Ages Eternal [IC] (Ages Eternal) Idain

Lazzamore

Lazzamore

WAAAAAAAAAA-
It was been nearly a thousand years since the world was cursed at the hands of the Obsidian lord. The People of Idain are getting along in life well enough; society has been born and it grows healthily like a great oak's sapling. Bronze is worked, plants are grown, and the world is in little turmoil.

Lech still move about the world violently; the 'blessing' imparted on the Lech from the Yuuk desert has by now spread to the rest of the regions in Idain, spawning the cruel, hostile beasts to antagonize the more intelligent peoples with insatiable evil and the wit and reasoning to put a bite to their threats.

The Dwarves of Begdor war occasionally with their nemesis, the Sons of the Every-phase, a loose alliance of villages that follow Gongromril, a dwarven monotheistic deity of the moon, and an analog to the true creator of the Dwarves, may he rest in peace... for now.

And finally, there are the hellions; Violent versions of former human men suffering from Eng's curse. Humanities only way to deal with the Hellions thus far has been to banish them from society and hoping they starve. More often they simply become piratical barbarians bent on take from others what was denied for themselves.

Of course, things always seem bad when the bad is all you focus on. Wherever you find yourself, gods of Idain, you are still responsible for this place.
 
Mutare stayed in his caves, tending and working on his Garden of Change. For a while he was satisfied. The vast ecosystem and number of flora and fauna alike competed nicely, with many beings dying and allowing the stronger to survive, pass on their genes and produce even stronger offspring, progressing his work for a perfect being. However as he watched his Garden he noticed that his creations have been stagnating as of late. While his creatures evolved from their environment, and while Lech has kept the Garden on its toes, it has gotten...too good at fighting off the Lech threat. The wildlife had gotten rather deadly over the millenia and the Garden's protectors, as well as Mutare's collectors, the Quash have learned nearly all they can from the Garden. Now everything was slowing and when there is no change, there is no progress. He pondered on a way to introduce new conflicts to his Garden. He cannot simply introduce new creatures into his garden, as he wished to keep his own interference this far into his Garden as possible, stockpiling Sparks of Life for if and when his Garden is destroyed or has failed him. He needed to add in an outside force, to see how his Garden would react and respond. Mutare turns to the other gods and after much diliberation, he decides to awaken the sleeping Dragon Goddess Paloria.

He knows she might be a bit peeved at him killing a clutch of eggs for their Sparks, but to him it was a necessary act, even if Paloria would damn him for such a thing. Still her creations were interesting, as well as powerful, meaning they might be a well match for his own. He takes to his workshop and began creating a creature to wake up the goddess. The quickest way to wake her up would be the slow torture and mass death of her Dragons. With the Sparks of said Dragons, Bacteria, and Mosquitoes he created a disease that targeted Dragons when they were at their weakests, when they were hatchlings. The Diseases Mutare calls it, Crackling Scales.

The disease would affect primarily Hatchling as they would contract it through mosquitoes who bite and drink from the Hatchlings and Adults alike, usually while they slept. In adults the disease would be inconsequential as the bacteria cannot handle a mature adult's immune system. In Hatchlings however, the baby's undeveloped immune system allows the Crackling Scales to take hold as it would cause the Dragon's scales to become weak and brittle, enough that simply fall over or a light tap would be enough to crack it off. This would lead to slow infections and various insects to begin biting and harassing the Hatchling, once again infecting the Hatchling more and more until the Baby Dragon died a torturous, slow and painful death. The disease is designed to be extremely contagious as well as have a high mortality rate. With the Crackling Scales done, Mutare takes his creation and implants it into hundreds of thousands of mosquitoes and released them around where Paloria slept. He them retreated into his cave and waited for the Dragon Goddess to either awaken or when he needs to create something more...effective.
 
Scales fell, cracking and breaking. The hatchlings, young children of the dragons, screamed out in pain. They, too, had contracted the disease. It was evil, a curse from the gods. Priestesses, great female dragons prayed within their mountains, calling out for their mother. And she heard them.

Paloria, the Dragon Goddess of Fire, flame, love, and motherhood, felt her children's pain. She heard their cries. A thousand voices raised up in unity was just enough to rouse her form from its slumber. Deep underneath the Great mountains, her body moved. With each new, painful death brought on by this plague, Paloria cried out in anger and rage. And the world heard her fury, and her sorrow.

