206 posts in this topic

It was done. What had once been a simple scholarly interest had now become a single-minded obsession, heedless of the politics that funded it. With Pyrus by his side he worked over the magic, compiling decades of knowledge into a single scalpel of work, aimed at the brick wall of a problem that had tormented him for weeks. Months, maybe. He had lost track of time.

The Liebrarian’s goal was simple: Get past the barrier wall.

Behind the simplicity lay endless reams of layered hurdles. The DA had designed the barrier to be impossible to penetrate. It extended below the ground, a perfect sphere surrounding the Worldspike, blocking off all three Realms from matter and energy and investiture alike. Rashan's works had outlined the basics. The detainment unit had supplied the rest. You needed Administrator access to enter the barrier. The Administrator was stuck inside. An unforseen catch-22 made access inside virtually impossible.

It had taken a few days to find a possible loophole, with assistance from the detainment unit. A month to experiment and find the parameters of that loophole, and exactly how far things needed to be stretched to break the barrier. Many more months to refine their plan and organise it. Alum had scoured the city for people with specific types of investiture, visited other worlds to read in the great libraries of Elantris and Kharbranth, and experimented with various weather phenomenons. It had all come together now. The meeting had been set carefully, in accordance with the predictions of the stormwards. The timing would have to be perfect.

They made an odd group. A tired Azish man with a spren on his shoulder, standing next to a being made of light, formed out of Selish symbols. Various Liebrarians moved about, checking the preparations. Finally, groups of magic users, hand-picked, filled the rest of the street that led up towards the barrier. A division of Nicrobursters sourced locally. Those had been the hardest to find. Easier to recruit were Elantrians, Bloodsealers, Chay-Shan users and Forgers, each making up their own small crews. Exactly two dozen recruits in total. The wind began to pick up from behind, heralding the beginning of the operation. An Alleystorm was brewing; one of the strongest yet, the stormwardens had assured him. He wondered if it was enough. There was a joke, somewhere, in the fact that he had spent all this time labouring over the project and he still didn't know if it would work.

He turned to face the others, and they quieted. The release of Voidus and the guardian would shape the face of this planet.

"Ladies and gentlemen. The Alleystorm is building. It's time to approach the barrier. Anyone who wishes to assist us is free to do so. The plan begins now."

The group moved forward, down the street. A hundred metres of wide alleyway lay between them and their goal. Alum wondered if anyone would try to stop them.

Time to break the barrier.

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If you need your character killed, this is a place to do it. Feel free to assist/oppose Alum. 

For newer players who have recently joined: there’s two powerful and uncontrollable beings trapped inside a spherical barrier. We want to let them out. Other people thing that it’s a bad idea. Feel free to use this as a way to introduce your character.

@Kidpen @Ark1002@MacThorstenson

EDIT: @Voidus as well, I suppose.

 

Edited by MetaTerminal
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Rekaerb pulled down the cloak of his hood, popping into view. This was not going to end well, but what could he do? He had orders not to interfere, after all.

And they came from the very top.

He had watched Alum these months with a sense of growing horror. The man cared nothing for the effects his dream would have on the lives of others. Rekaerb didn't know how Voidus Prime felt about being trapped helplessly in a barrier of his own designing by his own guild, but he could guess that he wouldn't be happy.

And, of course, there was the whole "End of Era" thing to think about as well. They could've made it peaceful, like a wedding or something. But the interests of the readers had to be considered after all. Not all plotlines could be like ToH, after all. In fact-

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Hey. Do you think you can tone it down a bit? Even if you have a secure channel through the fourth wall, the mimes get antsy about this sort of thing.

Rekaerb sighed. Oh well.

He turned to face the barrier. This world was about to face a catastrophe beyond anything the last seventeen years had brought. It would be painful. People would die.

But the world would go on. A year would pass. Another Era would start. Maybe there was a lesson to be learned from that.

He could hide, he knew. Turn invisible- and maybe more, now. Who knew what changes had been wrought upon him when... but he would not think about that now. He could hide, and watch, as he was doing in so many other places.

But here he had taken a stake. Here, he had interfered.

And he would interfere again.

 

 

Edited by xinoehp512
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Fangblade had decided to come. It was foolish, but he was as well. 

He waited for further instructions.

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Only Rick will die (In my current plan, at least) *entrepreneurial laugh* 

A tall man waited on a nearby rooftop, watching the proceedings below. He had an oversized sword in his hands. It wasn't a Shardblade or an Honorblade, but something much, much more powerful. The cutting edge was divided into two halves, one was gleaming metal and the other shining crystal. The center of the blade was milky white stone, engraved with Aons, glyphs, and Steel Alphabet symbols. 

