers of justice, capable of taking on three to four lesser men in combat. They are our elite, and only, force. Each has their Blade of the Sun and all have at least taken the first Invocation."

He smiled and continued.

"I apologise, my Lord, but you must ritually bathe and abstain for the Invocation by yourself. It is a highly personal test, as you know." He seemed a little puzzled.
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:18, Sun 15 Aug 2010.

"Very good." Sura said almost too softly. "You may return to your duties" He then stopped raising the city and sat patiently for three days until the third night was upon him.

At the end of the second night, as the sun rose quietly above sleeping Tushmuthut and the embittered Guard of Night were replaced by the zealous Guard of Day, Sura found himself sitting at the edge of the city, surrounded by shattered stone.

The coming of sacred dawn was one of the most beautiful sights a man could witness, but as the beetle crawled across the sky, Sura found himself plunged into darkness, falling down a terrible Abyss within his very own mind..

The fall was great, and it continued even as Sura met the man in the yellow mask. His hands were cold and clammy, and Sura knew this even though he did not touch them, and his skin was pale. His robes were of a similar colour.

"There is a revival in the East," said the emissary of this strange place that was in a voice - and a language - that Sura could not comprehend but could still, somehow, understand. "Would you care to dance?"

Sura became cautious... He does not recall this happening in his previous Invocation. For now, he played a long. "A dance? May i first know your name? Forgive my apprehensiveness." Sura spoke calmly. This was a situation he could not yet comprehend.

"I am not to be named," said the yellow-masked thing, not unkindly. "Though you may call me by my original and most benevolent name, if you will. The shepherds of the field at the long-forgotten lake call me Haita, and it is a good name."

The abyss about them seemed to crawl and to dance, to sing and to prance with shadows. There was no light. Sura felt his skin crawl.

"You can understand my predicament," said Haita. "You know the struggle. It is a tragedy, quoth the playwright. Ever considered the hero? Death for a noble cause. Enough?"

Beneath the mask, a smile.

"Can it ever be?"

Sura tried hard to make sense of his words. "Death for a noble cause? Which cause? They're many." Sura spoke the best he could. He focused hard, still trying to figure out what was going on. This strange sense of fear is overwhelming. It is not right here.

Even as Sura tried to focus, the abyss about him blurred and danced, dodging his perceptions. Nothing about the yellow-masked host was clear, either, except for the pallid guise itself..

"There is only one cause worth fighting for. Is it love? Some are certain that it must be. Family? Perhaps. Duty? Almost certainly - to those who adhere to the code. Dust?"

Suddenly, the pseudo-silence was broken by Haita's laugh, like the screeching of a thousand locusts. Loud, disorienting, otherworldly and strangely enticing..

"Some of my brothers - and children - would think so. Dust, dust, dust.. this is the theme we must work with. Players in a great game. Who is the master? Not the Primordials.. they are a function of the universe itself, and thus cannot rule it. Not us. Not the Babbling King, the Blackened Liar.. no, it is an external force. Actors in the greatest play ever devised! Characters in a novel whose beauty transcends that of Tsang!"

The shadows suddenly dimmed.

"They work to craft their perfect world in the demise of imperfection. How is that not noble? Pawns in a game whose rules are dictated by the winner. Tell me, friend," illumination once more, "What, would you say, is worth fighting for? Dying.. for?"

It was clear that Sura had no power here and was entirely at this "Haita's" mercy. He thought Haita's question and ramblings. He had expected to answer "One must die in service of their masters" or something similar. Instead, he responded with "Whats worth dying for? Nothing is, unless your death can help the situation. So perhaps gain is worth dying for?" Sura was not sure where he was going with this, but he was speaking honestly.

"Wrong."

The answer was flat and final. An absolute truth. Shadows danced and ghosts laughed. The abyss was as black as before.

"Art is worth dying for," said Haita. "Art is what drives this universe. Meaning - the arrangement of symbols and metaphor to create change. It is a mystical act, the ultimate sublimation."

The being sighed, and Sura saw its yellow mask shimmer slightly. The cloth was at once flimsy and all-encompassing.

"It is coming. Perhaps it is already here. You have spoken with the Treacherous One, with the Thing Consumed By Mist. The False God of Mist. Rahause. Rahoose. Rayuse. He has been tasked by the urge of Yggdrasil. He is to destroy the Bloated Woman that sits on the throne of Nyahagha and drinks from the vine of the last word. In doing so he will be gifted with the Mark."

Haita stopped. Silence. Haiat seemed strangely lucid.

"You understand, Sura. He cannot complete his task. He is the trigger to begin the Purge, the end of the Mad on this Tree.. No. He cannot. The Nyarlathotep must be killed. You will hold the knife. The God of Mist will fail, and in doing so be ruined. You understand."

