Zephrun’s Imperium

@BringerofShadows Shadow was not a normal Narrator. For instance, she knew a group of Narrators who had spent the last few months working on building up an entire global society from the ground up. It was actually rather impressive what intricacies they'd manage to create. Apparently, however, the world's much-anticipated demolition by nuclear warfare that they'd scheduled would be well worth the effort they'd spent on it. Shadow understood the joy of destroying, but honestly, why go through all the extra trouble to create something when you could just tear down what already existed? As I said: she was different. Shadow herself was prone to making chaos on a small scale rather than a massive one and preferred to do her dirty work in person. Which was why, when she returned to the Hall, she snapped, replacing her blood splattered shirt with a fresh, clean, white one. Her hatchet, however, she left dripping. Never seemed right to have it clean. An over-sized bottle of vodka coalesced in the hand that wasn't dragging her hacking implement. It was summoned partially to keep the stupid voice out of her head, (though admittedly, it had stopped talking all too often nowadays) but mostly out of habit; rampage, drink, be drunk in the Hall, sulk, repeat. Such was her existence. And... it was an alright one, all things considered. Better than her old one sure. She wasn't happy, no, but she wasn't miserable either. That was enough for her. As her eyes scanned the room for a decent place to sit, Shadow's gaze met someone else's. Narrator Star looked like she was about to kill and Shadow knew full well the reason why. The blonde woman's piercing blue glare could have melted a hole through a foot of steel and was enough to make Shadow's bottle of vodka slip from her hand, shattering on the floor. Star's expression became even more rage-filled (if such a thing was possible) and she stood up from her seat, making her way to the person she hated most in the world. Shadow hissed a curse; she had not prepared herself for this. She backed up slowly, running right into a pale young man with flames for hair. @xinoehp512

"My mother," Rose mumbled, "is an evil, vile woman." She tried to ignore the part about him caring. He didn't care; he just wanted something from her. She didn't know what that something was, but she did know that she wasn't about to give it to him.

