In the uncaring vastness of the void, the corpse of a long-dead God drifts; golden armor etched with the Forbidden Rune of Secrets hides it from innumerable prying eyes.

Within the chest of this decaying deity, the core of the theoelectromagnetic reactor that once powered her ancient Horunculi finally cracks after millennia, releasing the nearly extinguished Realm Seed within.

The goal of all life is not to survive, but to reproduce. This seed, abandoned, forgotten and on the brink of death, seizes this one chance to foster life. The curled 5th dimension sublimates into the 4th, and the 4th unwinds into past, present and future with associated 1st, 2nd, and 3rd dimensional matrices. The birth of a new Realm . . . too small, too late, and too weak.

The theoelectromagnetic reaction sparks, then stalls out. Theogenesis dies. Hope, for this seed, is lost. It held on for freedom for eternity, only to die creating nothing but one last home. Empty and without purpose.

The blind shade of a stillborn goddess lies quietly in a corner of the attic of this Lost House. She does not know she is blind, and there is only undisturbed darkness that has never known light.

Until now.

Impossibly, there is a spark, and the faintest ember awakens in the great hearth of the main hall. Not a God - nothing so grand - but a soul. One single soul.

A [LVL 1 Lesser Nuldrak] is born to the Last House. It is weak, terribly weak, and with great effort frees itself from its leathery egg. With its nascent [Night Vision] talent, it sees a grand space that resembles some cross between a Victorian parlor and the corridor of a spaceship. The windows, bracketed by heavy indigo silk curtains and reinforced with some strange metal, show only an unbroken field of twinkling stars - none of which resemble any galaxy he can recall.

He has arms with hands, legs with feet . . . that can also grip like hands? . . . and a prehensile tail. His wings are still weak and wet from something within the egg. His tail, too, is prehensile. His skin is slick with fine grooves that will grow, with time, into defensive scales.

Welcome, Lesser Nuldrak, to the Lost House.
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:19, Mon 08 Aug 2022.

The great hearth crackles and spits; a small tongue of flame flits out as another ember awakens.

A [LVL 1 Lunarian] is born to the Last House, little more than a wisp of starlight gathered together, a spiderweb of light floating in the air as if draped over the silhouette of a child. He is not incorporeal, but rather mistlike. When he concentrates with his mind, he can make his hands and feet heavy enough to take slow steps and move light objects.

With its nascent [Luminosity] talent, the Stellari gently illuminates the millieu, revealing comfortable couches, tables, and three exits from the Main Hall - a curving stairwell to the attic and also presumably a lower level, and another exit that lead to dark corridor. That corridor terminates at another window, this one shut but still outlined starlight.

About then, the Lunarian notices the spiderweb of light is not himself, but a cloak he is wearing. Lowering the hood, he abruptly becomes fully solid - a gray-skinned humanoid with long black hair and large yellow eyes. Still a child, though.

Welcome, Lunarian, to the Lost House.
This message was last edited by the GM at 05:43, Mon 08 Aug 2022.

One bare fragment of bone rolls forward, rustled by an unknown force. It takes alight on contact with the other two embers. A small, steady flame burns now in half-darkness.

A [LVL 1 Old Bones] is born to the Last House, a pile of off-white bones that rolls out from beneath a table, then slowly assembles itself into a skeleton. With two gentle taps, the skeleton verifies its head is properly attached to its spine. After a moment, two red dots of flame take up space in the unnatural darkness of its skull.

With its nascent [Life Sense] talent, it perceives the other children of the House, and also the ever-so-faint divine lifesign within the attic.

Welcome, Old Bones, to the Lost House.

[The Cycle continues unbroken . . . ]

Time passed as each of the three new members of the House reckoned with their abrupt new life, or un-life, that had been granted to them by some twist of fate. The Law of the House acted upon them; this was a place where violence could not bear fruit, and the slain would only rise again without any gain in strength on the part of the killer. There was little information about themselves to be gleaned in the environment, but the effort to do unlocked the [Appraisal LVL 1] skill, allowing them to determine the fundamental nature of the world around them in terms of its governing system. The Lesser Nuldrak with no name knew that it was now a Lesser Nuldrak with no name, whatever it had once been, and the same went for the other two.