The man, who by now was known throughout the Alleyverse as Rick, smiled and rose off the rooftop a few inches. Light streamed off the sword and into his body, powering his Lashing. 

~~~ 

Dwig ran across a flat rooftop nearby DIDGERIDOO. Reaching the edge of the roof, he Pushed on the gutter mount, shooting up into the air. He jumped over rooftops on his way to the Worldspike. 

Edited by Dr. Dapper
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A ripple in the air, like heat, spread throughout the path. More and more. It reached the point you couldn't see through. Then it color reversed. The wavering became a rainbow of colors, nothing recognizable. Suddenly, it condensed to a black dot. And an army stepped out of the air. Ghostblood after Ghostblood, Inquisitors, Dahkor, Radiants, all the powers you could dream of were manifested within this army. The Ghostbloods would not let the DA gain Voidus again. No, never again. Tuare would make sure. He smiled. They would fight to oppose this, and they would win. "Viva la Ghostbloods." It was repeated by a thousand voices.

@Gancho Libre @MetaTerminal

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Gancho is supposed to help

 

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If by army you mean “small group of forces that is roughly equal to the fighting force of our group given the surprise attack and lack of planning time”, then that’s fine. I’d say a hundred forces - maybe 150 - is enough to outnumber us. Not a thousand. Let’s not start an arms race.

The group stopped walking. Human nature - a giant portal opened up in front of them, something that they couldn’t quite identify, and they stopped what they were doing. Curiosity will give overruled instructions.

He noticed Fangblade walking beside him. “Do as the others do. Defend the divisions.”

Alum gave a signal to the magic users, which they understood. The Liebrarians had anticipated resistance and prepared accordingly. He had doubted the ideas at the time. Now it seemed almost prescient. It had been too much to hope for to go unnoticed.

He stepped forward, doing his best to appear unphased. “The Ghostbloods, eh? It’s an honour. Such a big part of history... you really changed the world. Shaped the geography, even. I don’t believe we’ve met.” He extended a hand towards the person who seemed to be in charge. “I’m Alum. If you think this is a bad idea, I’m sure we can talk it over and come to a peaceful resolution. Your name is?”

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Mack walked in nondescriptly from the back. Alum had wanted him here to draw the Dor away from the portal. That he could do, quite easily in fact.

His usual job was to find ways to use less Dor without suffering any loss in function. That was difficult. This, this was easy. Just try to waste the Dor away. Never mind that it was probably easier to destroy the infrastructure that kept the Dor in the alleyverse, or better yet have Mac open the Barrier with his admin access. Those didn’t make good plots. So here we are. 

A pair of mines walked in to fix the whole in the wall. 

Mack carefully removed plates from his pocket. He had 6 or 7 with him, but base was one quick teleport away. There he has laser cutters printing thousands of these things. 

Each plate was inscribed with a complicated Aon equation that was rediculously inefficient, and was set on a loop.

Some of them created objects out of air, by directing each individual atom to move in a specific direction.

Others took the Dor and turned it directly into objects. Each one had a unique effect, but followed the same pattern, making for relatively easy mass production. 

Tapping the first one, he slid it into a spot in an alley.

After a 10 minute delay, it would start producing one gallon of water per minute out of the surrounding materials. First it would try to use Oxygen and Hydrogen. Once it ran out of those, production would slow down a little as it started to use nuclear fusion and fission to make hydrogen and oxygen to produce water. 

He tapped the second and third ones, and put them next to the first one. 

They drew directly from the Dor and produced hydrogen and oxygen in a 2 to 1 ratio. These should balance out and be consumed directly by the first plate. If not then people were in for a treat. They would either have a giant windstorm, or nuclear fusion on their hands. Or a flood of everything went perfectly. 

The fourth fifth and sixth pads did something similar to the first three, but with carbon dioxide instead. 

With one of these producing a steady stream of water, and the other producing an unbreathsble gas, And both being well hidden and secret, these ghostbloods would need a lot of skill to find them and dismantle them. 

