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Terrene Spire - Gently ended.

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Amphethis said:
yeah, I know I don't need to draw, but stuff like
makes me wish I could.
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Dude, just write it. Dex is a competent artist, if you write something that he likes he can probably translate it to his art style very easily. Have you seen my Colossus? Or the Vessel of Contentment?
 
Genon said:
Dude, just write it. Dex is a competent artist, if you write something that he likes he can probably translate it to his art style very easily. Have you seen my Colossus? Or the Vessel of Contentment?
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I think it's less 'I can't enter because I can't draw' and more 'god dammit seeing all these cool drawings makes me wish I could art.'

Frankly, I'm in the latter category myself.
 
Archeo Lumiere said:
Might as well give my guy a facelift

CHAOREX XELUMIRE
A bipedal felinoid, his fur is pitch black and covered in a variety of red stars. Oddly enough, he was born from a blue ghost, and if asked, will vehemently deny and association with those lowly purples. He gets along fairly well with oranges, all things considered. His mask has normally placed eye holes with thunderbolt markings and cat ears, and his halo broke into the shape of cat ears as well. He enjoys singing, and performing with a variety of ring blades he has.

His collapse to despair was in fear of never being able to properly perform without a shell that was not 100% true to him. This, counter-intuitively, led to him being fully happy for the first time since he died. He goes around performing his intricate dances for those who would enjoy it, and hunts merely sentient creatures with the same.

Anger him enough, and you face the fury of over a dozen precision honed Ring Blades, hoops which are 100% deadly weapon outside, and nearly that on the inside, wielded in a show of intimate mastery and killing. Please him, without being at a performance, and you may be gifted with a blade and lessons in its use.

Pacifist: Ring Blade and lessons
Geno: Fifteen Ring Blades
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Update for this guy; Yes, he has sung and danced with the Lotus Eaters.
 
Eishalon: Broken Angel
The remains of a White Ghost, lost to despair through conflicting wants of companionship and introversion, the Eishalon itself does not fare much better in its quest than the Ghost it came from. It is small, spindly almost, covered in various wings that make no sense nor symmetry. It's feathers are much like the Red Eishalon's scythe; they cut That Which Isn't, and can seemingly defy whatever physics this realm runs on.

It is not naturally prone to violence, and is at best a fleeting friend. It constantly battles the dual urges of finding friendship and searching for peace and quiet. Flitting around areas with opens skies and plentiful cover, it's almost never seen for more than a moment at a time. Sometimes, it'll find someone, hiding near them and cautiously approaching, like a stray kitten might. If it's found a friend, it will stick by their side like a guardian angel.
Until the introverted side kicks in again and it becomes afraid of the light, fleeing away to be alone. It's an unpredictable slave to its whims, unable to find equilibrium between friends and self.

If ever confronted in combat alone, it will do it's best to stun the enemy in the first strike before fleeing. If it has a friend to accompany, it will be the guardian angel it tries to embody, defending them like it cares more for their wellbeing than their own. Or maybe it'll just pick them up and fly away.
Much like it's inability to balance it's mutually exclusive urges, it's mask appears to only be a half, just like how it could only satisfy one of two needs. It has four eyes, two near the top, and two closer to the bottom. The ones at the top are bright blue, and the bottom light grey. The set it uses changes with its mood; when looking for singular freedom, the grey set emerges. When lonely and seeking companionship, the blue set are vibrant. A shattered halo rests upon it's head, a circle of bone shattered into four.

As a Ghost, the Broken Angel was friendly, sociable, and more of a lover, than a fighter. But after being betrayed by those she considered friends, and left for dead, she couldn't bring herself to try again, afraid of being played and used again. As bait, as a distraction, as a decoy. The war was not kind on her and she decided to leave it behind, searching for safe, safe solace.
It was in solace that despair found her and her Eishalon came to be.

Nobody ever knew, but the Broken Angel was one of the few colour-blind beings, never realising the war was about colour.
 
WhoAmEye said:
Eishalon: Broken Angel
The remains of a White Ghost, lost to despair through conflicting wants of companionship and introversion, the Eishalon itself does not fare much better in its quest than the Ghost it came from. It is small, spindly almost, covered in various wings that make no sense nor symmetry. It's feathers are much like the Red Eishalon's scythe; they cut That Which Isn't, and can seemingly defy whatever physics this realm runs on.

