enter, those who are damned

...and now, time has passed and much has happened. The Rakshasa found each other and founded their own city. The Elves have forged a treaty with the races of Man and Dwarves. Magic has found its place throughout the lands. The Orks have waged wars on many, them being a very bloodthirsty tribe. And many times have the daevu stepped forth into the realms of men, slaughtering and committing unspeakable atrocities. Others too have risen and been removed from their thrones of blood, each in a place of their own, each calling upon their own perverted powers and thrusting their will upon others. Each time they were thwarted, sometimes they weren’t. It is true even that the greatest threat to this world merely swept through it, leaving countless dead and ruined in its wake. This being merely awoke in this world, and escaped it to another, chasing after its own foe. Some say this creature slumbers, some say it is merely biding its time.

Some don’t even know it existed.

But this is no tale of such a creature. This tale has nothing to do with it, although its portents may reveal its presence. This tale is of a lesser evil, but one of great threat as it is. Of the selfish need for power, of how evil lives in the heart of all, but also has its own uses. How redemption is merely an ideal, and may be given by the most unlikely of individuals.

So let is move our eyes away from the scenes of birth, of how everything began and the slight balance that rules this world. Let us now move ahead and gaze upon a woman, petite in form, who is holding a bag containing all of her possessions. She stands gazing upon a stall’s goods at a fair, and all around her there is the bustle of activity and joy that only a country fair can bring. But this is no ordinary fair, as we soon realize, for there is much that escapes the eye. We may look closer and see that all the stallholders have a strange demeanor to them, and stare more hungrily than a normal merchant would at their customers. We analyze the customers themselves and see that they too are more than what they seem.

Everywhere weapons bristle. The glint of metal plate and chain mail hides below florid cloaks and silk shirts. Simple leather jerkins conceal daggers and the appearance of a broadsword is not rare. These people are no simple villagers; they are mercenaries, mages and people of the blade, people who have felt the fires of battle and seek their own fortune across the mortal realm. All are here to spend their bounty, for this particular fair is known throughout the land to be a place where one can acquire items of great value for a low price.

Our woman we gazed upon earlier, she stands here for reasons other than acquisition of good wares. We notice that her clothes are cut in a fine fashion, colored brightly and seem to pull the eye to her. She looks for work, and where some men may take it to be of a more dubious nature, her work instead is to fire the soul and not the lions. For she is a bard, one traveling the world to see it more for its beauty than for its money.

Lets move away from her as she inquires on a cut of material from a merchant who seems to disturb us and instead look upon two others who have entered the tournaments that always appear at these fairs. One appears to be a large Ork, but when we notice how his skin is of a paler green, his teeth less pronounced than his brutish cousins, we realize that in his past must lie some strange tale of love between the savage ones and a human. For it must be love; how can it be that anything else can produce a youth of such joviality? The man smiles broadly, his Mohawk waving in the slight wind, and laughs at a comment his companion has made. He is to enter one of the feats of strength competitions. He too does not know the true intent of such things, for no one here knows that this year’s fair has a more sinister motive than any of the previous ones. He strains and relaxes his muscles, preparing himself and steps forward to the ring.

His companion, a dark haired human, smiles at his friend. But his eyes convey very little mirth. We see his scalp is almost clean-shaven, only a topknot of thin hair running down his back. This man carries himself like a warrior, and the markings on him convey his origins as a monk of the god of war, Helbred. Yet he shows none of the restraint normally associated with these men and women, instead his darkened clothing with red trims seems to make him more menacing than those who have followed the bloody god’s path. A complete opposite of his Orkish friend, he doesn’t seem to fit in this world of colored tents and gleeful cries.

Lets pass over them now, to the last who bare interest to this tale. We move across to a man in brown leathers, Elven yet bearded, tall and simple, yet his wolf companion at his side gives him a more interesting aspect. He too has entered the tourney, seeking to match his skills against others. He has thoughts of victory in his mind, and smiles at the idea of taking the purse of riches. His bow is in great need of replacement, and he has seen one at the stalls that is to his liking.

