Remove ads

Thousand Isles (Riot God Quest)

Reader mode
Remove ads
Discord
  • Media
    • The latest update to the quest is finished and the draft could be read on my newfangled Discord. I've opened up a Discord for all my current and future artistic endeavors. Expect next update tomorrow!

    Chat and stuff, in my server. Show your support in the quest by joining the Discord! I will really appreciate it.
    discord.gg

    Discord - Group Chat That’s All Fun & Games

    Discord is great for playing games and chilling with friends, or even building a worldwide community. Customize your own space to talk, play, and hang out.
    discord.gg discord.gg
     
    Last edited:
  • Media
    • Remove ads
    Era 5 - Turn 3
  • Threadmarks
    • Vault of Mammon
    At the far edges of the debris field, at the boundary where sand and empty void met, she emerges, the Vault of Mammon. She was an enormous space station the size of a planetoid set in orbit around Lady Luck, like a vulture sizing up dying prey. She was an opulent vessel, imperial in aesthetic. Her massive hull was decorated with many pinnacles, gargoyles, and buttresses that she resembled less like a stronghold and more akin to a luxurious palace. Her edges were trimmed with brilliant gold whilst her many portholes were bejeweled with panes of ruby, sapphire, and emerald arranged to create pictures of flowers.

    High vaulted halls snake within her imperious bulk, connecting the many disparate rooms like veins. Fluted columns hold up the arcades whilst baroque chandeliers and romantic sconces light the ways. Vast fortunes sleep on beds of gold, silver, and platinum in her palatial vaults whose walls glitter with innumerable gemstone studs. Her great armories house luxurious weapons and armor, gilded and engraved with intricate details but nevertheless just as functional in the art of warfare as they were as artful masterpieces. Fabrication floors lie idle for a master to operate them, holding the schematics and recipes of the finest luxury items and foods ready for the moment they are wanted.

    Yet, just as sought as treasures would be, it was guarded as fiercely. Robotic abominations armed with stingers filled with flesh-eating and metal-corroding venom prowl the labyrinthine halls. At times, their long insectile forms could be found slithering through the ship's narrow ventilation ducts. Giant mechanical minotaurs stand guard at important junctions and doorways. Their four arms stand ready to strike anyone that dares trespass: two with chainsaws that cleave and two with claws that rend. Spider-like drones creep on the ceiling above, surveiling all those that pass by. They drop on down to corpses to assimilate and reanimate them into savage zombies. Such creatures could force even a gargorite congregation to pause in caution and the most ambitious pirates to quiver in doubt.

    The gargorites beheld the Vault of Mammon like the second coming of Lady Luck. She shone in their vision like a magnetic pole and they were forced to acknowledge her presence. They were moved to tears. They could feel the treasures she held, all the gold, platinum, silver, and all the near-magical technology stowed away in her guarded vaults. She shone like a star brighter than even Lady Luck. Divine, she was, just like Lady Luck.

    In the Ninth Congregation, the First Congregation of the Third Age, for the first time, the gargorites did not attack Lady Luck. They were too enamored by the glory of the Vault of Mammon. Gargorites died in droves upon her halls, with many of their corpses still prowling the arcades, hunting for their kin, yet they were not discouraged. They captured sectors, established outposts, and looted vaults. Some gargorites even carved up territories of their own on board her majesty, moving their very vaults aboad her decks, just so they could be close to her glory and treasuries at all times. Yet, despite their hardest, they could not find her control room. Such a location was simply theoretical, but according to legend, capturing it meant you captured her and the entire vessel became your vassal.

    Their conquest of the Vault of Mammon did not go unnoticed, and many pirates would be enticed into stepping foot into the death trap that was the Vault of Mammon. When they returned, they brought with them incredible treasures that lined every hall and chamber (some even went as far as prying the gilded crown moulding from the halls), enticing ever more pirates to brave the vast vessel. However, most of those that stepped into the station would ever return, the space station becoming their final grave. Entire crews were being wiped out by the roving abominations that patrol her halls. The crews who manned the camps live in constant fear of monsters bursting through the vents, gargorites breaking through their defenses, or gridlings phasing through the walls. Nevertheless, they carved a sizeable territory within the Vault of Mammon.

    However, they were not completely defenseless. The pirates had received a power-up at the beginning of the age, that put the power of a miniature sun in their chest, and power emanating from that core overflowed from their circuits like liquid light. Their orifices glowed like flues of a raging furnace but without the heat. The core provided ever more power to their weaponry, making them more able to contend with the gargorites and mow down enemies whe they could. No longer could gargorites charge into the fray fearlessly as the pirates now cast bullets and bolts with enough force to crack their armor. They are beginning to overcome the gargorite's position of dominance.

    The pirates and gargorites were then on a race to find the heart of the vault, a race that both parties were determined to win. Gargorites and pirates alike combed the halls of the Vault of Mammon, knocking and boring through walls and knocking doors. In the end, it was a gargorite that won the Vault of Mammon's seat.

    Alphabert was a striking specimen of a gargorite. She was a large and ferocious individual, tearing through walls like a man possessed and ripping through hordes of mechanical abominations like a berserker. Enemies and monsters alike tried to counter her advance but their ammunition simply bounced on the armor she scavenged from one of Mammon's lesser vaults. Her trusty gridling fought beside her, phasing through the flesh and armor of those that dared stand in their way, striking where they were most vulnerable and filching their hearts and cores from within their armored chests.

    Alphabert wasn't running through the halls at random. It was well-calculated route through abomination-infested halls to the heart of the vessel. Fierce guards guarded the grand chamber, but they were no match against the gargoritic might of Alphabert. They crumpled against her brawn and failed against her gridling, and soon she made it into the fabled chamber.

    It was a grand chamber, studded with glowing high-tech machinery. Abominations stood still as a statue at the sides of her path like a line of officers and soldiers welcoming the arrival of an esteemed general. The computronic core hung over the chamber like a moon in imminent collision with the floor, held aloft by a multitude of cables and pipes carrying power, signal, and coolant in and out of the core. Light of a thousand calculations spilled from the crevices and vents of the core.

    At the center of the chamber, at the end of her path, directly under the hovering computronic core, was an elaborate swivel chair. It was bolted to the floor and plush with the softest cushions available in the Sea. Cables and flexible tubes connected the chair to the rest of the vessel. Buttons, indicators, and displays were awash with info and light of the life possessing Mammon. Alphabert gently laid her hands on the control interface, and the vessel ceded its control to the victor.

    Alphabert's howls of ecstasy echoed in the halls and the vaults. The abominations wandering the halls suddenly slumped for a moment before returning to full awareness with a new kind of light in the eyes. Alphabert promptly began evicting all the others that have settled in the vessel it had conquered. All the others resisted the abominations ushered them out, but with a gargorite's intellect guiding them, they have become a different fearsome beast. Blood and violence was shed in the ordeal, but many of them returned to their old homes with treasures and wealth Alphabert couldn't care less confiscating.

    Ever since her victory, entrance to the Vault of Mammon had become impossible save for the too-short days of the Congregations. Alphabert had turned the grand vessel into her personal vault. She had riddled every opulent hall with innumerable traps that were difficult to detect and avoid, and roving monsters were armed with her designs patrol the corridors to ensure that no one could sidestep the traps she had laid down. Over the years, many gridlings would arise from the many lesser vaults that now belonged to her.

    Alphabert had achieved what had been but a dream for many gargorites: apotheosis. For she had captured a divine seat among the isles, she had become divine and that divinity garnered her admiration and authority from her fellow gargorites with some bowing to her like a gridling would to their progenitor gargorite. Many began probing her for weakness, and others bowed to learn her secrets.

    Sandians + The Sea and The Ship
    Aarne trekked the red isle she stood upon alone. Her eyes were glued ahead of her at the sands that so surrounded her. The shade of the solar plants loomed over her, but the farther she walked ahead, the thinner they became until the forest disappeared behind her, and soon she stood upon a stony outcrop, facing the might of the Sea itself. Here, she could hear the Sea's voice the clearest.

    She held up her crooked staff to the Sea. It was carved from the bough of a mighty solar plant, and an exquisitely cut sunstone hung from one end of the staff. She was not here on her own accord. She was called here by the Voice of the Sea. The Voice was the roar of the flowing sand and the echoes of distant whales, and it had called her and her flock by name.

    "Aarne of Merin, I call thee," the Voice whispered.

    Aarne knelt at the call, bowing before the shores of the Holy Sea. "I am here, our Lord."

    "The Iron Skull Pirates assault Weatherby Tomb and its guardians are falling," the Voice announced. "I hereby call your flock and the flocks of Herring and Manse to come to their aid."

    "It is your will, our Lord," Aarne bowed to the Voice, and turned to return to her flock, to speak of the world of their Lord.

    ~ * ~ 8 ~ * ~​

    The light of her staff illuminated her path as she made her way through the gnarled forest. Solar cells of the solar plants formed a canopy above her that blocked off the light of the sands above. Electricity buzzed in the veins and the roots of the trees that grew around her as they supped upon the light from the sunstone above.

    Soon, her path would end at the foot a great tree. The shadow of its crown loomed before her like a baleful cloud. Upon its mighty boughs she could spy spots of light shining from hanging sunstone shards and the golden plumage of her fellows perched on the dark branches.

    Sandians of her tribe turned their piercing eyes and sharp beaks at her, and Aarne inspected them for their rapt attention. The light reflecting on their golden feathers made them appear to glow in the shadow of the crown. Should they have been flying in the sands of the Great Sea, the color of their plumage would have blended them with the color of the sands. Their flight feathers flickered as they moved, turning visible and invisible like holograms but were as solid and stiff as steel to weather the ferocity of the sand currents.

    One of her fellows dropped from her perch up above to land before Aarne. Her name was Petrie of Merin and she was the captain of the guard. She wore a decorative sash dyed red and marked with decorations of her tribe. Pinned over her heart was a star-shaped medal forged from metal scraps, marking her rank. A scabbard was secured to her waist by a rope belt, holding a sword with a glimmering edge. It was extracted from a blade-tail snake that she had personally bested.

    Petrie bowed before Aarne. "Esteemed priest, what mission has the Sea for us?"

    Aarne tapped her shoulder with the tip of her staff. "The Voice has spoken to me, esteemed captain. We are called to assist in the defense of Weatherby Tomb-Fort. Prepare the armor, the weapons, and the air bags. We will be enterring battle."

    "Understood, esteemed priest," Petrie answered. "Will you be announcing this before the tribe or should I do the honor?"

    "Please have the honor, esteemed captain. I will make preparations of my own."

    ~ * ~ 8 ~ * ~​

    Aarne flew ahead of her flock. Wind under her wings carried her between the void between isles whilst she used her priestly authority to command the sands to part before them. Not a grain of sand dared to touch any of her flock who flew behind her on winds of their own, following the light of their priest.

    The sand was thick and roiling, angered by the assaulting pirates. Tomb-Fort Weatherby housed one of the oldest relics in the Sand Sea, thus attracting a number of ne'er-do-wells every year. The veil of sand is impenetrable to the sight of pirates and gargorites alike, forcing them to take their advance slowly and cautiously, but to the sandians who stand guard atop of the parapets of the treasure tomb, the sand veil is but a thin mist. They could see clearly the approach of their enemies miles away.

    Tomb-Fort Weatherby faded into visibility. Several ships were moored on the temple's walls with the sand angrily battering at their hulls, scouring their surfaces of all paint and ornamentation. The harsh glow seeping through their seams betrayed the positions of the pirates. A grimace formed on Aarne's face as she and her flock beheld the state of the tomb. Holes were perforated into its sides and flashes of gunfire burst from the orifices. The dead bodies of valiant sandians who fought well to their death littered the walls of their fort with all their weapons and their valuables looted. Those that remained among the living harried the pirates outside with their aerokinesis.

    Deep anger bloomed in Aarne's heart, and she reached out to the sands that surrounded her and took command of the grains. She commanded the sands to compress, to condense into glowing crystalline spears. Argentine made its core, aureate made its edge, and sunstone made its point. The spears shot out from the veil to strike at their foes. Aarne's spears weren't the only ones to come as crystalline spears cast out by other priests also came. Many spears broke against the hulls, but just about as many punched through the weaknesses of the ships. They destroyed as many exposed cannons they could find as they flew.

    The pirates were quite happy to find their raid successful, but that glee quickly transformed into frustration as spears smote them from where they stood.

