The Vale RP

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AuthorTopic: The Vale RP
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It noticed that all the other acolytes of Iffy were doing the same thing. The battle continued for a while, Ahonar and the guardian still at it.

Soon, the acolytes finished the spell, and all their energy combined into one. The energy stayed there, waiting. Waiting for the proper person to energize.

The acolytes were still able to fight, so they continued on, while the energy sat there, deciding...

Don't judge a sentence until you know all the words.
Muffins n' Hell|Muffins n' Hell: The Muffins Are Back Again
Muffins n' Hell: The End is Near
Not in your shed -We are sort of done. Helpful criticism is welcome.
Everyone, just call me Iffy. Please.

Be grateful you have your unsellabe trowels -Goldenking

Just so you know, I am working on Muffins n' Hell the scenario.
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Ivanhoe winced at the pain, then creeping inside the room he uncovered.

I dub thee...
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Time ceased, Jeran floated in a world of his own. He saw all around him through a haze of dark mist.


He heard the voice within, and now he knew its truth.

One must stand, one must fall

Without the intervention of his senses his body lept towards the glowing energy, every last sense activated to its absolute fullest. The energy connected with him and vanished, absorbed within by the incredible null field around it.

The world exploded in a burst of colour and light, all was mayhem, chaos. Darkness fell, a total, impenetrable darkness that not even magic could pierce. For a few seconds, nothing could be seen by any in the chamber. Then as quickly as it had appeared, the darkness simply vanished, revealing the being that had spawned it.

Jeran stood before them, his sword a glowing shaft of metal eletrified with magic, his skin was now black as night while his hair was now pure white, devoid of any colour. His eyes however were now the most impreesive feature of his transformation; perfect spheres of brilliant blue fire, reflecting the glow of infinity around the room.

He stepped forward, and spoke. His voice echoed, but was oddly unchanged, yet there was no disputing the force it now carried.


And with those words, a new level of battle began...

"Fear that which mortality has rejected" -Galvin Magnus
Posts: 942 | Registered: Sunday, October 8 2006 07:00
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Ivanhoe creeped around in the darkness. Violent echoes of strife permeated the room as he inched closer to his target.

Ivanhoe snatched the dagger. It appeared dull and crude, but he carried it regardless.

He left, only to nearly stumble directly into Ahonar.

Posts: 1384 | Registered: Tuesday, February 6 2007 08:00
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At that moment a thundering sound was heard in the distance. Aran's bots stormed into the room, and at that instant everyone became Imban.


Drew - "Coincidence, correlation, or causation, I wonder?"
Posts: 1384 | Registered: Tuesday, February 6 2007 08:00
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Now is as good a time as any, Nalyd supposes.


Epochs had passed, eons flitting by like sand through fingers. Father Time had sliced through the years, his dread scythe reaping its gory way through the centuries. While eternities had passed in the mortal realm, far greater things than that cursed Munigant among the sadistic realm of the Bloodlands. While at first there had been the corruptive, insane monstrosities ripping him into horrendous pieces, with the beauteous memories of the sacred realm, the realm of peaceful rest and glorious happiness, burning in his mind like the taunts of the universe, it was revealed that they had been only in the cruder physical torments.

He had been driven mindless infinite times, blasted into gibbering mania, had his fragile mortal mind twisted upon itself a million trillion times, always to be returned with memories of the horror. He had been put through every demonic scenario possible, everything and anything that would torture him. And they would not let him forget any of it, and the insanity was naught but brief respite, only worsening the evil of his location.

But now, a difference. Nalyd was here. Never before had the god been a part of his torture, and that was a torture in and of itself. Munigant had lived with the watchful, caring presence of Nalyd, and unliving without it was horrific. He looked older, careworn, shriveled. Saddened, even for the God of Sorrow. Even the gods age, but their death came with the death of all else.

"Now is the time, Munigant. Nalyd told you what your death would bring, and now it is time that you saw it for yourself."

And with that they were gone. Munigant saw the world, saw Rune, unrecognizable now, but he knew it to be Rune all the same.

"You shall see through the eyes of gods, Munigant. You will feel as we do."