Now that we have met those who make up the beginning of this tale, for indeed they are the beginning we shall retreat and think about what is to come. Images flash before our eyes, of the half bread Ork screaming in pain, the dark human wreathed in flames, blood dripping off of the bards hands, the tall elf standing fearlessly, shooting blazing light from his bow and of something dark and awesome in its own beauty gazing over them. something that even now is close to them, watching their every move, selecting them for its own grand purpose…

Dae'alva-dregnor

Time is fleeting but is not infinite, for it is held contained within a concept of what it is. For if time were to exist it would need mortality to judge its need. There was once no time, merely an instance, yet it carried more actions within it than could happen within a moment. And in this instance, there was only those who are immortal.

For it was before everything had come to pass, before the breath of Men and machinations of Elves. Before the blood of Orks and the shedding of the Rakshasa. It was when time was being born, and when all that is never existed and the only sign of existence was the Void, and the Light.

The Light had taken the form of a woman, dazzling and brilliant, agile and playful as light is. it wandered through the space of the Void, amazed at its freedom, its form, its existence. Yet it became lonely, and it could sense another presence within the Void and it yearned for the other's company. Throughout the blackness it searched, eager to share its joy of the discovery of existence with another and it discovered smaller beings. These beings it called the dae'alva, for they were formless things, of the shadow and darkness from which they had been born. At first they fled from her, afraid of her brilliance, but her smile was alluring and her beauty overcame their fears. Timidly, in awe, they approached and she began to show them how to take their own forms. Eagerly the dae'alva followed her lead and created for themselves shape and size, and brought about their own existence. Filled with the joy of seeing them follow her lead, the woman laughed and her cheer filled the Void with the promise of possibility.

The dae'alva followed her around, watching as she learnt to do new things, to create substance from where there was nothing, and eagerly they copied her. Soon the void was filled with many areas of substance that needed a cohesion, and the Woman pushed it all together, and created the world upon which we now walk. Seeing this, the dae'alva were overjoyed.

Next the woman created life. First she created the animals that were needed to keep the earth alive, and then the Race of Men to rule it. From her own essence she created the Elves. One of the dae'alva, a great burly thing who had named himself Grarak, tried to copy her and created the OrKs and Goblinoids. The others soon joined in their creating and soon the land was filled with wondrous creatures.

And then the Woman stopped, for she sense something was wrong with their creations. She watched as the world started to tear itself apart. The Elves fought the men, the Dwarves who had risen from the earth turned on the Orks. Terror and pain entered the lands. The dae'alva too saw this and they rushed to the Woman, begging her to stop the chaos that was beginning to unravel the world they had made.

Overwhelmed with her anguish, she fled. Far away from the dae'alva and the world she and they had created. She forged a hallowed place, a place of peace and tranquility where she could hide from the chaos that was building in the Void and there she stayed for a long time, watching through tear filled eys everything that came to pass.

The dae'alva were torn and they turned on each other. They argued on what they should do to fix the mistakes they had made in creating these beings that wrought such destruction on the wondrous beauty about them. Some felt abandoned and by the Woman, and tried to subvert some of her creatures to their own power. One such was Lillith, who lured some of the elves into a dark realm she had created on the world. These became twisted parodies of the former beautiful beings and they grew to despise their kin. Others of the dae'alva tried to reason with their creations but the mortal creatures ran screaming at the sight of them, for they knew not what they were. Another of the dae'alva, one named Rakshas who had taken the form of a manlike cat, rallied some of the others to him and made plans to remove their creations from the world, believing that he could remake the world and fix the errors they had made. On and on the god like beings argued, and no solution was found.

Unbeknownst to all of them something had been watching their actions since the Woman had entered their midst. The other presence she had felt originally had been her antithesis, a being of dark. He had created the dae'alva and left them alone in the void, intending to see what they would do. And now, when all seemed lost, he chose to take the form of a horned man and made his own move to emulate what the Woman had done.