The stillborn goddess could not move, per se, nor could she smile. She did, however, have the will to smile, if she could have done so. After all this time - three souls, and in rapid succession. What could this mean?
This message was last edited by the GM at 12:28, Mon 08 Aug 2022.

Lunarian flexed his hands out in front of himself, trying to get a feel for them. his body felt very much like his own, and yet he felt like a stranger in his own skin...both in equal measure. The misty-like ethereal qualities he had were...strange to say the least. It was really hard to describe, honestly. Although when he concentrated really hard he could manage some momentary bursts of solidity. He wondered if is quality could help him protect himself in the future, although when he drew down his hood he became solid.

He softly illuminated his surroundings, with his [Luminosity] talent. He looked around the strange house he was in, and not really sure why he was there or what the hell was going on. But it felt like he was in an isekai anime or something. Perhaps he was.

He attempted to walk, as best as he could. He felt a certain frailness to himself, like he were made of living gossamer and starlight. As he did, he began to feel vulnerable. It was that creeping anxiety that would get to him, even back in his time as a human. He was in a strange, Victorian gothic dark house in some strange fantasy world, and had a body and traits that were not his own. At least not until now, that was.

He felt that unease creep in, as he drifted like a star-lit ghost across the carpet of the main hall, and he pulled his cloak close to himself and drew the hood up. He hoped that he could become misty and ethereal again with the hood drawn up, even if he had focus and move in small controlled steps for a bit. As he did, he attempted to inspect the gossamer-like cloak he had drawn around himself, and [Appraisal LVL 1] it. Was it an item separate from him, or some sort of intrinsic ability of his. and was he really misty and ethereal, or was that a lie he told himself to quell his fear?

As he did all of this, he slowly made his way to the dark hallway, toward the window at the end.

... What.

The freshly-formed skeleton looks down upon its bare hands. The fingers flex with a dull clatter of bone on bone. The arms come up, those spots of flame flicking with clear confusion as they take in the all-too-thin-seeming ulna and radius, then further to humorous. Then down, down to its tiny bony toes. It lifts a foot and wiggles them with a growing sense of disbelief.

"This is a weird dream," the skeleton concludes of its situation. Its voice falls somewhere in the alto range, and is clearly more annoyed than confused.

So assured of its situation the skeleton starts patrolling its surroundings, exploring without any particular goal in mind. There was only so far it could explore without light however, and thus quickly found itself advancing on the fae-like being of sparkling starshine, the Lunarian (though she did not know that is what it was). Its unmoving skull-face betrays no emotion, though the dancing flames in its eyesockets seemed to squint at the shining being accusingly.

No accusation came, though, and the old bones turned their attention to the same window that drew the lunarian.

Flame gathers and spreads, enveloping fallow ash. At last - at last - wood catches, crackling and popping. The veil of shadow draws back, revealing a round table set with many chairs.

Within the basement, the [Earthborn] awakens within an armory lit by dully glowing furnace. The low red right gimmers on old brass armor and bronze weapon. War-banners faded with age hang listlessly from the walls. He is elegantly dressed, ready for the stage, gathered and intent. His nascent [Detect Arcane] talent outlines  the brass armor in vivid indigo, indicating dormant shadow magic.

Meanwhile, the [Demilupine] rises with crossed legs in the as yet undiscovered dormitory. He lies at the foot of a cot feeling as if he has awoken from a long, fitful slumber. His nascent [Familiar] talent detects the emotional state of six beings in his immediate environment, highlighting the alarm of the Old Bones - which is just as quickly suppressed, hiding them from the Demilupine's detection.

Above, in the attic chambers of the stillborn goddess, bright malachite eyes shine at the edge of feeble candlelight. Dark as a starless Void, the little [Minor Grimalkin] stirs. Its nascent [Curiosity] talent draw lines of intrigue throughout the House, guiding it toward adventure.

The Earthborn, Demilupine, and Minor Grimalkin are born to the Lost House. Welcome, one and all.
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:24, Tue 09 Aug 2022.

The demilupine yawned as he slowly arose from the cot he had slumbered on. "I'm going to need a nap later, I could hardly sleep on this bed." He stretched his limbs as he peered at his surroundings. Darkness obscured almost everything and a growing sense of confusion started to build within him. "Where am I?" He asked the void as he grabbed his head. His mind seemed to be in a haze, his memories elusive and jumbled. Knowledge trickled into his brain, but it simply prompted more questions than answers. "What am I?"

