The Cycle

[Lighthawk]

I have no idea where this is likely to go, if it goes at all, but the idea struck me and I figured it couldn't hurt to try it out. This is basically going to be something of a combination of Chose Your Own Adventure and an RPG. I actually would have put it in the RP section, but we no longer have a section for Fantasy, so here it is instead.

The way this works is simple enough. First, chose some fantasy race: elves, orcs, dwarves, trolls, or just vanilla human. Then choose good or evil. Thus will your godly avatar be born, and you will be given choices with which to influence your chosen race. Some will be simple yes/no, others multiple choice, and some open ended. Your choices will influence how well, or poorly, your worshipers' society fairs.

At first, your power, though mighty by mortal reckoning, will be limited. You will gain power as you gain worshipers, or as you devour souls, or both. With greater divine might, you will be able to perform greater acts, and your scope of influence will spread.

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Behold the Elemechnicia, the engine of creation. From this cosmic machine, all that is, all that was, and all that will be to come spawns. Within its infinite dimensions, all matter and energy, all good and evil, all that is mundane and divine is created, matured, and set free to shape and reshape the fabric of reality.

A new Cycle has begun, and divine energy flows to the World Core of the Elemechnicia. This planet is the nursery of the gods, and all new divine beings mature here before seeking their place in the greater multiverse. The Core teams with mortal life, ready to give up their prayers and souls to nourish the godlings, for that is the purpose of their existence. Upon the infinite surface of the Core, the godlings will cast their influence, and they will shape and be shaped by the World. They will encounter matters mortal and divine, from the cares of their worshipers and wars, to the immortal husks of failed godlings and eldritch abominations that feed upon the divine like parasites.

The Cycle begins.

[Tyyr]

I'm game. Evil elves.

[Sonic Glitch]

I'm intrigued. Evil Humans.

[Lighthawk]

(And the forces of Evil take the opening lead. Can't say I'm surprised.)

In the twisted grove of the dark elves a haunting song cried upon the wind. It was a sound of hundreds voicing the most primal of emotions, fear, lust, hatred, hunger. It waxed and waned in time with a beat that the elves did not sense, but simply knew. The time was nigh and they had gathered, for now was the coming of their new god.

In the Great Clearing, the High Priest and Priestess stood before the Old Giant, the rest of the tribe spread out behind them. The majestic oak towered over all others, and its shade and churning roots had cleared a space a quarter mile wide from the forest. The tree was planted over three thousand years ago. It has been watered with blood, and fertilized with corpses. It had been fed dark energy in preparation for this very day, as a gift worthy of a god. When the unmistakable knowledge of their Lord's coming filled their minds, the elves had turned all their artistic skill upon the tree, and hollowed and shaped the mighty trunk into a living shrine for their new deity.

The time draws down to the final few seconds...

(You must now choose a form. Will you be a physical god, taking the shape of your people and interacting with them directly, or will you be a god spirit, remaining an intangible, alien presence? Optional: Describe your appearance if so desired.)

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A great storm rolled across the plains of Tyrant Kingdom. The dark clouds churned as if boiling in the sky, lightning lashing in tongues of flame upon the open earth below. Thunder boomed an unsettling beat, too regular and rhythmical to be natural. The swirling eye of the storm was centered upon The Obelisk.

The immense tower of black stone dominated the skyline, and it's shadow fell dark and long upon the city of men that encircled it even at the height of the day. Now it seemed to draw the darkness of the storm down in a cloying miasma that blanketed the city in shadow.

The Council of Thirteen had taken their places about The Obelisk, spaced equally around the great tower. The structure had been the doing of their labors, the work of their great magics. For long on three millennium they had toiled at the task, stealing the life force of their underlings to extend their own lives and fuel their powers. They had poured the souls of the dead into the lattice work of The Obelisk, so that it might be a fitting offering for their coming god.

As the time draws near, they send their wills out through the city, compelling the cowering peasants to leave their hovels and come forth to offer their lives and loyalty to the one that would soon lead them.

(You must now choose a form. Will you be a physical god, taking the shape of your people and interacting with them directly, or will you be a god spirit, remaining an intangible, alien presence? Optional: Describe your appearance if so desired.)

[Tyyr]

Physical, and since I'm totally unoriginal, http://i91.photobucket.com/albums/k288/ ... phite_.jpg

[Lighthawk]

The song of the elves reaches a feverish pitch, and then shatters into discord as the overwhelming presence of their godling's spirit washes over them. They stagger and topple in a wave, voices crying out in an ecstasy so great as to be torment. As they writhe in pleasure and pain upon the hard earth, the newly formed deity takes shape within the Old Giant.

Blood pours forth from the walls within the tree shrine, pooling before the high backed throne carved from the still living heartwood of the Old Giant. Ripples pulse across the crimson puddle in perfect rhythm. The call of the blood reaches out to every elf present, and their bodies respond, hearts matching time. The collective beat rolls through the clearing, low and ponderous. It is something felt as much as heard.