He created a world of darkness and pain. He shaped creatures that were mockeries of those who lived on the mortal world and he made them immortal, believing that without the ability to die they would never commit such atrocities against each other. But he was wrong, for the creatures found ways around this and instead commited acts even more horrible than the mortal creatures had. Seeing this he devised a plan to remedy the actions of the others.

He used his power to draw many of the dae'alva to him, and imprisoned them within his new world. He did this to punish them and then he sent forth some of his creatures to devour and absorb their essence. His creatures grew stronger and became what we now know as the Daevu, demons of the hells. He sent them forth into the mortal realm, seeking to instill fear into the mortal creatures of the world.

And this they did well. Terrors greater than had been seen before stalked the land. Horrified, Rakshas turned to the dark one and attacked him, not wanting the creatures to endure such horrors. But the dark one would not be dissuaded and he tore Rakshas into many pieces, scattering him across the sands of the mortal world. Where the blood of the dae'alva landed did new creatures take form, these mortal and resembling the torn god. They ran in fear from the daevu, for they had not the power to defeat them. The elves and humans formed a truce and rallied against the demons of the darkness and the Orks and their goblin king harried them when they approached their lands. Together the mortal races fended off the Immortal beings, chasing them back into the realms of the dark. Seeing this, the dark one smiled for this had been his intent from the beginning.

Filled with a feeling of unity the mortals of the lands started to form alliances, and a peace filled the lands. But the dark one knew that it would not last long, for in the hearts of all there were still many evils that would lead the light away. So he sought out the woman and approached her in her realm of light. He submitted himself to her and together they devised a way to keep the nortals of the world in check.

The lady strode forth from her realm once more, and gathered the few dae'alva that remained, and that would approach, for many were fearful of her wrath. These she set into her realm aso that they may watch and guide the mortal creatures. They became the many Gods of the world and they sought to teach their followers the ways of the light. Then she created her last beings, creatures of divine light and purity, avatars of her beauty and love, and they descended into the world, to teach the mortals the agreement betweeen the Light and the Dark. These creatures were the Forgotten Ones, lesser gods but capable of great feats. they instillied magic within the lands adn taught it to all. Then once their lessons were complete, they retreated to realms within the mortal world where no mortal could ever tread, and watched.

For the lessons they had told were that when a mortal died they would be judged and then, if they had lived pleasingly and stayed away from the evils within their souls, they would be moved into the light. But if they failed, if they succumbed to the vileness within, they would be sent to the realms of darkness, trapped forever in penance for their actions.

The Woman of the Light then moved to her realm of light and was still, watching the world as it grew. The Dark returned to his realm, and gave himself a name Asmodai, so that he might forever be known to those who dare tread in his darkness.

Such was how time became the true judge of life, and how life became a balance of time.

The forest..... *

*forgive me. when writing this it seems that it has a bit more to do with something else. something on my mind but not there... i dunno. but its taking me and i'm not soo sure if i'm happy about it. please, just read and get this over and done with...