It is not naturally prone to violence, and is at best a fleeting friend. It constantly battles the dual urges of finding friendship and searching for peace and quiet. Flitting around areas with opens skies and plentiful cover, it's almost never seen for more than a moment at a time. Sometimes, it'll find someone, hiding near them and cautiously approaching, like a stray kitten might. If it's found a friend, it will stick by their side like a guardian angel.
Until the introverted side kicks in again and it becomes afraid of the light, fleeing away to be alone. It's an unpredictable slave to its whims, unable to find equilibrium between friends and self.

If ever confronted in combat alone, it will do it's best to stun the enemy in the first strike before fleeing. If it has a friend to accompany, it will be the guardian angel it tries to embody, defending them like it cares more for their wellbeing than their own. Or maybe it'll just pick them up and fly away.
Much like it's inability to balance it's mutually exclusive urges, it's mask appears to only be a half, just like how it could only satisfy one of two needs. It has four eyes, two near the top, and two closer to the bottom. The ones at the top are bright blue, and the bottom light grey. The set it uses changes with its mood; when looking for singular freedom, the grey set emerges. When lonely and seeking companionship, the blue set are vibrant. A shattered halo rests upon it's head, a circle of bone shattered into four.

As a Ghost, the Broken Angel was friendly, sociable, and more of a lover, than a fighter. But after being betrayed by those she considered friends, and left for dead, she couldn't bring herself to try again, afraid of being played and used again. As bait, as a distraction, as a decoy. The war was not kind on her and she decided to leave it behind, searching for safe, safe solace.
It was in solace that despair found her and her Eishalon came to be.

Nobody ever knew, but the Broken Angel was one of the few colour-blind beings, never realising the war was about colour.
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That was beautifully tragic, may you find peace and happiness in your real life.
 
He screamed soundlessly. His body didn't move, his eyes didn't see, his heart didn't beat. He was changing but he was scared and he wanted to fade away. Time was meaningless. He waited - waited?- for death but he was left in torture. He, who prided himself in how conscious he was of everything, trapped in a body without senses.

He was a ghost, once. A lonely ghost, maybe, but a ghost nonetheless. He remembered his life, and he grasped and clawed at his memories, at those useless memories he wanted to forget - without senses, his memories were more real than he was.

He had fallen. The thoughts he wanted to forget, the truth he wanted to avoid, the lies he created as his cage, they all came at once, a tidal wave of despair washing him away. He wanted to laugh at himself for how dramatic he was, laugh and cage it all away again, but as the moment stretched into forever he realized that it was already too late. His body had already cracked. It was just a moment more, such a long infinite moment.

He was terrified. He felt darkness closing him, and he wanted to laugh hysterically because all was already dark, and he didn't know why but it was all so incredibly funny. A joke, as always. It's all a joke. He couldn't cointain himself anymore.

He died laughing.

...And then he was finally himself. He could finally not think about anything. He felt the edges of reality striking his feathers and coloring them as red as a tomato and the void in his chest burning a black fire that sucked everything in. His roots kept his body attached to his house, and before he knew it, two ghosts met a ghastly fate. His laughter came out at that, and it was as if Santa Claus spoke with a mouth of broken glass. His hands held each a long spear - eight spears, polished and orange, for his eight hands. He waved them until of the house remained only rubble, but his roots were even more firmly entrenched in.

His black, bat-like wings closed themselves around his red feathered body, and his blank, white mask disappeared in their embrace.


---
​
So, I can't draw, I can't really write, so I just did my best to make something and this came out. Oops.​
 
Kolper said:
He screamed soundlessly. His body didn't move, his eyes didn't see, his heart didn't beat. He was changing but he was scared and he wanted to fade away. Time was meaningless. He waited - waited?- for death but he was left in torture. He, who prided himself in how conscious he was of everything, trapped in a body without senses.

He was a ghost, once. A lonely ghost, maybe, but a ghost nonetheless. He remembered his life, and he grasped and clawed at his memories, at those useless memories he wanted to forget - without senses, his memories were more real than he was.

He had fallen. The thoughts he wanted to forget, the truth he wanted to avoid, the lies he created as his cage, they all came at once, a tidal wave of despair washing him away. He wanted to laugh at himself for how dramatic he was, laugh and cage it all away again, but as the moment stretched into forever he realized that it was already too late. His body had already cracked. It was just a moment more, such a long infinite moment.