A scream shattered the calm. Star was brought back into consciousness, coming to herself at a painfully jarring speed. She sat up in bed, trying desperately to catch her breath. Memories of what had happened in Astral’s castle swirled in her head, but they paled in comparison to the very urgent need for air. Her limbs shook, her mind and body weakened from such a rapid transportation. “Oh Author,” she choked out. Star threw off her covers and climbed out of bed, dizziness and nausea assaulting her the moment she began walking forward. She was barely able to catch herself on a small dresser, her hands disturbing the resting place of a glass flower vase which tumbled to the floor and shattered. Star moaned, holding her side. The edge of the dresser had stabbed her there. Finally, supported by the wooden platform, she allowed herself to slow down and remember what had happened in the last few minutes. Astral had failed. Star remembered it all now, watching the scene through her couterpart’s eyes. The huge fight. The Master of Silence. And… Xino’s death. Her face fell. Xino had been a good man. Certainly not without his flaws, but a good man. Not that there was anything she could do about his death. Narrators had great power, but that did not include power over life and death and she knew enough not to try and gain such an ability. Such a quest was a fool’s errand. The fact remained that Star had been woken prematurely. And that left her with absolutely no idea what to do. Astral was supposed to have lived a lifetime so that she could work through the problems that Star didn’t know how to fix. Her grief over Maverick’s death was far too strong for her to carry on this way. But it hadn’t worked. Astral had begun to release her anger, but the sadness and regret was still there. She inhaled sharply, stepping away from the dresser. What now? What would she- Star howled as she stepped on a shard of the glass from the vase she had shattered earlier. She cursed loudly, then Narrated the removal of the vase’s remains. The edges of the wound closed up, she said tightly, her flesh reweaving to heal her. She breathed heavily, trying to calm herself. Then, however, her eyes fell on what the vase had carried. Three roses. Or at least, what was left of them. The flowers were completely rotten. But… she remembered what they had looked like when she had first put them there. Her eyes widened. This… this was her house. She put a hand to her mouth, looking around the room. The wood flooring, the dusty clothes hanging in the closet, the bedding, the mirror. Undisturbed after all this time. This had been her and Maverick’s bedroom. She shivered, cold despite her warm pajamas. Memories came flooding back to her like ghosts, each the representation of the story that she had been living just a few… years ago? Months ago? How long had it been? She didn’t know. She really didn’t know. Silence filled the air. Not the silence of quiet nights spent with him, but a heavy silence, the silence of a dusty, lifeless house. Star was honestly quite shocked that the Narrators had left it untouched. They had such fun toying with her and her husband. Why hadn’t they destroyed this place, just to spite her? Her face grew red with anger. The Narrators. She hated them, every single one. Luna, Jay, Shadow, the whole lot of them. They would pay for what they had done to her and hers. Star clenched her fists, thoughts of revenge coalescing in her mind… But then her shoulders fell. She felt defeated. She felt tired. She felt… alone. The golden-haired Narrator sighed heavily, running a hand through her wavy locks. Of course, she still had her children. But she simply couldn’t face them. They deserved a better mother. A better life. Their aunt and uncle—Maverick’s brother Darrin and his wife Riva—could give them the family they needed. It would be better if she didn’t interfere. Hopefully that would keep the other Narrators away from them. And on top of that…. she had no idea how she could pick up where she had left off. Without Maverick… how did she live? The other Narrators could never understand what it was to love. Even though her family had just been regular characters, she had still loved them. For as powerful as he had been, Maverick could never truly comprehend her true nature. But it hadn’t mattered. A Narrator had married a Shade Knight and had children with him and it had worked. Apparently her anarchist friends simply couldn’t stand the idea of a story with an actual plotline. A Narrator interacting personally with the story was too foreign. And because they hadn’t understood it, they had destroyed it. Could she really go back out there with them? Could she really go back to conforming with the randomness? Her fellow Narrators simply threw their words out there, making empires rise and fall in mere sentences. They crushed life after life underfoot and didn’t even notice. Star clenched her fists. She’d show them. She’d give them something to reckon with. But one thing was certain; she couldn’t stay here anymore. The memory-filled silence would drive her mad. With a snap, Star had left the house miles behind. Her pajamas had been traded for a purple dress with constellation patterns and poofy sleeves that she firmly believed could only be pulled off by her alone. She took pride in dressing well. As a Narrator, she felt she had a right to. She’d never understand why Narrators like Jay took the matter of their appearance so flippantly. But the dress was not enough. She needed something more, something that would visually express the anguish in her soul. The accessory of choice was a black iron tiara with three points. It was sparsely ornamented, but, heavy and dark as it was, it didn’t need to be. She smiled. Yes, such an accessory was fitting. Its weight gave her a reason to hold her head higher. And why shouldn’t she? She was a majestic creature of words. Besides, she would need to look the part if she was going to go back to the Hall of Words. She’d made up her mind. There was no way she was going to stay on this Narrational Plane without paying her old colleagues a visit. Star snapped and a door appeared out of thin air. The Hall of Words lay beyond the fourth wall, above the eyes of the characters below. Most of the Narrators never left. Even Star herself had spent most of her life there. But only when she had left had she truly begun to live. It was something the other Narrators would never understand. Telling the story and manipulating the board was one thing, but