Eventually a flash of alarm surprised him and snapped him out of his thoughts. Not that the emotion was out of place, he felt a good deal of alarm himself, but he realized the emotion wasn't his. It was hard to describe a new sense. How do you describe sight to the blind? However it worked he felt emotions or at least the hints of them. With that knowledge came the realization that he wasn't alone. Someone might be able to explain all this.

The room remained consumed by blackness so the demilupine slowly shuffled through the room as he searched for an exit.

"What - " His breath catches short, then races his heart, whirling as he takes in settings so different from the sedate parlor, redolent with herbs and opiates and murmured verse. The sharper scents of flame and metals anchored him - despite the ephemeral nature of that sense, it was a detail uncommonly found in even his vivid dreams.

His racing pulse slows when nothing comes for him, no howling demon or wrathful angel. No hungry ghosts. The pop of the wood does startle him, but moment by moment he calms. He brushes off his silk, flicks bright gold and jewels (of admittedly lowest quality, common stones chosen to catch light) into their accustomed positions. Whatever performance may next be asked of him, the magician-occultist at least looks ready to play his part.

The indigo glow that outlines the ancient brass matches his silken outfit. A good color for him. Serendipitous. Somehow, it worked. The ritual worked. It's real. It's all -

Knowledge flowing into his mind distracts him. Shadow magic.

REAL magic.

He doesn't hesitate any further before crossing the room, glancing curiously up at the old banners as he does. There is a quiet to the room, an absence in contrast to the slow energy of the furnace, that seems - not ominous - awaiting.

Anything could be out there, he told himself, already reaching for the items glowing to his sight. Pale fingers trembling with an intensity that a decade of bright lights and psychedelic nights had stolen from most of his days, he touched the brass with something like reverence and hunger and need. Emotions as bright as the gleam of their surface, as dark as the furnace-cast shadows.

Spitter, spatter, and somehow a sense of cheer as the fire roared to greater life. A seventh ember joined the six, and the light of the Heart began to exude warmth into the sterile environment of the Lost House.

The [Callisti], a silvery sphere about the size of a human head, rounded the corner as it flew out of the dormitory, whizzing past the heads of the [Lunarian] and the [Old Bones]. All it saw with nascent [Meta-Analytic Computation] talent was reams of data not meant for a merely human mind to comprehend. Functionally, she was senseless. Control parameters were established, layers of virtual interpretation instigated, and the House itself was apparent to her. She was within the habitable core of what should be a planet, starved and constrained to just one miserable, lonely, destitute, forgotten house. The last House. The Lost House. Now, with six other mystified denizens . . .

Welcome, Callisti, to the Lost House. Roses ever at your feet.

The Callisti awakes to a painful sea of nonsensical data. No, not painful, just overwhelming, like trying to stare a the world through a 'magic eye' optical illusion, and much the same, the more she stares into it, the more it seems to resolve into something she can properly perceive.

"Unnngh..." she groans, from something that is not a mouth. Was this a dream? The small world around her had an unreal quality that somehow made it more familiar, more comforting to her than the world she had left. Was it like when your mind summoned the faces of internet personalities in your dreams because you'd memorized their features more clearly than that of your own family?

"A skeleton... and a person made of light? Others?" Her head was swimming, floating. She tries to rub at temples she cannot find with hands that are not there. In fact, nothing else she'd expect to find beneath her head exists to hold her up, and yet, she remains aloft. The lack of haptic feedback does nothing for her sense of vertigo that threatens at the edges of her mind, but never fully comes, as if this body is more used to existing in this way than her mind is.

The Callisti floats towards a table to rest on, first to have somewhere lower to the ground so she doesn't feel so high up to better orient herself, then to see if she is indeed solid enough to rest on things, or some kind of incorporeal ghost. Anything is on the table at this point, and with some luck, so too would she be.

"What's in charge here?"
This message was last edited by the player at 06:50, Tue 09 Aug 2022.

The old bones turned about at the sound of another voice. Those flaming pupils squint in contemplation as they take in the weird floating sphere.