He was terrified. He felt darkness closing him, and he wanted to laugh hysterically because all was already dark, and he didn't know why but it was all so incredibly funny. A joke, as always. It's all a joke. He couldn't cointain himself anymore.

He died laughing.

...And then he was finally himself. He could finally not think about anything. He felt the edges of reality striking his feathers and coloring them as red as a tomato and the void in his chest burning a black fire that sucked everything in. His roots kept his body attached to his house, and before he knew it, two ghosts met a ghastly fate. His laughter came out at that, and it was as if Santa Claus spoke with a mouth of broken glass. His hands held each a long spear - eight spears, polished and orange, for his eight hands. He waved them until of the house remained only rubble, but his roots were even more firmly entrenched in.

His black, bat-like wings closed themselves around his red feathered body, and his blank, white mask disappeared in their embrace.


---
​
So, I can't draw, I can't really write, so I just did my best to make something and this came out. Oops.​
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Dude... I want a sequel.

Dude... I'm writing my own.
~~~
He felt so helpless. His one desire, to perform for people, made reliant on a shell, something that wasn't even him. It made him despair, and for all that he craved attention, he wanted to disappear. He was a blue ghost, there was no denying that, but for all that he wanted to feel hopeful, his feelings at his scenario, and those who dared mistake him for those cushy, lovey dovey purples just made him fume in the most bloody red he ever felt, killing him on the inside, and then his world SHATTERED IN TWAIN.

He woke up to find that he could feel wind brushing against his fur, but not his face... Fur? He patted himself down, realizing that, yes, not only could he pat himself down, but that he actually had fur. Feeling his head also led him to find that he had a mask on his face, with a feline muzzle and cat ears. Feeling the tops of those ears however... PURE, UNADULTERATED BLISS. It felt like someone was stroking his very soul, sending waves of joy through his body. He spun around, only to realize that soemthing had materialized in his hand; or rather, somethings.

Spreading them out, he found a variety of blades, shaped like hoops, which he had a near intrinsic knowledge of how to use, and with that, he knew that he could dance again. Tears of joy stained his mask, and he set off to find a place to perform, to be who he was always meant to be...

He danced, letting his star coated tail flow out behind him, letting his passion flow through his entire body, and his multicolored rings danced with him, shredding anything that got into his path, carving his name into the history of this land, until he felt an irrevocable tug towards a particular place... the purple camp. At this he growled, and his dance became more frenzied, laced with killing intent, and he carved his way through the fortress, never a bolt nor sword nor any other weapon striking him through his carnival of edges and curves. They knew, that this was the face of primal fury, of carnal emotion, of desire in a manner none of them could comprehend.

Six rings in particular became more connected to him in this Slaughter, those he Identified as Picton, Koamaru, Meteorite, Seance, Shocking, and Kobi, those colors that he slaughtered for their indifference to his plight in... not exactly life. He knew that he must kill more, allow all the colors to reach this connection... all Eighteen colors.
Noir
Heath
Thunderbird
Scarlet
Zest
Marigold
Starship
Lima
Malachite
Turquoise
Picton
Koamaru
Meteorite
Seance
Shocking
Kobi
Weiss
Delta
 
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Dexexe1234 said:
...Oh whoops. Let's say, Deadline for submissions is:

FRIDAY THE 19TH!​

Have all your Eishalons submitted at that point and things are just fine! Oh and do have fun, I am positively giggling over all these amazing entries already!
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How about my two parter? I just dropped a really nasty cliff hanger in there for you to roll with.
 
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Lordsservent said:
So, is mine interesting?
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Genon said:
Is mine?
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Hahahahahah! YES! for clocks sake I love all of these entries, even yours! Few or no words, textwalls and otherwise, I love all of this!

The executioner is a wandering giant comparing the bone scraping fear of pyramid head as a possible thread, stalking whoever enters its home turf! Sinister!

The colossus is a massively overpowered monster of a concept, a living hive producing more of its own and its tools to survive! Its great!

Both of those are great, just like all the other entries!
 
Archeo Lumiere said:
Might as well give my guy a facelift

CHAOREX XELUMIRE
A bipedal felinoid, his fur is pitch black and covered in a variety of red stars. Oddly enough, he was born from a blue ghost, and if asked, will vehemently deny and association with those lowly purples. He gets along fairly well with oranges, all things considered. His mask has normally placed eye holes with thunderbolt markings and cat ears, and his halo broke into the shape of cat ears as well. He enjoys singing, and performing with a variety of ring blades he has.