    Aarne landed on the parapets of the tomb-fort, and her trusted captain of the guard alighted beside her. She and her flock quickly opened up their bags to store away the winds that dutifully carried them through the storm. She then conjured shields of compressed sandstone from the sand swirling about, and turned to Petrie to say, "Tell your men to move ahead, esteemed captain. I will stay behind to destroy the vehicles of our enemies."

    Petrie nodded and answered, "As you will, esteemed priest."

    Petrie grabbed one of the shields her priest had conjured and turned to the flock behind her. "Brave guardians of the sand, we have arrived but we must not falter," she screeched. "More of our enemy surely lurks ahead, and we must harry them lest they leave with the holy relic unmolested. We move as the sand moves us!"

    "We move as the sand moves us!" The flock chanted back. They grabbed a shield and rushed into the tomb with wild determination glimmering in their eyes. The shields were plain unornamented slabs of stone with a handle in the back. It glittered with the power of aureate and argentine reinforcing it. Such devices were especially essential against the pirates who possessed ranged superiority against them, but they were unwieldy to carry in flight. They were typically created by priests on the spot then quickly deconstructed after the encounter.

    Aarne watched her troops fade into the depths of the tomb. The troops of other flocks passed by her, following her own flock into the darkness. She bid them good luck as she turned to the ships moored to the walls. She called to power of the sands to assault the ships. Hard sandstone began to coat the ships and crystalline growths dug into the crevices of the metal like roots splitting rock. Sand breached into the sealed chambers of the ships and broke apart the delicate components within.

    ~ * ~ 8 ~ * ~​

    Petrie led her troops through the halls of the treasure tomb. The walls were perforated with gunshots and laser blasts. The corpses of sandians and pirates alike littered their way as they trod through the ruined corridors. She had carefully clipped the stone shield to one wing and held it up before her. She held her glimmering sword on the other wing as they pushed onward.

    The sounds of battle and the flashes of gunfire grew stronger and more frequent as they move further into the tomb. The death sceeches of valiant sandians alongside the ugly cackles of pirates echoed through the corridors. However, the sounds of battle were beginning to quiet and die down, slowly being drowned out by the sound of crumbling stone and droning sandstorm. Petrie frowned. The battle was reaching its tail.

    "Onward, brave guardians," Petrie commanded her flock. "We must hurry. They are at the holy sarcophagos." She could hear some gasp as she ran ahead.

    Petrie and her troops arrived at the great hall where the holy relic was stored, and they were floored by the devastation. Spikes protruded from the walls, impaling a number of pirates through their hearts. The decorations were gone, destroyed, replaced by a garden of holes and craters. Splatters of blood and oil stained the once beautiful sandstone. A pirate with a large and elaborate skull ascended towards the sarcophagos which was laid on an elevated platform. She presumed that he was the captain, and he appeared to be almost disbelieving that he really was approaching the treasure of Weatherby. All the other pirates were either watching their captain ascend the stairs or busily plucking the feathers from the dead priests and guards who took their last stand here.

    Intense anger bloomed in Petrie's heart, and she shouted to her troops to attack. She opened up her bag of winds and conjured a sandstorm inside the chamber. The pirates were blinded and began to fire blindly into the veil. Plasma bolts and lead bullets flew all around as they engaged the enemy. The pirates were tired and injured from all the other engagements they had, and the sandians were fresh from arriving into the battle. Their aim was subpar and they were running out ammo and batteries. Petrie and her troops easily dodged them and began circling around the pirates and striking at their backs with their swords and spears. They struck quick and fast like the thunder and lightning.

    Petrie rushed up the stairs to harry the captain. She was rather impressed that it was managing a few steps up the stairs even with the fierce winds that was trying their best to push him down. Petrie jumped, her wind carrying her high, and descended over the captain's heart, but before her sword could strike, the pirate suddenly turned and parried her sword with his bayonet. The muzzle flashed, and Petrie quickly flipped out of the way before the pirate's blunderbuss could perforate her with holes. She deftly dodged the saber slash that followed and took the opportunity to hack at the pirate's shoulder.

    Her sword did not find purchase in the metal. It seemed that the angle was wrong. She flew out of the way before the pirate could adequately turn its gun at her, and she alighted on its back. She tried to lodge her sword into the crevices of his armor, but the pirate began to buck like a wild horse in an attempt to throw her off.

    "Poor guards," came the crude sandspeak of the pirate. Liquid light spilled from its demonic eyes and mouth as it spoke. Petrie swore that most only learned the language to mock them. They've never heard anything less than contemptible oozing from their speakers. "The holy relic will be mine."

    Petrie did not give the captain the satisfaction of an answer and simply continued hacking at the robot. Eventually the pirate found a way to smack the sandian off his back with his saber. Thankfully, the sandstone shield managed to block the blow, otherwise, Petrie could have found herself one wing short.

    Petrie circled around the captain as it attempted to shoot her down with its blunderbuss. She could also hear some bullets from below whizzing by her ears. It seemed that some pirates were trying to curry favor with their captain by assisting it. Nevertheless, they missed, but they did manage some shots that had to be blocked by her shield.

    The captain limped up the stairs as Petrie was kept busy. The sarcophagos was in sight. It had only heard rumors of the treasure Tomb-Fort Weatherby held, and he wished to see it -- no, touch it before he fell against the sandians. He was only steps away from the sarcophagus when he felt it. Captain Barnaby looked down to his chest and bore witness to the glowing sword embedded in his core. He turned his neck backwards and saw the determined face of Petrie on his back, glaring.

    He began to cackle, a joyless hollow laughter that echoed not on the sandstone walls. Power was fading from its systems. Liquid light spilled from its heart as the sunstone core within was split in twain by the blade. The mirrored inner surface fogged with dust and dew as Petrie called forth her wind to the pirate's insides. His battery rapidly discharged in a bid to keep him awake, but it would do little in keeping him alive. The captain spent his last waking moments cackling, cackling in despair.

    ~ * ~ 8 ~ * ~​

    Petrie stood solemnly beside her fellows as the dead and the fallen were paraded before them. They offered them prayers and solace, and those that were particularly close them to gave them clothing and accessories. Some of them were in such a horrid state that no one could recognize who they were anymore. Some among the living even screeched in sadness to find their loved ones unrecognizable.

    As was customary of her people, the dead was to be thrown into the sand. The Sea was not kind or merciful, but it was protective and diligent. As it had with countless other relics, the Sea would honor their fallen by carrying and shrouding them in a protective storm. The pirates they had slain wouldn't be given the same honors as their bodies were chopped up to be fashioned in equipment. Whatever useless stuff that was left would then be crushed into powder to join the Sand Sea's service.

    Aarne of Merin stepped forth and addressed the gathered crowd. "Esteemed citizens and guests Weatherby, we hereby honor the valiant passing of our dead. They may have fallen in service of the Sand Sea, but they have fought well; we must honor their need to rest."

    Merlin of Manse turned everyone's attention towards the dead. The priests had lain the corpses on beds of soft sand near the parapets, each attended by two guards. "From the sands we were born and from the sands we will return to. One day, they will return to us as a holy relic or as yet another sandian."

    "Finish your mourning, esteemed mourners. Relay your prayers now while they are still with us...," announced Hanzo of Herring. "Before we return them to the veil."

    Petrie and her fellows moved to salute as the guards assigned to each and every corpse lifted them from their beds. Some screeched out their sadness while others remained in solemn silence as the guards assigned to each and every corpse began throwing them off the walls. The sandstreams of the Sand Sea carried the bodies away to who knows where. Only the Sand Sea itself knew for sure where they would end up, but they trusted the Sand Sea to keep their brethren safe, until a treasure tomb could house them.

    "Holy Sea, keep them safe," Hanzo prayed.

    Starcore Pirates + The Sea and the Ship + Derivative Improvement: Iron Skull Pirates, Lady Luck, Sand Seas
    Strange energies settle over the seas. The sandstreams buckle and bend and split like necks of a hydra. Low roars of flowing sand droned in the void, accompanied by the low calls of whales and radio waves. The void beyond the isles could no longer be witnessed from within the veil of sand. Not even the sunlight nor radio waves could pass through the thick veil unopened by the eyes of storms, yet the world within was not a bit darker and, in fact, may have become brighter. So fierce had the storm become that some sandstreams had begun to glow red hot. Some sandstreams had become chock full of aureate, argentine, and sunstone that they glowed in the sky like bands of plasma or aurorae. Some sandstreams had shifted in color, from yellow-red to blackish grey, from all the metallic debris ground up in the sands.

    However, what once was just natural phenomena had been tainted by emotion and purpose. In that interweave of color and light, a mind was born. It was a mind of shifting currents composing the Sand Seas and all things tied to it: Debris Whales, Treasure Tombs, and Space Bugs. It was a fickle figure that protected and endangered at the same breath. It bore a particular ire over the Iron Skull Pirates who paid little respect to the sea and the treasures it held dear.

    The Voice of the Sea, it would come to be known. Those who lived open to the sand could attest the realness of this entity. Although only a select few could hear the Voice speak to them, its words and acts as per relayed by its prophets were more than enough to convince many to revere the Spirit of the Sands. In accordance to its will, sandstreams run red, currents change course, and a plague of madness could fall upon the debris whales and space bugs.

    Of those that regularly brave the veil, only the pirates do not acknowledge the Will of the Sea. They live in the protective embrace of Lady Luck that insulate them from the Will of the Sea. They merely regarded its existence as some bogus myth or old wives' tale. They thoughtlessly take that which belongs to the Sea without discretion or respect. Many times had Voice of the Sands wished to smite these miscreants, but the divine power of Lady Luck envelops them, protecting them from its wrath.

    ▼△▼△▼△▼△▼△▼△▼​

    Levi quietly scooted through the narrow hallway. He reviewed the list of chores he had to yet to do (grease machinery on chamber 16, sector 23; check sensors on chamber 13, sector 22; replace biometric interface on chamber 14, sector 23...) and lamented on the fact that it was only halfway done. He would miss the new year's fireworks! Alas, such was the life of Lady Luck's society of engineers.

    Levi was on his way to one of his assignments when he suddenly a burning pain in his chest. His body buckled as a strange mixture of pain and power emanated from his warping heart, sending him leaning to the wall. His power systems were on the haywire, sending confusing and erroneous data to his mind. His internal components and circuitry was warping and transforming as a strange sphere began to form in the middle of his chest. As the sphere formed, blinding light spilled from the cracks, a light that he knew were emitted by a highly pure sunstone crystal. Even after the metal sphere had enclosed the sunstone core, the light continued to spill from the core, overflowing from his eyes, mouth, and seams like flames of a hellish furnace.

    Power. Unparalleled power began to flow into his systems. Power that filled his batteries overflowing, power that supplemented the capabilities of his chemical reactors. Then that power spread to his chassis, improving the metal. His bones expanded and lengthened as the strange power did its work to improve him. The crystalline structure of the metal rearranged to maximize strength; his circuitry and processors were rearranged to become more efficient; all of his systems and components that were touched by this power was changed and tweaked to become better and more efficient versions of themselves. When Levi managed to stand back up, the corridor he was standing in had become noticeably narrower as the mysterious power had increased his size.

    The walls of Lady Luck shuddered. The sound of humming pipes, buzzing wires, and whirring machinery sounded with great intensity. Even without seeing it, Levi already knew what was happening to Lady Luck. Lady Luck was expanding, and her many internal components were budding and multiplying to accommodate the growing vessel. The very metal was shifting and bending to the mutative power to make way for a whole new district upon Lady Luck's deck.

    Then, he felt it -- no, her. He felt her. A spiritual presence that once only dwelt in the heart of Lady Luck, in her computers and processors and terminals, but now inhabited the lifeless metal of the rest of her body. She dwelt in the walls and lingered in the air, ethereal like gas. He felt her caress his spirit, shielding him from the malevolence of the sea outside.

    ▼△▼△▼△▼△▼△▼△▼​

    The spirits of the Sea and the Ship would endure an eternal rivalry. The Ship would become the eye of a massive storm upon which the entire sea flows around. The anger of the Sea was palpable in the veil as the very sand itself wears upon those that dared to wrong it. Should the Sea's wrath be truly incensed, it could send its strongest currents upon the offender whereupon it would reduced to nothing but dust.

