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The Empty Throne: An Original Fantasy Quest

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[X] The Age Unnamed
[X] The Lords of Creation

Mhm going with this, would like for an age where mortals matter somewhat and us air's not so mighty compared to the new marvels man has brought and the price to be paid is interesting as well.

Unsure on whether to go for law or wild, may decide later or not at all.
 
Adhoc vote count started by DangerKitty on Apr 29, 2022 at 11:40 AM, finished with 53 posts and 46 votes.
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Running tally. Personally hope the wild and age unnamed win. The children of the mother must tear down the false gods!
 
[X] The Age Unnamed
[X] The Wild

The end of the world has more unknowns than any other time. Where else would one find the greatest opportunity, for any ambition?
 
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1: Things, And The Way They Came To Be
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    • "And Tsu looked at him, and laughed, and it seemed his teeth were many razors, which sparkled crystal-blue in the moonlight. 'But I did not lie,' he smiled. 'This is not my only skin.' Then, with relish, the monk took off his skin and dove into the waters."
    - The Fables of Lord Tsu    ​

    It is said that in the House of Years upon the Seventh Hill of Heaven, there is a great library in which are held ten thousand thousand thousand tablets of black stone. This is a record of All Time, from the first moment to the last. Not even the members of the Synod may enter this hall, for the knowledge held within is the jealous privilege of He-In-Gold. Yet of all the ages and years held upon those stones, none are quite like that primordial age which is known in Heaven as the Dreamtime -- the blistering youth of creation, when the world and the Word alike were new. Then, the oceans hissed and boiled still with the heat of their birth, while the mountains spat fire and the continents trembled. The air was alive with ribbons of glass and silver, the clouds crackled with strange geometries, and the earth writhed and beat as if alive. The world's skin settled still.

    It is into this age that you decide you shall manifest. All the history of Creation lies before you, already written, yet untold. You are not the only Air drawn to this epoch -- the allure of the first dawn calls many. To be a spirit of the Air in the youth of the world is to be vibrant, to be young, to blaze with a power which once severed the name of god. It is an intoxicating feeling. Creation, still newborn, is malleable, so liquid and wild that one could almost reach out and grab it, shape it, bend it, wield it --- as the Powers of the Air wielded it against one another in the days before the days began; those days of which no record is kept, not even in the sacred halls of Lord Time.

    All among the Balthazim remember those days, however, and the truth of them: violence.

    Heaven was born through violence.

    There was no shape to things then, or form, or name. Existence lay foaming and wild, a boiling cauldron of potential. Everything yet might have been.

    When their deed was done, the Balthazim came there together -- though there was no where to go, and there was no when, for time and space were not yet set hard and fast and cold. The order of these things was laid down afterwards.

    And yet, the Balthazim came. They did not have limbs, or flesh, or name, for all these things were yet to be, yet their hands were wet with blood all the same.

    The host of the patricides beheld Creation, then unborn. And then one of them, braver than all the rest, reached out, and grabbed it, and in her hands, something was. And all the others saw, and desired.

    What followed was violence -- red and wild and infinite. There were things which were, and things which were refusals. Concepts sprang into being and just as soon were divided and stolen and splintered. There was not one 'time', but ten thousand, and they made war upon one another for mastery, and in that formless chaos all things might-have-been. Ideas grew wild, then were knit and bound together before being snapped apart and fashioned into cold weapons which might slay yearling gods. World-shapes formed like bubbles and burst apart into pulsing nebulae like veins of fire. There were things that were flesh which dreamed, and music which sang of itself alone, and shapeless selfish stars with many angles.

    And then, out of all madness, there was law.

    Tradition says that the first to come was Time. The books of Heaven hold that the first Lord-In-Gold mastered the ten million moments, and from many things which might have been, everything was and would be -- an unyielding causality. From this first unshaking order sprang all others. Those who followed in the example of He-In-Gold made war upon the wilderness, cutting new ways of being from the chaos. Like chains they laid definition and limit and boundary over all things. From formless nothing they fashioned matter and gravity and brass; and all those cold things they called law. Slowly but surely, a shape settled, hard and unrelenting, upon the universe.

    They were resisted, of course. There was struggle, for eons without number. But in time -- and they had all of time on their side -- they were victorious. Their enemies were overcome, pressed into shape like light through a glass, forced to take name and flesh. Infinity narrowed to a single red line. The boundless was bounded, the nameless named, the wilderness -- tamed.

    So came Creation.