The blood churns as a form begins to rise from within. It surges up with every rumbling beat, congealing into shape, and then peeling away to reveal flesh beneath. Pale verdant skin of flawless complexion that ripples across perfectly formed muscles. Dusky black hair pulled into straight braids. Amber orange eyes gleam.

The new goddess of the elves stands upright, the discarded shell of the blood egg of her birth crumbling to powered dust. She surveys her people, prostrate upon the ground from their brief contact with her unbound spirit. Even now that the moment has passed, many lay senseless from the experience, and several have even been pushed to the edge of death by the shock.

(It is time for your first divine act. Shall you use your powers to save the lives you have endangered, or allow the weaklings to perish?)

[Sonic Glitch]

Non-corporeal, mysterious spirit entity (can i reserve the right to take a form later if I so desire?)

[Lighthawk]

Non-corporeal, mysterious spirit entity (can i reserve the right to take a form later if I so desire?)

You can, but it won't be until you've gained a good deal more power, and until you reach full godhood it'll be on a timer. You can however possess people/creatures/objects if you need a form, though you'll burn them out if you stay too long. Go ahead with the spirit form, or do you want to reconsider?

[Tyyr]

(If I'm going to be evil I'm not going to start off by being a pussy about it. If they can't survive on their own they die.)

[Sonic Glitch]

Yea I'll keep the non-corporeal form. I like the mystique of it.

[Lighthawk]

(Well evil doesn't have to mean asshole...just saying.)

One by one, a full dozen and more lives slowly snuff out as their bodies fail to recover from the shock. Of the greater mass that survive, only a handful have yet to pull themselves back to their senses, chief among them the High Priest and Priestess, the first two to manage to their feet.

Above the crowd, the detached spirits of the fallen linger in limbo, awaiting judgment from their goddess.

(Shall these souls be...
A) Sent to the afterlife. They may or may not offer you power through prayer, you did kill them, however unintentional. Though you might be able to get them to convert those who have gone before your arrival, a possible gold mine of prayer power.
B) Devoured. They will utterly cease to exist so that you may grow stronger.
C) Stored for future use.

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With a blinding flash, lightning fell from the storm in a wave as thick as pouring rain. The heat of it was a physical blow upon the upturned faces of the city, and all but the Council staggered and clutched at their burning eyes. The surge crashed in one titanic mass upon the crest of The Obelisk, and flame erupted from the crevasses in the stone work. The thunder that followed shattered windows and threw even stout men to their knees.

The aura about the black tower changed. It was no longer a mere looming, ominous presence, but something far more disturbing. A sense of watchfulness radiated from the structure now, a pervasive, almost violating feeling of intense and intimate inspection. None could doubt the awareness that now dwelt within The Obelisk.

As one, the Thirteen dropped to their knees, and with hands raised, called in ringing voices their praise for their new lord, giving the oaths of their loyalty. Around the city, the common folk shakily pulled themselves from the ground, and mimed their leaders' actions...for the most part.

(There are those who are hesitating to pledge life and loyalty to you. What shall be done of them? Will you ignore them for the insects they are? Rebuke them for forgetting their place? Punish them for their insolence? Destroy them for their audacity?)

[Tyyr]

(Shall these souls be...
A) Sent to the afterlife. They may or may not offer you power through prayer, you did kill them, however unintentional. Though you might be able to get them to convert those who have gone before your arrival, a possible gold mine of prayer power.

That one.

[Lighthawk]

Raising a cupped hand, the Elven goddess called to the lingering spirits in a wordless tone. Her voice thrummed through the air like a melody of chimes ringing in perfect harmony. The siren song of it tugged at all those present as it touched them to their very core, and even as the loosed souls gathered in her palm, those still prostrate on the earth rose with renewed vigor from the call of their goddess.

A complex whistle came next from her lips, a chorus of bird song being the only example any present could compare it to, and one that fell painfully short of the beauty of the divine tones that literally rendered reality before the goddess. Through this gateway she sent the spirits, to go to the place of eternal rest for all elven kin. With them she sent a single command, directed both at the newly departed and those before them.

"Know me, and give me your love and affection, for you will have no other."

With this the gateway sealed, and the fate of the dead drifted from her awareness for the time being. She surveyed the gathering, and her gaze was one none could meet.

"Your divine ladyship," the high priest and priestess intoned as she focused upon them, bowing their heads. "We stand awed by your majesty, and ready to serve. We would present to you a gift if you will allow it."

(Shall you bask in your people's praise and let them shower you with gifts, or shall you move on to business?)

[Tyyr]

(I'll do a little basking. )

[Sonic Glitch]

(There are those who are hesitating to pledge life and loyalty to you. What shall be done of them? Will you ignore them for the insects they are? Rebuke them for forgetting their place? Punish them for their insolence? Destroy them for their audacity?)

Destroy them for their audacity. Better to be feared and all that