....was a buzz of insects and nature. Nothing seemed too perturbed by the six figures creeping stealthily through the long grass, although stealth really wasn't a word you could apply to the black and red garbed woman trailing in the rear. Magenta did her bit at times, but being quiet definately wasn't one of her biggest talents. So the others trailed ahead, using her more as a distraction for any who might be laying in ambush than as actual back up. Moving low throw the undergrowth to the left was Angar, his blackened cloak barely seen amongst the shadows the trees overhead cast. to the left of him crept Churchill, the wolf's icy blue fur giving off soft whisps of steam, but not revealing its cover.
Walthen could barely make out the figures of Mordel and Gorak taking up the right flank as he took the centre of the formation. Not as quiet as the others, his magical prowess kept him unseen, yet he still marvelled at how the others seemed to move through the undergrowth with such ease. The soft cursing and snapping of branches behind him kept him aware of Magenta. Slowly but carefully they made their way east across the woods of the mountain.
The mage could sense the Undead lurking up ahead, and he knew the wolf could smell it too. He wondered why it is that Magenta didn't, her being a Necromancer and all, but then realized it was probably from the overwhelming presence of undead below that distracted her. He noticed she kept glancing back to where they had come from, the cave mouth they had stepped out of as a doorway from the Hells. Perhaps she had preffered it in there, he mused to himself. Perhaps she liked the place she knew she was bound to when her soul had been reft of its mortal coil. With a sneer he raised his staff and continued forward.
There was a blur of movement to the front and right, and Churchill let slip with a low growl. Instantly Mordel caught sight of the target, his mind so linked with his animal companion that they saw almost through each others eyes. The ranger let rip with his bow, and a bolt of incandescent energy struck a black clad figure as it ducked behind a tree.
The forest burst into activity, as Gorak and Angar both saw different targets and lunged for their quarry. But the pale humans who appeared to resist them merely dodged their blows and riposted with their own. A dark haired figure unravelled a spiked chain from his arms and flicked it out towards mordel, slicing the ranger deeply across his chest. It then swivelled and sent a lightning slash into Gorak's back as he swung his axe at another of the figures. They moved swiftly, and their fang filled mouths belied their true nature.
"Vampires,"Walthen swore, and readied a fireball. He didn't notice that he could no longer hear nthe sounds of the necromancer struggling behind him. He aimed the blast and set one of the creatures on fire, but it simply shrugged the flames off and turned to the wolf.
There were now four of the vampires in the woods, and they were harrassing the warriors from all sides. With what seemd to be luck Requiem sweung in the hands of gorak and thudded through the collar bone of one of the undead. It gave him a look of uncomprehension, then burst into blue flame and fell to ashes on the floor. Angar swung his clawed fists, striking air until finally he made contact, grabbing a vampire and swinging it round to face him, the clawed fingers of his gauntlets biting deep into the creatures flesh.
"Lets see how you deal with this," he growled and his hand burst into a dark evil red flame. The vampire screamed, and its arm turned into a molten goo. Soon the flames coursed the creatures body and it melted slowly onto the soil, its screams dribbling away like blood from a clotting wound.
Further back Magenta could hear the fighting up ahead, and she ran forward to help. after a frew steps she stopped, confused. now she could hear the fighting behind her and as she turned she realized she'd been going the wrong way. She ran forward, and then realized that somehow the world had turned again. confused and a bit scared, she sat down, try to puzzle a way out. She could hear the curses of the others as they fought with the vampires, and could smell the odour of sulphur as Walthen's fireball sought out its target. but she couldn't reach them.
It was then that she noticed the grass around her slowly turning brown. Above her leaves started to fall, dying and desiccating rapidly, nothing but dry dust before they hit they ground. A soft wind seemd to blow from the direction they had come from, carrying with it a low discordant moaning that sent a thrill up her spine. she stood, muttering spells under her breath, preparing herself for what was approaching.
Then she heard somthing which broke her concentration; the soft whistling of a child. She peared into the woods, trying to pick out the source and started to cast again. but again, her spells were interrupted, but this time by the appearance of the being that had trapped her so and caused the woods to die. by now she was surrounded by nothing but dead blackened trees, leaning out with skeletal branches as if to embrace her, mocking her commune with the dead.
The boy walked slowly, nonchalantly towards her, whistling a tune while his eyes fixed with hers. She could feel the power radiating off of him, and it caused her to fall to her knees unable to even utter a single word of magic. The boy was beautiful; soft pale skin, with blond hair that fell in tustles to his shoulders. his ears had the slight point to them which gave away his elven nature, but somehow she knew that this child was no elf. Only his eyes belied the evil within; one grey, the other a blackened hole with a red iris.
The child walked up to her and placed his hand on her cheek. His touch burned but she could not move away. Images flooded her mind; a silver dagger, one that she recognized from the haunted city and had seen Xervish, the traitor, take, a woman with darkened wings plunging the blade through struggling victim, and the boy stnading at the womans side as she lounged on a throne. other images too, ones of death, of cites crumbling and the dead rising; of worlds falling at the feet of this child while he sought onwards forever for the source of his hatred. Then the child removed his hand.
Magenta fell back, her hand touching the spot where the boy had placed his, and could feel the skin was bloated and sore. The creature watched her without feeling, and spoke.
"She has a part of me, and wishes to control it. You shall destroy this thing, and I shall reward you greatly." His voice was ancient, and filled with what can only be described as death. his eyes bored into hers and then with a soft smile, he turned and walked away.
Reality returned and Magenta could hear the fighting coming from the others. During the encounter she had heard nothing, but now the sounds cam flooding in, and she stood up quickly, running to aid the others.
Walthen had felt the power behind him, but was struggling with a vampire that had appeared to back the others up. witha word his hands turned into incandescent electricity and he sent thecreature flying with a blow to its midriff. The others weren't faring so well, but they had killed four vampires and were trying to drive the three new ones off. Churchill had a wide gash across his torso, and angar was bleeding from wounds across his face and chest. Mordel was lying concussed by a tree, a blow from one of the vampires all but knocking him out and Gorak alone stood unhurt.
Magenta stormed into the fray, power flickering at her fingertips, but she arrived in time only to see a vampire appear almost out of nowhere behind gorak and drive a blade through his midriff. Then, while the half-orc bellowed in pain, the vampire lifted him and snapped his spine...

