Celebration for the Gods

• • • • • • Celebration for the Gods - GM'd by Vuk and played by Azog, Lorien, Cesran, Ssylrath ****

The Vast, small settlements, mysterious occurences. Broken rifts in realities, ancient ruins. Perhaps you came here at the behest of your temple, perhaps because you were hired to guard those of a scholary bent as they made their way to the focal point of what can only be described as power unseen for decades, or perhaps days..this is the Vast, whom knows what waywards souls have found and never returned from.

The 'city' closest to this event was a small trade post, barely able to accomodate a dozen travellers. With the sudden burst of energies occuring and thousands filtering in from all walks of life to be witness to the Gods them selves coming, it has been entirely forgotten. Tents line the ley lines of energy, artifice created buildings, magically summoned dwellings. Each minute brings a new miracle to be witnessed. Those crippled given their full bodies back. Loved ones laid in glowing waters given life. Plants swelling to immense size and budding with the sweetest fruits.

The hour draws closer, both Temple Priests, those who pour over dusty tomes of magic, and even those who practice Artifice agree..there is hushed anticipation as the sky crackles with energy... the eldritch energies of magic made manifest, dripping in a sticky sweet multi hued sap upon the awaiting masses. Priests offering prays and devotions to their gods. Wizards and Sorcerors awaiting the appearanced of those they offer quiet words to, in hopes of greater power. Artificers rushing about collecting the falling sticky multi hued sap, so vibrant with Aetherical energy.

Cesran has come to investigate what is going on and these miracles that are happening. He is extremely skeptical that the gods themselves would choose to walk the world again or at least if they do to make a big show about it. He leans on his staff, who is looking around, "So many people here, do you think the Gods are really here." Cesran shrugs, "Perhaps, the gods work in mysterious ways."

Azog has joined this quest for reasons of his own. He is not mystically inclined, at least not professionally, but he is very spiritual, in a nomadic warrior sort of way. Armor gleams as he rides his shaggy warhorse, commenting to Cesran, "If they are, they are. I am sure that the Eidolons do not do things because you or I think it should be so." He pauses, then goes on, "But there are some who may have insight. And so if it /is/ going to happen, I would count it a blessing to be there."

Lorien makes his way to the happenings. He seems a bit curious as he takes his symbol of Eluna rifle and pats the strap. Matte-black, silver sheen, blue-mana casing. The youth seems a bit excited as he watches the Artificers. Then he relaxes a bit, "I wanna get as many hugs as possible! From goddess'!"

Ssylrath sits astride his tall Swiftclaw watching the goings-on. His voice is harsh and sibilant. "It is ssstrange, I come to see what happens. The Green will do as it will, I do not pretend to underssstand it." He observes all and comments little, generally.

So many excited..so many expectant gazes skyward. So many believe their Gods will reveal them selves, walk amoungst them. So many full of nervous energy, some perhaps afraid of their own sins and being judged. Some hope to be granted benefice to walk amoungst their divinities.

With a sudden snap of cold, enough that the ground turns to frost, water freezes, fires are extinguished as the skies begin to shatter, devoured upwards as some thing opens. Where cold once was, and where miracles were, smoke flows forth..not the sight..but the stench. Coppery smoke, or is it roasted meat? The scents are individual, changing, but as a whole. Bombarding the senses of those gathered, the thousands witness, a city state onto it self, being forced to perceive the impossible.

The initial awe for some wears off and they begin louder chanting..louder prayers..but some of the miracles are not so inspiring. Those raised from the dead lurch to a stop..their bodies turning upon them selves..the hand tries to consume the other hand, the eyes lurch from their sockets to turn upon the breast. The grant plants turn to rot, but form that rot rises new alien forms of life. Flowers that weep in joy. Fruit that wallows in the refuse of many like a pig might in mud.

The Rift is widening just as many claimed it would, a shattering of the skies.

Azog nods at what the Sith-Makar says, giving Lorien a quizzical look for a moment before returning his attention to the proceedings. He doesn't pretend to understand the details, but he watches none the less. "I am sure /something/ will happen," he says confidently. "It may be the blessing of Eidolons. It may be word of the children of the firstborn. It may be a bandit attack, seeking to prey on pilgrims. But there will be something." And it does. Azog sets his shield ready, and draws his blade, standing in his stirrups to a commanding height to see what all there is to see. Not that he understands it. But if it becomes a threat, he is there to deal with it.