He hid the second set on the other side of the barrier. Then made his way to the top of a building near by. He placed the 7th pad on the ground and tapped it. It immediately began working. This one was instructed to gather the elements around it, teleport it into space, and preform fusion to turn them into gold. Once a suitable amount of gold was created, the gold would form into a giant statue of Mack, and be dropped into the battle field. This should happen about once every hour according to his calculations.

Mack then made his way back down to the battle field and stood by alum. 

 

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Yeah, it was mostly a way to put it for drama.

 Repeated by 150 voices didn't sounds that good.

Tuare smiled eerily. "I am Tuare. We are here to fight." A Koloss in the crowd cracked his knuckles threateningly. "And there will be no peace."

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Maybe they had those echo microphone thingies.

Alum carefully ignored the alternate, easier solutions Mack pointed out in order to enhance the dramatic effect. Several Selish Forgers began to mutter. They had noticed the sudden consumption of Dor.

“That’s what they always say. They tend to change their minds.” He kept his arm extended. “If we are to fight, then I’d rather shake your hand before we begin. Nothing personal, you understand. More of a professional interest.”

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He smiled, a glint in his eye. He created a warp, easier with just for one, bringing the man to him. He put out his hand, a slight metallic glint flashing. "I accept."

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“Excellent.” He took the Tuare’s hand, not noticing the shimmer, and transported. The sun of Shadesmar flickered into view overhead.

At the exact same moment, the troops leapt into action. Elantrians began to draw Aons, designed to be as inefficient as possible. The hounds of the Bloodsealers pounced, diving for the Ghostblood troops. Those using ChayShan began their dance behind the Elantrians, attuning themselves with the Dor. Nicrosil mistings chose their targets and enhanced them.

The Dor was powerful, yes, but it was also finite, its resources finite. The barrier drew from it. If another source tried to use enough Dor, then the barrier would weaken. Enough, perhaps, to punch a hole through.

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Within a bubble of light, cut off on all 3 realms from the rest of existence, a figure stood patiently. Watching.

He wasn't sure how long ago it was but something had changed, some minor, temporary flaw in the barrier. It hadn't lasted long, but it had been enough to start with, enough to temporarily suppress the self-repairing functions inherent in the barrier while he made a tiny alteration, cancelling out one of the Aons.

Eventually this change could cascade, causing other Aons to fail in sequence until the entire barrier could be brought down. But that could take a long time, centuries or longer with all likelihood. He waited for another moment of weakness, another chance to weaken the barrier without needing to exert himself.

An Aon in the barrier flickered briefly.

He extended one finger to touch a different Aon. Picking carefully from the shifting, chaotic mass, he gently drew the power of the Dor back. A few nearby symbols flashed in response, attempting to repair the breach, but the weakness in the chain prevented their successful activation.

Voidus smiled, reaching out for another.

"Soon." He whispered softly.

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Rekaerb shivered. Soon...

Idly, he fiddled with one of the dials on his watch. Suddenly, he got an idea. 

He closed his eyes and created a clone. Inside the barrier.

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So, Voidus, what happens then?

 

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It almost definitely doesn't work :P
But hard to tell since I can't find a character sheet.

 

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I mean, how does the barrier prevent people from getting in?

 

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1 minute ago, xinoehp512 said:

I mean, how does the barrier prevent people from getting in?

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Aonic shields, traps and anti-magic measures for the most part.
There's a lot in there, Edo shields, offensive Aons for dissuading people, anti-Investiture(Chromium, dhakor anti-aons, Investiture draining fabrial technology, etc.), anti channeling, Epic cancelling, etc.
If anything does get in it's also going to be instantly disintegrated.

 

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The Ghostbloods began to fight for their lives. The Dahkor easily killed the attackers, and the inquisitors as well. Epics and the like could. But there was plenty of damage. A single squad detached, going towards the Elantrians, the forgers, the nicrosil mistings. There were each a Dahkor or an Inquisitor, and each had a shardblade. They walked to the group, and started swinging. They wouldn't let them win.