His collapse to despair was in fear of never being able to properly perform without a shell that was not 100% true to him. This, counter-intuitively, led to him being fully happy for the first time since he died. He goes around performing his intricate dances for those who would enjoy it, and hunts merely sentient creatures with the same.

Anger him enough, and you face the fury of over a dozen precision honed Ring Blades, hoops which are 100% deadly weapon outside, and nearly that on the inside, wielded in a show of intimate mastery and killing. Please him, without being at a performance, and you may be gifted with a blade and lessons in its use.

Attacks: he can hit from all ranges, but prefers to use one ring at a time in the SHT range for blindingly fast combo attacks and grabs. At MED range he can interlock three or more of his blades to strike from a distance. He could do the same for LNG, but he doesn't like to, so he tosses a ring up into the air, jumps up, and rides it like a surfboard, dealing a great deal of damage to the enemy.

Pacifist: Custom Ring Blade and lessons
Geno: Eighteen Ring Blades
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Archeo Lumiere said:
He felt so helpless. His one desire, to perform for people, made reliant on a shell, something that wasn't even him. It made him despair, and for all that he craved attention, he wanted to disappear. He was a blue ghost, there was no denying that, but for all that he wanted to feel hopeful, his feelings at his scenario, and those who dared mistake him for those cushy, lovey dovey purples just made him fume in the most bloody red he ever felt, killing him on the inside, and then his world SHATTERED IN TWAIN.

He woke up to find that he could feel wind brushing against his fur, but not his face... Fur? He patted himself down, realizing that, yes, not only could he pat himself down, but that he actually had fur. Feeling his head also led him to find that he had a mask on his face, with a feline muzzle and cat ears. Feeling the tops of those ears however... PURE, UNADULTERATED BLISS. It felt like someone was stroking his very soul, sending waves of joy through his body. He spun around, only to realize that soemthing had materialized in his hand; or rather, somethings.

Spreading them out, he found a variety of blades, shaped like hoops, which he had a near intrinsic knowledge of how to use, and with that, he knew that he could dance again. Tears of joy stained his mask, and he set off to find a place to perform, to be who he was always meant to be...

He danced, letting his star coated tail flow out behind him, letting his passion flow through his entire body, and his multicolored rings danced with him, shredding anything that got into his path, carving his name into the history of this land, until he felt an irrevocable tug towards a particular place... the purple camp. At this he growled, and his dance became more frenzied, laced with killing intent, and he carved his way through the fortress, never a bolt nor sword nor any other weapon striking him through his carnival of edges and curves. They knew, that this was the face of primal fury, of carnal emotion, of desire in a manner none of them could comprehend.

Six rings in particular became more connected to him in this Slaughter, those he Identified as Picton, Koamaru, Meteorite, Seance, Shocking, and Kobi, those colors that he slaughtered for their indifference to his plight in... not exactly life. He knew that he must kill more, allow all the colors to reach this connection... all Eighteen colors.
Noir
Heath
Thunderbird
Scarlet
Zest
Marigold
Starship
Lima
Malachite
Turquoise
Picton
Koamaru
Meteorite
Seance
Shocking
Kobi
Weiss
Delta
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compiling real quick.
 
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Archeo Lumiere said:
Heath
Thunderbird
Scarlet
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As he spotted the red barracks, he felt it, Heath, Thunderbird, Scarlet, they were all ringing out for Slaughter, for blood to stain their already red surfaces, to connect to them. He danced, and this time, only a few came. He was more in control now, though, and felt which ones his blades wanted dead. He fought methodically, only incapacitating those that weren't important. Those that were, though...

They died painfully! Oh so very painfully... And it felt so good!

Ah, but his work was done, and so, once more, he carved his way out of the compound, this time not bothering with control, slaughtering wholesale as he left. Nine down. Halfway done, he had collected all of the red he needed, and all of the "purple," only Gray, green, and "Orange" to go.
Archeo Lumiere said:
Weiss
Delta
Noir
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Ah yes, Grayscale University. The grays always were intellectuals. Now, presuming he knew what he was doing, Weiss and Noir would probably have very high positions here, being pure colors. Delta, on the other hand, was probably a student, and a cowardly one at that. The gray that delta was had a yellowish tinge to it, betraying the fear that was a primary character trait of Delta's.

Yes, it would certainly be fun assassinating these individuals, since cowards tend to be paranoid to the nines, and the headmasters would almost certainly be well protected... He gave it a week. He merely had to establish a positive presence here, and that he could do. Off in the distance, he noticed something else... Another Eishalon was moving along, toward the academy as well.