And Munigant was aware of everything. All of it, from the most useless subatomic particle, to the vast, endless sweeps of space and the awesome, rending strength of stellar phenomena. But more than that, he was aware of the life. Of the tragedies, sorrows, epics, thoughts, feelings, lives, triumphs, idealisms, and so much more. His mind was flooded with the all-cursed knowing. He should, by all rights, have been shattered then, burned, twisted, maimed, and all the other torments that he had endured. But he saw Nalyd, the wrinkled, gaunt, and sickly face twist in a sorrowful smile. Saw the wrinkles deepen, the gauntness multiply, the sickness strengthen.

"It destroys us all to do this, Munigant, destroys the gods to make you like them. But we are doomed now. Doomed, due to you, and it has been deemed worth our greater pain that you endure the evil that we do."

And it all died. All of it. Every iota, every useless particle and every rending stellar force. Gone, in a whirling maelstrom of pain and suffering evil. The death knells of the gods were heard, and their cries echoed among the cosmos, etching deeper agony into Munigant. Beside him, Nalyd's bleeding wound exploded in a tsunami of the bloody essence of sorrow, swirling among the void, filling it with evil.

Nalyd looked upon Munigant as his blood poured from him, his face dissolving and curling in upon itself.

"We are gone, Munigant, gone. . . But you remain, you who caused this, you who killed everything. . . The afterlives are destroyed, Munigant, as is all else. All but you, and my blood. My Sorrow. YOUR Sorrow."

And the last god died.

And Munigant felt the swirling onrush of the infinite blood, as the corpses of the gods compacted around him. This would be far worse than any torment. For worse than anything else. Munigant was alone, with the infinite onrushing blood tide and the divine corpses of his work. His Sight had returned, and he looked to the future, but there was naught but void. He looked to the past, but an eternity had already gone by, and it could not be relived.

Munigant saw the infinity of his doings, and knew that he deserved every last moment.

The Infinite Blood hit him from all angles, and he was crushed beneath the Sorrow.

Fear us, mortals, but never envy, for though we burn with power, our fuel is our sorrows.
Posts: 1636 | Registered: Wednesday, January 5 2005 08:00
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Munigant was not the only one to feel the agony of the gods as they died. Jeran felt it to. But to him it was simply the sudden, absolute certainty that all hope had failed.

He could feel no pain in this Avatar form, yet all at once all within him just...failed. There was no emotion, no pai, there was just void, the total finality that all beings experience on the last journey.

Yet as he fell through the nothingness, he felt one thing. It was a presence, unlike anything any mortal had ever felt before or ever would again.




The void faded, the freezing darkness receded and Jeran found himself standing upon thin air. The darkness around him was warm, inviting. It was the darkness of a place without light, not were light refused to enter.

He did not speak, he did not need to.

Three figures appeared out of the silence, they walked towards him with measured purpose, their figures unlit, yet every detail was clear in Jeran’s mind. One on his left, one on his right, one in front.

“Jeran” Jeran whispered.

“Yes” Said the man in front of him. He was about the same height as the human, yet his skin was the same colour and his eyes were the same sky-blue. Yet his features were different, he was thinner, his face more angular, more defined. But the most obvious difference were the ears, they ended in points.

“You have discovered on the eve of the final doom” Stated the man on his right. He was shorter then the others, with long flaming red hair, in his hand he held a black rune-engraved staff.

“You are returning to the beginning” Said the final one, he was a clone of the dark-skinned man except his eyes were a brilliant green instead of blue, and his ears also had more defined points.

Jeran looked from one to the other; all regarded him neutrally, awaiting his words. Each met his gaze and each time they did so, the feeling of understanding grew inside Jeran’s heart.

“You are me?” He inquired, a slight amount of the old sarcasm dropping back into his tone.

“What was your first clue?” Sniggered the Green-eyed man “Yes, we are you, except sometimes we aren’t, you lost touch with yourself you see.” His tone was almost exactly like Jeran’s own, except the superiority and arrogance was magnified about tenfold.