    Shrine of Value
    In a secluded grotto on Lady Luck, there stands a small shrine to greed and fortune. It was an ornamental pool surrounded by statues of pirates clad in gold and jade finery. They extended one of their hands open towards the dry pool while the other is raised, carrying some amount of treasure. In the center of the pool stands the grandest among the statues: a large statue depicting the richest pirate in all of Lady Luck burdened with a chest overflowing with wealth. The pirate was barely recognizable under all the jewelry and gold that studded it, but its impression was unmistakable; it was Jason, the Proprietor of Dungeon Sphere Enterprising. Shifting void sands swirled within the pool, churning and flowing like an eternally churning galaxy yet not a grain of sand left the confines of the pool.

    A pair of vagrant pirates, Alfredo and Sheldon, stumbled upon the mysterious shrine and immediately knelt upon the banks of the pool. They scrambled over the baroque statues, tearing at the seams and inlays to no avail. Even one statue could have afforded them a ship, a life more comfortable and exciting than wandering the alleyways and visiting the job center, but alas, the gold, the jade, and even the statues themselves were stubbornly fast in their place.

    When they had become tired of tearing at the statues, they turned to the black sand and marveled upon its bejeweled shine. They reckoned the sand was at least valuable to the right kind of people, but when they reached into the pool, the sand simply flowed between their fingers like water. Even when they drew the sand from the pool with buckets and pans, the sand climbed over the lip of their containers and flowed over the brick and back into the pool like a sentient wave.

    The two were determined in at least getting something out of the shrine before anyone else stumbles upon it, and so they began to seal the shifting sands in bottles and cans with mixed results. However, as they drew sand from the shifting pool, one of the vagrants leaned too far into the pool and a spare eye fell out of his pocket and into the pool. The pirate was too cautious to blindly jump into the pool and so instead reached into the sand to recover the eye, but the item he pulled out was not the eye, but a satchel filled with clinking coins. The pirate's core skipped a beat as he beheld the item and gingerly opened the satchel. Coins, more than enough coins to pay back the money he spent buying the eye. He reckoned he earned about half the eye's cost back.

    Alfredo was giddy at the discovery and decided to test his luck with the sands. He produced an old trusty screwdriver from one of his pockets and promptly threw it into the pool. The tool had been quite useful to him, granting him access to places he shouldn't have been able to and being helpful in unfastening some rich prick's expensive decorative sconces. Losing the tool would be disastrous to his career, but if it replicates the results, he should get enough money to not just buy a screwdriver but also a drill silencer.

    He excitedly reaches into the sand and retrieved... a portable camera? It was a Liberal film camera bundled with four rechargeable batteries and a meter of film. Alfredo was confused at the result. This was supposed to be money. He was sure he could get at least half more than the market price of the screwdriver from the camera, but that took time. He wanted the money right there.

    He threw the camera back into the sands it came from, and retrieved a similar result: a middling-price pocketwatch. Throwing that again and got an illuminated manuscript. He frustratedly pitched the book back into the sand, causing a splash in the pool. When he knelt back down to retrieve whatever treasure it had become, instead of focusing on his hands, he turned his gaze to the statue, and what he saw startled him, causing him to let go of whatever he had grasped before it had breached the surface of the pool.

    The statue moved.

    A minute or two ago, it stood in the center of the pool in its grandiose self-important pose, but now it stood a little more than three feet away, extending out an open hand to the vagrant pirate. It bore a predatory smile upon its face, and a dangerous glint gleamed in its bejeweled eyes. In its open hand was a token with a floral pattern, just begging for Alfredo to take it.

    Alfredo gingerly removed the token from the statue's hand and began to examine it from all angles. It seemed to be made from gold yet it was hard like quartz and stone. He tried biting it, bending it, but it stubbornly remained without scratch. He could feel purpose infuse the token, much like how the spirit of Lady Luck infuse the lifeless metal of the vessel. He turned the token around and saw a message engraved on the back. It says:

    "This token here is proof of your sacrifice. Carry this token and raid and capture treasure equalling the value of that which was sacrificed. Accomplish this in a year or less, and this token shall soften. Crushing this token shall net its owner thrice the value of what has been sacrificed."​

    Alfredo knelt by the pool to retrieve the treasure he dropped, but it seemed that whatever he had let go, it had dissolved back into sand. He swept the area where he had let go of it but only found void-black sand. He was frustrated at losing potential merchandise but was nevertheless tempered by the possibility of earning greater amounts of treasure from the token.

    He began tossing items into the pool: old broken fingers, pieces of impure sunstone, week-old receipts, and even some of the coins he earned from tossing the spare eye. He tossed stuff until he felt something change. The token had become soft, and excitement began to fill his core. He slowly crushed it. The token then disintegrated into scintillating particles that coalesced into a couple of treasures: a bejeweled telescope and a premium power drill, and still no money.

    Alfredo was still frustrated, but nonetheless knew he should take what he gets at this point. Suddenly, he felt a hand settled on his shoulder. He turned and saw his fellow vagrant pirate give a conspiratorial smile. Sheldon had a plan, and that plan would surely make them rich.

    ▂ ▃ ▄ ▅ ▆ ▇ █ █ ▇ ▆ ▅ ▄ ▃ ▂​

    The scheme earned them more than enough money to build their own luxury home, and they built it over the Shrine of Value. Their mansion walled the shrine in, preventing folk other than them from gaining access to the pool. If they could help it, they'd rather they be the only ones knowing of the existence of the shrine, but alas, they had to pay their workers well so they keep tighter lips.

    Everyday, they would throw a variety of junk into the sands, and they would pull out a variety of less worthless junk to sell at the seedy bazaars. However, as their wealth began to pile up and their business became large and fat, Sheldon would suddenly find their profits not as fulfilling as before. Everyday, while they sat by the bank of the pool, he couldn't help but train his eyes on the lavish statue overburdened with overflowing treasure. He wished to be like the statue, so rich that his wealth threatened to crush him with their weight.

    Sheldon proposed a second scheme. Alfredo was apprehensive of pushing through with Sheldon's proposal (their first scheme was doing well as far as he could tell, and he didn't quite want to lose it), but Sheldon's honeyed words sang sweetly to his ears.

    ▂ ▃ ▄ ▅ ▆ ▇ █ █ ▇ ▆ ▅ ▄ ▃ ▂​

    Ian shook giddily behind the curtains. Peering through the cloth, he could see a number of very rich and influential individuals anxiously seated on the plush seats. The items that would be on display in just a moment were strange and exotic and of definite high value. The people on their seats would surely raise their signs high in the air with such rapidity that they would crack like a whip. The shady duo of Vagrant Trading didn't reveal their sources, but he would have loved to get to know the individuals responsible for procuring these treasures.

    "Ladies and gentlemen," Ian marched towards the center of the stage. He theatrically fixed his bowtie whilst he held the microphone close to his speakers. "Tonight, we are having a special auction, exhibiting unique valuable treasures procured by Vagrant Trading."

    A covered display was wheeled onto stage, and the spotlights overhead focused their light upon the mysterious item. Ian firmly grasped the fabric and dramatically tore it off the display, exposing what was hidden underneath to his audience. It captivated the attention of the attendees, causing some to even stand from their seats to get a better view of the item. The gems studding the silver arms glittered under the limelight, and the flame-shaped sunstones tipping each arm. The candelabra was extravagant like a silver sapling sprouting from the table, sporting as many arms as a sapling would have branches.

    The glittering treasure awakened something fierce in the attendees as they began raising their signs with enough force and rapidity to produce sonic booms. Bids began to pile up, and the price of the glittering treasure continually rose up. Ian could only watch with a wide grin as he stood at the side, narrating the action ongoing among the audience.

    The item's auction ended with a ludicrous price, but he knew it wouldn't be the highest. The items the vagrant pirates had acquired were even more dazzling than even this already dazzling thing. He anticipated the prices of the skyrocket even higher with each subsequent item.

    As the candelabra was being wheeled out stage left, the next item on auction rolled onto stage on a plain looking cart under a plain looking cloth. Ian grasped the cloth and once again dramatically removed it. He quite enjoyed the sight of the audience gasping in amazement at the amazing item on display, especially on the face of the one who won the previous item. The expression of regret on his face was quite delicious to Ian, and he was sure to see it multiple times today.

    "Behold with your eyes!..."

    ▂ ▃ ▄ ▅ ▆ ▇ █ █ ▇ ▆ ▅ ▄ ▃ ▂​

    Sheldon was counting his money. He was doing that quite often lately. Their vault had been overflowing with so much treasure and gold that they might need to start their own banks just to stop the money from being stagnant. As he carefully raised neat orderly towers of money on his desk, his eyes was glued to the screen of his computer. It monitored the earnings they got from the auctions they held, and the numbers it displayed blurred with how fast it updated.

    It was everything he could have hoped for, everything his schemes were meant to bring to fruition, yet it did not bring him joy. It brought him no more glee than finding spare change on the streets back when they weren't so disgustingly rich. He couldn't pinpoint why the exchange rate of money and happiness cratered so suddenly. All he knew was that everything he had wasn't enough. He can't stop. The money, he wanted more of it. He wanted to be the one whose face was on the statue.

    He needed a third scheme...

    ... but he couldn't think of any at this time.

    Sheldon pounded the marble table, cracks spiderwebbing from the points of impact. He hoped that the sound and destruction would evoke some sort of inspiration in his core, but his RAM remained barren of any workable ideas. He looked on the pile of gold on the table (it was not enough), then the rapidly changing numbers on the monitor (it was not enough), then to his co-conspirator who was tossing ever more gaudy junk into the pool.

    Sheldon couldn't help but inwardly thank his fellow. He was diligent and reliable bot, patient to just toss junk into the sands over and over again all day. Whilst he combed the shops and bazaars for bargains and loose junk, Alfredo was at home making the treasure they would be selling. He was only collecting so much gold because of their collective effort. Alfredo's help was very valuable to his schemes.

    ...valuable?

    Sheldon's eyelights flared as a spark of inspiration arced in his motherboard. The idea had stricken him, held his will hostage like an irresistible impulse. He shakily rose from his seat and slowly approached his unaware partner. Alfredo saw Sheldon shuffle towards him with uneven steps, but he failed to sense the greedy malevolence that had possessed Sheldon. He merely waved at his shaky partner before returning to his task of tossing and taking items from the pool.

    Then, suddenly, Sheldon pushed Alfredo into the sand. Alfredo's joints locked up in shock as the Sheldon's fierce blow pushed him three feet into the pool. His mouth was wide open with surprise as he fell head first into the void sands below, swallowing him. His vision glitched out, his sensors sent anomalous data, and soon enough, his whole being disappeared into the void.

    As Sheldon was kneeling by the bank to retrieve what he got in exchange of his partner, he was suddenly stricken by the sound of horrendous wailing. It was a distorted mix of Alfredo's voice and an orchestra. The scream had immobilized him with its discordant harmony.

    A whirlpool formed in the middle of the pool. Emerging from the stormy pool was a crown atop a golden throne. He could instantly recognize the skull-adorned throne. It was Lady Luck's command throne, and whoever held its seat would lord over the entire vessel. A bright smile appeared on Sheldon's face as ghostly whispers singing great fortunes caressed his ears. Lady Luck had deemed him most fit to become her king!

    Sheldon jumped into the pool.

    ErrorCrop.json
    Out in an asteroid out in the veil, there lies yet another box buried in the rock. It was a strange little box of chartreuse stained wood and iron latches filled to the brim of mysterious seeds. It would lie there, waiting, destined to be discovered by a chosen one, until one day, it would be unearthed by a mindless grazing rabbit. The drone swallowed the mysterious box whole where it got stuck in its gullet.

    The drone sent a signal to its caretaker, telling it of the strange debris it had swallowed but could not digest or process. A yacht would approach to its rescue, and a pair of pirates disembarked. The two pirates, Anton and Leone, opened up the gullet of the grazing rabbit and discovered the strange box it had swallowed. Anton was struck at the familiarity of the box. It had seen that box before, when Captain Alvin and Captain Merela had uncovered a box just like it, but unlike them, this box longer and larger.

    Anton was filled with subdued dread while his partner Leone was practically bouncing in excitement. Anton once was a prominent crew memeber in Alvin's crew and had been Merela's second mate, but he had abandoned that line of work. He had tasted the pastoral life and he found it sweeter than the high-octane action of the high seas. He had become disgusted and dissatisfied of his highly dangerous life, but he did not wish to plant his feet on the soft soil of Lady Luck's cargo holds. He still wished to brave the treacherous veil, to sail against the sand, and to ride the currents of the sandstreams. It was why he was a rabbit herder now.

