Here is the, currently empty, seat of power within Fronta in a huge, golden and red palace the likes of which there is no other comparison in the entire mortal world.
Posted: Mon Aug 25, 2014 6:43 am
nu███████XXX███████XXX███████XXX███████ numineIN THE END ` JUST LIKE SOLDIERS♕》*WEMARCHON! bad apple
xxx n×◞KING ⊰OF(KEVAI)*⇣EMPEROR OF♕ARAMIL! by numinex for the food chain do not steal! c:CHAMPION OF ANTONY
The truth -- who knows that the truth is, anymore? For my entire life I've been lied to. By everyone. My mother, my "father", the angels and the demons. I can't trust Lukhan or Antony. I couldn't trust David. How can I trust you, Gaston? You're another wheel in their cog. You just want to destroy me too, so you can take my throne. Despite the fact that you are my brother -- you will never be my friend. You made that evidently clear.
"No, West. I have made nothing clear to you. You and I divide as the sun and the moon. And yet without each other we cannot continue to exist. You do not know anything. You only 'know' what you've heard from people you wanted to trust. Isis, Lust, Antony. They don't know anything about you. I know everything. And the reason I know is because Michael himself has told me. He's revealed the world to me. Your purpose -- and my purpose -- they are clear."
- - - -
Fraxen is warm in the summer. Warm in the winter. Warm in the fall and the spring. And yet today, it's so cold. It's unbearably cold. I feel as if I could freeze.
I don't know where to go and I don't know how long I'll last. But I must see him, Gaston. I have to find my brother. To see where my path leads. Is it into his, a bull to collide with the matador? Or can we co-exist? What did God devise when he allowed me to be born? Was my purpose always to be domineered by forces outside of my comprehension? Was there ever any free will in the design?
Can I overcome this obstacle myself, or shall the blades march against me and take me to hell where I belong?
- - - -
The city was quiet. The palace was quiet. Only two resided within: Raphael, and Gaston. Their eyes met each others. They did not say much. They stared, tensely, as if there were a world of animosity between them. But in reality, they did not feel that way. Half of them longed for the days of kinship again. The other half only wanted to end what had been set into motion -- by a power greater than them, by the creatures of gold and silver. The divine. Gaston took the initiative to speak, finally, and break the false tension between them. "As you are West, I am East. As you seek Fronta, I seek Aramil. As you seek the angels, I seek the demons. As you are the rising sun that threatens to cover all the lands, I am the sun that sets, his life glimmering into a fade. We are polar opposites in many ways. But in some ways, we are similar. There are some things you were not meant to know until now. It was too dangerous to reveal these things to you. But now, I can finally speak." He stepped away, and took the throne. Beside him, there was another throne; it was not for the Queen, but another ruler entirely. It was not a shorter throne or a less grand throne. It was equal in appearance and prestige. It was to the west. At that moment, the demon understood Gaston's message to him.
He took the seat, and the words ensued. "The Gods always interfere in the births of monarchs and great leaders. They try to tailor their circumstances to suit their game; they design them to favor either Vangelism or Vaet Nocturnum. It is constantly a struggle for power, in all things life and death. Take Judie for example -- she was designed to be able to hold Michael as a vessel. And yet, Narathos abused that same design to allow himself to inhabit her. The Gods constantly learn from their mistakes and seek to create a perfect tool to spread their power, and all for their benefit. While I do not know who or what designed our circumstance, I know that it was never meant to go this far. It was a simple exploitation of our mother -- an Incubus sought out her body to create a demon King, one that could weaken the grasp of Vangelism on this nation. And so you were born. And I -- I was a play by the angels to keep Vangelism secure. Do you see how simple that is? They compete for minor gains in this battle. But they missed something -- something caused by a power that they had thought to be a dream." He remembered the man; his hair, his eyes, and the way that he loomed over others and threatened them with death and damnation.
It was a monster beyond any that had been born in hundreds of years; it was Fenrir.
"Narathos had his own gambit. He created that man, and let the sins loose. As a result, you died, but only so that he could plant you on the throne of the East. Instead of victory by one, he preferred to have Aramil and Fronta come at odds, brother against brother. Light against dark. The change of events forced the angels and the demons to set their sights upon us -- the two of us. They came down and began their crusades, and their counter-crusades, like back when Azazel came to prominence. They once again began to seek power and to change the odds for their own outcome. But they did not understand... that Narathos wanted that." His eyes stared far from West -- he looked to the door, recalling the sight when Elessia first stepped into this room. How saved he thought he must be. What radiance she emitted. He did not realize that there was something out there even more powerful than Michael. A force of evil, a three-headed serpent that sought to devour the plane that we walk on.