    That was not the end to the violence. But it was an ending. In the beginning of everything, there were two sides -- and one won. Still, twenty millennia later, the Airs who made order when there was nothing else hold themselves higher than all other powers.

    Which law did you bind upon all things, then yet to be?

    (Pick One)

    [] Time:     You were and are one of the Airs of Time, and so are a member of the Synod of the Hours, who hold power over the lesser part of time, who number in the millions and rule the moments. Your particular sphere, which you have guarded jealously, is the sphere of Little-Hours-Before-Waking, by which you hold mastery over the last moments of night. As a member of the Synod, you are privileged above all other Airs, and may behold the flow of time. You were there when He-In-Gold set the days to run, and may see them shifting still. (As a member of the Synod, you will have limited ability to travel back and forth through time over short distances, and manipulate minute amounts of time. Causality holds less weight for you.)

    [] Space:     Firmament-maker, world-wright, tyrant shaper of the wheel -- you were one of those who hammered a physics out of red foam, and bound the universe with might alone. For this you are acclaimed even among the Balthazim, who have ever respected strength above all things, and what strength is greater than that which set Creation to turn? You set and lengthened and carved out the great distances, set in stone all things-too-far and not-quite-near, and so are hailed as the Lord-of-Far-Horizons. But is no easy thing to be an architect of Creation -- for the Balthazim are envious creatures all. (You will control one of the foundational forces of reality, and stand among the mightiest of the Airs. Many will seek your name.)

    [] Emotions:     Mortals -- the living, the unworthy, those bound to Creation until it's ending. The things they do, they things they have done, they things they are -- these, like all else, are ruled by the airs, and like all else, were shaped with violence long ago. You carved for them a way to be, and where that way is walked, there also you are. You rule over dissatisfaction and uneasiness, over a yearning for new places and new things, over a slow and subtle desire. Your sphere is Restlessness, which you set fast in living hearts long ago, and have defended violently ever since. (You rule one of the fundamental desires of mortal creatures. Your sphere is small, but it is everywhere, in many hearts. Yet mortals are fickle beings, as the Prince of Pride learned to his chagrin -- to root yourself in them is to wane and wax from moment to moment, to be mighty in one Age and small in another.)

    [] Endings:     There is a silent court that sits on one of the Hills of Heaven. The lord who rules there is all in ivory, and has as many names among the unworthy as there are tongues on earth. He is a hedonist with many faces, and his power is over the closing of ways. His court is a mad court, a cold court, a bitter court, a motley court, and their rule is over endings. You are a member of this court, and your own rule is over the Endings-of-Small-Things. You are present at the graves of dragonflies and infants, at the close of sonnets and at the passing of every second. Of all the Powers of the Air, none are so reviled as they who curtail without mercy the dominions of their peers -- for all things must end. (You are one of those who sit at the close. You are despised.)


    It is said often on earth that there is no mercy among the Lords of the Air, nor any sense of kindred. They do not speak wrong. Heaven was born of violence, and remains violent still. Each and every one of the Powers has desires and designs on the names of others. The Balthazim are a hungry kind, and when they struggle, it is a terrible thing, a tearing and a cutting, and the loser is always less than they were -- or nothing at all.

    You have 'struggled' before. Not all your names were once your own. What have you taken, and from whom?

    (You may vote for as many as you like. The top two will win.)

    [] Strife:     There was a foe, once. He was a knife-thing, a war-thing, cold and sharp. You met him in a dry place long ago, and there was a struggle, or a dance, or a mating. You bled. Creation screamed. But you proved the greater, in the end. He was so small, when you were done with him, so frail, and you drank deeply of all that he was. Now you are a knife-thing, a war-thing, cold and sharp. (You begin the game with several concepts related to conflict in your Aspect)

    [] Water:     Some among the Airs consume and consume, growing to immense size and strength. Invariably, others come together against them, out of jealousy and fear alike. Invariably these giants are felled, like beetles slain by many ants. You helped bring down such a titan long ago, and fed well in the frenzy that followed. You took from him the feeling of cool water on a hot day, and raindrops pooling in dark places, and the seeping of moisture through walls. (You begin the game with several concepts related to water in your Aspect)

    [] Artistry:     There are often contests in Heaven, and games of skill and chance. Yet the Airs do not gamble with coin or power, and certainly not with anything so worthless as the lives of men. Their chips are the bones of Creation itself. From a self-righteous and overbearing spirit who risked too much on luck, you took slow perseverance, the first sparks which kindle to inspiration, and a little something of the fear of failure. (You begin the game with several concepts related to creativity in your Aspect)