Volcanoes, long dormant with their goddess, woke. They spewed fiery tears as Paloria cried. Every dragon shuddered as mountains all along their homeland exploded with fiery death. Their goddess, their mother had returned. A fire, one that had not been felt for thousands of years, returned to their bones. The dragons were alive, and they were whole. The sickness, the Crackling Scales was burnt from the bodies of hatchlings. Paloria's children knew what was to come. Their legends told of the infamous wrath of the mother of their race. Hurrying, the dragon priestesses of Paloria urged the humans to move. The races mass exodus happened within the week.

Then the mountains fell. They toppled in on themselves, rearranging and rising again. Paloria was returning to the surface. Her human form stood in the center of her vast domain, surrounded by billowing waves of magma.She felt the Crackling Scales in her palm, she knew its mark. She had seen it before. A long lost clutch of eggs, her children's lives had been taken long ago. "Mutare," she muttered, and, once more, "MUTARE!!!" she yelled.

Every single one of her brothers and sisters heard Paloria's long lost roar. A sound that reverberated across the lands of Idain made its way to the ears of the other gods.

In the anger of the goddess, great stone spires rose up around her, forming from the sea of magma. They rose higher than anything in this world, scratching at the very heavens. Great mountains, diminutive in comparison, surrounded the valley that housed the ten great spires. Finally, her land returned to a solid state, though it was much changed.

"MUTARE!!!!" She yelled once more.
 
Mutare hears the scream of his now awakening sister from even the deepest part of his cave. The Crackling Scales must haved worked and now he is to witness what happens. He knew the Dragon Goddess wished to punish him, and he wouldn't let her. That would make the effort he had placed into his plans rather pointless. No, he wanted her to find him. To use her creations to fight through his Garden, filled with deadly wonders that would make the average human's mind shatter, to see what they would do and how they would adapt to this new threat of fire, passion and rage. To him this was merely a test. He had already collected the Sparks of all the creatures within his Garden so if it was destroyed, he would simply start again and if it didn't then hopefully the creatures would have adapted to the new threat and retaliate. If not, then he would simply destroy the garden and start over. These beings didn't mean anything to him. They were just the stepping stones for the final product of which he wished to create. Still he didn't leave his sister's call unanswered. He simply let a whispered voice, one that rung throughout the world, reaching the ears of all Paloria's creation as well as the goddess herself. "Come."

With a single word Mutare's garden began to change. It became denser, more vibrant with life, but at the same time more deadly. The God of Evolution and Change wished for the Garden to be at its zenith when the Dragons inevitably come, to get a good measure of where he went wrong and what he did right. A thick mist hung just above and in the tree line. The trees themselves grew into natural barriers. The rivers were filled with schools of flesh eating fish. The canopies were stocked with vicious insects and birds that swarmed their prey with numbers too many to count. The wildlife bred and their population skyrocketed and the Quash prepared. They tamed more beasts, trained more warriors, build fortifications and weapons and prepared for what their seers had called 'Beasts of Fire' to come. Not one inch of the vast jungle was let unarmed. Everything was ready, and everything was set. Should Paloria and her creations come, then the Garden of Change shall be their enemy. Still with this enemy approaching, Mutare had a backplan, one that he has been laboring for the years that Paloria had slumbered, to make sure that he would escape with his Sparks to start anew elsewhere.
 
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The Great Maiden frowned in anger. Oh, H'mog, that senile old wheeze! The Orcish race could burn around him, all he would do is stammer "Orcs is best!" over and over. Something had to be done. She had to try again...

"Father, We need to talk."

H'mog turned, and with a truly, annoyingly ignorant look about his face, he responded with; "Talking is good. Food is good. You are good too. What else is good?" The maiden waited for him to finish. Finally he stopped talking, and she said again; "We need to talk, father." which was met with more ridiculous stalling. Not able to wait again, the Great Maiden would interrupt; a transgression met with screaming, and it quickly escalated into a fight, which devolved into wrestling about in the mud. At last, The Great maiden allowed herself to be defeated, which earned her the ability to speak. Finally.

"The orcs... They ride animals tamed by Dwarves. They eat fruit grown by Fairies. They use weapons forged by People of Lead. They produce nothing, and steal everything. And as such the other races see them- er, us as only minor. We need to-" H'mog at this point interrupted The Great Maiden with another 'show of his dominance'. This was disgraceful. and he would not listen... The Great Maiden knew she had to resort to other methods of enacting her solution.