The corrupter of the innocent, the slayer of Kuladhan, the father of the seven sins... it was more than just Narathos! It was anarchy! It was nature, and the chaos implied! It was something that even Kala could not see coming!
"West, it doesn't matter which one of us wins now. It didn't ever matter. It was all a ploy to lure the angels from their sleep and plant the seed of corruption into heaven. Elessia -- she conspires against Michael as we speak! Narathos, Kali and Malacai invade the sacred garden to imprison the Creator! Anarchy reigns!"
- - - -
At that moment, to the ire of the world, Gaston's fears came unleashed. The sky opened wide and the golden-eyed monsters looked down on us in anger. The angels -- they were freed from heaven. The demons below clawed at the Gates, anticipating the sea. Kaminae's death -- inevitable, now -- would grant them that opportunity.
The three-headed serpent went, then, to seek Kala's demise. The world was about to change for the worse.
nu███████XXX███████XXX███████XXX███████ numineIN THE END ` JUST LIKE SOLDIERS♕》*WEMARCHON! bad apple
xxx n×◞KING ⊰OF(FRONTA)*⇣EMPEROR OF♕FRAXON! by numinex for the food chain do not steal! c:THE SIN OF PRIDE
He removed the crown from his head. He did not have much time. Only a moment to spare before the hordes of soldiers came marching to the palace, sensing the surge of energy invading the quarters of their King. Of course, they would be too late. West won the game. "Did you not realize, Gaston, that I have memorized this palace perfectly? That -- at any moment -- I could've ported in from a world away with an exact insight of your location, quickly swept in and killed you, then disappeared? While the strength of your armies is of great import, as a leader, the only thing that will really protect you is your own strength. I realized that when Fenrir's assassin so cleanly swept me from my room and assisted in his slaughter of me." He wrapped his hand around his brother's neck, and let the rise of energy begin. He wondered if his brother could feel the heat yet; not a regular heat like flame, but one that only for a moment conspired in the field of "fire" and then quickly turned into a cold, bitter flurry of spikes and shocks. Lightning. West planned to end his life in the most gruesome of ways.
"It wouldn't do for me to simply kill you so easily, however. All I'd be doing is allowing for a non-Giletti to ascend the throne. They would never allow me to reclaim my rightful position if I'd regained it through the slaying of my kin. Even your declaration of war against me wasn't enough for me to justify assassinating you. It was a challenge of army versus army, not man against man. But, when you decided to send David to poison me, you changed the rules of the game. Back then, you should've ordered your agents to kill me as I recovered from the poison. You should've realized that alive, I would always be a threat to you, just as you are a threat to me. Which is why you won't be alive much longer." The voltage began. Gaston's elite descended around West, but they saw that it was already too late. Their King had died, and to the hands of the Emperor before him. In truth, some felt this would always be the result. After all, West had never really died, and so his place on Fronta's throne was never really relinquished. Maybe this was the beginning of something greater. Maybe -- or maybe not.
They knew what was happening now, angels falling down to earth and beginning their game. Would West only be a threat to Fronta's safety, being a demon amongst men? They did not know. For now, the warriors only waited for word. For something to go off of; something to consider, to push them to either in front of West or behind.
He turned to them, dropping the body of his brother -- it had been furiously mangled, his face burnt to the point of being unrecognizable. The crown of Fronta sat atop West's head, and his energy radiated off of him like the most vibrant of rays. His lips parted to speak. "It's over," he said. "I tried to be his brother -- his friend. Always. But in response, he tried and tried to take my lands from me. I never bothered pressing my claim on Fraxen, even though by right it has been mine. I let him have it, with the hope we could be at peace. Now, however, I have been disillusioned. Gaston and I were not meant to be at peace. Perhaps it was a message from the divines and the answer was recognized in his death; why is it only now, after I take the throne, that the angels come? I can only take it as one thing: this is the way it was meant to be." He raised his arm, and then swung it downwards, a sign ordering them to kneel. He remembered exactly how this force was trained. In fact, he even recognized some of them from the years before. It had not been long since he left Fraxen. It was interesting to recall how quickly things developed since then.