    On the other hand, Leone was a Luckborn, a pirate born without a crew or ship. He had lived his whole life on the upper decks of Lady Luck, and it had been his dream to become a pirate raiding the isles for plunder and treasure, but there was little other captains could find in him worth hiring. He did not possess the qualities of a pirate many captains sought in their crew, and thus Leone was often left crewless and frustrated on the floors of the guild hall. When Anton had accepted Leone's application, he jumped for joy, but he misunderstood the job he had signed up for. When Leone read the job listing, his vision had narrowed on the words "former raider" and "sailor of the Sand Seas" that he had completely glossed over all the other details about the job. When he found out that it was actually about herding grazing rabbits, Leone wanted to explode in frustration and quit on the spot but decided to control his impulse. He figured that it might garner him the experience to become an attractive prospect to other captains.

    When they opened the chartreuse box, Leone's expression instantly became dour. The box was not filled with any kind of mundane treasure but a trove of assorted seeds glimmering with mystical potential. Leone had heard of such treasures, and he did not like its implication. All those that unearthed such a treasure from beyond the veil had turned to sedentary life of farming, a life that he wanted to leave behind. His internal panic clouded his vision, blinding them him to his surroundings. He did not catch Anton sighing at the sight, knowing such a valuable treasure was incompatible to his aspirations.

    Anton closed and locked the treasure chest and ordered Leone to throw the item into the cargo hold. That broke Leone out of his stupor and proceeded to enact the order. When he returned, he caught the tail end of a short conversation Anton had with someone on the phone.

    "... right. We'll be seeing you on the farm," and then Anton hung up.

    Terrible possibilities circled around Leone's head. He kept on overthinking and overthinking, distracting him from the job at hand. In the last few hours of the job, he managed to lose four grazing rabbits to his inattention, something that he was severely reprimanded for, but his mind couldn't help but return to the terrible possibility of becoming stuck in Lady Luck again.

    The gun in Leone's hand shook and thoughts kept getting away from him. His eyes was trained on all the leporid drones grazing on the rock, but he couldn't help but occasionally turn his eyes to Anton on the deck, tending to a damaged drone docked to the yacht's starboard, unaware of his anxiety. His unruly thoughts kept putting words in Anton's mouth until he almost couldn't tell the thoughts came inside his own head.

    "Shoot him," one thought whispered. Against his better judgement, the gun in his raised.

    "Just one shot," another whispered. His finger rested on the trigger, "and the ship is yours."

    "Take what you want,"     another whispered, its words sticky and slathered in honey. "He has what you want."

    He pulled the trigger.

    ≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺​

    "Where are they?" Merela tapped her foot impatiently. She and her crew were waiting at the gate for Anton. It's already been an hour and they've no rivet nor bolt of the rather reliable bot. It wasn't like Anton to be late. They were getting worried.

    "Should we start looking for them?" asked Walton, her first mate.

    "No, not yet," Merela replied. She pulled out a cellphone from her purse and began dialing for Anton.

    Ring. Ring. Ring. Beep.

    "Hello?" Strange. Why was Anton's partner answering the phone?

    "Hey, crewman. Pass me the captain. I need to talk to him."

    "Captain?" The voice on the phone almost stuttered. "Sorry, madam, but I can't. He's terribly busy."

    Stranger. "What could a rabbit herder be busy about in the high seas that he couldn't abandon it?"

    "Uh... Uh... wait, I think the captain is calling me." The line suddenly dropped dead. Merela tried to call again...

    Ring. Ring. Ring. Blip-blip-blip.

    ... but nobody picked up the call.

    Merela closed her phone with a scowl on her face. Her crew looked at her with worry as she said, "It seemed that somebody has betrayed our good crewman."

    ≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺​

    He can't believe it. He killed Anton, and for what?! A chest of seeds he didn't even want! Sure, he had dropped the entire chestful for probably a bargain at the docks. He should have sold it for a higher price, but his anxiety was getting him. Everywhere he looked, it felt like everyone was looking at him, knowing what he had done despite the fact that he knew that it was only him who was there. He had to get rid of it as fast as he could before he went insane. His limbs were shaking from all the electronic misfires. The shopkeepers were definitely suspicious. I have a condition! He reasoned unconvincingly.

    "Hard to port." He had to physically restrain himself to keep the ship from turning. He could see the hot glowing sandstream there. It would surely melt through the hull.

    That damned anxiety was getting worse, like a ghost or gridling chasing him through the unknown veil. The words, the whispers, all of it felt less confined in his head. What once was only neural misfires now manifested as actual whispers his sensors could detect. Frost began to obscure the cameras, but when he squinted on the pale white void, he could occasionally catch glimpses of bloodied treasure and angry mobs. He had to constantly turn back behind him just to assuage his anxious mind that no one but him and Anton's corpse lay inside the yacht.

    "Hard to port." It was the sound of alarms that awoke him from stupor. The ship had grazed the side of the glowing sandstream, and hull portside had began to warp and melt in the heat. He didn't know why the intrusive thoughts wanted him to drive into the glowing sands, but he won't let them win.

    No, don't be like that left arm. I can do this. Have faith in your own noggin'... Oh what am I doing? Talking to your hands, Leone. This is a pathetic.

    "Hard to port." He snapped his eyes to his arms as he heard the words. Y-you can talk?

    "Look! Treasure! Treasure is there!" A force almost physical snapped his head towards the churning glowing sand, and in the midst of that glow was the silhoutte a grand treasure tomb almost as grand as Lady Luck's hangars.

    N-no! You're lying! There's nothing there! Leone snapped into the void. He could see the falsehood of the illusion, a delusion conjured by his addled mind. It was impossible for a shadow to be cast on the glowing current. The way the sand flowed straight without following the contours of the castle within. He knew for certain the tomb did not exist.

    ≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺​

    The trail had gone cold long before they began searching. The tracker that tracked the course of the yacht through the veil had stopped working hours ago, and the estimated course it had before going dark was towards the Sea of Glowing Streams. Only a disturbed man would think of going through there. The currents carried glowing sand hot enough to melt through bronze, and the currents themselves twisted and bent chaotically; the glowing currents were liable to drive into you rather than the other way around. They couldn't follow the bastard through that area of the sphere.

    The only consolation they got from that was the box of seeds. Merela was almost mad at how much Leone had sold the entire box of seeds for. Leone sought the shadiest merchant he could find in the sector and sold the entire box for chump change, and it was definitely the chest Anton was going to drop off at the farm before his partner betrayed. The chartreuse-stained wood was unmistakable. The merchant had already sold a number of stacks of the seeds before they got to it, but they nevertheless got the remaining seeds and the chest itself for a bargain. Merela tried her hardest to keep a straight face while haggling or else the shady merchant might have jacked up the price.

    The seeds were misshapen, glimmering with mysterious potential. Unlike all the other crops they got from the chartreuse boxes, these came in the form of seeds instead of produce. When they got their hands on the seeds, they thought the weird little seeds to be some form of fruit and tried to crack them open to extract the seeds, only for it to explode into sparkles that dissolved into nothing. They wasted a dozen or so seeds in this manner until they gave up and just planted the seeds in the dirt.

    They expected the seeds to grow into the same plant, but they were astounded at the variety of plants that grew from the weird little seeds. When they harvested the crops, they didn't get the same seeds they planted but a whole different seed that only sprouted into the plants that grew from the weird seeds. The plants that grew were eclectic in variety. There were grains, root crops, fruits, exotic decorative plants, woody trees, and even strange fungi.

    They had so much more plants to tend to that they had to expand their already expansive farm to accomodate the many plants they're growing. They also had to greatly expand their crew just to effectively look out for and tend to their crops. Since then, a great variety of foods and woods entered the market and an entire industry of artists and artisans working with wood to create treasures sprang up in their wake.

    Greed Sirens
    In the treacherous waves of the Sand Seas, there lies yet another breed of danger lurking. Born from greed and betrayal, incorporeal creatures stalk the sands and forests like a curse manifest. Greed sirens, they are called. They possess the ability to change their shape and tend to appear to other creatures as that thing they find most attractive.

    These creatures are quite devious, possessing an intelligence rivalling those of the smarter sapients in the sphere but only in the matters of tactics and manipulations. They extensively use this intelligence in understanding the inner workings of people. They stalk their prey silently and invisibly, probing them for any weaknesses to exploit. It is their life's mission to cause discord and mayhem, to cause death and misery among the peoples that call the isles home. They lead them astray in the sand, to sail blindly into rocks and drive sharp objects into the skulls of their brethren in pursuit of a treasure that they couldn't possess.

    Greed sirens wrap themselves around treasures floating about in the storms. Whatever treasures and tombs the Sandians haven't claimed, greed sirens would surely be found there. They project their cloying songs directly into the minds of their victims, whispering false promises and intrusive thoughts. They toy with their victim, driving them to madness and homicide.

    However, despite their great intelligence, they are incapable of feeling love. The concept is antithetical to their being and to be exposed to selfless acts physically harms them. They are the bane of pirates everywhere as many crews a-sailing the sandy tides had been dismantled by their schemes, however there are those that resist the siren's song by their love and bonds. Crew members survived the ordeals of the greed sirens by huddling together and reinforcing each other. Every word of doubt seeded in their minds by the song of the sirens was countered by the words of their fellows, and every homicidal impulse sparked by their whispers chained down by the gentle hand of their partners. It was a disgusting display that greed sirens could not understand. The acts caused them injury, and many greed sirens would meet their demise in the face of their bonds.

    The pirates who survived couldn't fully articulate or understand how they overcame the greed sirens. Those that could, however, described it as the truest treasure in the isles: Friendship. Sounds fake, most would scoff, but it rang true to those that survived a siren's ordeal.

    A different story it would be to the gargorites and their gridlings. The natural bonds they have between each other stand antithetical to the greed siren's physical existence. The positive vibes they emit sear through their being like high energy radiation. They could only harbor immense hate and ill-will upon all the gargorites and their gridlings and send many pirates, inchlings, inch-drakes, and blade-tail snakes to their deaths against the gargorites with promises of glory and treasure. Greed sirens would turn entire crews and sanctuaries into their slaves with the power of their song, and they constantly send them dashing on the rocks to rid the isles of gridlings and gargorites.

    Bigger Inch-Drakes + Derivative Improvement: Inch-Drakes ×3
    Swiftwing crashed on the soft ground below. The weight of the saddle and her passenger had been far too much for her, and her wings struggled to keep her aloft. She was determined on making the partnership worked. Jinsei was her chosen rider, and she was determined to make him her partner for the rest of her life, but it seemed that gravity disapproved of the notion. Despite the strength she had cultivated in her wings, Jinsei and the oversized saddle had become far too heavy for her to carry.

    Swiftwing quickly stood up and rushed to the side of her fallen rider. His stark white skin was dusted with red soil and black seeped through small scrapes. She licked the numerous wounds riddling her partner. She sported more severe injuries than Jinsei, but she was comparatively tougher and hardier than the fleshy inchling. Her partner groaned as she cleaned her wounds.

    Watchers rushed to their air, bringing bandages and medicine. Swiftwing directed their attention to her partner although they were far more concerned for her health.

    ---[]-[~]-[]---​

    Swiftwing moped on her bed. She had broken her right hind leg, and the doctors had dressed it up in plaster. She could bear the pain and indignity of the injury, but its implications terrified her. Her and Jinsei had been fast friends since they were children, and she swore that she would be there to be his mount till the day of his death. They were quite proud of that bond, but it seemed that that oath was in jeopardy.

    Alas, puberty had struck Jinsei fast and fierce. The small stick-esque inchling had become almost the size of an adult in a few years. The saddle that they had lovingly decorated with stickers and art had become too small for him and they had to get a bigger saddle. Carrying Jinsei atop the new saddle felt like carrying the weight of the world, but Swiftwing endured the weight with all her might (and failed) as was her duty as his mount.

    Quickclaw's guffaws of laughter reverberated in the ward. She didn't know why he found her despairing over a child outgrowing its mount humorous. He claimed that she should be proud for raising such a strong and stout inchling, but she only snapped at him. He didn't understand their bond. The bond between Jinsei and her was special unlike whatever bond Quickclaw could have had with his twelve or so partners. Quickclaw tried to hide the snarls after hearing her comments. The conversation had brought him to a dour mood and left Swiftwing to her devices.