At this point, Volcanoes erupted. the world seemed to end as a draconic roar of rage was heard, and the great maiden saw molten lava flow like water down the mountains. She had to do it fast.
 
The sleeping Isles of Slua, walled by high plateaus, stood over the horizon. A thick mist lay over the clammy shore, and colorless waves beat at dark sand, overlooking a great orifice the cliffsides. Torches wasted away, feebly beating back the fog. A rock rose from the beach and overlooked the ocean. A figure, draped in tattered cloth stood upon it, hands raised over the water. A low whisper carried far into the deep, an unceasing prayer continued for generations by a fallen people.

The sea bubbled and foam sprayed. Far below, a creature born from the rocks and earth stirred and rose. The head of a gargantuan worm pushed through the ocean, rising like a great tower towards the sky. A pale moon stood above, and the silhouette of a grand, fleshy mass eclipsed the moon itself. Old kings stirred in their graves, crumbling bones and rotten skin moving again after millennia in the sleep of death. Across the entire continent the dead rose and stretched towards the stars, silently praising the cosmos.

A crack ended it all as soon as it began. The creature's neck broke, collapsing as though unable to support its own weight. Falling back into the ocean, the worm took its first breath of the cold, vast waters. The dead fell back to their cold sleep, and the ocean was stained crimson.

The weary ascetic's prayer ceased. It crumbled on the sea-rocks, and was finally granted rest.

The Worm in Waiting had come, and with it, a great shadow was cast over Idain.
 
Sitting in his high-backed winged armchair, Ather sat bored wishing for the days of old. During the creation of the world, things where exciting, now most of his siblings lay in rest. Vanar's tongue lolled out as he lay at Athers side, Vanar was no longer the pup he once was, now he was a hulking beast easily the size of a bear, claws like that of Orchalium, Eyes a magical burning blue.

Ather stood, stretched himself, and reached for a gobblet of viscous red liquid when suddenly the world shook around Ather as Paloria screamed in rage for the blood of Mature. "What in the hells has he done this time." thought Ather. Snatching up his staff and calling Vanar, Ather went out following the wails of paloria desperately trying to keep up.

He was excited, for the first time in a century something world changing was about to happen, and Ather had a feeling that this was more then a petty grievance between gods.
 
Paloria raged within her borders as her children returned to her. On their backs rode both humans and the People of Led. Since she had not seen them for thousands of years, Paloria chose to leave her form visible to them. The dragons roared as they saw her and knew her. Their blood calling out, telling them who and what she was.

The humans, and the People of Led did not know her. Her statues were all of her draconic form. None of them showed her in her human form.

Tears streamed down the goddess's burning face, her sorrow too great to hide. Walking among her children, she called out, "I have returned, but with sorrow do I look upon my children. So many dead, so many lives gone." She, their eternal queen, rejoined her people, her children.

It was then that Aether appeared, seemingly excited. "Brother, why do you hide from my Children?" Asked Paloria.
 
Shifting Himself into the mortal plane, Aether, almost giddy asked, "What ever has happened my dear sister? What has cause you such distress?"
As Aether spoke Vanar's massive for form trotted up to Paloria and shoved his muzzle under her hand, waiting to be stroked.
 
With a loving pat, Paloria petted Vanar.

"Brother, did you not hear, did you not see? Mutare killed my children, spreading a terrible disease. He must pay." With a sad smile, the goddess turned towards Aether.

"Let us talk in private, let my children rebuild their homes." Changing into her draconic form, Paloria flew to the tip of one of the great spires.
 
The Great Maiden walked the ashes and obsidian that was, at one point, the land of Dus Gal. The once slate-colored Cogan's Fingers now black with burns strong enough to melt the stone into lava. Nothing of the mighty fists of the Dus Gali Orcs remained, except the scattered refugees who retreated from the erupting volcanoes of the Great Mountain Range. It was unrecognizable. "Well, Father, what shall we do now?" the maiden huffed. She received no response. "Father?"