A bright red light shined from the window behind him; the curtains began to shake and sail, and the glass broke. A golden-eyed creature emerged, a tall and rather revealed man with what was evidently the physical strength of a monster. He was brown of hair and with large white wings raised at each side; he had a blade in hand and a series of cloth fittings covering arranged parts of his body. He was Antony, no doubt. West could remember the energy; familiar, vast. He did not know what this meant for him, but he did not flee in terror or anything of the like. This was a meeting that was predestined. "Emperor West," he said. The man looked at him and did not speak. He peeled away at his jacket and shirt to reveal the mark Antony had given him, the golden refinery that laid against his shoulder: the number was IV. "You are mistaken in one way. My desire -- David's desire -- was never to kill you. I gave you my mark for a reason. It was to protect you. The added vitality from the mark is what spared you from the poison; it allowed you life and a chance to reclaim what you lost. My design was never to betray you. I knew from the moment I first met you that you were truly good at heart. How could I -- an angel -- ever live with myself after taking that away from the world? And one with the ability to spread that good to others? What do I fight for, if not that?" He stepped forward, and placed his hand atop West's shoulder, where the mark was. He felt the thick material, his palm beginning to glow.
When his hand pulled away, the mark was gone. The only remnant of it was a tattoo that only titled: "IV". His number, four. "We serve Narathos now. It's not what I had in mind, but the result is that we're once again free. People can finally flock to us for protection. Prayers can be answered rather than ignored. I won't need you as my agent anymore. No, instead, Narathos has something different in mind for you. He as well is free to roam, now -- meaning, the sins will no longer have purpose either. But their hosts will. Your life will change dramatically from this point on, West -- or, more accurately, Pride."
He had a feeling from the moment Gaston's life faded until now -- like something was bleeding inside of him, but in a spiritual way rather than physical. He took it simply as the surge of emotions with the acceptance of his new place in this world, but rather, now he understood what it was. Pride -- or Xyrus -- was dying inside of him. The sin was no longer a beast within, but West himself. Change was everywhere across the world; in borders, in the angels, the demons and the unknowns, inside the people and out. He experienced it firsthand, and he could only imagine what may be occurring elsewhere. He held his palm forward, and watched as a spark of energy became a flare. It was not his own. It was Pride's. Which was apparently his own.
He didn't even know anymore.
He just wanted to rest.
Posted: Wed Jun 03, 2015 5:15 am
I'm not what I say I am.
I was never as such, and now, as I embrace my final moments in this stage of my life - I resolve to return to my truest identity, my self-actualization.
When I was born, I was given a golden crown atop my head. From the very first, I had always been revered as the future King. No one is ever so sure about the success of each King. When one rises, there is mixed elation and fear that the King will fail the Kingdom. That he will bring his people to shame - that he'll make others no longer proud to be a part of his nation. That there may be blood spilled just to be rid of him. Fortunately for all within Fraxon, "Raphael" was never the problem. He was always a good King. At first he was a loving King - a trusting King, a generous King. After he died and came back, he, or "I", became a vicious King. An ambitious one. I returned the wreck that was Aramil to the fold of my Empire, and from my power base in Aramil I came to rule Kevai. From Kevai, Kranila and Yuran. Then, South Fraxon and North Fraxon once again. A man with something suddenly had nothing, then suddenly he had more than he ever dreamed of. I now reign over six Kingdoms - with Amaranthine, that will make seven.
What did I do in order to achieve this series of great feats? Each decision I made, I chose my success over my identity. My people over me. The face of Giletti over the face of Raphael. Eventually, Raphael ceased to exist and all that was left was West - only because I am the de jure ruler of West Fraxon. My identity became defined entirely by my rulership. Outside of my profession, there was nothing. No more joy or adventure - no more growing, no more learning. No more loving. I tossed aside Akeem, who loved me dearly, because I feared what our love would do to my drive. I abandoned Alistair in his time of need because I feared that I would not be there for my people.
What is Emperor West? Is this idea me, or is he something entirely comprised of by false syllables? If Fraxon did not exist, would he? What would I be if he left?
I am a stranger to my own body. My soul has been attained by a thousand puppet's strings. I am the strongest man in the world and yet I am the weakest; I have no autonomy, no freedom of possession or need, no ability to change my lot, just the success of the Empire. My ambition has led me to a point of complete self-negligence. And yet I wonder, is it worth it? With all the lives I have saved by becoming the Emperor - reuniting the world in one, does my own suffering matter? I am young now, but I will live a long life. I will never die unless put to the sword. Do I complain for naught?
It's just that I don't know where my solace comes from anymore. I'm all alone here, surrounded by angels that make demands of me, sycophants and those who attempt to seduce me. I have grown ill. Perhaps my body is a deformation. A demon and an angel. And a fairhair. And a man. And gene mods. And lightning energy. I am tormented by my physiology. Perhaps I will not live forever like I thought. I worry. My thanatos is coming alive - my death sense. Elessia told me that. Will she kill me? Am I already rotting and forlorn?
- - - -
There is pain in my body. It hurts so much. I don't know what the voice speaks of, but I cannot speak back. It's a silent echo, something like the way Lukhan used to call me to play - back when I was young, back when I didn't know he was Lukhan. It's not a demon's voice though. It's something entirely different, a hateful disease consuming my mind. I fear that it may be Malacai. I am slowly being driven insane.
