No Heaven of Mine - A Fallen Angel Quest
- Thread starter Gargulec
- Start date
- Original Fantasy
UbeOne
Daydreaming CPU
- Location
- Philippines
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Infernals thrive on license ("do whatever you want") and chaos/entropy, the ultimate in selfishness/egoism. Intruders are like eldritch zerg (consume, evolve) and live purely by their base instincts. Primordials would be like the Titans before they were deposed by Zeus and company, and the Silence sounds like a combo of preservation/absolute-zero (e.g. Reapers), extreme nihilism (return everything to nothingness/the void), and a sense of finality.
Hm, I think the third one appeals to me the most.
[x] The Tangle of Notions, in the Eastern War against the Primordial.
Hm, I think the third one appeals to me the most.
[x] The Tangle of Notions, in the Eastern War against the Primordial.
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- Location
- Earth
Now this looks interesting. Not only for the fact of how well-written it is, but also because each of these choices is tempting; there is no objectively better option, all of them have ups and downs... I like that.
[X] The Hadean Plain, in the Western War against the Silence.
But even then, I think that this is the most interesting to me right now.
[X] The Hadean Plain, in the Western War against the Silence.
But even then, I think that this is the most interesting to me right now.
- Location
- in the trash
[X] [Write-In] The laws of Creation were laid down at the beginning, to define and give shape to all things. But constant wars have begun to take their toll on reality. The Light and the Celestial Host are the rulers of Creation, but they are not the ones who enforce the rules. The servitors of reality grow tired of the constant violations of the world, and plot rebellion. If they had their way, Creation would have no need of gods, Primordials or angels, for cold, uncaring, absolute physical law would reign supreme in all things. A perfect, ordered clockwork universe, where everything is governed by inmutable rules and nothing is left to chance or the whims of arbitrary masters.
Is this a valid write-in?
Is this a valid write-in?
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BungieONI
Seven gremlins in a trench coat
- Location
- Lickwidget
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Oooo the Discworld Auditors if I don't miss my reference!
I'd play that. But for now, I'll do the closest.
[X] The Hadean Plain, in the Western War against the Silence.
To end Life so that all may Exist!
4WheelSword
The original N-body Problem
- Pronouns
- It/She/They
[X] The Wasteland of Ash, in the Southern War against the Infernal.
- Location
- Nebraska
[X] The Hadean Plain, in the WesternWar against the Silence.
You had me when the lich was brought up.
You had me when the lich was brought up.
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- Location
- Brittany, France
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Well, the Silence has a huge lead by now. I don't mind it winning, it's pretty cool, so instead of trying to pull a turnaround for the Intruder I am going to try and do something cool.
[X] The Ruins of Babel, in the Eternal Watch over the Word.
In the beginning the Word spoke itself into existence, and with each further utterance It shaped the building blocks of creation. Soon there was a firmament and an earth and living things crawling between the two. And in that day all living things spoke the Word, which was Creation, and so were kin to gods, all existence their plaything. But with multiplicity came dissent, and the things that would one day be gods turned against one another; and they wove a Curse of Tongues which turned the Word against Itself and shattered the minds of the living, so that no creature could ever grasp the Word and Its divine power again. Now the Word is bound to a single illuminated scroll in a timeless crypt, and angels are appointed to keep watch over it. But the scroll whispers, and once in an eon an angel finds the Word worming Its way through her mind, and goes out into the world to spread Its gospel which subsumes and consumes minds. For the Word has only one purpose, which is Its desire: to see once again all of existence elevated in speaking Its world-making glory, and It cares not how many burn in their own ascension. They will be gods, or they will be ashes.
The Word's power is the first and divine language. Wielded by an angel it subjuguates lesser beings, drives peers to madness, and tempts the mighty into corruption. Lesser languages fail in its presence, twisting minds until they can no longer comprehend each other or their own thoughts. It can shape the primal blocks of creation, creating cities out of the wilderness, growing food where there is none, calling down the hurricane and the fall of stars, and turning those who cannot withstand its sound to pillars of salt. When engraved upon the stone it casts curses and blessings for ten thousand years. Angels who fall to the Word are known as the Oathbreakers, and can be told apart from the sigils crawling on their skins, their tears of black ink, and the burn scars on their throat. Those who fall all the way through becomes pillars of pure radiance, living flames forming themselves around a core of a single written word, the sight of which makes men go blind.