“There is no need for words my friend” Spoke the blue-eyed one, his tone was noticeably deeper, the sarcastic nature still detectable, but highly controlled. This was obviously the most experienced of the three, and more then likely the one in command, if such things in these circumstances were possible.

“Now you remember” Whispered the red-haired man.

Jeran watched, to overawed to comment as each of the three figures began to shimmer, their outlines becoming watery and indistinct. Then in one instant, they flashed upwards and outwards around him, becoming a swirling mist of brilliantly colored strands. The effect was impossible to translate understandably to speech, but in that instant, Jeran understood everything.

He was a mage, wandering through a distant land. Upon the road he saw a village of strange people with pointed ears and slim bodies, they greeted him with cheers and happiness, but then a shadow fell across the land. He saw the same village, burned and destroyed, corpses of the strange people lay around the blackened huts, their bodies horrifically mutilated and defiled and over all he stood with another man, his face as black as night, his mouth curled in a feral grin of triumph.

He was a warrior striding through a dense forest, twin blades held easily in mailed hands. In a second around him the trees exploded with terrible roars and screams as horrible twisted beings with hair for skin and teeth like wolves leapt from the trap towards the seemingly helpless prey. The air was filled with terrible screams as his swords moved so fast they became a blur and around him the creatures fell backwards, horrifically wounded by his terrifying skill. As his fist punched the air in victory he noticed the body nearest him stirring, the hair falling from the body, the teeth receding into the skull until all that lay around him were humans, slain by his sword and he fell to the ground and wept for his arrogance.

Finally, he stood in an unfamiliar place, a desert devoid of all life. He felt a presence inside him, guiding his hands against his will, a horrible leer pasted across his face, eyes a brilliant red against a face as black as night. His Greatsword moved in a savage blur as his enemy desperately sought to counter his blows. Powerful magic assaulted him, tearing holes in his armor, ripping into his flesh, a Katana found its way through his savage assault and tore into his right thigh, but nothing could stop him. Finally with a terrible roar he threw his shattered body at his foe, blows came at him from every angle but the sword sheered through armor, flesh, bone and organs until it came to rest buried in the sands. The two half’s of his enemy fell away, and Jeran fell through a wall of water as his body finally gave up the struggle to live.

“Now you know all that was, is, and will be” Said the Hazel-eyed wizard, his voice tinged with sadness. “You are whole”

Fires alit inside Jeran’s skull, the knowledge of his existence sang gloriously behind his eyes as he opened them. Around him there was chaos, the death of the gods had signaled the end, in his minds eye he saw all they had wrought turning to nothingness. The world was destroying itself, cracks appeared across the surface of Rune, ancient seas imprisoned under the earth for time beyond time burst upwards, covering the land. The planet was spinning out of orbit, down into the red sun that had for so long been its protector.

Jeran saw as the chamber grew hotter, the walls cracked and began to cave inwards, the inverted pyramid was collapsing, its unreality now working against it, pushing it back into non-existence. Jeran let it. With a cry so intense that in the massive magical field it came out of his mouth as a stream of incomprehensible colors Jeran planted his feet apart and willed them away. A magical shield burst into existence around the chamber, ten square feet big. The guardian and Ahonar were both trapped outside it, but the followers of Iffy and the rest of their band were encased within. As the temple fell inwards upon itself the ball of energy rose, punching through the roof, soaring into the blood-red sky.

Jeran extended his power, reaching outwards with his now immortal thoughts, extending a new, greater shield outwards around the entire planet as it hurtled towards certain destruction. As the screaming sounds of exploding atmosphere filled their ears, the band watched in total incredulity as the planet burst through the burning star, out and away from it, sailing back into a reversed orbit.

But all was not over. Rune still had to be protected, the vast magical field it has resided in for so long had with the death of the gods, collapsed entirely. Power such as no creature, celestial or mortal had ever felt before surged through Jeran’s body, the weight of centuries pressing down upon him as he struggled with the greatest power in the universe, time.

Live is a hard habit to break, and in the small dark sarcastic part of Jeran’s mind that was not currently busy with preventing the collapse of everything it is possible to imagine…again, this thought rolled around, laughing nastily.