Lorien glances upwards and frowns a bit, "It's moving into our reality, this was likely a problem that such an event would bring, alas, we weren't meant ta really bridge this gap so easily with the Planes," he says. The youth takes a hand to the strap of his rifle as he notices that there are problems arriving. He contents to wait!

Ssylrath sits up straighter, calming his mount Thaliss with a touch. "This is from outssside the Green it is not of this world!" He sniffs the air and makes a face. "This is not nature, it is Wrong. Can it be ssstopped?" His banner flutters in the suddenly cold wind. Cesran starts to cast a spell of protection on him and he looks around, "Everyone get back these are not the Gods! It's something ripping through the planes to get here, the Gods all ready exist on this plane. Everyone get back." He says as he reaches into this spell component pouch to start to cast another spell.

Perhaps some would wish to leave, but many more are pushing forward, a chaotic mass drive to be at the epicenter of this event. This nexus of nervous energies and -something- emerging as the skies turn colours that can not be seen, that bombard the mind. Some thing falls from the sky..small things, until they land, charred bodies, that yet speak, ever so briefly. Their blood running from rents in the body, before it becomes faces on the ground. Faces that laugh as they dissolve into violet mists and surge into the crowds to dance before drawn up to the rift.

'Do not Praise them! Do Not Praise them!'

The voices chant before they fall silent as the charred remains dissolve into chunks of burnt bone and flesh..and then a deluge of Ichor joins them, cascading over the masses as dark shapes burst through the rift, rigid vessels that loom in that rift, both in this reality, and yet..outside it.

Sticky black ichor, like blood..some pus. Some moves of it's own violition, some weeps in child like tones as it swirls around. Some forms strands, some flows into the mouth of children to make them jerkily walk like toy soldiers of artifice towards the center, below the leading edge of the Armada..and then an Insidious whisper begins..

It can not be truly said to be one voice, or many. The very nature causes nose to bleeds, and each person hears their own message, each and every one. Many of the crowd holds their head, even some of the well seasoned veterans of campaigns. A fair few take a knife to their own ears to try and carve out the message from their senses.

'To you Azog... you can not harm us..We are the Kult, we have conquered your gods..fear means nothing..'

'To you Lorien... we have burned whole worlds in our industry..we conquered realities yet unborn. Their gods became our worlds..this reality will never understand our ways..'

'To you Ssylrath.. Nature is just the artifice of the Gods ...they will bend you to their will and tell you this is natural..'

'To you Cesran... you amuse us, for you realize we are not gods. You may deliver our message to yours... they can either burn their world before we take them..or they may surrender..'

((DC20 Willsave..or try to cut your own ears out. The very noise in your head is several dimensions of denizens speaking to you at once, but each of you hear one clear message amoungst the torrent. This is a mind breaking sensation.))

GAME: Cesran rolls will: (10)+12: 22 <OOC> Cesran says, "Yes I don't have to cut my ears out." GAME: Lorien rolls will]: (17)+will]: 17 GAME: Ssylrath rolls will: (5)+4: 9 GAME: Lorien rolls will: (13)+1: 14 <OOC> Lorien says, "Uh." <OOC> Lorien says, "Can the first simply be 18?" <OOC> Lorien says, "Heee." <OOC> Azog says, "Does Bravery help this roll?" <OOC> Ssylrath says, "Do you want one from my Swiftclaw too? And if so, is it Enchantment? :)" <OOC> Ssylrath says, "Oh yeah, I'm granting +2 on Fear checks to everyone who can see me, if that helps." <OOC> Vuk says, "No your pets/animals/etc can't claw their ears out and aren't being bombarded." <OOC> Vuk says, "and Bravery will help yes Azog" <OOC> Lorien says, "Is it a fear effect or something else?" GAME: Azog rolls will+4: (3)+6+4: 13 <OOC> Vuk says, "its your mind being torn apart by the impossible." <OOC> Lorien says, "Heee." <OOC> Azog says, "Well, so much for bonuses." <OOC> Lorien says, "Well my first roll 17, if ya add the 1 it'd be 18 likely, etc. Whatever you wanna take though." <OOC> Vuk says, "So the only one who succeeded in not trying to slam a blade in his ear drum to carve it out is Cesran"

Azog sheathes his sword and draws a small knife from his belt. Not a weapon, just a tool for someone who lives outdoors. But enough for the task at hand. The voices are ... maddening. But. He will shut them out if can't hear them. Yes, yes he will. With a trembling hand, he brings that utility blade towards his ear, intending to deafen himself to the messages.