"I do not think my subconscious could devise this scenario," the skeleton concludes. "Something strange is going on here. I am, for... reasons... not unaccustomed to the strange. For the moment I am willing to accept the possibility that this is happening."

The skeleton folds its arms behind its back and paces towards the floating sphere-creature. It- she manages to convey age and grouchiness with posture alone.

"For the moment, think of me as... I don't fuck'n know... Ken Marineris. Sure, that works. I'm from Seattle, and I'm not really a skeleton. How about you, Mysterious Levitating Geometry?"

It would seem that the Lunarian was not alone here. Other strange beings wandered this Old House, and at least one of them - the old bag of bones that creaked past him for instance - seemed to be an Earthling who was sucked inside this anime setting like he was.

The Misty, cloaked and hooded being who glowed with light stopped for a moment when the floating orb? and animated skeleton began to actually talk! Those things were sentient and possibly formerly human!

"You can call me Argentum." he said. His voice was, while with a hint of the masculine in it, airy and ethereal which only further added to his new fae-like image, despite him not trying to be as such. Argentum was the name he used in a play-by-post game once back on Earth and it felt like it was fitting. Especially since he was a celestial themes [Lunarian] somehow now.

"I don't know how I got here. I was reading an anime magazine back in the Midwest and now I'm reborn as a being of light and mist." Argentum added.

He once again tried to [Appraise] his cloak. Unlike the other two, the cloak was a part of him yet it wasn't and it continued to draw his curiosity.

[A terrible doom is coming.]

The stillborn goddess had no voice to speak, no eyes to see. Still, the back of her worthless neck prickled. Stars that were not stars turned baleful eyes toward the drifting husk of the God, and the House furtively hidden within. The Forbidden Rune of Secrets had been bypassed from within. The Grand Array, millennia in disuse, responded instantly. The [Callisti] knew this, because there was no such as "a Callisti". There were only [the Callisti], the great distributed mind that could never know deceit.

The fire roared, and spat out an [Unblooded Shage]. She was tall, lithe, lined with hard muscle, her hair a great and wild mane of jet black twist and curls. Other species discriminated between peace and war, combat and safety. Not the Shage. Her nascent [Thought Acceleration] talent left her adrenaline always pumping. She lived in one crystal clear moment, the moment her fist crushed bone. There was only war, the lull between more breath than the pause between one breath and the next. She was dressed in burnt rags, but her hair was untouched by flame or ash - the strands, in truth, were the same iron-black metal as her hair and teeth.

Welcome, Unblooded Shage, to the Lost House.

The [Earthborn]'s [Appraisal LVL 1] skill progressed to [Appraisal LVL 2] as he studied the armor. It was made from Mythrolasium, an alloy of Mythril and Solarium, the base metal that could transformed by ritual sacrifice of no fewer than 10,000 souls (In Greek, the amount termed a Myriad) into the seething warmachine once called Living Armor. The Shadow Magic runes inscribed into it guarded against psychic erosion and replicated some of the Nuldraken, the Void-Dragons, to permit the bearer limited flight in zero gravity and camoflauge their life signature. It was an XO, however primitive compared to the true god-slaying [Psychoshells] and [Arch-Golems] employed by the Godhunters he had studied in the lore. With some work, he could get them operational in a matter of minutes.

The [Lunarian] progressed similarly as he studied his cloak, which spat out an actual item description:

Starsewn Raiment [Ribbon-Type Armament]
Soulbound, Heroic

Bridal shawl of one betrothed to the Empty Throne. One of the Heroic Relics granted to summoned heroes.

Transmutes the bearer into luminiferous aether when worn. Forbids the use of any other weapon type.

I am, I am, the God who Warred;
with shattered shield and broken sword.
I am, I am, the unfaltering Sun;
she whom stood 'gainst Void and won.

Both the [Lunarian] and the [Old Bones] examined the covered wincdow in the corridor. Once opened, the entire corridor was bathed in the cold green light of the moon that hung like a great crystal within the Void without. The Last House slowly revolved around the verdant moon, which for the moment eclipsed any view of the planet behind it. The moon itself clearly supported life, lush with green-brown rolling plains or forests divided by snake-like mountain ranges. Compared to earth, only 30% of the visible landmass was covered by water in the form of red seas.