    Swiftwing held back the tears. She remembered the times she heard the elders seemingly scream for no reason, crying for their partners to come back, to soothe and comfort them. She couldn't hear the whispers they slipped into the ears of their partners behind the thin walls, but she felt in her heart those unheard words. Is this what they felt? Is the nightmare they dread?

    !

    Swiftwing was roused awake by a wave of energy suffusing her form. Her form was warping under the influence of the energy, generating matter ex-nihilo to fill out her growing frame. Her bones lenghthened and multiplied, stretching her body. Her muscles and skin had been stretched thin over her growing body, but it would not be for long. Her skin bubbled as the flesh and muscles underneath grew and swelled. A sense of otherworldly strength began to fill out her stretching form. Her shining scales began to fall off as a new set of harder and shinier scales grew to replace them.

    As pleasurable the feeling of growth and strength had been, it was overshadowed by a great overwhelming pain. It radiated from her right hind leg. The shifting bones and rippling flesh had agitated the wounds she bore. Her enlargening lungs, throat, and skull amplified her pained scream to the point of the room shaking in its magnitude.

    Jinsei rushed to the ward in response to her scream. Awe was reflected in the inquisitive black eyes of her rider. She wanted to smile at him, to show off her growing strength and worthiness of being his mount, but the waves of pain quashed whatever pride or shame that bloomed in her mind. Once upon a time, Jinsei had to look down to see his mount eye to eye, but now, the growing inch-drake's head loomed over him. Her mouth was agape in a expression of pained screaming but her voice had begun to die from the ordeal.

    Jinsei had to step back from the sight. While he knew that his partner wouldn't let anything harm him, but he feared that in her thrashing, she would accidentally strike him too. He kept his distance from the swelling inch-drake with a hand stretched out to comfort. The chamber where Swiftwing had been sleeping had begun to become cramped with her growing frame. Her size had grown so much that her outstretched wing could touch the far wall.

    Then, fire began to fill up her throat. She had felt plasma passing through her mouth many times before, but this time, it felt like a sun was growing in her chest. Swiftwing held back the fire as best as she could and there were times that her hold over that power faltered and a gout of colorful fire spilled between her clamped teeth. It was like holding back a vomit, the worst case of a heartburn, and she had to keep it inside her lest she burn her rider here and there. Her flame had grown so bright and strong that the very light they exuded was visible past her flesh and scales. Jinsei's eyes widened at the sight of his partner becoming aglow with the light of her flame. He rushed to embrace the suffering inch-drake before she exploded and died.

    Swiftwing steeled her will and grabbed hold of the errant flame. She forced the insubordinating plasma back to her overfull sac. They continually pushed against her, but a sense of instinct began to guide her will. Instead of compressing the mass of plasma in her chest, she began to make it spin. An epiphany: it was the nature of the plasma to move and expand. The burning columns she conjured from her mouth are in constant motion, and those that stand as obstacles in their path shall burn. To compress the plasma into an inert form is antithetical and will be met with fundamental opposition from the substance.

    She coerced the plasma to swirl in her sac like sand sphere itself. The streams of plasma inside her became obedient, even after she wove their paths tighter and tighter. In fact, it seemed that the plasma was much happier this way, becoming brighter and hotter and more responsive to her will. The plasma calmed down, and the light radiating from her scales receded into her, but the light did not completely disappear. Over where the plasma sac was on her chest was a point of light brighter than any other light Jinsei or Swiftwing had known. It was... It was like a star.

    Jinsei felt Swiftwing's claws touch his back. Despite their wicked sharpness and predatory curve, the touch as gentle as could be. He looked up his partner, eyes bleary with held back tears, and met the sight of a relieved inch-drake. Swiftwing motioned for him to ride on her back. Before, Jinsei had grown too large to ride the inch-drake comfortably anymore, but now, the inch-drake had become too big and Jinsei had to split his legs atop her back. The size difference between the two was bigger than when they were kids, but nevertheless, Jinsei could only smile. A inch-drake too large could be outfitted with the proper saddle to become comfortable, but no saddle could ever help an inch-drake too small.

    But as wide as the smile on Jinsei's face was, it wasn't as big as the smile on Swiftwing's. Jinsei widened his eyes as the mount underneath him began to shrink. Swiftwing willed her oversized body to shrink, to match the size of her rider, and her flesh responded. Bone, muscle, and scale compressed, until she was only twice the size of Jinsei. No longer were his legs splayed uncomfortably over her back. No longer was his butt lain uncomfortably over a spine too pronounced. Jinsei sat comfortably atop Swiftwing as though she was born to carry him.

    Inch-Drake Dragonic Meditation
    Quickclaw meditated under the intense sunstone light. He focused his will on the swirling storm of plasma residing in his chest. Despite its small size, the grain-sized star held more light and might than any one inch-drake had in the last age. He even reckoned that it rivaled even a blast from one of Lady Luck's cannon, but he was unwilling to test or compare it.

    Quickclaw meditated under a large hunk of sunstone. He was in a shrunk form, coiling under the light and heat of the sunstone. Within, his will grappled with the swirling storm of plasma residing in his chest. He followed the rhythms of his being, those new instincts that guided the motions of his flames. He carefully wove and knotted the strands of flame, forming a bright shining core (a star) burning with a might comparable to the Legendary Sun. His will pulled on the strands, tightening the streams of flame until his star shrank to the size of a grain of sand but no less powerful.

    Quickclaw smiled at the development. He reckoned that that tiny star could rival a blast from one of Lady Luck's cannon, but he was unwilling to test it (he'll leave the finding out to the nerds). He beheld the star in his chest and he preened with pride. It was one of the brightest among the inch-drakes, but he reckoned it could be brighter still. Books retrieved from Codex Parvi Belli lay open before him, detailing meditation techniques and disciplines in cultivating one's star, all implying a higher state of being. Even his instincts urged him to continue weaving strands of flame into his shining star.

    His instincts have yet to fail him. He grabbed an untamed flamestrand and weaving into his star. Then another, and another, and another, until he reached some sort of critical mass and the star began to contract and crystallize. Light began to fill his body. Panic briefly struck him before his instincts smothered that feeling with pleasure and pride. The light was warm, filling his veins with flowing plasma, filling his limbs with burning power. It was an exhilirating feeling that he found hard to describe.

    It was more than a feeling, it was a physical transformation. As light spilled from his orifices like the rays of an incandescent quasar, mutations wracked his body. His flesh bubbled and his skeleton shifted as his body expanded just to contain the power of his star. His red scales began to pop off his skin, to be replaced with ruby scales with a radiant fiery luster within. Black smoke filtered between his scales the fire consumed the bones underneath, to be replaced with metal lattices carrying plasma from his sac. His claws fell, pushed out of their sockets by claws of white fire.

    When that transformative light abated, Quickclaw fell to the floor, panting. The experience was intense. When he opened his eyes, he came face to face to monster with eyes of fire staring back at him. Its scales subtly glowed like the light of embers. Its horns and teeth were incandescent with effulgent plasma. Glowing lines traced the map of veins in its wings. But Quickclaw was not intimidated for he could recognize the reflection in the crystal.

    It was himself. The power of a star fully realized was simply intoxicating. His plasma had become very responsive to his will that even when they had left he confines of his maw, he could still manipulate them as though they never left his body. He could mold the plasma into shapes and even change their color according to his will. Eventually, he was surrounded by constellations of funky-shaped stars, shining the color of his will. He smiled as he let the miniature stars dissipate into harmless gas. It felt like he had shed the trappings of mortality and donned the mantle of a greater being. No longer was he an inch-drake, he had ascended into a greater being: an inch-dragon.

    Still... He wonders if he could ascend even further. He grasped at his star, intent on weave additional threads of flame into it, but it had become stubborn and resistant to his ministrations. The crystalline core dragonic energy had become inert to his touch, unchanging and constant in its shine and rotation. Even its instincts were silent on this matter, telling him that he had achieved his final form.

    Hm. Perhaps... No.

    Heterochromic Eyes + Derivative Improvement: Yin-Yang Eyes
    At the same time as the inch-drakes growing, a similar energy suffused the inchlings, but instead of being evenly spread throughout their bodies, it was localized entirely in their eyes. Many had to cover their eyes as an inexplicable itching arose. It was an intensive itchiness, as though microscopic threads were being woven within their eyes.

    When the itch faded, the inchlings opened their eyes with their perception shifted. It was strange. It was as though view was rawer, like they were gazing more into the primal truth of the world. Those that bore eyes of black became more perceptive, their eyes pierce through walls and glamor inches thick, witnessing secrets others would rather remain hidden. Those that bore eyes of white became more discerning, their eyes more sensitive to the truths of the universe, able to determine the veracity of even a second-hand account.

    Shortly after, a new breed of inchling was born. When two inchlings with differently colored eyes have children, there is minuscule chance for their children to be born with heterochromia, the phenomenon of having eyes of different colors. These special children possess a perceptive black eye and a discerning white eye. For possessing the two kinds of eyes, they are able to see both hidden truths and through falsehoods, but their talent aren't as acute as those with both eyes of one color.

    Such children are incredibly rare, and are estimated to only occur once in every ten-thousand children between parents of differing eye color. Yet, despite their rarity and special talent, their birth and occurence was overshadowed by the transformations of their partners. Before the wonders of size-shifting lizards and the birth of inch-dragons, the advent of individuals with exceptional eyes came painfully mundane in comparison.

    Their condition was rare and exceptional, but there came no legend or expectation of them. There was no destiny of kingship or heroism ascribed by their elders or their stories. Their rare talent was novel and exotic, but not groundbreaking.

    Synthesis Craft
    Josei stood before the stone work table, flames dancing on top the tabletop. He carefully hammered the two items on top as he coerced the dragonic flames to dance according to his tune. Nervous energy filled his arms, threatening to send his hammer off its intended course.

    His teacher, Brighteye, calmly watched his apprentice work. The steel knife and aureate saw began to melt in the influence of the flames and ministrations of the hammer. The two items were beginning to fuse, to be reforged into something new and greater. Josei smiled at the sight. He really was doing it! This was synthesis craft.

    When the silhouette of the item stopped shifting dramatically beneath the film of flame, Josei ceased his hammser strikes. A wave of extinguishing plasma radiated from where his hand met the surface of the flame. The excited inchling grabbed hold of his glorious creation with heatproof mitts. It was a beautiful light-gray knife with streaks of yellow glass. Its blade was hard as crystal yet also flexible like metal; when it was forced to bend, instead of shattering, it simply bent out of shape, but not without cracks forming on the blade.

    Brighteye inspected the knife. It was a terrible knife, but it was better than an unusable lump of slag. He had seen untrained inch-drakes create better knives than this, but Josei held it out to his teacher with so much pride that Brighteye couldn't help but smile in return.

    His peers had called it impossible, called him crazy, but he had done it. It was possible for someone other than an inch-drake to perform synthesis craft. It was not in the inch-drake that makes synthesis craft possible, but in the dragonic energy of their plasma.

    Still, more study must still be done.

    ---[]-[~]-[]---​

    Brighteye sat in the middle of the cramped room. Despite the impurity of the sunstone lamp, the room was aglow with the light of a thousand stars. They were sealed within glass jars set atop shelves. They contained floating glowing orbs of dragonic energy, stars born outside the sac of an inch-drake, shedding bright raw light unto the chamber. On one corner of the room was a pile of glowing slag from many failed experiments, while opposite to it was shining tools infused with flames and dragonic vitality hanging from the walls. His instincts had warned him against such liberal use of his flame, but he ignored them; the limits of drakefire and synthesis craft must be tested.

    Synthesis craft called for materials to be used. It merged two items into a whole new item physically and conceptually, creating a whole new item with the properties of both. Synthesis craft was best used on relics secreted away in treasure tombs and gargorite vaults, but such materials are understandably rare and hard to come by. Synthesis crafters had to make do with lesser materials and scrap, but it was not the path to greatness. All those enchanting knives and wondrous tools his brethren forged with their breath were all petty in the grand scheme of things. It was possible to forge the sun with synthesis craft; why should one not aim for it too? Your arms may not be able to reach that far, but it's still farther than keeping your arms down.