It's time for me to go to the grand cathedral. The Valkyries may know of what illness I suffer. They may be able to cleanse my mind of these harsh thoughts - or perhaps they can just end the confusion once and for all. I have lost attachment to life. I think perhaps I'd like to be instead with my Creator.
- - - -
"We don't know what plagues you, West," they said, standing over him. The warriors covered their hair with helmets - two masculine men wielding hammers and shields, and two women with bows and arrows. Their hands glowed energy and they massaged his flesh. He felt . . . better. More pacified. Less likely to enter a state of rage. "It is something that has not been seen before. Perhaps as a result of Narathos' ascent to Michael's throne. He is creating . . . new anomalies." They seemed somewhat afraid - perhaps that was the human coming out of them, or perhaps it was the angel. Sometimes West felt as if angels were the most fearful of all. Was their fear not the reason for Kala and Narathos both?
The Emperor nodded his head silently. He still felt pain. Nothing they said would end the pain - only what they did. "Allow Antony to take care of me. He is the greatest healer in the world behind Justor and Solonor. I think he will do well enough." He was excited - too - to see the God that rose him up in this world. The one that rescued him from his demise and helped him to reclaim Fraxon. It had been too long since he'd been filled with his comforts.
But Antony never came. He was too busy. Weeks passed, and West did not see him. The illness grew worse - spread like a plague throughout his body. The people of Fraxon feared for him. He ruled solely by issuing orders through pen and paper, bedridden and surrounded by Valkyries only. He did not wish to see a single impure face - not a sycophant or an adviser, except for perhaps Maria or Osiris.
Another week passed and West was near death. His life signs faded. He was so sad, so afraid, so unable to think correctly. He named Akeem's firstborn as his successor, stating that the child was as good as his. He wept for Isis night and day. When he was closest to death, he could begin to see her, that blond haired beauty with eyes as green as an emerald star. He embraced her and she told him that it would be okay - that even in sleep, Michael still embraced all his children. That there was a heaven beyond reason - a place where even Narathos couldn't go. West cried to her and exclaimed the truth - that he didn't want to go to this heaven beyond, because he had only ever experienced pain on Axiom. He just wanted for one more person to show him the love he needed. For all his life.
"Isis," he wailed. "I'm sorry for letting you die."
The vision said almost nothing, but she smiled and whispered him some last words. "Through Fraxon, I live on."
- - - -
He couldn't get those words out of his head, as his line went flat on the machine, as the angels lost the ability to feel his energy. Would Fraxon live on without him? Would there be a Westfraxon without Emperor West? Would Akeem keep Aramil together? Would his child ever be recognized as the heir to the Giletti dynasty? There was too much to fear. He couldn't just go. He hadn't left behind his legacy yet. He needed to live a little bit longer. A little bit longer. A little bit longer.
Flat. Dead. Osiris bawled in the room and Chancellor Maria's eyes went completely stone cold - she had lost too many dear friends lately, ones of extreme courage. Word was sent to Akeem. All remained silent in the Empire, fearing what would come without the grace of the one who made them remember that they were friends once - neighbors, brothers in the faith, lovers, compatriots, and all born from the stem of the great dynasties of Lensley and Giletti. West was as human as he was Other - angel, demon. He was beautiful. Everyone knew that. Even though some complained when their crops failed or when their lands were raided by Lumirian savages, they always knew that he devoted everything to the cause. He loved his people. And . . . he thought, as a last, hopeful memory, that maybe they loved him too.
- - - -
Death came aggressively. Painfully. He wailed and he turned. His body lit up with ulcers down to his spine - he felt the passion and the pain of death a thousand times, and then he was sent by Michael's trumpet to the grave. But death did not consume him for long. Within twelve hours, the funeral bed of the Lord of Fraxon began to be filled with the liquid of Swarm Territory. His eyes awakened Gold - bright and glowing like the sun's rays, like a solar eclipse. His body was covered in a carcass that made him appear more Dreadnought than Desire Demon. He sat up from his deathbed, and he screeched a most unholy wail.
As West manufactured his first child - a roachling, who growled to the veiled nuns in the hall, he uttered posthumously a new conjunction of words. "The . . ." His voice was silent - it was difficult to speak, considering he had just been dead. He pulled on the cloth of a nun, and she leaned in to whisper to his words. All around him were shocked . . . both by his return, and his obvious change. " . . . The Swarm."
