Ages Eternal [IC] (Ages Eternal) Idain

Letting Mutare perform his last will before millennia imprisonment, H'mog then lead him to the sea.

Mutare had now been defeated, and justice was had and the war ended. As he was lowered down to the enticingly beautiful lights in the sea, strange, otherworldly voices whisper melodically. Don't worry... You will be just fine... Come, talk with me... And as he heard this, the light brightened in color and attempted to hypnotize Mutare.

Refcaskha and the golems returned to Obus. H'mog had already given away his power. He sat, and started to tear up, just a little. Staring at the one last creature Mutare gave him for his sanity, he realized how fast he would use it up. It would go by like a mortal's week. He would return to that hellish state. He could not allow this to happen again. Standing, H'mog dug himself a cave, and was never seen as such again...
 
Umbrus

Umbrus went through the world, his form a shadow on the winds. Then he felt it. A dying god. Not like Paloria, it was something different, and it peeked his sinister curiosity.

Heading towards it, Umbrus came across a cave, new and fresh, filled with shadows. Melding with them, he entered its hidden depths. Umbrus continued until he came to the very end of the cave. A large room had been dug out, and in the center of it sat the hulking form of the old god, H'mog. Of course, Umbrus didn't know his name yet.

"Hello, who are you to rest in my domain?" He asked, his voice soft, almost concerned, but sinister and full of malice at the same time. Umbrus was concerned for H'mog, but he was concerned for how he could use this dying god.
 
The first thing Umbrus noticed about H'mog was... duality. There was two things here; yet only one god standing before the dragon. H'mog however didn't have time for games. "Get out of the way, lizard-fiend." he threatened deeply. "I will pass through this cave and go deeper. Woe betide the wretched things of the deep that tries to stop me. I am H'mog, dying god of domination, and even in my last two years I WILL accomplish my mission! want haunts me, dies today also."
 
Umbrus

"Lizard-fiend?" Umbrus stepped out from the shadows. He was human, or at least he looked like it. His hair was medium-length and black, his amber eyes looking out at H'mog. Making sure to stay out of the god's way, Umbrus began to walk beside him.

"Soooo, you have two years to live?" A smile appeared on Umbrus's lips as he thought about the possibilities. "Would you like some help with that?" Umbrus wanted to give the strange god as much assistance as he could, if only because he wanted to find out what that strange doubleness feeling he got from the dying god.
 
"No. Better if you stay far away, young one. FAR." H'mog said plainly. "For countless years I have been unknowingly haunted, subverted, turned into an animal." he removed his hood to reveal a huge centipede like insect on his back, latched on to his spine with long needle-like stingers. It looked painful. "This bug keeps me able to reason. Without it I enfeebled to the truth, as if I has no dominance over mind. I believe great evil do this to me, and if I right, you must stay FAR AWAY as I kill myself."

"I already give to my great maiden Shel all that is me, so she can continue the Orc." he then muttered "...Perhaps, she will do better..."
 
Umbrus

The young god walked alongside this elder god.Curious, and hungry for knowledge, Umbrus asked a few questions. "WHo is this Shel that you speak of? Why would she do a better job of leading the orcs than you, their creator?" Waiting a bit, the young man continued, "You cannot have given her all of your power. The very fact that you stand here before me is proof of that. What will you do with these last remnants of yourself before you pass?"

Umbrus was truly curious about the answers to these questions, as such, he decided to keep walking with the ancient orc, even though he had been warned not to.
 
H'mog was quite annoyed. He just wouldn't leave! "Figure of speech, dark one. I give her what she need to be goddess over orcs. I not... best at job anyway." H'mog didn't know why he was talking to this young god, but he supposed a little companionship was not the apocalypse. "Shel my 'daughter'. She was once Orc, but now something quite 'bit more powerful."

And to the last question, he stopped "I go to kill myself, young one. And if you still follow me when I do so, I cannot guarantee you safety. But sun at core should be able to keep... It."
 
Umbrus blinked. For all he knew, the young god had never expected this. "You go to kill yourself?" He whispered, dumbfounded. "Why, though. WHY? Why would you do such a stupid thing? And WHAT could be so dangerous about me following you? I am a god too!" Umbrus didn't know why, but what H'mog was saying began to infuriate the young god.
 