    Brighteye turned to the large essential core in his hand. Its bright golden luster enchanted him. He could feel the essence flow into his hand and permeate into his flesh and bones. Some of that essence failed to flow into his flesh and was instead left free floating in the air; such essence eventually decomposed into a haze of heat.

    He opened his maw wide, coercing the star in his sac to exit. His instincts screamed that what he was doing was exceedingly dangerous and foolish, but he did not relent. That light that shone in his chest rose up his neck and eventually exited his wide open maw. A wave of weakness and cold swept throughout Brighteye's body as he extracted that vital fire that once dwelt within him. He dropped to ground and was nearly driven unconscious by the harsh cold and weakness wracking his form. The star was a beautifully crafted thing, forged from a thousand filaments of dancing flames, shifting in color and sheen like a mother of pearl. He grabbed some extra flame from one of his jars and began his work.

    Brighteye had created a firestorm in the chamber. The bright plasma swirled around him like a tornado. His star and the essential core danced at the center of it, courting each other. He strained his will against the rampaging flame, controlling the rhythm of the dance. The star shook and pulsed, clearly indignant of its situation, rebelled against the ritual, but his grip was ironclad, and the star was put in its place. The essential core in turn glew brighter and brighter as it supped upon the bounty of his flames, and he had to control the dance lest the core consume everything before the ritual could finish.

    The process went on and on for over an hour until the two items in the center of the storm began to decohere and melt. Joy sparked in Brighteye's weakened heart. He carefully pushed the two items together, merging it physically and conceptually. As he wove and folded the two together, they fought vehemently against each other. He had to apply his careful touch to negotiate between the opposing forces lest they destroy each other and completely slag his magnum opus.

    Then it was done.

    As the flames of creation dispersed before him, Brighteye completely collapsed. The strength he had desperately held on for the whole ritual had fled him, but not before he had completed it. It shed blinding light that could burn through even the thickest eyelids, but Brighteye couldn't avert his eyes from his magnificent creation. It was a spherical star surrounded by a golden haze. Beneath its translucent surface lay a sea of swirling liquid crystal. The currents within the storm flowed and twisted like crystallized flame. Essence and dragonic energy wafted from the orb like a halo of mist.

    Darkness encroached on the edges of Brighteye's perception. Cold seeped into his heart, and the fundamental rhythm that animated his form began to decay. Death, he could feel it claim him. He crawled towards the core, reaching out for the sun, reaching out for its glory.

    He grabbed hold of the orb and quickly slid it into his throat. Brighteye began to scream.

    Pain, unimaginable pain began to wrack through his body. His body jolted up, stricken with hysterical strength brought by the agony. His screams reverberated through the chamber and echoed through the halls. Inchlings, inch-drakes, and gnomes alike rushed to his rescue, but they only met horror.

    Brighteye stood in the middle of the room in a pool of his blood. His skin and scales were falling away from his hide, turning into ash and dust as they fell. His flesh and organ boiled and melted, sloughing off his bones and adding to the pool beneath his feet. Rainbow flames consumed his bones, burning away the mortal carbon and leaving behind mineral calcium. Yet despite it all, Brighteye was still able to scream, even without flesh. It simply rang out of him like a resonance of his soul, ringing like tinnitus in everyone's ear.

    His audience could help but be frozen in dread. The skeleton stood in the middle of the pool of molten flesh as though puppeted by invisible strings. Rainbow flames wreathed its ghastly form, coiling around the bleached bones, and wafting from the hollow marrows like smoke. The skeleton turned and trained its baleful sockets, burnt of love and joy, towards its audience. Its jaws stuck ajar, stuck in a permanent expression of pain and agony. Trapped within its cage of ribs, the crystalline star lays in the chest, shining like a contained sun, exuding a halo of prismatic fire that swallowed its host.

    Brighteye stepped forth, his skeletal limbs shakily propelling his body forward. The pool beneath him splorched in his tread, then suddenly, his skeleton was frozen in place. The flames wreathing his body suddenly crystallized. Yellow crystals coated his bones like rapidly growing hoar. The crystals grew, its filaments weaving and braiding together until they formed into fibers and sinews stringing the skeletal limbs. The once bare skeleton began to fill up, but instead of flesh and blood, it was enfleshed with strange glowing crystal.

    The crystals formed the being's muscles and organs whilst light, plasma, and essence began to flow in the arteries like blood. The scratches and grooves in the bones, horns, and claws began glowing with the colors of the rainbow, empowered by the flowing plasma beneath. The light in the empty sockets died down as a pair of opaque crystal orbs began blocking the orifices.

    Then, Brighteye fell limp, collapsing into the molten flesh. He gasped, breathing in for the first time since his flesh sloughed of his frame. His lungs burned with need, heaving for that blessed gas. The agony that once had wracked his frame so had fallen away, leaving behind sweet respite. A smile manifested on Brighteye's face, and he began to laugh: a laugh of both madness and relief.

    "Bahahaha!" All the others could only look in concern.

    He opened up his wings, revealing tranlucent membrane woven out of glowing crystal. They shimmered in the light, glimmering with essence. He could feel it; a new kind of vitality had begun beating in his heart, shining and burning as bright and omnipotent as the distant sun. A halo of essence surrounded him like the corona of the sun; the pool of flesh beneath him began to boil in his presence.

    The grasped the essence with his will, and he was quite surprised to find it responsive to his command. The essence danced in his bones, flesh, and sac as though it was drakefire. It swirled and danced and wove into patterns of starlight. Then, he willed the essence leave through his claw. He felt it become free in the air and begin to decompose into a haze of heat. Brighteye did not let them decompose, grasping the essence tightly with his will. He directed their decomposition, engineering its path and destiny with his will. Then, before his very eyes, the essence decomposed into charged electrons and photons discharging into the ground.

    He smiled. This was a breakthrough. Then he collapsed again into the bloody pool, heaving and groaning.

    "Ugh... My everything is sore."

    [Whispered Act] Essential Cores + Derivative Improvement: Sunstone, Aureate and Argentine
    At the beginning of age, there was an explosion of energy washing all over the sphere. Crystals readily absorbed the energy, using that energy to grow larger and brighter. All over the isles, asteroids became aglow with the silver and golden light from mountains of aureate and caverns of argentine. Deposits of sunstones became lighthouses in the sandy veil. Even the impure sunstone of this age shone as bright as the purest of the previous age, but in this age, the purest sunstone had begun to exude enough solar power that even water and ice began vaporizing in their midst.

    Quakes wracked the very rocks that served as the bedrock of the system. Crystals speared through red rock and soil as crystals beneath grew and expanded. Giant cracks opened up on some isles, born from the growing stresses of expanding crystals, all spilling the brilliant light of crystals beneath. The sky above became awash with brighter light as the grains of crystal carried by the sandstreams instensified in their glow. However, it was not just the crystals embedded in the rock and adrift in the sand that supped upon the energy; so too has the crystals embedded in flesh, bone, and machinery grown from the energy. Many creatures all over the isles doubled over in pain as the crystals embedded in their bodies grew, biting further into their flesh like a parasite rooting into their bones.

    Gridlings rushed in concern to their progenitor gargorites doubled over from crystals sprouting on their carapace like weeds. Pirates began bashing their heads on walls as they beheld specially crafted crystals spread around like mold, gumming up machinery and electronics. Uneven crystal growth ruined the edges of many blade-tails, to the chagrin of many warriors and blade-tails alike.

    Yet, that was merely a prelude of a much more momentous occurrence: essence. The whispers of the void murmured an Act into the ears of the world, and all the other ___s, save for two, did little to stop the Act from enthralling the will of the world. And so, the world made it so. Whenever a shard of Aureate or Argentine absorbed a sliver of energy, they also produce essence.

    Essence suffused itself into the matter of its surroundings. It strengthens them, hardening and toughening them beyond what their chemical and mechanical properties and energy content would suggest. However, it can only permeate solids and cannot dissolve into liquids or gases. Such free-floating essence tend to decompose into light, because of that, crystal fields tend to be shimmering with decomposing essence which in turn will be absorbed into the crystals, producing more essence.

    Once the density of essence in an area reaches a certain point, a curious orb would form, an orb that would come to be known as essential cores. Essential cores are endless fonts of essence, continually releasing essence into their environment. Much like the crystals they were born from, essential cores grow as they absorb essence, however, they also release more essence the larger they grow, leading to a positive feedback loop that causes the core to endlessly grow. When they break, they harmlessly disintegrate in an explosion of light.

    Cores are what leads into the creation of esoteric effects. Cores maintain a certain control over the Essence they release, changing the effects of their decomposition. What they decompose into are determined solely by the "personality" of each core; some cores cause their essence to decompose into heat and flames, others into sparks and electrons, and others into force and counterforce. All over the sphere, deposits of aureate and argentine became much more exotic locales, turning into valleys of flames, mountains of static, and fields of zero gravity.

    The advent of these cores cause a certain revolution in technology all throughout the isles. For much of the history of the red isles, magical relics had to be sought in the dungeons, vaults, and tombs, yet with c

    The advent of these cores caused a revolution in technology in the red isles. For much of the history of the red isles, magical relics had to be sought in dungeons, vaults, and tombs, but the cores had opened up a path of relic creation that did not rely on chance, time, and the capricious Sea. Crafters of every stripe began to work on many wonders: blades wreathed in flames, flashlights that emit cleansing light, guns that shoot thunder and lightning, wands that allow one to lift objects by will alone, and many many more.

    The inch-drakes were the most prolific crafters of such artifacts all throughout the isles. Their newly-found talent required exotic materials to achieve truly wonderful things and the essential cores had handily given them the means to acquiring such materials. Over the years, they would become famous for their crafts, whose complexity and potency even rivaled the high technology of the gargorites themselves!

    For the first time, all the other residents of the isles would repel the terror that was a gargorite congregation. Through a mix of ingenuity and blessing, the gargorites that had once been feared by all had been sent fleeing to the edge of the isles with their tails between their legs.[/cut]

    The proliferation of essential relics spelled the downfall of the gargorites' dominance over the isles. They were force multipliers that allowed them to contend agains the gargorites. For the first time in the entire era, the gargorite congregations could be repelled. For so long, the gargorites had bullied all the other races with their natural might and superior intelligence, but in the face of the new age, they had been found wanting. In the face of the empowered inch-drakes, their carapace was brittle. In the face of newfangled shields, their high technology was weak. Many inchlings, inch-drakes, sandians, and pirates jumped in celebration as they watched the gargorites flee with their tails between their legs.

    The gargorites would be driven to the edges of the sphere. The defeat at the hands of their lessers had stung quite badly to their pride, and they wished to prove that they were as mighty as they had always been, and so, they schemed. Many's vaults had been converted into laboratories where they tinkered with their machines and science. They had kept their activities secret. Only the sandians who traded with them had glimpsed their machinations.

    The isles awaited their congregations with bated breath, but the gargorites did not come. No, they came together at the edge of the isles, exchanging ideas and technology. Many felt a lump of dread form in their kidneys. The gargorites were scheming, and they do not know what they have in store, but they knew that the gargorites intend to make the next age theirs.
    The blade-tail snake slithered down the dark hall with only the only the light of its aureate impregnated blade lighting up its path. The tunnel was strange and unnatural, plated in artificial metal and concrete. The sound of distant machinery echoed in the chambers yet silenced by the deliberate geometry of the walls. Numerous lights blinked in and out between the recesses in the walls, indicating arcane activity only gargorites or gridlings could understand. Ahead of them, the tunnel led up to great metal, leaden in color and weight. They could hear the inscrutable mechanisms within the great bulwark, buzzing and whirring with arcane purpose. Glowing crystal eyes shone upon the visiting blade-tail, silently judging it.

    The blade-tail snake hissed, a call that had been repeatedly drilled into their head by their master. A strange creature passed through the metal door like a ghost. Its serpentine form emerged from the metal like a worm through dirt but without leaving a hole its wake. Even bathed in the light of their tail, the creature remained dark, as though half of the light refused to touch the creature's skin.

    The gridling, as they knew the creature was, let out a call akin to the staccato of ricochet. The blade-tail understood it as a command that had been drilled into their mind by their master. They began retching and a glowing orb emerged from their throat, an essential core. The core dropped down to the ground, clattering against the metal floor. The creature dropped down to the ground to inspect the orb closely. After a few moments, the creature determined the item as genuine.