Gentle footsteps befell the Setting Sun Palace as Amias approached. But a short while ago, the Pagan had met with not only Emperor West, but Queen Maria as well. From their initial meeting, he could tell they were strong; stronger than him by a rather significant margin. Of course, he'd increased in strength since then, but it would be naive for him to assume that either one of them had ceased developing right alongside him. And because of that, it was with a respectful sort of caution that he approached the front gates of the massive palace. With someone with as much power and authority as west, it was only natural that he was greeted by guards even before reaching the door. As was required by all guards with working brains, they inquired upon his name as well as his purpose. After discovering that he was sent here with summons from the emperor himself, the guards parted, allowing him clear entrance into the palace.
From there, the real challenge came from traversing a complex pathway of hallways and stairwells leading to the emperor's summit. With rough directions from some of the maids, it didn't take the pagan nearly as long as it could have to find West's chambers, but when he did...Amias felt a very unusual energy from behind that door. With a polite knock before opening the man stepped in, and what laid before him...was something he'd never laid eyes on before. A pair of shimmering, golden hues stared right back at him, the well-built frame of West looking upon him. "I have to say, you've certainly changed since last we've spoken, Emperor West. From how comfortable you appear to be, I would almost say it suits you." The man stepped just into the doorway, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, a very...curious look on his face. "I can't say that I've ever seen anything like this before, though...and I'm extremely curious. How does it feel, this new form of yours? What changes have occurred in your body that you can note on? There is so much that I could learn from this new species, with you as the first I've ever encountered. I have a particularly juicy piece of information myself, if you're willing to barter?" He kept it short and sweet, never preferring the long, drawn-out conversation, especially with a man like West, who always seemed to be decently busy.
Energy 2050/2050 Stats 10/12 Equipment Gauntlets Passives
• Glory To Me Pagans are very... noble. They have the air of a King or Queen about them; even a divine. This comes from this particular ability. 'Glory To Me' is a mental allure that they constantly release from their vessel, similar to an Incubi's seduction, but weaker. Rather than seducing people, this ability fools their mind. It can make them see things that aren't real. In fact, they can even feel these things. This ability is literally impossible to ignore or break out of, but it serves little benefit other than prestige. A Pagan will often use this power to make themselves appear divine; the sun will rise behind them, their clothing will flow and shine with the breeze, they'll just seem so... God-like. They can even change their appearance using this, although it's a temporary thing. This ability can have some uses in battle, though. For example, if a Pagan is to cast a shadow over themselves, it'd make them harder to see. If they make the sun shine behind them, they can make their enemy flinch away from the overbearing light. They can also fool enemies into thinking they've struck a shield or something like that, although that sort of manipulation over reality is something that only Pagans who focus on this type of power can do.
• Three Wishes Up to three times per fight, the djinn may manipulate the force around an attack to redirect it for two ranks less in energy. This can only be done on skills of one rank higher than them. This is an extremely powerful passive of the djinn, an intelligent djinn capable of using it to largely make up for their vulnerability to ranged magic. It can also help to leave an enemy open in close-quarters combat.
• Mind Games The djinn have a permanent 'force' around their skin that will reduce incoming damage by a rank (excluding holy and unholy magic). This puts them on the same level of base defensibility as a werewolf, although they can't regenerate, so... At adept rank, this force can become amplified by the djinn's mind, psychomanually controlling the level of force in the layer of magic. They can apply energy to it to block all manner of attacks, meaning they don't really have to learn defensive abilities. It is really no more potent than any other defense of its rank, though.
Technique(s)
Posted: Sat Jun 20, 2015 9:57 pm
Emperor West was apparently a very generous ruler when it came to picking who he would grant private audiences with. Nai had only to ask, and even she, a wanderer and visitor to Fraxen of no official importance, was promised that the emperor would meet her one-on-one when he was feeling better. Despite such an easy guarantee, though, it had taken time, and quite a bit of it, for Nai to finally gain an audience with Emperor West. First he was deathly sick and then dead and now he was apparently alive again. Really, couldn't he just pick one of the three and stick with it? Right now really wasn't the time for such complications, but what could Nai do? Out of those who wished for Michael's resurrection, West had the most power, definitely in politics probably even in combat. Nai didn't know if she needed that power, but things would definitely go smoother for her if West agreed to assist her. Admittedly, it was that same power that kept Nai from doing things her way: bypassing all the legalities and official channels in favor of just appearing without introduction to West. Considering West's importance to Fronta, her underhanded methods would probably entail far more work sneaking around and avoiding guards than it was worth.
