xinoehp512

"The price has already been paid," said Psyder, gesturing to the withergeist in her soul.

Rekaerb teleported to the site of the explosions. "Oh dear," he said as he took in the scene.

"These powers can be yours," said Psyder. "Will be yours."

Above an endless expanse, a breeze stirred the petals of a wilting flower. The wind is cold today, thought X’s avatar. He stood on the edge of a cliff, looking out on an endless expanse of shattered rock. The Narrative Plane, as some called it- site of some of the greatest stories in history. Stories he knew only from faded memories, passed from one keeper to the next like a worn hat. Things had changed. They always did, here in this incarnation of creative chaos. No semblance of order could survive for long in a place where gods ruled unchecked. To do so would defy the very purpose for which this place was created. X’s avatar had once thought he could defy these laws. Oh, how wrong he had been. How foolish. Even if a story took root, it surely would not be able to grow; chaos was poor soil, indeed. But his roots here ran deep; try to transplant him, and he would wilt as surely as the flower he held in his hand. A soft song began to echo in his mind as he thought of the flower. He hesitated, listening to it for a few moments-- then forcefully shoved it from his mind. He hadn’t come here to dwell on the past. Had he? No, he thought, exhaling a sigh. The past is done. It was never meant to be. It hurt to admit - Light and life, it hurt - but it was an admission he needed to make. There was no going back now. Holding onto these memories would bring him nothing but pain. The only solution was to cast them away. In a way, it was almost relieving. He could return to X, fulfil the purpose for which he’d been designed. Never have to worry about being forgotten. Never have to worry about becoming useless. Never have to worry that the person he cared most about would forget him entirely. He closed his eyes, clenching the flower in his fist, recalling his memories of her one final time. With a sigh, he let them flow from him and into the flower. Then he let it go. X’s avatar blinked. He looked at his outstretched hand, puzzled. Why was he here? Strange, he thought, pulling his hand back in a shrug. Oh well. Perhaps a godmod of some sort…

"Construction," said Psyder. He teleported directly in front of her. His eyes... they seemed to glow, almost. "Jurisdiction," he whispered "Perception. And..." He pulled a knife from somewhere, drawing it across his skin. Blood dripped from the would for a moment, then immediately sealed back up. "Augmentation."

And was nourished.

Sodium was amused.

Chlorine was horrified.

And chili peppers.

"Indeed," replied Psyder. "For instance..." Black cords manifested on his arms. With a sharp movement, he smashed the stone light fixture into pieces, plunging the cell into dimness.

"Well," said Gerald. "That's awkward." @Ookla the Wistful

It was a rocky rulership.

"Yes," said Psyder simply.

"The magician?" asked Gerald. @Ookla the Wistful

"Of course," said Psyder with a chuckle. Slowly, the fear began to recede. He extended his hands, revealing the circular marks on the palms- and the writing surrounding them. "These scripts give me the power to project fear," he explained. "This- and other powers like it- are one of the simplest to earn."

The fear began to build, getting stronger and stronger, strengthening and deepening into irritational panic. "You feel it, don't you?" said Psyder lightly.

We need @Ookla the Wistful to advance our plot currently... All this faction-ing reminds me of an idea I've been looking to implement, though.

A slight feeling of dread began to build in Herate.

Guys, the factions are multiplying.

*twiddles thumbs*

Psyder grinned. "Each Myrkaal has different abilities," he continued. "Each one can gain at most five abilities, one in each of five categories."

Which was highly corrosive.

That's a good idea, thought Rekaerb. I wonder why I didn't think of that before? A clone of him popped into existence next to one of the townspeople. "If you'll excuse me," he asked politely, "could you perhaps tell me where we are?" The man looked up at him with tired eyes. "If only we knew," he said, melancholy. "None of you know?" Rekaerb shook his head. "And I assume you don't know how you got here, either?" Rekaerb shook his head again. "Do you... know what just happened to you?" The man shuddered. "It was some sort of creature. It just appeared out of thin air, like all of the rest of us... and there wasn't much we could do against it. We're all artists and craftspeople, not fighters."

"Power is nothing without price," responded Psyder simply.