    The gridling retreated to the other side of the door, and the silent mechanisms embedded in the door began to come to life. The door whirred and rumbled as it opened to let the blade-tail snake through. Treasures inconceivable revealed themselves to the snake; piles of glittering glass and crystal attempted to entice them, but the snake was only insterested in one pile. The blade-tail snake slithered towards the pile of meat in one corner, but before they helped themselves with the food, they turned to catch a glimpse of what their master was doing.

    The gargorite beheld the orb in what could only be described as maniacal fascination. It rapidly cycled through many designs on its holographic table, quickly adjusting details here and there. The blade-tail snake could not follow the gargorite's designs, and the last time it tried, they had nearly rendered themselves unconscious with confusion. No matter how much they tried, they simply did not have the natural intelligence to comprehend the advanced mathematics at hand, but even them, a primitive snake on the red isles, could recognize that the gargorite had something big planned. Real big.

    It seemed that the next age will start with a splash.

    [][Whispered Act] Summoned Beasts
    The Whispers whisper of beasts born from crystal and essence, Summoned Beasts. Under certain circumstances, an Essential Core would awaken and form a Mind and Body. Aureate and Argentine collapse and disintegrate as they converge and integrate around the Core, forming the flesh of Summoned Beasts. These Summoned Beasts possess great powers, the powers to manipulate crystal, flame, electricity, light, and force. They are terribly territorial and will cause trouble to any who trespass upon their territories. When slain, their crystalline bodies dissolve and their consciousness cease, leaving behind only their Core. In time, they would accumulate the Essence needed to reawaken.

    Through specific rituals, one may leash a Summoned Beast to one's will. The shape, power, and territory of the awakened Summoned Beast shall be under the purview of its awakener. However, the ritual must be done at every reawakening to maintain control over the Summoned Beast.

    A/N said:
    Here it is! After nearly an entire painful month, it is done. I am not particularly happy about some of them and I wanted to expand some parts but could not find the time and motivation to do so, but I believe that this is the best I could do right now, and I'm happy that I could move on now. I'm thinking of readjusting the perk system in the next Epoch, but I think I'd take a break from the quest before I do that.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
     
  • Threadmarks
    • ...Threadmark seems to be out of order (it's showing up with the First Age stuff). Anyway...

    I don't trust this Whisper either. Gotta brainstorm an Act, though.

    edit: We haven't done anything with the Wet Asteroid yet, have we? I might put something in there, if I can figure out what.
     
    Last edited:
    [] Wishing Sands
    - In the Sand Seas there now exists very slow moving streams of bluish white sand, at their base form they do not do much only having minor ethereal qualities as they float through physical objects, it however changes when a thinking being interacts with it. It cannot be stored in physical objects but When a creature that can think interacts with the wishing sand the sand will transform according to the users wishes, this transformation is not permanent and if the user fully stops thinking about the wish it will revert back into wishing sand, this transformation can effect both the physical and ethereal and this transformation is based on 3 qualities-

    Intent: How clear the user is about what they wish for. The less clear form a user has of their of their wish the more chaotic will be the transformation changing shape and form, while a user with more clear intent is able to keep the sands in a stable shape and form. However having too strong of an intent and no flexibility will make it harder for the user to transform the sand into another form.

    Emotions: How the user is currently feeling. At a stable emotional state the transformation of the sand will have better properties the user desires and will behave predictably. At a higher emotional state the transformation will gain properties related to the emotions, a wrathful user can find the transformation gain offensive properties, a depressed user may find the transformation gain debuffing properties, a happy user may find the transformation buffing them, a user in love may find the transformation connecting them physically or mentally to their lover, etc. A high emotional state is not always undesired as the properties will be useful if the user knows how to use them properly and not lose control.

    Will: How much the user wants or needs this wish and what they are willing to sacrifice for it. Will controls two things, how much wishing sand the user can control at a time and/or how powerful or effective the transformation is. Will is the raw power that fuels these transformations and the user as long as they are willing can control. Those with stronger wills can control more sand and/or use less sand but more powerfully. Will normally does not have any negative effects however if the user panics, starts losing the will to live or starts having a mental breakdown the wishing sands will begin to fill up that empty will flowing into the user and slowly transforming them. At this stage the user or outside interference can stop and revert the users transformation if the restore their will or calm down.

    However if the user does not stop then more and more sand will begin to flow into the user until it consumes the users will putting them into a true deep sleep. The transformation will then transform into an obssessive monster and act according to the users strongest wish mindlessly doing anything to fulfill the wish but unable to truly find fulfillment. At this point only outside interference can stop this either by killing the user or weakening them till they can talk sense or help them recover from the mental collapse. If killed the user transforms into base wishing sand and is forever lost, if reverted via others the user will enter a comatose state but will slowly recover over time until they are fully healed.

    TLDR :     An Ethereal sand that transforms according to the users wishes and changes or becomes better based on their mental state, however a mental collapse can cause the sand to turn the user to start turning into a wish obssessed monster. If not stopped the user enters a extreme deep sleep and the monster takes over. Killing the monster will turn the user into the ethereal sand, dead. Healing or reasoning through the users mental collapse will comatose the user but they will fully recover over time.

    ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    Wanted to make some more ethereal stuff that has interactions with peoples minds. Unsure with how this would interact with things/creatures that use or are made by sand but i assume they will gain some ethereal and/or transformative properties based on mental state
     
    Last edited:
    [] Plutomancy


    Plutomancy is an innate magic available to every Gargorite. Drawing on the energy of wealth, Gargorites can change the world with their will. The more complex and large-scale the spell, the higher the cost of wealth energy. Accordingly, the richer the gargorite, the more powerful it is.


    The energy of wealth can be drawn from treasures: gold, jewelry, works of art and other luxury items that embody the essence of wealth. To cast a spell, the plutomancer must tap into one or more of these sources, channeling the energy of wealth into their magic. The ease of application depends on the presence of wealth energy in the environment and the Plutomancer's ability to use it.


    The spells available to plutomancers are varied and limited only by the gargorith's intellect (and the wealth energy available to them).
     
    [] Power's Bane Armory
    -Within the Wet Asteroid, weapons and armor begin to form endlessly. This equipment is worse than worthless if the user is superior to the enemy they attempt to use it on (the penalties vary from "attracting nearby attacks" at a slight advantage to "complete paralysis" with total dominance), but if used to fight a foe against which the wielder is at a disadvantage (the weapons, thankfully, aren't picky about how the wielder is disadvantaged- an ambush by a crew of pirates can trigger it just as well as challenging a Gargorite to single combat) it can prove even more powerful than the finest blades enhanced with Essential Cores.

    When discovered, the equipment attaches itself to the member of the discovering party furthest from their racial average in ability, and can never truly be removed save by their death; when they enter battle, knowingly or not, it immediately manifests on their person, and vanishes when the fight ends. When the wielder is slain, the equipment dissolves into the oil from which it formed.

    There, weapons that will always contribute to a balance of power, no matter who's actually weaker. ...Kinda wanna put it somewhere easier to access, but that doesn't guarantee that it'll actually get used even as a last resort.
     
    Last edited:
    I know, what I am going to do. If I want to deviate from my 'theme'.​
    [] Violent Transporter

    This relatively small item looks like a pretty and very high-tech blaster. It doesn't have any ammo inputs, and when someone touches it, the esoteric weapon asks them if they want to be designated as the new owner straight to their thoughts in the most understandable way. After consent to possession given, the host can adjust the look, size, shape, and modes of fire for this weapon as they please, even seamlessly integrating it into their body. If stolen, it will teleport back to its owner with an odd grey-light effect. However, if the owner dies or loses their mind, it will return to its basic state and wait for a new owner candidate to appear.

    This almost indestructible and self-mending piece of clarketech can produce or/and fire a shape of odd grey-light. The owner can fire it as a beam at the speed of light, as a suddenly appearing sphere in a radius away from them, or as bullets, etc. They can even create a grey zone and just let it be, move it without damaging anything, and activate its destruction button when they want or after a set time, or if some conditions met to trigger it. Anything intersecting with the grey holographic zone will disappear when this zone disappears. For example, the laser mode will produce a beam of grey-light for a brief moment, limited in range, then it disappears - anything inside the beam will disappear too. The edges of the cuts will be perfectly smooth, and matter will seemingly go nowhere. When it teleports back to the user or someone tries to destroy the piece of tech, the same grey-light appears to seemingly protect it from harm or as a side effect of teleportation for briefest moment. However, in these cases, it doesn't disintegrate anything.

    Now, how does it truly work? This is not a disintegration gun but a teleporter. The grey areas, which appear and are shaped by the user's command, mark the space that should be teleported. This is why it can come back or withstand enormous, even some exotic effects without a scratch - it uses the same principle for self-preservation and movement. It marks itself and teleports back to the user and teleports any energy that tries to break it to the other side, siphon it into another dimension. This is also why the cuts are so smooth - they are dimensional cuts, a side-effect of space being cut and swapped with some other space in a picoseconds of teleportation. The device does not tell its user what it actually does on a technical level. It only provides very easy-to-understand, intuitive instructions and a neural-like interface to operate it.

    If someone tries to reverse-engineer it, they will encounter countless problems: from the thing itself being highly advanced, using exotic elements in its design, to being purposely constructed to counter reverse-engineering and research attempts. It is like a puzzle or trapped box full of false messages intended to deter researchers from reproducing the device or even some straight up cognitohazards to hurt psyche/software/hardware of someone looking too deep and getting to close to the truth. For example, sensors used to analyze it will likely be countered in numerous ways, juggling between each one in a randomized manner to give scientists headaches and produce garbage data that initially appears valid.

    Ok, If this device is just a really high-tech violent teleporter, where do all the disappearing things go? Oh, they appear a few meters above random empty coordinates of the odd ocean. Instead of flowing sands, it is full of some liquid and looks blue - what an odd alien place! Yes, it cuts out things and teleports them to a random part of the endless ocean we were working with in previous turns. So many targets will probably just drown?

    This clarketech blaster appears inside an old-looking wooden box in a pile of trash somewhere in the world. It will be found by the most bitter, disappointed, and heartbroken person around at one of the worst moments of their lives. And we will see what happens after that.​
    [] Outer Seas

    The Sand Seas expand further outward, giving rise to new asteroids made of all sorts of materials. The new spaces are truly vast, but the Sand Sea there is much thinner, with its spirit having less power and all effects associated with the Sand Sea diminished more and more, further away one travels. However, this is a new uncharted frontier, truly enormous in size and filled with lots of empty asteroids and even groups of them rich in materials and unoccupied areas. So, if someone truly wants to leave, hide, or start a new life, they know where to go.​
    [] Green Belt

    This is a giant asteroid belt almost on the very edges of the Sand Sea and going around it. Asteroids are different in size, composition, and distance from each other. However, every one of them has some universal properties: there is always water; there is always a layer of sturdy, rich soil on top; they are all green with Lawngrass. This grass is of the Minecraft Crops type, of course. But it can propagate on its own if there is soil around, some water, and enough light. It looks like durable, level lawn that covers and stabilizes the soil. If there are different plants in the way of the growth of this grass, it grows around and smoothly integrates itself without harming the other plants.

    Sometimes, if light and moisture levels remain adequate for some time, the grass suddenly grows taller in a span of minutes. Meter-tall Herbs grow from it. This can be anything: just a taller, dense wall of grass; ferns; bushes; and even some flowers. It can grow again for a meter more, if conditions are right for some amount of time, producing taller plants. The grass itself and the plant forms it produces are not stackable by themselves. However, if some random tall grass/fern/flower/bush has fruits of any kind, then these will be stackable and probably contain seeds or at least be possible to cultivate separately. All by-products growing from Lawngrass are called Herbs.

    It's easy to grow Lawngrass: just cut a piece of it, put it on some soil, give it a bit of water and light - it will start to grow outwards on its own trying to abide grid-like pattern, as long as there is soil around, a little bit of light, and water. It can even start producing Herbs of different kinds if light and moisture levels are adequate for some time. However, if Herbs have fruits/seeds, these can be stacked and cultivated as their own thing. Lawngrass and Herbs doesn't deplete soil and can be harvested and used to produce more soil, if one knows how. However, they still need soil to grow. Lawngrass can grow even in harsher types, as long is it can count as 'soil'. But Herbs might need some better soil types to fully grow (or at all) and they, in contrast with Lawngrass, cannot propagate by themselves naturally, but need to be cultivated by someone.​
    Edit: I can't decide, what to do next. Any thoughts?
     