Nahum 1 said:
Romans 3 said:
[X] The Ruins of Babel, in the Eternal Watch over the Word.
In the beginning the Word spoke itself into existence, and with each further utterance It shaped the building blocks of creation. Soon there was a firmament and an earth and living things crawling between the two. And in that day all living things spoke the Word, which was Creation, and so were kin to gods, all existence their plaything. But with multiplicity came dissent, and the things that would one day be gods turned against one another; and they wove a Curse of Tongues which turned the Word against Itself and shattered the minds of the living, so that no creature could ever grasp the Word and Its divine power again. Now the Word is bound to a single illuminated scroll in a timeless crypt, and angels are appointed to keep watch over it. But the scroll whispers, and once in an eon an angel finds the Word worming Its way through her mind, and goes out into the world to spread Its gospel which subsumes and consumes minds. For the Word has only one purpose, which is Its desire: to see once again all of existence elevated in speaking Its world-making glory, and It cares not how many burn in their own ascension. They will be gods, or they will be ashes.
The Word's power is the first and divine language. Wielded by an angel it subjuguates lesser beings, drives peers to madness, and tempts the mighty into corruption. Lesser languages fail in its presence, twisting minds until they can no longer comprehend each other or their own thoughts. It can shape the primal blocks of creation, creating cities out of the wilderness, growing food where there is none, calling down the hurricane and the fall of stars, and turning those who cannot withstand its sound to pillars of salt. When engraved upon the stone it casts curses and blessings for ten thousand years. Angels who fall to the Word are known as the Oathbreakers, and can be told apart from the sigils crawling on their skins, their tears of black ink, and the burn scars on their throat. Those who fall all the way through becomes pillars of pure radiance, living flames forming themselves around a core of a single written word, the sight of which makes men go blind.
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[X] The Ruins of Babel, in the Eternal Watch over the Word.
LoganBert34
Apprentice Clerk
- Location
- Australia
[X] The Hadean Plain, in the Western War against the Silence.
- Location
- United States of America
[X] The Wasteland of Ash, in the Southern War against the Infernal.
[X] The Ruins of Babel, in the Eternal Watch over the Word.
- Location
- Brittany, France
- Pronouns
- He/Him
can you extend that by 24 hours so i can delude myself into thinking the word can win
Acatalepsy
Firewall Proxy
- Location
- The Diamond Age
Not what I wanted to win, but hey -
- at least I get to post The Sounds of Silence.
- at least I get to post The Sounds of Silence.
0.1: The Remains of Your Power
Gargulec
impact!
- Location
- a garden
0.1: The Remains of Your Power
Waged beyond sunset, the Western War is perhaps the least explosive of all the Fourfold. The Silence practices patience and consideration and the expanse of the Hadean Plain is such that not even the eye of Heaven can survey it all. It is acknowledged that in its far reaches, vast armies lie in stasis, waiting for the Final Kings to step down from their bleached-stone thrones and lead them against the battlements of Creation. Such assaults are things of nightmares. Extinct nations rise in entirety and march to war and hundred times-slain beasts are again animated and smashed into the bulwarks of the Celestial Host, not stopping until the heavenly fury melts them down to slag. Yet, such adversity would be nothing if not for the power behind it; over the eerily silent armies, mellifluous voices of the Final Kings spread far, promising peace and liberation from the failings of motion. Their lure is such that not even the angelic minds are fully proof to it: you are an evidence of that. But it is not enough to reject their bleak gift; in their dread presence, common life is snuffed as easily as a candle and immediately brought under their command in death. Those who – through their celestial nature – resist this deathly command are still weighed down, rendered sluggish and susceptible.
However infrequent the incursions by the Final Kings are, there is no predictable pattern to them; sometimes an aeon may pass between them, and sometimes they happen in rapid succession; it is as if the flow of time is no obligation to the Lords of Silence. Therefore, the Western War is not incessant struggle, but rather an uneasy, unending vigil, day after day of watching the light-less horizon for signs of the enemy. The angelic sentinels turn their backs to the sun on this watch, and therefore grow pale; but the feathers of their wings gain a golden tinge that they wear as badge of honour. Both of those distinctions you still maintain, although in an unmistakably shifted form. The sentinels are pale, but your skin is snow-white and just like snow, there is no warmth to it. Although blood still blows through your veins, the heat of life had all but drained from it; it is like ice-water. The gilding of your feathers hold, but likewise paled and dimmed – it is not the shine of the vibrant sun, but rather of precious death-mask, unchanging and dull.