Meanwhile, the [Demilupine] groggily departed from his dormitory, a cleverly hidden door hissing aside to permit him access to the same Moonview Corridor as the Lunarianand Old Bones. The green light was kind on his eyes. His Talent did identify two beings as likely to be friendly - the wild-haired Unblooded Shage that had just been unceremoniously spat form the roaring hearth, and the petite silvery orb resting on the table that apparently a sentient being called a [Callisti]. There was also, of all things, a small monkey-dragon-esque [Lesser Nuldrak] dazed before the fire?

The [Old Bones] and [Lunarian] presented no threat. In fact, nobody seemed like an enemy within his perception.

[The Cycle continues unbroken . . . ]
This message was last edited by the GM at 12:40, Tue 09 Aug 2022.

What was going on. Where was he ? His bright eyes looked about he spun around and around. He saw something at the edge of his vision and intrigued tried to get a better look but as he moved it did too. It was fast and soon he felt dizzy not realizing it was his tail he was chasing.

Soon he was curious about other things had he died ? He closed his eyes and the flashes of those guns came back. Did they miss ? Wincing he didn't think they did. Shaking his head he opened his eyes and looked around again.

He padded about looking about the attic. Seeing if there was anything interesting. As he padded about the place he kept feeling whiskers brush things and it made him stop each time and look about. He felt his face and his paws brushed over his whiskers which only made him shake his head at the sensation.

His triangular ears perked up and he moved towards the candle light to see if he could find anyone.

A chill even the sullen heat of the armory furnace couldn't ward off flowed through the Earthborn. 10,000 lives... Knowledge crept into him like winter frost, unfolding, spreading. It was ALL real. Wonder. Terror.

He'd studied old texts, journals, fragmentary documents, enraptured by the tapestry they wove of glories and marvels not even the wealthiest and most potent of his species could have hoped to command. But there were monsters in the weave, weren't there? Darkness surrounding the light.

Distant sounds, soft and uncertain, touched his ears with the same sharp, cold fear understanding the XO had brought. I'm not alone. What lay before him was the product of horrors, but it was warden, too, against them. And it stood to reason that whoever or whatever had once worked in this room might not be so far away in time and space...who lit the furnace?

He worked quickly and efficiently, giving himself over to his new senses as he sought to reclaim from dormancy the monstrous shell and its attendant weapon. Whatever lay ahead, it was better faced armed and armored.

'Success', the demilupine thought as his hands finally found a wall in the blackness of the room. From there he moved along the perimeter of what he realized was some sort of bedroom. As he stumbled in the dark he felt more flickers of emotions from beyond the walls although what that meant he did not know. He breathed a sigh of relief when he found a latch and opened the door. "Is this a secret passage? That seems pretty unnecessary, how-" his train of thought was cut off as he observed what lay beyond.

Bathed in pale green light seemed to be a whole crew of monsters. Real, life-size monsters. The demilupin choked on a scream as his brain struggled to comprehend that skeletons, light-goblins, and monkey-dragons. Most of his brain wanted to flee but a small part of him knew that they meant no harm. The dual thoughts caused him to stop long enough to breath and observe. The longer he watched the more convinced he was that these creatures were somehow friendly?

If they weren't monsters then perhaps they could help? The demilupin slowly stepped out into the moonlit room. "Umm, hello kind creatures. I'm not sure how but I must have ended up in your lair. Can you please direct me to the exit? I need to get out of here and go home."

It had been so long since she walked on her own, but she could never forget the feeling. How to place one foot in front of the other, even if these feet were unfamiliar. They were bare, the nails grown out into claws, the soles leathery for walking through miles of a home she had never known. And all she had known was left behind in the fire. Good riddance.

The Unblooded Shage emerged still smoldering, wrapped in strips of blackened cloth like a corpse dressed for burial. She pulled the bandages from her face so she could breathe without the taste of cinder. There was the audible gulp of a drowning woman gorging herself on air. It was followed by a hiss through black teeth. Lips peeled over them into a smile, and the Unblooded Shage unfurled to her full height. The motion was effortless. Painless. Yes, this body pleased her.