"SILENCE, FOOL." H'mog had enough; It was tolerable for this young god to ignore his warnings, but to dismiss all his great agony, was very much so grounds for retribution. The caves quaked as he shouted, his fists clenched. "FOR TWO MILLENNIA I WALK AIMLESSLY, BLIND TO REALITY AND MADE TO PUNISH MY OWN PEOPLE!! I WILL *NOT* BE DISRESPECTED BY YOU!!!" H'mog turned away, he was very close and his time was short. As he broke into the next cavern, the heat and sheer gravity was slightly nauseating. Here crystals rapidly formed at the command of H'mog, and when he dropped down to the iron-ore floor of this vertical cavern, he placed his hands on the surface to form huge crystals... He looked as though he was mentally preparing for hell itself.
 
After the great god's outburst, Umbrus sobered up. He had not meant to disrespect him, only to question his choices. Though, now that he thought of it, he was disrespecting the old god, wasn't he?

Anyways, watching the god prepare himself, Umbrus decided to help. Shadows, made tangible, encircled the room, enveloping the old god. They were soothing, and peaceful. They were to help him leave this world.

"Goodbye, H'mog. It was nice to meet you. If you don't mind, I'll go to see Shel after I see you off." Then, mumbling under his breath, "I might even bed her..."

Umbrus swiftly apologized after that last comment thouch, claiming that it was merely a joke.
 
Crystals, mixing with the darkness, built a shield around H'mog. He then burrowed deep within the core; A mighty quake occurred and violent shaking overtook the underground trail. the cage of crystals collapsed in on itself, filling the hole made by H'mog to access the fiery core: H'mog was gone. It would take three thousand years for H'mog to be dead, but whatever happens, H'mog knew the fundamental law of the universe: gods cannot truly die.
 
Umbrus stood silently, watching as the last remnants of the god disappeared. Turning around, a twisted smile upon his lips, Umbrus went out to stalk his next prey.

Shel. That was her name, daughter of H'mog. She will be interesting.
 
3,000 years is a long time, even for the gods... Over the course of time, H'mog dies, nations rise and fall, and history repeats itself. Many times.

The world is not young anymore. For the past years it has grown. Today we have so much technology for steel, siege equipment, fortresses and boats that cross oceans, and yet for it all we know so little...


((Welcome to the Medieval period, everyone! For those who don't know, we have just completed a three-thousand year skip in the RP's time, leaveing us in the Medieval period of our world. Knights, steel, fortress, sieges, all await!))
 
Seven Needles, the Martyr, sat upon his throne, silence surrounding the champion as he lay in corpse-like sleep. Encased in armor, limbs sewn back together again and again, the champion of the Worm in Waiting no longer relished anything but to slumber. Three thousand years, and he had been at the front lines every battle. He had slain his own kind during the rise of an atheistic revolution, fought against rival nations, and hunted intruding drakes. The warrior was old, weary, even wretched, and yet would not, and could not, pass away. So Seven Needles slept, alone, in a dark and quiet cathedral dedicated to him; a hero.

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The sleeping isles, split and regrouped over the millennia, stood strong and resolute. Isolated, the People of Lead had risen from humble villages buried in dirt, to pointed, haunting cities built into stone. Black Fortresses lined the island's plateaus, Worm Knights stood at post in silence, staring over the sea. Sailing vessels glinted in the moonlight, bringing goods to and from the outside world. In recent times, foreign merchants went to and from the isles. Tales of Slua began to circulate the outside world. Other races heard of the grotesque beauty of the isles; of strange and darkened buildings within; of the warm, pungent spores of Grey Winter. In the galleries of collectors and nobles, Sluan creations began to be put on display. In one human city, a well-traveled smith began to forge Estocs. Demand for trade was increasing and outside interest, growing.

Perhaps the People of Lead tired of solitude?
 