    Last edited:
    [] Blade qi
    When a blade tail snake reaches the rank of master they start to generate blade qi from their blade. This blade qi grows and refines as they continue to train. This also lets the blade tail to go past master rank. A properly killed blade tail will let said killer use the blade qi within the blade. A improperly slain the blade tail. The qi will be actively hostile to the slayer.
     
    Last edited:
    [] Drake-Ling Unification

    Now, it is possible for Inch-Ling rider and Inch-Drake mount to reach even greater levels of power and size. When rider and drake develop a strong bond of trust and mutual respect, they can undergo a ritualistic transformation and fuse into a singular entity with the strengths of both combined and amplified, with the stronger the bond allowing for the fusion to last longer and their abilities to be brought to ever greater heights. A fusion with the strongest possible bond between the average pair of rider and drake could produce a being with enough physical strength and speed to speedblitz a party of a dozen Iron Skull Pirates by themselves in a matter of seconds and last for two hours.
     
    Time to end it off with a bang. It's a bit more involved than my other acts but, really, it's just building off the groundwork that has already been laid. Thoughts?

    [] True Sight
    When a void Inchling reaches of skill, and they learn to see the world the way an Inchling of the opposite color does, they will begin to see the underlying truths that make up the world. This allows them to do a lot of different things technically, but in practice we can divide them into three schools: Tricksters, Seers, and Wonders.

    Tricksters do tricks that can easily be mistaken for magic, although they require considerably more set up or strain than just a flexing of will like a winged Inchling can.

    Seers can predict and manipulate events in the world around them to an extreme degree of accuracy.

    Wonders can make technological wonders far beyond their current era, though they rarely last and are practically impossible to reproduce by non-wonders.

    This stage is obviously much easier for heterochromatic voidlings to step into, but their naturally lower skill with Yin and Yang eyes still means it's not a walk in the park for them either.
     
    Redikai said:
    Tricksters, Seers, and Wonders.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    Maddened - get to see the most of the truth about their world. About it being just some writing of a lot of people for the sake of fun and nothing else. They look at you, they see the strings, they are less then nothing. :V​
     
    @ShieldCrown while I like the idea of your act I don't like them turning into a single physical entity it ruins the dragon riding part. I feel like it would be better if instead it was just like a temporary soul meld instead of a full on Dragon Ball fusion dance. But that might just be me.
     
    Love everything you did with the shrine Mango! Really loved the whole update.

    [] Serpent's Oil Salesman
    The Salesman figure of shadows hidden in a long black leather coat and tall black leather hat both with a fine golden trim. They can pull a collection of vials and flasks from nowhere and they will always try to sell them. The Salesman themself has the ability to create illusions and sounds near themself and uses it to support wild claims they make about the greyish oil in the containers. Once they have sold several containers they will run off to repeat the scam elsewhere. The oil they sell is a supar lubricant and a mild drug to all snakes, dragons, and serpents. The Salesman has a bombastic personality and is incapable of telling the truth about themself or their products.
     
    I think I forgot opening the vote, but now the moratorium has elapsed, and I pronounce the vote officially open!
     
    Authored
    [X] Power's Bane Armory
    -Sufficiently large stocks of the oil from the Wet Asteroid have inexplicably begun to generate weapons and armor. This equipment is highly elaborate to the point of appearing decorative, with gilded blades, bejeweled handles, and even full murals on armor, with no two pieces sharing the same design; however, this decorative appearance hides what can, at best, be considered contempt for the mighty who lord their power over others. This curse renders the equipment worse than worthless if the user is superior to the enemy they attempt to use it on (the penalties vary from "attracting nearby attacks" at a slight advantage to "complete paralysis" with total dominance), but if used to fight a foe against which the wielder is at a disadvantage (the weapons, thankfully, aren't picky about how the wielder is disadvantaged- an ambush by a crew of pirates can trigger it just as well as challenging a Gargorite to single combat so long as the enemy is superior overall) it can prove even more powerful than the finest blades enhanced with Essential Cores.

    When discovered, the equipment attaches itself to the member of the discovering party furthest from their racial average in ability, adjusting itself as necessary so they can use it properly, and can never truly be removed save by their death; when they enter battle, knowingly or not, it immediately manifests on their person, and vanishes when the fight ends. When the wielder is slain, the equipment instead attaches itself to their killer (or, in the event that the killer already possesses an equivalent piece of Power's Bane equipment, to their nearest ally).

    Supported
    [X][Whispered Act] Summoned Beasts
    [X] Arachne's Boon
    [X] Webs and Arrays
    [X] Green Belt
     
    Last edited:
    @Andre Chaos
    I think the Green Belt looks nice, if that matters.

    Also, which of the following ideas sounds best to people:

    [] Void Coral
    - A very distant relative of the crystalline spiders long since native to the Isles, these microscopic crystal polyps require no food, air, or other form of sustenance. They live in vast communities in colorful stone structures they slowly secrete over time. Each community has its own "aesthetic" regarding the formation of their home. This can result in two different colonies differing in terms of shape, color, and composition of their homes. The polyps are highly sensitive to electric currents and cannot live near Solar Plants or other strong sources of electricity.

    [] Arachne's Boon
    - The ___ whisper in the ear-holes of some Void Weavers. These weavers gain knowledge of how to modify the crystal webbing they excrete in terms of rigidity and elasticity. This allows them to create web-structures that quickly harden into iron-like toughness and flexible ropes that act like rubber. Some of the spiders have even learned to make simple mechanisms such as pulleys, wheels, and trampolines. The smartest of them have gone as far as to make "ships" of their own! Each "ship" effectively being an oversized cocoon with vaguely fin-shaped paddles stuck out the sides in imitation of Sailbugs. It takes several Weavers to launch one into the void, maneuverability is largely based on hope-and-prayer, and there is no in-flight entertainment.

    [] Comb Clams
    - A new animal alights on the Isles. Comb Clams are sedentary creatures for the most part. Each keeps itself encased in a metal shell at almost all times, only opening to pass waste or mate. Feeding is conducted via a series of long, thin tubes that emerge between the lips of the shell which gives the species its name. Particles from the Sand Sea are filtered through these tubes to feed the main body of the animal. Waste products and unused bits from the Sea end up collecting in a special pouch located next to the stomach and overtime form into a perfect sphere. These pearls are then ejected once the pouch is filled entirely.
    Each Comb Clam pearl is pleasantly smooth and shines nicely. Unfortunately they are also almost worthless. They almost never contain any minerals of value and cannot really be used for much outside of playing marbles. Even the Sea doesn't bother enshrining them, instead content to just let them be ground back up into particulates once more. Still, some people may take to collecting the prettier looking ones.
    Comb Clams are remarkably resistant to high temperatures and can survive in areas that could cook other organisms alive.

    [] Wally's Walled Market!
    - A vast store takes over a small asteroid. Wally's Walled Market, as it's named, specializes in the sale of all manner of goods at low cost. You can find almost anything at the Market, all of it cheap.
    The catch is it's all made cheaply as well. Nothing bought at the store seems to last more than three or four uses. None of the brands or logos are familiar either, instead seeming to be weird knock-off versions of more popular producers and manufacturers. Foodstuffs and other perishables tend to be loaded with preservatives and unconventional flavor combinations. The entire store has an ambient aroma of vinegar and a whiff of burnt rubber.
    Employees of the Market resemble the various sapient races of the Isles but...off. Slight anatomical errors, weird choices of phrase, and a near total lack of social graces make them resemble poor simulacra of the Isles' races more than anything. They seem to simply appear from unobserved sections of the Market, uniform and all. And each answers to the name 'Wally'.
    The Market restocks once a month. Curiously, any item of mediocre or better quality that is left on the store shelves will rapidly "decay" over the course of a day into an inferior version of itself. Almost as if the store is sucking the value out of it...
     
    Last edited:
    Authored

    [X] Wishing Sands
    - In the Sand Seas there now exists very slow moving streams of bluish white sand, at their base form they do not do much only having minor ethereal qualities as they float through physical objects, it however changes when a thinking being interacts with it. It cannot be stored in physical objects but When a creature that can think interacts with the wishing sand the sand will transform according to the users wishes, this transformation is not permanent and if the user fully stops thinking about the wish it will revert back into wishing sand, this transformation can effect both the physical and ethereal and this transformation is based on 3 qualities-

    Intent: How clear the user is about what they wish for. The less clear form a user has of their of their wish the more chaotic will be the transformation changing shape and form, while a user with more clear intent is able to keep the sands in a stable shape and form. However having too strong of an intent and no flexibility will make it harder for the user to transform the sand into another form.

    Emotions: How the user is currently feeling. At a stable emotional state the transformation of the sand will have better properties the user desires and will behave predictably. At a higher emotional state the transformation will gain properties related to the emotions, a wrathful user can find the transformation gain offensive properties, a depressed user may find the transformation gain debuffing properties, a happy user may find the transformation buffing them, a user in love may find the transformation connecting them physically or mentally to their lover, etc. A high emotional state is not always undesired as the properties will be useful if the user knows how to use them properly and not lose control.

    Will: How much the user wants or needs this wish and what they are willing to sacrifice for it. Will controls two things, how much wishing sand the user can control at a time and/or how powerful or effective the transformation is. Will is the raw power that fuels these transformations and the user as long as they are willing can control. Those with stronger wills can control more sand and/or use less sand but more powerfully. Will normally does not have any negative effects however if the user panics, starts losing the will to live or starts having a mental breakdown the wishing sands will begin to fill up that empty will flowing into the user and slowly transforming them. At this stage the user or outside interference can stop and revert the users transformation if the restore their will or calm down.

    However if the user does not stop then more and more sand will begin to flow into the user until it consumes the users will putting them into a true deep sleep. The transformation will then transform into an obssessive monster and act according to the users strongest wish mindlessly doing anything to fulfill the wish but unable to truly find fulfillment. At this point only outside interference can stop this either by killing the user or weakening them till they can talk sense or help them recover from the mental collapse. If killed the user transforms into base wishing sand and is forever lost, if reverted via others the user will enter a comatose state but will slowly recover over time until they are fully healed.

    TLDR     : An Ethereal sand that transforms according to the users wishes and changes or becomes better based on their mental state, however a mental collapse can cause the sand to turn the user to start turning into a wish obssessed monster. If not stopped the user enters a extreme deep sleep and the monster takes over. Killing the monster will turn the user into the ethereal sand, dead. Healing or reasoning through the users mental collapse will comatose the user but they will fully recover over time.

    Supported

    [X] Plutomancy
    By @Zalkon

    [X] Webs and Arrays
    By @SleepyCaterpilar

    [X] Drake-Ling Synchronization
    By @ShieldCrown

    [X] Green Belt
    By @Andre Chaos


    As always open for trade
     
    Last edited:
    Author

    [X] Drake-Ling Synchronization

    Over time, as the bond between Inch-Lings and Inch-Drakes grows stronger, they can find their minds and spirits synchronized. Allowing for telepathic and empathic communications initially, but with stronger bonds allowing for deeper awareness of the other's state of being, increasing tactical and strategic capabilities, and allowing them to combine their wills to shrug off mind altering effects. The strongest bonds can even allow them to revive from fatal wounds as long as one half of the pair survives long enough.

    Support
    [X][Whispered Act] Summoned Beasts
    [X] Plutomancy
    @Zalkon
    [X] Blade qi
    @szymonmolitoris2
    [X] True Sight
    @Redikai
     
    Last edited:
    Feather_Up said:
    [] Arachne's Boon
    - The ___ whisper in the ear-holes of some Void Weavers. These weavers gain knowledge of how to modify the crystal webbing they excrete in terms of rigidity and elasticity. This allows them to create web-structures that quickly harden into iron-like toughness and flexible ropes that act like rubber. Some of the spiders have even learned to make simple mechanisms such as pulleys, wheels, and trampolines. The smartest of them have gone as far as to make "ships" of their own! Each "ship" effectively being an oversized cocoon with vaguely fin-shaped paddles stuck out the sides in imitation of Sailbugs. It takes several Weavers to launch one into the void, maneuverability is largely based on hope-and-prayer, and there is no in-flight entertainment.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    This one is my favorite of your suggestions, though the Coral's interesting too. The Clams are kind of boring to me, and Wally... antithetical to the themes of this era.
     
    Reader mode
    You must login or register to reply here.
    Remove ads
    Back
    Top