Ssylrath holds his head, trying to block out the sounds. "No! The Green is not my massster and neither are you! I am SSYLRATH!" He moans, fumbling for a dagger in his kit.

Cesran feels the internal pressure in his head and he grits his teeth to fight it off. He stands defiant before the them as he quickly pours some powdered silver in 3 foot circle around him to cast a magic circle to ward off evil. It's hard to tell that there will be any effect with all this magical energy going around, but Cesran tries to stand along against these Kults. He grips his staff as he starts to ready another spell, "This world will stand against you and destroy you. This world will never surrender nor will our gods!"

Lorien winces as the voices assail him. The youth then shifts to the ground and grips at the dirt, growling a bit. He dosen't have any weapons that would make taking his ear off an easy task, consider he usually makes use of firearms. He lifts up his hands and then tries and cover the sounds, "Grrr, get out of this Plane," he says. That said, all he really manages and do is try and grasp at his ears until the multitude of voices go away.

The voices momentarily cease before an order ripples through the crowd as one. It seems to work..or reassure some.

'Cease..you will not take your own lives against the wishes of the many.'

As this is said several ancient war ships begin to lower, a blend of Artifice and tortured beings. Some perhaps can be comprehend.. beings of immense power, known even to this realm, maybe can not be named, or understood. The very act of watching their flesh causes the mind to reel in pain, but one thing stands out.. the lead of the trio of ships lowering has a defaced symbol of Kulthus along the prominent prow.

'An offer is made.. Those of you who resist shall be used as fuel... Those who join us, will some day understand the taste of power of the Gods. They will dance upon our paradises we wrought of their flesh of divinity.. Those who wish neither. Flee... Run.. hide in the dark corners till your gods lay defeated, or surrender to us..'

The rift is stablizing as the small trio of ships descends, and as it does, the nature of the voices becomes more powerful. They speak out of turn...you hear words from the end of the sentence at the beginning, they echo. They hiss, some are in langauges unknown, yet still clear to you in the end. Yet always do you understand the meaning.

GAME: Cesran rolls knowledge/history: (15)+20: 35 Azog sheathes his dagger, growls, "I will neither join, nor become your victim. If you hunt me to the ends of the world, I will resist your hunters and slay as many as try and take me."

Cesran frowns as he sees the symbol, "That is the symbol of Kulthus and it shouldn't exist. The gods destroyed them for their hubris." He tries to judge it as he casts another spell. He puts up a wall of force between the people of the ships, "Everyone get back to the city now!" He calls out as he tries to hold them off. He grips his staff and bows his head. He prays softly, "Eluna, I know we are not always on the best of terms and I am not a cleric, but I need your help now. Those that the gods once banished have returned."

Lorien of course takes out his rifle which gleams slightly, unstrapping it from the sheathe, "Kulthus," he affirms slightly, even as Cesran also states it. He then runs his hand along the length of the casing. The Symbol of Eluna on the weapon is regard, as the matte-black gently shimmers with silver, "You bastards, what have you...?" he begins to muse, and then shifts his hands about the firearm. He dosen't answer as of yet. Instead he watches and waits.

Ssylrath lifts his head again, looking at the masses around, and grasps his lance. "Thisss is not good, no?" He does not appear to glean any knowledge from the symbology.

Many of the scholars that have gathered know that symbol too.. and it spreads like wild fire as people shriek. More then a few are moving to defend loved ones..some curl up on the ground in fear, catatonic as their skin flows and shifts, reality..is no longer reality. The ships above appear to ever draw closer, details coming into sharp clarity, and then becoming obscured haze.

Panic will spread of course, it is inevitable, especially when ichor coated foms are fired from the ships. Bloated forms falling to the ground and divine beings clad in white robes accompany them with soft whispers of placation, the langauge utterly alien, but their voice is soothing, peaceful. Wings once white, but now stained with soot and dried ... it isn't clear what. Oil perhaps? Or is it blood?