There was pleading in its voice.

"You understand, Sura."

Sura smirked and let out a small laugh. "If you've brought me here to ask me to kill Ruse then you have wasted your time." He spoke confidently. "Don't you worry, the God of Mist will die soon enough."

"No," said Haita the Shephard. "I have brought you here to ask you to bring an end to Nyarlathotep."

Sura was surprised by this. He, of course new all about the black man, the crawling chaos - but to end his existence? He had never given it a thought. "Why would i do this?" Sura asked cautiously.

"Because I have commanded it," said the Shepherd. "Because you desire it. Because if you do not, your universe will crumble and be consumed by entropic forces beyond your own comprehension."

Haita smiled, and Sura saw rows of crooked, jagged teeth. He was reminded of the shark, not the shepherd, and could not suppress the shudder.

"Above all, do it for art," said the shepherd. "Your World-Tree is dying. The Gallery of the Mad have taken their toll on your strange universe, and as it turns slowly to dust it contemplates a final option: the word, I believe, is archaic and forgotten.. 'kami-kaze', 'divine wind', from the Earthborn of this time.. it will consume itself in fire so that none might survive."

Shadows danced.

"But the curtains are not ready to be closed. Not yet. The game is still afoot.. I wish for you to destroy the more potent aspects of my brother so that Ruse cannot and both are ruined. I am prepared, yes. Prepared to give you what you need in return for service."

Sura thought for a moment. He thought, maybe, he was crazy to even consider doing what Haita says. But something deep inside him wanted to test himself against the Crawling Chaos. "Very well. You think you know what i desire?"

"No," admitted Haita the Shepherd. "I am not, despite all the tales and stories, despite the plays and the festivals, despite my own insurmountable power.. omniscient. I know what you need, however, for the task I have given you. But what you desire.."

He stopped, and looked at Sura. Sura saw his eyes, dead and black, filled with crawling luminous worms..

"No. What do you desire?"

He couldn't help but laugh at the mad ones honesty and humility. Sura then spoke "I desire the power to bring about the end of the conclave and bring peace to my people." He then continued after a brief pause. "However, i believe i have this power already. I would ask your opinion on that, if i may. Perhaps i am missing something key? A key you posses?"

"A key?" asked Haita, and the dead eyes behind the pallid mask showed small amusement. "Perhaps. I hold many such things, each of them more wondrous than the last. Nyarlathotep, my dearest friend, his fantastic contraptions hold no strain on my own. Tell me. What do you think I might possess?"

The shadows danced.

"A key to a door. A door that would normally be closed. I have faith in my current path, what i need is to see some options." Sura said with a hint of curiosity. "What door will your key lead me down?"

"Art and artistry, the poetry of the damned and the dead, the bleak realization of whatever barren landscape you happen to call home," said Haita. "Most importantly, I give you two tools and an offer - if you accept my own. The first tool is Inspiration, with which to destroy the Conclave from the inside out. The second is Art, with which to destroy and protect yourself from Nyarlathotep. Both are vitally important to artists, sorcerers and the mad. I believe you to be all three, and yet you possess neither of those attributes."

His eyes were alight with excitement. It was horrifying.

"And an offer. Do not be scared to refuse if you feel you are not worthy of it. I wish to give you my blessing, my bloodline: I wish to make you a scion of the Line of Hastur. Mad and broken, ineffably deadly, you will be my child and my rightmost servant. United in entropy. Together in madness."

"Your "tools" intrigue me. Those blessings i will accept. Your other offer, however, i respectfully decline. I will0 carry out your task, none the less." Sura bowed his head in respect then said; "I wish to depart then. I have a lot to do."

Haita, the Shepherd, looked worn, like ancient parchment, and sad, like a star that has realized it will soon meet death. But he also appeared as Haita also did: terrifying, inscrutable, utterly beyond reason.

And here Sura Al'Amun reasoned with it.

"Very well, my child," the thing shrugged. "It is not for everyone. The Court of Azya-Thoth will be open to all, in time, and when you find yourself in front of it's bone-carved gates, listening to the songs of my jester... you will have a chance to reconsider."

Haita smiled. It reached into its yellow robes and removed a tiny mirror - smaller than a child's palm - and an inkbrush carved of ivory taken from a fictional creature.

"Inspiration," he said, gesturing with the mirror. It shone brightly in the darkness. "And Art." The inkbrush did not shine; it did the opposite of shine, which was not to remove light but to deflect it in reverse. "Take these gifts freely, my child. Use them without restraint in your quest to destroy our Jester."