    [] Cats:     Before the doors of Heaven stands a spirit known to some as She-In-Yellow, who is horned and stands also at the end of all ways. Her spear is carved of bone and set with jade, and her eyes see all untruths. She is the forever-warden of the Nine Hundred Doors of Heaven, which lie at the end of every road, and watches over all of them at once. Her dominion is over cats, rivers-in-winter, and all who stand guard. Once, you aspired to steal something steadfast and dauntless from her. Against all odds, you succeeded in your foolish crime -- but took instead something lithe and rude, proud and clever, warm to the touch. The doors of Heaven are barred to you still, and you should not go near running water when it grows cold. (You have made a powerful enemy. You begin the game with many concepts related to cats in your Aspect.)

    [] Dreams:     Once, you set upon a member of the Dreaming Host. Perhaps you had your reasons. Either way, you won the fight which followed, and peeled many things deep and dark and shifting from her, until she was a shade of herself. There are no taboos in Heaven, but if there were, what you have done would be among them. There are Airs who ride feckless and laughing through the dreams of men. At their head is a Power with seven arms bearing seven swords, who goes clad in deepest blue, who always hides his face, who is clever and cruel and an enemy of snakes. He forgets no slights, and he will not soon forget yours. (You have made a powerful enemy. You begin the game with many concepts related to the dreams of men in your Aspect.)

    [] The Green:     There is a darkness between the eaves of every forest, a stillness in every glade, a yearning Power in every vine. There are things which take no shape, and Airs which subject themselves to no name. Once, you battled something shifting and evergreen, something growing and verdant, something with many mouths, and took much of it from itself. It lives, and remembers, and it is not alone. Walk lightly upon the grass. (You have made powerful enemies. You begin the game with many concepts related to growing things in your Aspect.)
     
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  • Threadmarks
    • [X] Space: Firmament-maker, world-wright, tyrant shaper of the wheel -- you were one of those who hammered physics out of red foam, and bound the universe with might alone. For this you are acclaimed even among the Balthazim, who have ever respected strength above all things, and what strength is greater than that which set Creation to turn? You set and lengthened and carved out the great distances, set in stone all things-too-far and not-quite-near, and so are hailed as the Lord-of-Far-Horizons. But is no easy thing to be an architect of Creation -- for the Balthazim are envious creatures all. (You will control one of the foundational forces of reality, and stand among the mightiest of the Airs. Many will seek your name.)
    [X] Strife:     There was a foe, once. He was a knife-thing, a war-thing, cold and sharp. You met him in a dry place long ago, and there was a struggle, or a dance, or a mating. You bled. Creation screamed. But you proved the greater, in the end. He was so small, when you were done with him, so frail, and you drank deeply of all that he was. Now you are a knife-thing, a war-thing, cold and sharp. (You begin the game with several concepts related to conflict in your Aspect)
     
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    [X] Endings: There is a silent court that sits on one of the Hills of Heaven. The lord who rules there is all in ivory, and has as many names among the unworthy as there are tongues on earth. He is a hedonist with many faces, and his power is over the closing of ways. His court is a mad court, a cold court, a bitter court, a motley court, and their rule is over endings. You are a member of this court, and your own rule is over the Endings-of-Small-Things. You are present at the graves of dragonflies and infants, at the close of sonnets and at the passing of every second. Of all the Powers of the Air, none are so reviled as they who curtail without mercy the dominions of their peers -- for all things must end. (You are one of those who sit at the close. You are despised.)

    [X] Artistry:     There are often contests in Heaven, and games of skill and chance. Yet the Airs do not gamble with coin or power, and certainly not with anything so worthless as the lives of men. Their chips are the bones of Creation itself. From a self-righteous and overbearing spirit who risked too much on luck, you took slow perseverance, the first sparks which kindle to inspiration, and a little something of the fear of failure. (You begin the game with several concepts related to creativity in your Aspect)

    [X] Strife:     There was a foe, once. He was a knife-thing, a war-thing, cold and sharp. You met him in a dry place long ago, and there was a struggle, or a dance, or a mating. You bled. Creation screamed. But you proved the greater, in the end. He was so small, when you were done with him, so frail, and you drank deeply of all that he was. Now you are a knife-thing, a war-thing, cold and sharp. (You begin the game with several concepts related to conflict in your Aspect)

    I like how these jive together. :p

    We are the frame of the picture, the one who says "and they lived happily ever after", the one makes the final movement of a dance, who sings the final chord. We are at the edge and end of all things.
     
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