(right, its out..... so this isn't what i've written up to, so don't get your hopes up. its just that this scene has been bugging me. If there is anything here you think i might have missed, speak up. anything that needs tweaking, do the same.... if you don't comment, i'll find you and pull an Ethliss on you.)

The Twisting of Fate

Come Sister, let me show you what i have made for you...

Yes my Sister, I am new here, but I have decided I'd give you a gift, a thank you for letting me in, for letting me play with you. I know, I know, you aren't aware of my arrival, I'm new to this world, although I'm very sure you felt me come. Yes i know what you are, my Sister, i know what you do and what your purpose is; I want to show you my purpose...

Come fly with me, over and through this magical place you hold so dear, come let us see and smell and taste the life all around us, lets go visit the centaurs, those strange and sly creatures, You say one had a hand in defeating Heracles? Strange, I would have thought your gods would have put more stock in their heroes. Oh well, I guess that could be your fault after all, you never let them really have a say in any of the matters they were involved in did you?

Forgive my arrogance and prying, I mean you no harm, I just want you to see me and my present, let you know who I am and understand me, so that you don't see me as the boogeyman in your closet. You look confused, ah, a phrase you don't understand, I'm sorry, a different time this is for me. But come now, time is fleeting, let us hurry now, down the rabbit hole and into hades...

I wonder, maybe you should see this part afterwards...

You look surprised. you didn't think I could do that? One minute we're in hell, or your hell you created, and the next we're above a broken city. You thought you and brethren were the only ones with that power, that you held all the strands and threads and controlled all? Go back and look closely at your Sister's weaves, you will see my thread is not there...

Ah yes, this city. Do you not recognise it? Don't you know that shattered stone below; put the pieces together and you will find she that you made guardian of war. Assemble that building there, there lies a school of once live scholars. What is that shape over there you ask, shuffling hungrily amongst the ruins. I say open your eyes Sister, see the others that join it in their need. Look closer, do you not know such a thing?

Yes Sister, this is my gift. Athens in flames. Even she could not stop me. Just a taste my Sister, just a small smidgeon. Their bodies are mine, and child like I will play with them, they keep me safe, give me hope and reality. This is my gift Sister of the Fates; I give you death, empty and without purpose, as it should be. I give you the scissors that shall cut your threads and remove your purpose from this world.

Don't be angered Sister, this is a gift, this is what you and your Sisters have been begging for all the millenia that you ruled this world...