As the massive waves of energy struck him in fists of iron Jeran knew he could never contain it all, something had to give. It gave. “Deafening” would be a vast understatement to the sound that continents make as they break apart. It was more an awesome tidal-wave of noise so powerful that the sonic waves shattered rocks, burst eardrums and turned glass into shrapnel all around the world.

Rune broke apart, its core bursting open, spewing molten rock upwards through the gargantuan cracks in the world’s surface. There were now ten massive chunks of rock, orbiting around the dying core. The Avatar that had once been Jeran Korak reached forth with a hand in which stars could be lost in, the vast shield protecting the planet’s atmosphere from bleeding away into space and pulled the molten energy of the unleashed core inwards towards itself, fuel for the final step.

The word sounded across space and time, and the survivors of Rune felt it inside their heads all at once as the core grew cold.


Then the avatar became Rune.

The core expanded outwards, forced through the fissures in the planet crust as its position was replaced by the new energy, the energy of the creator. Controlled now, under command, the frozen mass of core material bled out of the shattered world into space, drifting off into the cosmos to be lost in the infinite void. In its place, a new core glittered, a solid mass of mercuric substance, radiating light outwards. The massive continents, now separate and free-floating, began their permanent, stable orbit around the new black star. Time resumed.

The small shielded dome of temple floor set itself down gently upon the floor of the desert, the temple itself was gone, as were the mountains around it. As the surviving heroes turned their eyes to the heavens, the first drops of rain began to fall on the new world. Jeran was no-were to be seen.

Jeran Korak-Triad Minds
Posts: 942 | Registered: Sunday, October 8 2006 07:00
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Vlad went by his last name now. He was known as Prophet Vortigern. For countless years he had been the faithful prophet of Nalyd, doing his best to remind the world of the sorrow and agony that was a part of its very essence. Vortigern could barely remember his mortal life now, only that it was so excruciatingly tragic that he now felt no remorse for the terrible things he did in his unlife. As a lich, he found himself constantly beset by adventurers seeking to fight him in the name of good. This was Rune, however, a land where good rarely prevailed. Yes, it was a great time to be evil in this age of darkness that had engulfed the land.

All was not well for the Prophet, however. His acolytes had dwindled over the years. The chapel had fallen into disrepair and now he was living in squalor. Worst of all, Nalyd had ceased giving him visions. The prophet soon found himself with no company whatsoever, except for, of course, his zombie companion.

Trinculo's body had been ravaged over the years, and by the time Vortigern had the ability to resurrect him, his corpse was beyond repair, and only a witless zombie had resulted. The prophet sat back in his creaky chair and brooded, "What do you think, old friend? Is our time coming to an end?"

Zombie Trinculo looked up at the prophet with eyeless sockets, "Grahhhhhhh." Bits of his cheek flaked off.

Vortigern smiled at his old friend. He looked to his right and noticed that rats were eating the rotten fruit offerings left for his god. With an impossibly fast motion, Vortigern grabbed one of the rats and squeezed it in his palm until it stopped moving. He then threw it to Trinculo, who shambled over to the dead rodent, picked it up, and bit into the thing. "Make that one last, old friend. I suspect that soon, even the rats will abandon this place."

The prophet sank deep into his slightly moldy chair, praying that perhaps today he would just die for good. How much longer would he be forced to continue with this torturous existence? Suddenly Vortigern felt a divine presence. It was not the gloomy presence of his god Nalyd, but a more offensive one. This presence was powerful and cruel, and it sent a shiver up his exposed spine. "It can not be..." Vortigern had felt a similar presence before, back when he was alive. "Divine TM, is that you?"

"Hardly." A figure stepped out of the shadows. "TM had the good sense to flee this world long ago, way before you were even born. You see, it was, in fact, I, that watched over you back when you were alive, not TM." The prophet got a good look at the god standing before him. He wore black and red robes, held a huge spear, and wore a strange hat with a huge red feather.

The lich rose, "Well, who are you, then?" Trinculo rose to follow his master, but his left leg finally gave out and snapped halfway off, and the undead Least fell face first onto the filthy tile floor.