You wish you could remember how it came to be that you acquired those traits, that you agreed to take into you the life-shredding sacrament of the Silence. But the memory is lost to you and only the fact of corruption remains. There is a lacuna in your life which something else now fills. But this lessening is not without its gifts.
As all who fall to the Silence, you are absolved from decay. As you are no longer entirely alive, it is far more difficult to kill you than it would be otherwise. You survive wounds that are normally mortal and given enough time, if not utterly destroyed, you can restore your form back to its original state. This should not be seen as healing, and more as reversal of damage: the immutable, eternal form of the Final King slowly reasserting itself over the temporal, base matter.
As this power develops, so too will its potency. At higher levels, it will allow you to come back even from the brink of obliteration and revert catastrophic injuries in moments, or otherwise exist even if it should be blatantly impossible: the Final Kings care not if there is a heart in their chest or blood in their veins.
Furthermore, you gain one of the three signature powers of the Silence (and the ability to learn the other two at a latter date):
[ ] The Left Hand, the Gesture of Quieting.
In your left hand, there is the power to still life with a mere gesture. Although not yet developed enough to instantly slay mightier mortals and beasts of the base earth, it extinguishes weaker life instantly and without protest. Those who submit to its power painlessly pass away into silence. Against mightier opposition, it is not without its use either: when performed against an enemy it cannot outright kill, it will instead slow them down like a leaden weight and cloud their minds with hopelessness and despair.
As the power develops its deadly potential increases: more and more beings fall under its sway, and even greater is the strain it puts on the survivors. The masters of the Left Hand can use it to quiet more than just life: they know how to pull things outside the flow of time, rendering them into perfect stasis, safe from existence and safe from entropy.
[ ] The Right Hand, the Gesture of Command.
In your right hand, there is the power to bring the dead under command. With a gesture, you summon forth the bodies of the slain as mindless servants, wholly obedient to your will. There is no limit to how many such servitors you can summon at once – other than available bodies – but controlling large numbers of them (or especially powerful ones, such as animated corpse of a mythical beast) requires heavy concentration, blocking you from performing other intensive activity, such as fighting or spell-craft.
As the power develops, the number of servants you can control without focus increases, and you gain the ability to call forth more than just mindless creatures, instead summoning undead champions, sentient but nonetheless immortally loyal to you.
[ ] The Spoken Silence, the True Language.
You know the basics of the anti-language of the Silence. Although impossible to understand by living creatures – including, for the time being, yourself – it nonetheless holds immense power to strip down convictions and minds. Spoken in response to a speech of zeal, it dissolves it into doubts. Said in a prayer, it rots religion. Weak mortals cannot resist it, and even the mighty find themselves cloud with doubt, hesitation and fear when exposed to it.
As the power develops, its mind-breaking potency increases. Instead of summoning doubt, hesitation and fear, it renders thoughts and voices into nonsensical glossolalia and dissolves understanding like a cocktail of acids eating through precious metals. Pages containing it shrivel. Stories spoken in it end. Minds exposed to it become empty vessels, well-prepared to receive the sacrament of Silence.
However, your angelic nature is not fully erased and even cast out, you still carry in yourself a splinter of Heaven, as hard to dislodge from an angel's heart as corruption from your soul. Therefore, you still partake in one of the following boons (and, with good fortune, stand to regain other in time):
[ ] The Seraphic Steel, a Celestial Weapon.
Forged from star-silver, quenched in the Well of the First Rain, honed with stellar whet-stones, it is the weapon that the Celestial Host wields against the Great Enemies of Creation. Although yours was broken when you were cast out, a shred of its power lingers. Diminished as it is, it is still easily equal to the finest mortal steel, mundane iron no more of a barrier for it than mundane silk.
Yet, such weapon is more than just a sword or a spear. It is a fragment of your soul externalized; if you manage to restore it its former glory, it will sever more than flesh and bone; it will cut through enchantment, spellcraft and deceit alike, dealing mortal wounds to even such enemies which are seemingly impervious to harm and slaying.
[ ] The Heavenly Anthem, a Battle-Hymn of the Host.
A war-song of angels, once heard, remains a part of the listener forever. You still remember how to sing it, even if in a warped, diminished form which, however wretched, can drive those loyal to you to acts of ultimate bravery and safeguard them against other dread powers which would seek to weaken their minds. It turns indifference into friendship and friendship into zealous dedication.