The length of the wait and the medley of other methods that could have shortened it no longer mattered now, though. It would soon be over. Nai had been seated in an spare room with the promise that Emperor West, who was now certainly alive and feeling well enough to resume ruling his kingdom, would meet her when he had the time. Knees crossed, elbow resting on a chair arm, and the fist connected to that elbow propping up her head, Nai stared blankly ahead without a word. Her body, unused to making unnecessary movements, was frozen deathly still. The seconds ticked lazily by in the room, but she did not feel the least bit rushed. It had been weeks since she had received her mission from Niraliel, but the gunslinger knew that she still had plenty of time. Perhaps she was mistaken, but Nai's gut feeling was that this world could still go through a hell of a lot more before becoming the hell that the goddess foretold. She could almost be said to believe in the strength of the world and the people that inhabited it.
West, they called to him. All the people - the humans, the demons, the angels, those who slept outside the void of Kala's night. He ruled the land of the holy and the self-determining, or so he was told to portray, but recently he had realized just how stunted everyone had become. They did not have the chance to really, truly, live the way they wanted because they were held beneath the ground by fear and tribulation. Everyone was suffering and there was nothing he could do. So perhaps this was where his ultimatum came, after being proven to live as a part of something else - a different species of man. He needed to answer this one important thing: would he use his Swarm to lessen the load of his subjects, or to subjugate them and create an empire of things that did not feel or need? It was a battle of human feelings versus human ambition, and rightfully, he was sure that he hadn't been human in a long while.
He wanted to know whether acknowledging the illness of his children meant he should assuage their pain or let all things go to hell and simply exploit their fear. He wanted to know whether he should change as a being based on his new form, or if the form should not guide his future - but let his past's dreams unfold. He laid nude on the bed though covered by blankets, pondering, pondering - his bright golden eyes piercing into light and reflecting hard off of the mirror that stood at the far end of the room. He heard a knock at the door, then someone entered. He glanced to the side, though he knew who it was before he even looked. "Amias," he called his name. "The Swarm does not remember inviting you here, and yet you claim to have been." He cracked a small smile, and beckoned for Amias to sit on the far corner of his bed.
"My current form is but a receiver for brainwaves that transcend the network of probability. I speak and live inside of my children, all of them, all the time and never fleetingly. I cannot possibly fathom the sort of brain I possessed before - or the demon's soul. These things have been replaced by the longings of a God." He smiled and lowered his blanket, several of his spawn laying against his pelvic region. They huddled with each other, and some of them rose up to stare at Amias. West covered them back under the blanket. "I suppose the most significant change is the fact that I can't stop producing these little things. My 'children'. They can spawn from anywhere, simply emerging from my skin. I feel a compulsion to make them. It is difficult to resist, and the creation of these entities gives me sensations akin to sexual pleasure. So why would I resist?" He raised an eyebrow, then leaned back into his pillow.
"I don't know if I want to become this thing that calls to me. Maybe if I resist I'll retain my human-like demonhood that existed before The Swarm overran me. I have a nation to rule. I cannot allow a greater priority to ascend." That wasn't all of the information he had - there were curiosities that came with the change. He felt that he knew why this transformation had occurred. And he knew more about the husk that was his body. He just hadn't yet fully formed the thought, nor met total evolution. He was not yet capable of using his mark.
Posted: Sun Jun 21, 2015 7:16 pm
It had been so long since the Pagan's mind had been allowed to delve into the unknown, to learn about something he'd never experienced before, that the old man's face just...couldn't stop smiling. He chuckled at little when West exposed what appeared to be a chastity belt of swarmlings. As soon as he covered it up, the man spoke of this...yearning. This deep, almost begging desire that pulled him to become something more. It was at that point that he could no longer contain his intrigue and excitement. "Then why resist, Emperor West? From the form your body seems to have taken, I can safely assume that you cannot switch back. You've been altered to your very core...why not take that transformation all the way, and become everything you were destined to?" Despite his politely postured position on the bed, West could probably feel him quivering with anxiety. "This is just...so interesting. To see a new species emerge, finally, after all these years...you've given an old man an inquiring mind again after so long. I really don't know what to say. I can only...observe."
West might have been annoyed with his fascination and intrigue. Or perhaps flattered by it. "I would love to know as much as you're willing to share, but I also realize that this is an exchange. Information for information. So...here's my juicy bit; the monsters of Nocturne are preparing to rebel against Zachariah in copious numbers. The god-king may be strong, but if we were to take advantage of a mass uprising like that...we may be able to dethrone him. And with Nocturne's creatures weakened in the exchange, it would be a simple matter to overpower what remains of their forces. In one fell swoop, you could annex another powerful territory." That was his bit. After a deep breath, the Pagan merely relaxed his posture, still observing the swarmlings that would occasionally pop up here and there, be it from his shoulders, arms, or wherever they decided was most appropriate. Odd little things, they were.