'We will suffer no resistance!' a voice says, much more distinct, from the Trio of ships...yet they remain so far away, but it almost seems as if they have landed. Yet the voice may not be needed, for as those bloated forms are falling to the ground, ichor burning away to reveal grotesquetly corrupted beings. Many are not even humanoid, all bound with artifice to the pumping organ trails that compromise the tentacles leading to the vessels that have come 'close.'

Perhaps what sends so many reeling is their children who are marching like toy soldiers, turn towards these forms, marching towards them, to be guided by the Angelic like creatures, who hold up thin blades and flash them across the pregnant forms of the creatures. Their contents spilling out. Ever shifting forms, humanoid, but indistinct, but not animalistic, to cunning, to discplined as they form up to meet resistance. The children? They are slowly shuffled into the churning guts of these pod like breeders. Gently enshrined with soft kisses and words to let them go to sleep in the warm confines.

'Go ...find their souls..taste why we become Gods...understand ..become one of us ..'

The voices return in force, speaking to all as one.. and seem to address the ever shifting soldiers now arrayed against those who offer resistance.

Azog draws his blade again, and will knee his horse forward, wading into the horror with a look of fierce determination. He did just have this talk, now it's time to honor that statement. Without a word, he will lay into the horrors with blade and steed.

Ssylrath looks up at the armada and the viscera and the mental voices and everything. "There is nothing we can do here but die, let us find a way to ssstop them later on. The Green is not ssso easily defeated, it is merely put off. A few sssmall children matter little in the long run." He looks to protect whoever he can, shepherding people away from the scene, his mere presence inspiring confidence.

Cesran looks over at Azog, "Azog we really need to get back to the city to warn them of what happened. I will stay and fight with you, but know that I can teleport us out of here." He says as he looks around at the others and he aims at a cluster of the oil angels to try to get the most of them with a fireball. GAME: Cesran casts Fireball. Caster Level: 11 DC: 23 GAME: Ssylrath rolls intimidate: (18)+10: 28

Azog growls at Cesran, but nods slowly. "If we are overwhelmed, take us out of here. But I will not flee without making an attempt." He rides forth, roughly smacking some of those who lay helplessly on the ground, and those who walk to their own doom, leaning from his horse to prod them with sword or shield. "Wake up! Get your wits about you!" he bellows like an angel of doom, himself. "Fight or run, but do not cower! Do not go to them!" He fights off the monsters while exhorting people to fight or flee.

GAME: Vuk rolls 1d20+13: (17)+13: 30 GAME: Cesran rolls 10d6+5: (33)+5: 38

Lorien has no idea what he can do to stop the creatures, so then for the moment, he rushes forward and then loads his rifle with a bullet, before he slings that along his shoulder and sheathes it. He does what he can to get others way. Encouragement, some push, some shove. Perhaps it is a bit effective. He dosen't bother and wait so he can get an idea if it does.

The efforts of kicking and screaming at people has some effect. It isn't like a ...conscious response, more a dulled automation following new orders. Some will run of their own violition, others drag them selves after the fleeing crowds. Cesran's fireball impacts against the back of an angel..it's wings bursting into fire, others suffer a blast of heated air. The painful scream is gut wrenching. The sound of an Astral Deva's very flesh being ignited. It may be fortunate several wizards have attempted similiar things, for the Soldari can not so easily reach Cesran.

As more of the pregnant beings are forced to your reality, the Angelic beings continue their work, as one is exhausted of it's children, it's belly is stitched, soothed, reknitted, and another slit open, and at the same time, the soldiers they disgorge, some dissolve, licked up by the tentacles that extend outward with out warning from their grostesque mothers. Others seem to soldify into some thing more humanoid, more defined. Some take on familiar form, others are as alien as the ships above.

What resistance is offered, is slowly being overwhelmed as the ships begin to withdraw, slowly, but surely, their troops are being recalled. Though one ship seems to shudder and disgorge a new being..perhaps being isn't correct. It's more like it simply wills a group of armored beings to the ground.

Their bodies are enclased in armor of splendor, filligrees of exotic materials cross it, furs hang from their shoulders. Artifice powers these men, weapons unseen, unfathomable in destructive energies. Where one may expect munitions to be inserted, unborn devils are, the fetuses suspended in a tortured state. They seem to command the respect of all about them.