He went toward this entity; a suicide pact as far as he could see, and asked them to hold their killing until he was done with his, instead having his performances until the time was right. And so he danced, often just with three rings max, while the so called Lotus Eaters played chilling melodies for him.

He kept at this until he spotted his moment. The student body had gotten used to their presence, knowing that couldn't kill them from afar, and that they wouldn't actively approach. Crowds started forming around the seemingly "friendly" eishalons, and then; he spotted them, Delta was hiding behind them for protection, but they were also unprepared for him, and all three were struck down mercilessly.

The gray one, it seemed to lack hope as it was, and though it was struck down last, it was by far the easiest. After that, the music picked up, and things started flying, ghost and material alike. His rings flashed into existence, and he escaped in a prismatic swirl.
Archeo Lumiere said:
Lima
Malachite
Turquoise
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The Viridian Emissary, home to the most willful ghosts on the face of Terrene. By far this should be the most entertaining fight by far. He strode gracefully toward the building, three rings on his shoulder, and slammed open the doors.

"I have come to challenge three individuals to a fight to the death, the rest of you shall be spared your lives"

Just like at red, the many green ghosts came at him, weapons blazing with DETERMINATION. He sighed, and got to work. He really didn't want to kill everyone, just the ones that belonged to his rings. Among the ghosts, he actually found greens and oranges the most tolerable; it's why he saved them for last.

He carved, striking down the ones that got in his way pragmatically, just making sure they couldn't move before he killed his targets.

He called out to the remaining greens, he did not want to kill them, and indeed, he didn't. He merely removed their ability to move. He had one last set of targets before his beauties were complete.
Archeo Lumiere said:
Marigold
Starship
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The Orange Fortress, theplce to find the greediest and most cowardly ghosts on all the planets. He would normally slaughter the entirety of the ghosts in such a place, but the greed present in Oranges made them put effort into enjoying his shows. He called out to them;

Send out those who go by Zest, Marigold, and Starship, and no one else will die, you have my word.

They only sent out two, claiming not to have anyone who goes by Zest. He would slaughter them all for their insolence, but his words ring true through his rings. Zest remains silent. He takes the lives of the ghosts who were sent to him, and goes lazily on his way...

I will have you... Zest.
The way not to die to him or have to kill him is to offer to infuse the "Zesty" ring with Ectoplasm. Doing this will free him from his mission and net us an eternal ally.
 
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Nice stuff all.
WhoAmEye said:
Eishalon: Broken Angel
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:sad: Though the fact that this
WhoAmEye said:
covered in various wings that make no sense nor symmetry
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and your avi made me associate this with Ziz caused it to lose some impact. Stalker Ziz!Ghost was pretty cool though.
WhoAmEye said:
Nobody ever knew, but the Broken Angel was one of the few colour-blind beings, never realising the war was about colour.
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:o Ouch!
Kolper said:
So, I can't draw, I can't really write, so I just did my best to make something and this came out. Oops.
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No, none of that - that was really good. I think you captured the emotional impact really well.
 
Always had he cloaked himself in shadow, prided himself of his swift feet and silent strikes. But now it meant nothing; the Fortress was falling, had fallen... all would soon be gone.

IT WASN´T SUPPOSED TO BE LIKE THIS!!!

Rage and Despair took hold in the sole survivor of a massacre. No more fear, no more thrill of the hunt, no more thought. All was gone.

Shadow and Flame were his new form, and from those came his weapons. The Others scattered and fled, those that could. Those too slow or too near, those standing their ground, met their end burning in unholy fire or being crushed in shadows impossibly deep.

But the Fortress is empty now. Where it´s last insane defender may be, perhaps none sans Narrator know.
 
Here's my entry to all this. I'm just gonna keep it simple, just an image or two.


=====================================
​

I tried to keep as close as I could to Dex's art style.
Edit: Added an unwound form.
 
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Haah man, all these entries... I feel pretty groggy but im very much happy for all of this stuff! I read all the entries you made so far Archeo, interesting setup!

It's gonna be hard to choose any winners out of all this... I am just, overwhelmed that people even care to offer just a bit of time for all this... Hoh gob... I'm sorry everyone, just, amazed...
 
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