Apotheosis

The living can always tell how the day is going to be by watching the sunrise. There's a certain light that it gives off, a specific telling of the shade that gives more vision than a soothsayers orb or an oracles opiates. It takes no learned man to tell it, its the feeling one gets when observing it.

This morning the signs were obvious but for the man viewing it it was more a sense of joy than fear. Others would have run screaming, their mind reeling at the sight of the horror and knowledge of their similar fate; but not him, for he found such things useful.

He watched as the first rays gently slid across the horizon, seeming eager to feel this new land till it touched the outskirts of the horror. It had seemed to be struggling against the smoke which seemed to blot it out, but even that thick charnel gas couldn't stop the persistent childlike light from its goal. It playfully illuminated the forms on the ground, the trees, the blood splattered across them. It seemed to jump and frolick across the broken bones, the routing muscle wrapped around steel tightly, showing even in death the defiance of those not willing to lose their own. It flowed through the gaping holes in chests and skulls, through flesh ripe and as yet unpicked, touching mouths open in screams or horror, a rictus of pain etching the features that could once have been handsome, but now were torn and bloodied. Small hands clutching the skinned remains of larger ones lay disconnected from their bodies, the rips ragged and violent.

The man, although barely a man he was, more like an adolescent, watched as his minions picked their way across the broken field, some cavorting amongst the dead, some with a slow lurching walk, all bearing their own versions of horror. Flesh hung ragged from them, their bodies dead a long time ago. More terrifying were those who bore no wound or scar, seemed to walk as fluidly as the sick light of the sun and drenched in the blood of their victims. Some of his minions eagerly tore at the dead, shoving skin, bone, muscle and organ into their slavering mouths. This all he watched, and was pleased.

He moved down from this higher ground into the field of the dead, his feet snapping bone and squelching in the muck. They had sent even their women and children against him in their last stand for survival, had seen the dead faces of their allies each take their turn in slaughtering them. They had been the last, had lost all their kindred and now would join his army.

The first sign of resurrection was evident in the corpses of the children. Skin started to reform, muscles reknitting and becoming hard. They stood up slowly, shaking their heads and looking innocently up at him. Only their teeth betrayed their death, yellowing and broken. Soon the other bodies began to rise, some as broken as when they lay stagnant, some made perfect and pure in death. Tongues lolled out of hungry mouths, some torn, some replaced with rolling worms and fanged apendages. On some the skin sloughed off, showing bare muscle and sinew. Copses exploded as their skeletons forced themselves out of their soft shells. All joined the walking dead of his army.

Ethliss smiled and walked on, his army following behind him. This land was dead and still he had not found what he was looking for. Time to move onto the next. With a swift motion of his hand he tore open a rift in reality and stepped through. Behind him thousands of dead moved through the hole eager to embrace others into their state of immaculate death.

The sun had risen by the time he was done, shining on a land devoid of life, smoking and barren, the only trace of his passing being a single hand, small and perfect in its childlike way, wrapped around the hilt of a dagger

tilling the fields

The first screams were always the loudest, then once the chosen had realized what was happening the next grew slowly softer. The current one seemed to have a very good voice, her cries echoing through the hallways to the fine tuned ears of the creature that sat on her throne, smiling distantly. Good lungs, was probably a singer in her time, and the creature wondered if the process would leave her with that ability.

The screams lasted for a good half hour and then was replaced with soft moans, sliding towards the creatures ears like the pleasurable touch of a lover. The creature stood up and stretched, eager to see its new creation. As it walked into the light one could see the tight black and red leather bodice clinging against the body of a tall, beautifully sculpted woman, and one started to think thoughts that one always tried to keep to themselves. Not even the soft black wings that sprouted from her back, or the softly mottled skin of her face would deter the mind; it was only the wise that knew that form to be the most deadliest of weapon, the easiest device to disarm and weaken both male and female alike.