But if you cultivate it, restore the song to its full form, you will learn how to move more than just mortals with it. Inanimate matter will respond to the hymn, rising in your defense and ultimately even the sky itself will abide by this glorious anthem and fight as your ally.
[ ] The Sovereign Utterance, a Word of Command.
The lore of the angels suppresses mere magic and other paltry attempts at manipulating the real. Instead, it commands the world, and the world responds. Although you have forgotten most of those great utterances, you still remember the Utterance of Rebuke, a single, blazing word which unravels curses, splits spells in twain and subjugates enchantments. Mortal magic is hopeless against it, and even the mystical craft of the mighty is severely weakened by it.
It is possible that you will recall more of such utterances, each of them giving you access to a word of command that binds the reality to your angelic will and ultimately allow you to speak your will into existence as if you were its sovereign.
Waged beyond sunset, the Western War is perhaps the least explosive of all the Fourfold. The Silence practices patience and consideration and the expanse of the Hadean Plain is such that not even the eye of Heaven can survey it all. It is acknowledged that in its far reaches, vast armies lie in stasis, waiting for the Final Kings to step down from their bleached-stone thrones and lead them against the battlements of Creation. Such assaults are things of nightmares. Extinct nations rise in entirety and march to war and hundred times-slain beasts are again animated and smashed into the bulwarks of the Celestial Host, not stopping until the heavenly fury melts them down to slag. Yet, such adversity would be nothing if not for the power behind it; over the eerily silent armies, mellifluous voices of the Final Kings spread far, promising peace and liberation from the failings of motion. Their lure is such that not even the angelic minds are fully proof to it: you are an evidence of that. But it is not enough to reject their bleak gift; in their dread presence, common life is snuffed as easily as a candle and immediately brought under their command in death. Those who – through their celestial nature – resist this deathly command are still weighed down, rendered sluggish and susceptible.
However infrequent the incursions by the Final Kings are, there is no predictable pattern to them; sometimes an aeon may pass between them, and sometimes they happen in rapid succession; it is as if the flow of time is no obligation to the Lords of Silence. Therefore, the Western War is not incessant struggle, but rather an uneasy, unending vigil, day after day of watching the light-less horizon for signs of the enemy. The angelic sentinels turn their backs to the sun on this watch, and therefore grow pale; but the feathers of their wings gain a golden tinge that they wear as badge of honour. Both of those distinctions you still maintain, although in an unmistakably shifted form. The sentinels are pale, but your skin is snow-white and just like snow, there is no warmth to it. Although blood still blows through your veins, the heat of life had all but drained from it; it is like ice-water. The gilding of your feathers hold, but likewise paled and dimmed – it is not the shine of the vibrant sun, but rather of precious death-mask, unchanging and dull.
You wish you could remember how it came to be that you acquired those traits, that you agreed to take into you the life-shredding sacrament of the Silence. But the memory is lost to you and only the fact of corruption remains. There is a lacuna in your life which something else now fills. But this lessening is not without its gifts.
As all who fall to the Silence, you are absolved from decay. As you are no longer entirely alive, it is far more difficult to kill you than it would be otherwise. You survive wounds that are normally mortal and given enough time, if not utterly destroyed, you can restore your form back to its original state. This should not be seen as healing, and more as reversal of damage: the immutable, eternal form of the Final King slowly reasserting itself over the temporal, base matter.
As this power develops, so too will its potency. At higher levels, it will allow you to come back even from the brink of obliteration and revert catastrophic injuries in moments, or otherwise exist even if it should be blatantly impossible: the Final Kings care not if there is a heart in their chest or blood in their veins.
Furthermore, you gain one of the three signature powers of the Silence (and the ability to learn the other two at a latter date):
[ ] The Left Hand, the Gesture of Quieting.
In your left hand, there is the power to still life with a mere gesture. Although not yet developed enough to instantly slay mightier mortals and beasts of the base earth, it extinguishes weaker life instantly and without protest. Those who submit to its power painlessly pass away into silence. Against mightier opposition, it is not without its use either: when performed against an enemy it cannot outright kill, it will instead slow them down like a leaden weight and cloud their minds with hopelessness and despair.
As the power develops its deadly potential increases: more and more beings fall under its sway, and even greater is the strain it puts on the survivors. The masters of the Left Hand can use it to quiet more than just life: they know how to pull things outside the flow of time, rendering them into perfect stasis, safe from existence and safe from entropy.
[ ] The Right Hand, the Gesture of Command.