The Garden has become restless. The dangers of their jungle have reached their peak and the Quash are now under attack. Quash Scholars and Priests have been attempting to commune with their gods, summoning their servant Mutare to come and tell them what they should do. They were told that Orcs and the Quash were fated to fight giant flying beasts that spewed forth flames and death, but it hasn't happened. Now the jungles have become a deathtrap, even to them. New great creatures have spawned from the center of the jungles, similar to the ones described by their seers. Green beasts with a snake like head, with two crushing legs with rending talons and soars on two bat-like wings. These new Nox Wraiths have arrived suddenly to the jungle in their hundreds, killing and eating. They breathed a poisonous gas that turns flesh and bone to slime upon contact before lapping up the sludge with rough tongues. They have the intelligence and power of Dragons, but they do not follow Paloria. They were created by Mutare to fight Paloria's dragons in case he needed to escape, but without their master, the Nox Wraiths escaped their tunnel undergrounds and began to rampaging throughout their Jungle environment, killing all with venomous gas strong enough to turn flesh and bone to slime before licking up the congealed mess for sustenance.

For 1700 years the Quash prayed to their gods for guidence on how to fight these monsters that were killing them, but did not receive answers for their plight. They had no direction and they were dying. Eventually a champion rose from their Ranks, a Red Quash known as Eztonal. A powerful warrior and the only one among them who had managed to kill a Nox Wraith and returned unharmed. Seeing that the jungles was lost to them, Eztonal rallied their people to go on a great journey. 'Ttttthek Godsss havke gggone! Ttthey havke been forrrksakkenn ttthe Qquassh. Ttthey havke left tttthisss worldk. Our hooome hasss felttt ittt and we musssttt changgge if we are ttto sssurvkivke! We musssttt journey forttth frrrom ttthe gggrrreen and inttto tttthe world of tttthe outttsssidersss! Ttthere we ssshall forggge a new life, for all Qquasssh. Ttthere we ssshall grrrow, ttthere we ssshall become ssstttrrrong once agggain! And only ttthen ssshall we rettturn and tttake back what isss oursss!" Extonal took what remained of the Quash's population, a little over 300000 and led a mass exodus out of their jungle home, taking many casualties from Nox Wraiths and the jungle itself. The Surviving Quash were forced to split into two groups, the first group of 120000 traveled east into the greater world of Idain, while 50000 were forced to move north, traveling on boats and rafts.

For the next 1300 years, the Quash on Idain have splintered into two groups. The first group of 92000 settled a central city of Tenoch where they kept to their ideals of isolation, gaining small amounts of territory every day and slowly regrowing their population and military might, growing in a collection of temple cities of a collective 2944000 individuals. They are heavily militarized with constant patrolling units of mounted Quash. All non-Quash sentient who are spotted by these patrols are given one warning before being attacked.

The second group of 28000 thought that the it was their isolation that caused their destruction and spread across the world, attempting to integrate themselves into the greater world, settling down in different towns and cities across all of Idain, increasing their population to ~784000 individuals.
 
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At that moment, a strange presence of felt. Reality recoiled, as in the minds eye of the all gods what felt like a hand was imagined intruding on the world. It was so utterly alien, and it was almost as though the molecules of reality itself detested it... But then there was something it was holding: A white flag?...

Doors opened in the sky above Idain and Obus, and a troop of gaudily dressed divine messengers marched down, delivering a letter to seven gods of the mortal realm: Dymos, Refcaskha, The Worm, Illuminae, Necterra, Aether, Mutare. It read:

"To my dearest colleagues-

You have been given great gifts, and only deservedly. Come with haste, come as you will- Your glorious presence is merely all the gift we may ask to fill!
We give to you, this holy day, to remember always, if you may:
Our mothers sons and daughters (plus one guest), youngest of our number. No longer in there great box, they will lay to slumber.
For to you we give them fully, as our gift! We arranged the Marriage today, to close our rift!
Come through the mighty red door, take them as spouse, that's all we ask for.

-The Fool, herald of the Chaos Mother"

((Horicabu had plans for this plot arc I was going to let him enact instead of picking an NPC. So he can determine how the worms marriage goes down, but just for the sake of continuity I would suggest doing it alongside the other marriages, @Horicabu .))
 
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