The hall in which she sat was sumptuous, rich velvet adorning the sides and walls. tapestries depicting lewd images of bodies in varying poses of fornication, and gold and silver everywhere. Silver bands holding the fine drapes against the golden stands, a burnished pillowed divan etched with platinum and the clinging feel of an expensive taste. Everything seemed too expensive, too overdone, too much wealth. A wise man would have said it was all fake, an illusion. But then those of her kind always cast illusions, the trick was to see what was real.

The soft stride sent shivers up the spine, whether of ecstasy or fear one could hardly differentiate. She moved through the passageway, her fingers languidly touching the walls, like a soft razor blade against skin. the moans coming from the chamber seemed to pull her onwards, her face in a lost ecstasy giving away how much she wanted to see her new pet. Slowly she approached the door, like a lover wanting to make the moment last teasing herself with the expectation.

Her selfish fantasy was ruined when the door was opened before her. She glared angrily at the human from that looked up at her blankly, part adoration, part fear, part mindlessness; for those of hers can barely understand the hold she had over them. She hissed angrily at the man, and he bowed deeply, almost cringing. He had been a promising student, but now was nothing but an irritation.

She grabbed the man by the neck and marched into the room and then gasped as she saw the creature that lay beyond. Her surprise and then happiness at the dark shadowy beauty that stood facing her was emphasized by her hand crunching the spine of one of her former Voices.

Setralus tossed the corpse away, whatever life it had had infusing her slightly and opened her arms lovingly to the newborn in front of her. Brody had proved to be as powerful as she had expected; now she wondered what the others would produce. As she cradled the former Bard in her arms she felt a soft shiver of anticipation when she thought of the Ranger, the Monk and the Barbarian, and their new friends. Soon they would be hers...

Changes.

its been over a year and i'm finally getting back to it. figured now that i have extra time with the net available i might as well use it for one of the greatest things i've done.

so yeah, gonna get back to ethliss.

i'm not going back to the original, i'm sticking to the birth, its more fresh in my mind and was a lot more serious. maybe i'll write on the Damned later, i'll see how that goes. anyways, if anyone is reading, stick to this, watch this space, i'll add things as much as i can. and as much as i can pull myself away from facebook!!!

well then, lets let the blood flow....

i'm sorry.

really i am.

i didn't mean to. i should have updated the story more and possibly finished the story. but hey, i get lazy and distracted. so what i'm gonna do is the following, i will keep adding things and hopefully they will form some form of story.

the problem is, that last game was really awesome, and the one that followed was even better, i lost some of the original notes, but hey. either way all should work out fine and it will be done.

my apologies all again

oh and i might start a Butcher blog. actually, why not...

prologue

Silvery and liquid, beautiful as the slow lapse of a human in their prime. The land was flat and almost molten to the touch, shifting ever so slightly, just out of range of sight, to the corner of the eye, yet stable. The trees moved between the greys of night and the greens of day and the concrete and buildings would illuminate and fall dark within moments, like a car had passed revealing their secret places in its blaring, rude headlights. Trash would adhere to the wind, move, then realise there wasn't any and stay stuck in space. No air, no time, no space; but then thus is the way of dreams.

You walked down the road, your high heels clipping on the pavement, shifting between red and blue and green, your three favourite. To the left of you, two shambling figures seemed to slowly tear at another, less mobile form sprawled over a bush in a park. A large hulking form lumbered past you in the middle of the road, its drooling jaws splashing acid that ate into the tar, and paid you no attention whatsoever. Screams came from an alleyway behind you, but they and the red splashes on the road didn't disturb you any more, they were everywhere. And just like them, you in your stately suit, briefcase and high heels, were all part of the way things went around here.

You walked on, and as the dreams always are, you were at your destination when you wanted to be, no need for ambling for you. The foyer, once pristine and elegant, now bloodspattered and decorated with crucified forms, led to the elevators, surprisingly still in working order. But then, He would never let things come to that much of a ruin.