In your right hand, there is the power to bring the dead under command. With a gesture, you summon forth the bodies of the slain as mindless servants, wholly obedient to your will. There is no limit to how many such servitors you can summon at once – other than available bodies – but controlling large numbers of them (or especially powerful ones, such as animated corpse of a mythical beast) requires heavy concentration, blocking you from performing other intensive activity, such as fighting or spell-craft.
As the power develops, the number of servants you can control without focus increases, and you gain the ability to call forth more than just mindless creatures, instead summoning undead champions, sentient but nonetheless immortally loyal to you.
[ ] The Spoken Silence, the True Language.
You know the basics of the anti-language of the Silence. Although impossible to understand by living creatures – including, for the time being, yourself – it nonetheless holds immense power to strip down convictions and minds. Spoken in response to a speech of zeal, it dissolves it into doubts. Said in a prayer, it rots religion. Weak mortals cannot resist it, and even the mighty find themselves cloud with doubt, hesitation and fear when exposed to it.
As the power develops, its mind-breaking potency increases. Instead of summoning doubt, hesitation and fear, it renders thoughts and voices into nonsensical glossolalia and dissolves understanding like a cocktail of acids eating through precious metals. Pages containing it shrivel. Stories spoken in it end. Minds exposed to it become empty vessels, well-prepared to receive the sacrament of Silence.
However, your angelic nature is not fully erased and even cast out, you still carry in yourself a splinter of Heaven, as hard to dislodge from an angel's heart as corruption from your soul. Therefore, you still partake in one of the following boons (and, with good fortune, stand to regain other in time):
[ ] The Seraphic Steel, a Celestial Weapon.
Forged from star-silver, quenched in the Well of the First Rain, honed with stellar whet-stones, it is the weapon that the Celestial Host wields against the Great Enemies of Creation. Although yours was broken when you were cast out, a shred of its power lingers. Diminished as it is, it is still easily equal to the finest mortal steel, mundane iron no more of a barrier for it than mundane silk.
Yet, such weapon is more than just a sword or a spear. It is a fragment of your soul externalized; if you manage to restore it its former glory, it will sever more than flesh and bone; it will cut through enchantment, spellcraft and deceit alike, dealing mortal wounds to even such enemies which are seemingly impervious to harm and slaying.
[ ] The Heavenly Anthem, a Battle-Hymn of the Host.
A war-song of angels, once heard, remains a part of the listener forever. You still remember how to sing it, even if in a warped, diminished form which, however wretched, can drive those loyal to you to acts of ultimate bravery and safeguard them against other dread powers which would seek to weaken their minds. It turns indifference into friendship and friendship into zealous dedication.
But if you cultivate it, restore the song to its full form, you will learn how to move more than just mortals with it. Inanimate matter will respond to the hymn, rising in your defense and ultimately even the sky itself will abide by this glorious anthem and fight as your ally.
[ ] The Sovereign Utterance, a Word of Command.
The lore of the angels suppresses mere magic and other paltry attempts at manipulating the real. Instead, it commands the world, and the world responds. Although you have forgotten most of those great utterances, you still remember the Utterance of Rebuke, a single, blazing word which unravels curses, splits spells in twain and subjugates enchantments. Mortal magic is hopeless against it, and even the mystical craft of the mighty is severely weakened by it.
It is possible that you will recall more of such utterances, each of them giving you access to a word of command that binds the reality to your angelic will and ultimately allow you to speak your will into existence as if you were its sovereign.
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- Location
- scrabbling
[X] The Right Hand, the Gesture of Command.
[X] The Heavenly Anthem, a Battle-Hymn of the Host.
A flagbearer's set.
Also, QM, in two places you refer to the Silent as Final Kings and in two others you refer to them as Last Kings. Are both epithets common?
[X] The Heavenly Anthem, a Battle-Hymn of the Host.
A flagbearer's set.
Also, QM, in two places you refer to the Silent as Final Kings and in two others you refer to them as Last Kings. Are both epithets common?
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- Location
- United States of America
[X] The Left Hand, the Gesture of Quieting.
[X] The Seraphic Steel, a Celestial Weapon.
[X] The Seraphic Steel, a Celestial Weapon.
- Location
- The Usual Room
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] The Spoken Silence, the True Language.
[X] The Sovereign Utterance, a Word of Command.
[X] The Sovereign Utterance, a Word of Command.
Gargulec
impact!
- Location
- a garden