'We are Legion..we have come to this world to offer your Gods but two choices. Fight..and this world burns. Surrender, and we will allow it to exist with out their influence, so all may taste the power of the Gods.'

Ssylrath bellows and hisses at the people and his massive Swiftclaw gets in on the act as well, forcing people to run or be trampled. He is grim and forboding, trying to save as many as possible. Behind him all the while his banner waves, strips of leather fluttering in the wind. Azog is rounding up the stragglers and weak-willed as much as he can, when the horror gets even more horrible. And a part of him rebels. He bellows, swirling his blade over his head in a show of strength and martial prowess to stir the listless. "Go now, and I have done more for you than you have done for yourselves. You honorless pigs, get moving!" He does keep an eye on the horrors, and rides back closer to Cesran. Looks like he's not going to heroic last stand here after all. "It is not for me to give them backbone. They can live and die by their own actions."

GAME: Cesran casts Chain Lightning. Caster Level: 11 DC: 26 GAME: Cesran rolls 11d6+5: (41)+5: 46

Cesran nods to Azog as he calls upon some of his most powerful spells and from his fingers a lightning bolt jumps and strikes one of the angels from long distance. The bolt then jumps to the closest 11 enemy angels hurting them just a badly as they withdraw.

Those that are left are being taken with the withdrawing forces, scant hundred may have escaped, many more are killed, or left insensible..and being used to effect repairs persay. Fed into the pregnant birthing beings by angels not inflicted by Cesran. More yet, those who seemed to be a martial bent, are dragged to the strange artifice bedecked beings by the Soldari who have become more manifest, more stable. metal being used to craft weapons, flesh and bone joining it, there is no clear distinction.

The angels that Cesran attacks are the first to leave with their charges, for they are being assaulted the most directly. The one he has already burnt though, looks upon it's brethren and a quiet gesture is made before it steps to the breeder it came with, being carried into it as the shifting Soldari flow back to their mothers. The message it conveyed, unknown.

'We will return. You will give us your answer. Go now...warn your world..Tell your gods what we come for.'

Lorien slowly shifts his stance to regard the others about, and then returns his attention towards the retreating forces. The youth heaves a sigh, and then shakes his head, as he perks up when he hears something, "Odd, reborn anew?" he muses, then adds, "Perhaps they are reformed some way," he considers. Then he moves a bit nearer the group to do anything needed.

Azog growls savagely, "Yes, making them anew is how they'd say it. It's like zombies and ghouls, but with artifice instead of magic. And just as wrong." He'll keep fighting and keep exhorting people to retreat, keeping on the move.

Ssylrath grimaces. "They are plainly not of the Green, but we cannot dessstroy them. Yet." He continues herding, picking people up bodily and shoving them if necessary.

Cesran smiles as he sees them start to retreat, but it's a pyrrhic victory and he nods a little bit, "Yes they will probably either heal or recycle the ones that I've damaged." He leans against his staff, "Yes whatever they are is very wrong and we will need help if we are to defeat them. I want to get back to the city, Alexandria and its temples need to be warned."

Lorien nods, "I will tell the Eluna Temple when I arrive back," he says.

As the last of the forces are..recalled, the armored beings and the new, but still clearly inferior Legion Army members are drawn into their ship and the rift opens wide as they make for it.. revealing these were but the -smallest- of the warships. For a few moments of clarify, hundreds upon hundreds can be seen in that rift. That reveals the void's inner workings, the damning energy of chaos trying to bombard the fleet of Aether vessels. More then one can be identified to be built of a living creatures. There is little doubt that these beings may be a form of gods culled from other worlds and planes. Would be Gods you may say. Star Whales, Angels who once oversaw entire planes of peace and good will. Some undead beings that tallied the souls in some forgotten world.

'We will return. We will offer freedom and power to this world as we have offered to so many before.'

The disjointed voice speaks in the survivor's head. The Legion Army has come, it has left thousands dead or taken in a scant hand of time... Flight, respite. It should come like a thunderbolt. The mind only now able to rest and try to block out the memories of reality it self melting, fading away, being rewritten to the design of those who enslave Dieties and beings that create their own dimensions.