Energy 2050/2050 Stats 10/12 Equipment Gauntlets Passives
• Glory To Me Pagans are very... noble. They have the air of a King or Queen about them; even a divine. This comes from this particular ability. 'Glory To Me' is a mental allure that they constantly release from their vessel, similar to an Incubi's seduction, but weaker. Rather than seducing people, this ability fools their mind. It can make them see things that aren't real. In fact, they can even feel these things. This ability is literally impossible to ignore or break out of, but it serves little benefit other than prestige. A Pagan will often use this power to make themselves appear divine; the sun will rise behind them, their clothing will flow and shine with the breeze, they'll just seem so... God-like. They can even change their appearance using this, although it's a temporary thing. This ability can have some uses in battle, though. For example, if a Pagan is to cast a shadow over themselves, it'd make them harder to see. If they make the sun shine behind them, they can make their enemy flinch away from the overbearing light. They can also fool enemies into thinking they've struck a shield or something like that, although that sort of manipulation over reality is something that only Pagans who focus on this type of power can do.
• Three Wishes Up to three times per fight, the djinn may manipulate the force around an attack to redirect it for two ranks less in energy. This can only be done on skills of one rank higher than them. This is an extremely powerful passive of the djinn, an intelligent djinn capable of using it to largely make up for their vulnerability to ranged magic. It can also help to leave an enemy open in close-quarters combat.
• Mind Games The djinn have a permanent 'force' around their skin that will reduce incoming damage by a rank (excluding holy and unholy magic). This puts them on the same level of base defensibility as a werewolf, although they can't regenerate, so... At adept rank, this force can become amplified by the djinn's mind, psychomanually controlling the level of force in the layer of magic. They can apply energy to it to block all manner of attacks, meaning they don't really have to learn defensive abilities. It is really no more potent than any other defense of its rank, though.
It looks simply majestic. It was all Sophia could think to herself as she watched the palace from a distance. Its towering spires and towers, emblazoned in red and gold so it shined in the light, lie a beacon of hope and prosperity. It was their that Raphael had once stood and from where he conquered the world. He had been known by another name then, simply a man who had risen to power, dismissing those that had dismissed him, seizing power. It was their that he brought order to a fractured world, save for those depraved and evil souls in Nocturne. And now it stood vacant, waiting for another to take its helm and guide the world. One day...
Sophia returned her gaze to her work, moving from her window that faced the palace. Stacks of paper and books sat on her desk, ink spilled over half of them, others scattered over the floor. She sighed, kneeling down to pick up the papers that had fallen while she was daydreaming. Most of the papers were bills for various things, and if the Red Borrough had anything, it was bills. Construction bills, food bills, water bills, repair bills, and everything under the sun that could be combined and collated into a packaged bill. Though they had the money to pay them, it was only a matter of time. The Vangelists had begun to pressure local businesses into paying a tax for doing business with the Mazdakii, causing the price of simple things like wheat and rice to skyrocket. Some businesses had flat out refused to do business with them after the tax. Sophia opened up a large ledger, transcribing the amount of each bill into the book, tallying up the total for the week before filling away the old bills in a cabinet and placing most of the boos onto their respective shelves. She sat down, returning her gaze to the values in the book. 10% more than last week on rice, probably because of that wave of zealots that took up residence. 22% more on wheat since they caught our smuggler. She continued to add up the percentages over and over again, trying to see anywhere she could make room in the budget. She still needed to order new wool for blankets and more scrap iron for the weapon forge in the armory, but somehow, no matter how she added it up, they were already over budget for the week.