~~~

He smiled as his hand was shaken. A metal needle injected into the other mans hand, full of poison, enough to kill a chasmfiend. He smiled broadly. "Good bye."

@MetaTerminal

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I'm assuming he transported him as well.

 

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Alum withdrew his hand, and stared at the small pinprick on his hand. A needle. Needles meant injections, medicine, ventilation...

Poison. One look at the glint in Tuare’s eyes, and he knew. It was poison. How could it be anything else?

A burning sensation in his veins. Either fast-acting or a huge overdose. Either way, he only had minutes. On the outside. He started a clock in his mind, gave it three at the absolute most. A hundred and eighty. A hundred and seventy nine.

Three minutes to live. Make them count.

He stepped backwards to avoid further attacks, and said, “That’s not even playing fair,” to keep Tuare occupied. But he was barely paying attention - he could have started Horneater victory laps and it would barely register. Alum was thinking over poisons. Could he find a cure in time?

Start with the needle. Injecting poison only came with modern medicine. Roshar, later Scadrial. Sel, probably. Maybe Nalthis, at some point. He didn’t know. He just had to hope it wasn’t something he hadn’t heard of.

The name. He was likely going to prefer something from his homeland. No repeated consonants, so probably not Nalthis. Not Scadrian. Rosharan was a possibility. He’d wager Selish - all those vowels. 

A burning sensation in his arm, spreading up to his shoulder. A circuit round the bloodstream, up to the brain and that’s all he would write. Hundred and seventy. Alum felt a twinge of panic. Not enough information, not with the amount of time he had.

He slumped next to a nearby rock outcropping, feigning defeat. “That’s strong.” He rubbed his hand. One hundred and one. “A Rosharan concoction, maybe?”

The alleystorm swept towards them. It seemed strong on this side. Stronger than the stormwardens had predicted. Perhaps, if they were lucky, strong enough.

Alum wouldn’t see the storm hit. He realised that, now. It was too far away. All this time and he wouldn’t see it through.

A hundred and sixty five.

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Alum is so cool, his logical way of figuring stuff out is awesome, like now, and in his introduction post.

 

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Fangblade started running around, Awakening people’s clothing, and only noticed how much he’d Awakened when he started to feel old. Then, minutes later, he was panting and had to lay down. I feel old. That’s odd. He’d never felt old before. 

He started to die. His spren started to panic. But Fang did not. He had lived long, seventeen years was a good five years longer than any other dog his size should live. I love you, Spirit-Brother.

He howled, then around him was the Cognitive Realm, his spren a dog next to him, large and caring. “Bye,” they said to each other, and Fangblade was resigned when he went into the Spiritual Realm. His last thought was: I hope Tena is all right.

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Aw darnit. RIP Fangblade. Always remember.

 

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Alum may or may not be inspired by a very specific portrayal of a famous detective.

Hundred and sixty four. No response yet.

Alum watched as cognitive shadows began to flicker into view. Both Ghostbloods and Liebrarians appearing, briefly. An intermediate stage. He saw the Spiked dog who he had talked to earlier come into view. It didn’t appear to notice him, and uttered a final goodbye. In fact, none of the dying shadows appeared to notice them. 

@Ark1002

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Well, bye Alum. RIP

He walked over, grinning. Heartbeat. "You're going to die." His grin got condescending.Heartbeat  "Because you trusted the handshake of a Ghostblood." A shardblade dropped into his hand. "Shall I put you out of your misery now?" He pushed it an inch from his neck.

@MetaTerminal

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Sixty three.

An implicit confirmation. His gloat gave away an arrogance, and Alum found it likely that he would have taken an incorrect guess as high ground to lord over him. Blackbane, backbreaker powder. It eliminated gurwraith, birchbain, tompher, blackblood... too many to count. All eliminated.

Sixety one. First option: backbreaker powder. It could be mixed into a solution, but that would decrease its effectiveness - only a small amount was injected. He doubted it could even be absorbed. It was strong, when ingested by mouth, but had a known antidote. He had some samples back at his headquarters.

Unlikely. It wasn’t as effective, intravenously, and was probably nonsoluble. He removed it. Fifty nine.

That left blackbane. Stronger than backbreaker, soluble, easy to come by and hard to cure. It wasn’t as subtle as backbreaker, with a bitter taste that was hard to disguise. But that wasn’t an issue when you weren’t playing fair.

Fifty seven. The Ghostblood was speaking. He ignored the words.

Was there a cure? He struggled to remember. Possibly. Medicine on Roshar was fairly advanced. He would have to reference his notes.

Eight seconds. Ten heartbeats. Fifty five. The Ghostblood summoned a Blade, holding it to his neck. Tuare asked if he should be killed now. He smiled disarmingly.

“What’s the point of poisoning someone if you’re just going to stab them later? Just let the blackbane do the work.” Alum leaned backwards, pretending to lie down to keep away from the blade. The pain had travelled to his arm now, reaching his shoulder. A hundred and fourty nine.

@Ark1002

(EDIT: 300th post!)

Edited by MetaTerminal
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Tuare grimaced. "Ah, you're right." He dispelled the shardblade. "Though as to why you think it is blackbane, I am unsure." He settled back on his haunches. 

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