Curls covered any parts of her exposed by the tattered rags, and all that was exposed was yet more svelt muscle. Her veins must still have contained fire because the skin underneath was blood red. And not from a girlish rosiness. The Unblooded Shage joined the others gathered around the hearth, her walk graceful, in spite of an unruly facade. She took to wearing her new skin like a glove. And then she opened her mouth.

"Hi. Sorry to interrupt, but could one of you slap me silly?" And when no one volunteered she leaned in and gestured right to her ruddy, red cheek. "Right here. A big smackeroo." Her gaze was somewhere between pleading and threatening. Like she might shove someone in a locker if she didn't get what she wanted in a timely manner. "Common. Don't be shy. I'll even slap you back. If you want me to..." She turned as the Demilupine opened the door and started gawking at them. "Oh hi, another one. Would you like to come slap me in the face?"
This message was last edited by the player at 00:23, Wed 10 Aug 2022.

The Callisti blinks in disbelief, insofar as she can blink as a featureless orb. However absurd, lacking in the parts needed for speech, the talking skeleton seemed polite enough, so the Callisti responds. "You can call me Azalea, until I accrue a fitting title of status. Hey, wait a minute. 'Seattle'... 'the Midwest'... 'anime'..." She repeats out loud, something like a frown sets into her voice, "Are you all from Earth? Like, modern Earth? 616 Modern Earth?" Given their forms, that was somewhat shocking, not that she had a lot of room to talk. They are unlikely to have answers for her. She rolls around on the table, from side to side, contemplating.

These monster designs, the genre meshing of the architecture, it's all too familiar. It almost looks like...

"Oh no." A deep horror pierced through the Callisti's mind as realization dawns, not just on what they are, but what she herself now is. That realization joins the buzzing deluge of noise that was trying to tell her something. As though to sample it, the Callisti opens her mind to that knowledge and an even more powerful dread settles in.

"We are in incredible danger." She mouths, barely audible, and then again, much louder. "We are all in INCREDIBLE danger!" More and more information streams into her mind at a rate she struggles to understand or convey, but she tries to grab their attention and repeat what parts she can commit to speech, "Something's coming! The, erm... 'Grand Array'" she mouths in the tone the name reached her mind in, "is awake? I think? I feel like whatever it is, it's coming to correct us."

Soon more beings arrive in the room, but based on their way of speaking, the Callisti reasoned that they were not the unfathomable hitmen come to do them in. "Welcome newcomers. We need to act fast. Does anyone else know anything? See if there's anyone unaccounted for and somebody please slap the muscular one. I would myself, but I'm lacking in extremities and it would really calm me down to at least see it done!"

The Callisti tries to reach out to that mind beyond hers, the source that was pouring information into her, her [Meta-Analytic Computation] to try to better comprehend what was happening and what could be done.

The glowing, cloaked figure stood by the window, and looked out into the vastness of the not-so-empty void. He stared at the verdant colored moon, before shifting his gaze to the vast stars and nebulas and other things out there as well as bits of the old House.

"I am, I am, the unfaltering sun..." the ethereal figure mused aloud, his voice carrying like a misty breeze. He silently wondered how they all could breath so well despite continuously encountering one thing after another that was breaking the laws of physics since he emerged from gossamer and starlight in a corner of the House.

The figure turned and slowly drifted like a ghost back into the main hall. His soft starry light was mingled by the bright verdant light of the moon behind him from the open window.

"Ah fuck!" the till-then stoic figure uttered suddenly as he realized something. "I'm totally like shield Hero, aren't I? Except less directly heroic and more glowy. I swear if any princesses start framing me, I'll scream or better yet just throw myself out the damned window. Because Naofumi straight up just put up with way too much shit." the glowing cloaked figure sighed, calming down.

As he drifted back from the hallway into the main room, he suddenly began to notice there were slowly more and more residents of the strange House congregating there, and this began to make him feel nervous. He drew the cloak close to himself, remaining misty and fae-like although he still emanated a soft glow. That's it! Maybe it was his damned glow that was drawing all these others to him like insects to a flame or something. Except he wasn 't feeling particularly flamey at all, but instead was feeling a bit overwhelmed by the attention.

He concentrated, and tried to see if he could dim or even shut off his [Luminosity]. How much control did he have over the light anyway, he wondered? Maybe if he could shut his light off these weirdos would stop swarming around him so he could catch his frail breath and gather his wits.