Sophia slammed the book closed, sliding it to the corner of her desk. The might Shield of Mazdakism, reduced to an accountant. If Vera could see me now. Sophia looked at a small clock on the wall, almost jumping out of her skin. She rushed out of the room, ledger in hand, into the hallway, fixing her shirt as she skipped down the hall to the council chambers. With luck, the others wouldn't notice that she was late. As she pushed open the door to the chamber where the small council met, the room fell silent. A group of older men and women turned to look at her, piercing through her with their cold gazes. It seemed they noticed she was late. She quickly rushed across the room, taking her seat near the end of the table. "Pardon my tardiness, I was trying to make some room in the budget this week for added supplies." An elderly man at the head of the table waved his hand, dismissing the issue, allowing a wave of calm relief to wash over Sophia. The man then stood, clearing his throat. "Let this meeting of the Small Council begin. Our first order of business today is the budget. Sophia, if you would be so kind." He sat down, pulling his chair back in, causing it to screech along the stone floor. Once he had settled, Sophia opened the ledger, flipping through it till she found her most recent entries. "Mostly the same as last week. The cost of basic food continues to increase. At this rate, we will barely be able to feed ourselves by this time next year, let alone afford any other supplies. The taxes just keep being raised and most businesses slam the door in my face when I try to make a deal with them." Almost immediately, arguing erupted from the table. The taxes were always a point of issue as each side of the table bickered back and forth on how to deal with the issue. Some suggested they simply take what they needed by force and coercion while others said that they should move camp out of the city, away from the Vangelists, and a few even suggested just paying the tax. After letting them argue for a few minutes, the man at the head of the table yet again waved his hand through the air, with silence following quickly. "Arguing accomplishes nothing. If we must, we can reach deeper into the coffers to fill our daily needs. Should we ask it of our followers, they will give us what we need. Now, next order of business. While many of us follow different gods and different beliefs, I believe it has become time for us to codify a set of common beliefs and rules. These are what will separate us from being a group of crazy cultists who just live together." Silence fell around the table as each little group on the council murmured in hushed tones to one another, trying to decide what points they wanted to have included. It was Sophia herself who spoke first among the group. "First and foremost, thou shalt not kill unless thine own life is in peril. We are not murderers. Killing is allowed, but should only be done in dire circumstances. Next, thou shalt safeguard the weak, poor, and those who cannot defend themselves. Those in power and with the ability to do something have an obligation to do something, because what man is a man if he does not make the world a better place. And finally, thou shalt respect all gods, even if you do not choose to follow them. We are a religion of many gods and beliefs and we are already persecuted by the Vangelists, we do not need to turn on each other. No matter who you follow, we are all Mazdakii." Sophia sat down, feeling the gaze of every person in the room fall on her. It was completely silent, as if there was no noise left in the world. She could hear her own heartbeat in her eyes as she awaited a reply. Finally, one after another, the people seated around the table began to nod,
---
Hours passed as they continued to deliberate and add points and take away points. Each group at the table seemed to have its own objective, trying to steer the religion closer to their pantheon of gods. Finally, a list was formulated, and a short one at that. They were called the Statues of Faith and numbered Five in total. In time, they would go on to form the basis of all life in the Borrough, regardless of race, background, or belief. For many, they were the only laws that mattered.
The Statues of Faith 1) A man shall not take the life of another man unless his own life is threatened. 2) A man has an obligation to those under him to safeguard them and protect them should they be incapable. 3) A man shall respect all the gods of Mazdakism, even if he does not follow their beliefs. 4) A man shall not take from his fellow man that which he wants in greed. 5) A man shall not speak false truths to another.
---
Sophia tossed the ledger into a corner of her office, making her way back to the window. She sun had begun to set behind the palace, radiating light of of the palace, making it almost seem to be on fire as the light danced along its walls. It was a magnificent sight to behold and one she never got tired of seeing. Her whole life, she had wanted nothing more than to enter the palace and it still seemed as distant as ever. Vangelists controlled the city and they would burn it to the ground before they let a Mazdakii roam the halls of their sacred palace. Sophia pulled the blinds on her window, blocking the palace from view. It was hard for her to do much else when she could see it. More and more, it was becoming a toxic obsession. For her to be so close to a place of power and yet so far because of politics. One day I'll have the power I need and then I'll simply take my place in the palace. No politics, no old men or council of Fraxen, just power. The throne has been empty for far too long and someone needs to bring order to Fraxen and put the Vangelists to heel as well. She slammed her hand on her desk, causing it to shake and knock over an ink quill that was now spilling on to the floor. Sophia ignored it, allowing it to form a puddle on the floor. Her mind was in a million other places. Part of it still crunched away at the budget, another was rethinking the events of the last council meeting, and the smallest part held onto the image of the palace in her mind.
Sophia pushed in her chair and picked up the fallen ink quill, placing it back on the desk. She left the ink to soak into the wood, letting the ink stain it black. She cracked open the door to her office slowly, letting the sounds of the crowded borrough fill her office. Despite the noise of chaos as hundreds of people moved about the small building, it relaxed her. It was her way of reminding herself what was important. Despite her dreams, she had a bigger job. She was the Shield the Mazdakism, the first line of defense for many of these people. They had come from all walks of life, from all over the world. Members of every race and creed could be find just outside her office and yet she didn't see them as different races, but as one people. They were all Mazdakii and they were her flock and she was one of their shepherds, sworn to protect them and lead them to greatness and safety. The whole world seemed to want to destroy them, but here in the borrough, they could be safe.
Pushing open her door all the way, Sophia strode out into the large grand halls that crisscrossed the borrough. She enjoyed walking them, seeing what new people had come and saying hello to those that had stayed. One day these people would rule the world, but for now, they were simple people leading simple lives.
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