H'mog was in the corner, his face hidden, murmuring pathetically. He didn't seem to want to acknowledge that his creatures have fallen. Then, the Maiden saw something out of the corner of her eye; It was a young Orc, male, perhaps late pubescence. He had the dress of a priest, He was hidden on a ledge over H'mog. The Orc had not noticed his god, but the Maiden realized the boy was entranced with her. She had forgotten that she was visible except for the intervention of H'mog. Of course the old geezer forgot to hide her. Third time this week...

"Boy, I am the Great Maiden. Speak in a hushed tone; you are in the presence of the mighty H'mog." she commanded. the boy started murmuring, and the Maiden realized he was praying, or praising perhaps? Either way it was in the way of what she needed from him. Climbing up to him, she asked for his name. "r-r-... Ra-... Ra'oc!" he would stammer. "What is your Fist, Ra'oc?" the Maiden asked, she considered using the word 'was' instead of 'is', but time was short and that may upset him.

"I-I... Have n-no tribe or fist... I am Warpriest Gambolg's apprentice... We are outcast." Reaching out for him to take her hand, she insisted he take her to Gambolg. Climbing atop her shoulders so they could traverse the cooled lava, they began the trek to old Gambolg's hut. H'mog would be fine alone the Maiden thought.

At that point She felt an earthquake and heard a roar from H'mog...

"IT THEM!! IT THEM!!! NOT I, THEY FAIL ME!! I CRUSH THE WEAK EXCUSE FOR ORC! THEY. FAIL. ME!!"

The Great Maiden ran.
 
Aether nodded as his sister turned and left. He was even more intrigued now as he Cast a portal stepping out onto the spires.
 
As the God of magic left with Paloria to talk, there was an excited tension among the People of Lead. They first introduced a champion, but never named who exactly he served. When Aether returned, it was near silent among the spires, each having gone their own way. As the moon rose, a drop of silver fell and bloomed into a humanoid shape. It stood before Ather, antler-like bones casing globules of flesh. A faint glow came from the three misaligned eyes. "God of Magic..." It said, "you stand before the Worm in Waiting." It motioned to the stars. "You surely remember fleeting Hakku. He is gone now, and I take his place."
 
Aether stood silent for a moment studying the creature, It's form hideously beautiful. He could feel a powerful aura of mystery and undeath from the creature who called itself the Worm in Waiting, where ever this creature had come from it was a force to be reckoned with. Gathering himself Aether gave a small bow, "I do remember my brother, although his life was short." spoke Aether " I am most honored that you should grace me with your presence. May I ask what wrought your awakening?" Aether paused waiting for a reply.
 
"The son and daughters of the Allfather come back from their sleep, God of Magic. I was prayed into existence to wait for this, and to join you and your siblings." She said. "I hold in mind only the interests of my people; those from Slua, the Lead Isles." It paused. "But I've come at troubled times. Your sister Paloria rages against her brother. I know you side with her, and I have come to join your...alliance, if I may call it that, against Mutuare. I believe I've knowledge that could interest you."
 
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Paloria raged ever so quietly as she waited for Aether to reach the top of her spire. When he did, however, a newcomer arrived. The Worm in Waiting, successor of Hakku.

"Yes, I rage against Mutare, as I rage against all who harm my children." With a somewhat vicious snarl, Paloria's long neck burst into flame. A flame that grew to devour her entire length. Her human form, clad in a fiery dress, a tattoo on her shoulder, stepped out from the inferno. Rage unmistakenly painted her face.

"What information do you have that can help us, Sister." Paloria said the words, with a bit of venom. She couldn't believe that Hakku, who had been a friend to her, was dead.
 
"I've the power to raise the dead, good mistress of flame." The Worm in Waiting said. "But I am not a true god like you and your kin. I am born from the earth and sculpted with prayer." The Worm paused. "Please don't call me sister."
 
"My dear Sister, as you are Hakku's daughter, you are of my blood. As such, you are my sister, despite not being a full-blooded God." Paloria stretched out her hand to tap WiW's head. With a faint, but caring smile, she continued, "understood?"
 
The W0rm winced at Paloria's touch. "There's no need for that. I've come to strike a deal, actually." She said, "On behalf of the People of Lead, I would ask you and Aether for your services. After I've lent mine to you, of course."
 
Aether perked up when the Worm stated that he had the power to raise the dead, Aether of course had dabbled but it was currently beyond even his strength. "What exactly do you mean you can raise the dead?" Asked Aether, a little to eagerly.
 
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