The lift moves slowly up, without the standard grind and clunk of machinery; no, He preffered it if the essentials weren't run by electricity, rather letting more arcane forces keep the industry running. The standard ping as the doors slides open on your floor is the same, but with a more eerie, murdering edge to it. Beyond the portal stands two of His guardians, and further into the room are four taller figures, undoubtedly the others who stand as his command. The two large armoured figures slowly lay their eyes to rest on you, the black holes sunken into pale, peeling flesh regarding you with disdain. You always stop to wonder why He would need them; He had more than enough power to protect Himself, and you doubt He could be harmed by conventional means.

The other four turn in greeting and their horrible visages tug at your sanity, screaming that beings such as these should not be, they should not exist, you should not have to be in their presence. But then again, sanity was not something that appeared often in these times; the black stain that crawled up your neck onto your face being proof of this. You can feel the mind of the one with to the far right probing into your own, but you rebuff it, ignoring the malice that comes from it and smile inwardly when you see the tentacles that sprout from his mouth twitch in anger. There is a confirming chuckle coming from one of the other forms, one in a large trench coat, barely able to conceal the slow flickering blue flames that lap at the edges of the suede. The other two remain silent as always, only making acknowledgments when spoken to. Their elegant faces had once been beautiful, but now all the mirth had been sapped from their minds, and the darkness that they had joined had taken them over.

You feel a small sadness inside, remembering how they had been before and all the experiences you had shared with these two brothers. Now all that matters is His will and you can feel it slowly take you over as the master enters the room.

You turn to face Him, forcing your eyes to rest upon his form. And as all the dreams before you feel His presence overwhelm you and you fall away from this dream, knowing only His commands, His will, and His beautiful, agless and dead face...

Introduction

Time is fluid. Some say it can be managed, some say it is interchanging. there have been many theories by scholars and hypocrites alike, stating alternate and interchangeable spaces, realities and entities all co-existing at the same time. This has been proven many times to be true; the undeniable presence of beings from the abyss, the undead, the fay and even magic itself proves this. But these all exist in intertwining nuances. Each cannot exist without the other, each grows on the others, and some can even flow into the others, mre specifically the physical, mortal plane of existence into the others, or vice versa.

Beings and individuals have even traversed these spaces, gone through with minor amounts of harm into some, such as the planes of light and dark and major amounts of pain through others, such as the celestial and daemonic planes, which often require death. in almost all cases, some form of physical change is required.

But what happens when one being, a being of awesome power, can travel between these spaces without any transition? a being that can bring its physical form into planes that have no physicality. what does this being do to existence?

And what stops this being from travelling into other worlds or times when the other planes do not exist? Can this be done? or does it have to stick to the same module, the same plane, the same story, to actually have substance?

Understand, that this whole session, this entire trilogy and saga surrounding the beings (yes, there are two) mentioned above is a question of that. Why should one individual of awesome power and potential be constricted by standard simplicity; be thwarted by the simplicity of time and space, in a world WHERE NONE REALLY EXISTS!

And so was Maynard and Ethliss born. the two duelling personalities; one a god in all aspects, one a mortal, but two distinct individuals who were born at the death of the other. Cyclic life and death; stilled animation, suspension of disbelief, fear within, human morals and etiquette, the temptation of darkness, etc. all these are the themes that were explored in the saga that you may or may not have taken part of, and i hope that once this beast has been born, we will watch it fly through the world, damaging and giving it life like it did to us.

So keep posted. it will start soon.

What is this note?

hey, to those who i sent the link to and to those who might have merely stumbled upon it, this is me new blog, the chronicles of ethliss.

for those who took part, i am going to need you to help me fill in gaps. i've got all the notes, and pretty much built the other things i need. however, there may be a few things which may need tweaking. that's where i need your help.

abnyways, i'm gonna leave the comments open for about a month and then i'm gonna close it. only those who are allowed can edit thereafter. for the duration of this time i'd like you to please comment if you want access, and then put your email address and alias on there, i will remove the comments after you have done so and create you an access to this blog. the removing is for your privacy.

anyways, thanks guys, you've madfe most of this anyways, so now i hope i can justify what we created...