The god covered his nose at the smell. "It matters not. This world is ending. The gods are dying off. Nalyd himself has already passed into oblivion." Vortigern briefly wondered if he should mourn his fallen god, but then decided it would be sort of ironic to mourn the god of sorrow.

“Damn, that bastard finally gets the peace of death while I’m left here to wallow in filth? Figures.”

The mysterious god before him laughed, “Actually, he died trillions of years from now.” Vortigern was totally confused. “Don’t try to understand, only the gods can know the true way of things. In a way, the universe ended centuries ago, and yet it ends in the future as well, and it is even coming to an end as we speak. Such is the nature of things when one is speaking of the end of a universe.”

Vlad looked down at the crippled Trinculo and shrugged. “I’m really having a hard time giving a damn. What are you doing here now?”

The god paced around the room, "I refuse to die with this pathetic universe. While the other cowards of the pantheon may surrender to inevitable destruction, I instead chose to move on. There are other universes, you see, and I intend to make them my own. I have chosen life. I am here to invite you to come with me."

"Uh, you do realize that your talking about 'choosing life' with a lich, right? We find that kind of thing a bit offensive-"

"Silence! Do not question me! I am all powerful! Behold!" The god waved his hand, and Vortigern suddenly felt horrible pain all over his body. Physical pain, not the emotional pain he had known all these years. Really, it felt great by comparison. Vortigern screamed in ecstasy as he shed his undead form. Underneath, the soft pink skin of the living was revealed. When it was all over, the only thing that remained of Vortigern's unlife was his torn, filthy, gory robes that he had been wearing since time unmemorable. Figures that the god wouldn’t bother to restore them. All powerful… yeah right. Jerk.

Still, Vlad gazed at his new body, immensely pleased, "Well, I-" Before he could say anything, he jumped in pain as Trinculo attempted to take a bite out of his delicious, fleshy ankles. "Ow! You little **** tottering *** **** beslubering piece of **** ****. I picked the mold out of your skull every week for a hundred years and this is how you repay me? ****! **** flobbing ***** **** motley **** codpiece!"

The god’s features twisted into might have been a smile, "There's the Vlad I knew and loved." With another wave of his perfect hand, Trinculo was alive again as well. "There, all is as it should be. Now, we must be going, this world's time grows short."

Trinculo was totally confused, he had no memory beyond being killed by Ahonar centuries ago. “Uh, master… what’s going on?”

Vlad filled him in, “You know, hundreds of years as an evil lich, restored to life by a god, messing around with your corpse while you were dead, the usually, really.” Trinculo looked disappointed at first, but shrugged it off like he always did. Such was life with Vlad… and apparently death as well. Vlad looked to the God again. “So you’re taking me with you to another universe, eh? What’s the catch?”

The god stood face to face with Vlad, “You speak to me as if I were you’re equal. As far as that is from the truth, I respect your arrogance. Tell me, has your years in service to Nalyd taught you the error of idleness? If you had the chance to travel to a new world and exploit it to your hearts content, to break its will, to make it yours, would you do it? Or would you drink yourself into a mindless stupor once again, wasting your glorious potential?”

Vlad shook his head, “Wine lost its sweetness for me long ago. It is now as bitter as my heart. Too long have I lived in the service of others, TM, Nalyd. I want to live for me now.”

“Excellent!” The god raised his mighty spear, and the very air warped around the trio. “Then we go! New worlds, ripe for the taking, will bow before you! Your name will be known and feared as it should be! We go!”

Trinculo jumped up into his master's arms. "What's going to happen now, master? Where will he take us?"

The god was deep in concentration, so Vlad whispered in Trinculo’s ear, “Wherever we end up, the women had better not be ugly there. I really need to someone to **** all up on my **** through **** all night long, you know? Little Vladimir rotted off like a hundred years ago and I can’t wait to try out my shiny new one.” Trinculo shook his head and smiled. His master was still his old self.

With a flash of light, Vladimir Vortigern, X-High Priest of TM and X-Prophet of Nalyd, was now an X-resident of the Rune universe.

You lose.
Posts: 2156 | Registered: Thursday, August 24 2006 07:00