it was quite another to walk among the story itself. Not that she had a real reason to do so anymore… Star glared forward at the door. “Well, here goes nothing…” she muttered. She pulled open the door, stepping into the world beyond. Narrator Star found herself in a long corridor with a wooden floor. The familiar but muted sound of riotous laughter and hundreds of Narrating voices rumbed in the background. To Star, it was haunting. She pulled the door shut behind her, then heard voices behind her. Well, she didn’t exactly hear them, but rather felt them. Oi, Mike! said the first voice. She actually closed the door! Finally, a Narrator doing our job for us. Star raised an eyebrow and turned her head slightly to find two Ennulers standing behind her. The servants of Silence himself, Ennulers—more commonly called “Nullies”—were in charge of fixing the fourth wall whenever it was broken. The silent speech that both they and their master used was rather hard to get used to and undeniably strange, but they kept to themselves and didn’t bother anyone, so no questions were ever asked. Star nodded to the pair without saying anything, then proceeded down the hallway. There were entrances to the Hall itself all over this place. There were also entrances to other places. The Void, the Dream World, countless alternate realities. You could spend a lifetime wandering this place and there were undoubtedly some Narrators who did so. But that certainly wasn’t the majority. No, most Narrators stayed put, using their words to wreak havoc on the Narrational Plane below. That said, it wasn’t that much safer in here. Narrators weren’t kind to their characters and they certainly weren’t kind to each other. But there wasn’t really any other place that Star could go. Traversing the Plane itself would leave her vulnerable to the Narrator’s tampering and making a new reality pocket like the home Astral had been given wouldn’t be worth the effort. A door lay at the end of the hallway, which, judging by the loud noise behind it, led right into the Hall. Star pulled it open and walked in unceremoniously, a cacophony of voices exploding around her. Hundreds upon hundreds of Narrators, each manipulating their own characters, creating and destroying carelessly. No one noticed her, of course. They were far too engaged in what they were already doing and new Narrators were always popping up here, so a single arrival was not even worth glancing up at. Star took a look around the place. Her fellow Narrators sat in groups, huddled around tables. At the center of each table was a view into the Plane below them, showing the place that those particular Narrators were messing with. It was hard to believe that she’d spent all of her life before Maverick here. How could anyone possibly call this place home? It was loud, it was crowded, it was chaos. But at the moment, it was the best place for her to get a decent meal. As Star walked between tables to get to the center, she noticed that she was beginning to draw the gaze of those she passed. She raised an eyebrow, looking for people she recognized. There were several new faces in the Hall, but there were still plenty of faces she could put names to. She had little nostalgia for this particular place, but it was still a bit odd to see people that she remembered. Soon enough, however, she finally found her way to the center of the Hall and took a seat. A short blonde woman stood behind the counter, doing something or other. “Hey, Zeoy,” said Star, getting her attention. “Can I get some soup over here?” “Narrator Star?” Zeoy asked. Her face lit up with a smile. “Aww, gee, I haven’t seen you in quite a while. I can get’cha some soup right away. What have you been up to all this time?” Few characters ever found out about the Hall of Words, and far fewer ever set foot in it. Zeoy, however, had been created to reside here. Narrators technically didn’t need to eat, but that certainly didn’t stop them from doing so and Zeoy existed to provide them with whatever their culinary pleasure might be. Even though she couldn’t Narrate directly, she could still channel Narrative energy and use it to cook up what was needed. Star sighed. “I’ve been on the Plane,” she said. She didn’t want to say any more. “Well you musta had a good time, it’s been ages.” Zeoy handed Star a bowl of soup and a spoon that she’d created in the seconds passed. “Enjoy your soup, sweetie.” “Thanks…” she muttered. Star picked at the soup. It was good, as expected. Zeoy always delivered. And yet, she couldn’t bring herself to enjoy it. She placed her elbow on the counter and rested her cheek on her fist, spooning bites of her meal into her mouth. The noise around her could be quite deafening, but she’d spent enough time here in the past that it hardly bothered her anymore. In fact, there was a special kind of anonymity here. So many words and faces. She had no doubt that if she stayed in the Hall for long enough, the sound would swallow up her grief and change her back into the careless Narrator she had been before she found Maverick. She could not allow that to happen.

Rose paused. His question frightened her. "I saw you," she said. Her tone was flat, her expression dead. "Mother said when I see things, it's because I have future sight. She said I'm not insane. And I want to believe her, but...." Tears formed in her eyes and she closed them, hanging her head. "Go," she whispered. "Go away from me."

Oh, hey, BTW; this RP is going to be exploring what happens in the gap between when Star's husband died and when she attacks the thread. This is a period of time in CBST that is just... non-existent. So nothing is "scripted" at all. I'll just kinda have Star being her rebel self and hating other Narrators.

Well, just because I know what I want to do with it doesn't mean that has to change what you want to do with it. Heck, part of the fun is adjusting my own plans to work with what y'all do.

Tsk, tsk, tsk. I know what I'm doing Fadran, I wouldn't have done this if I wasn't willing to take the story in a more different direction.

*shrug* Fair enough, I suppose. But, ah... I am very protective of my baby CBST. See, the thread that CBST is RP'd on follows most closely to Star AFTER her attack on the Hall. I want to focus on her before that. Star will be the main character, but I do plan for there to be other plot threads. Considering you and I are writers, I'm worried you'll try to take the wheel of this, and if that happened I would be... pissed off. And you know what that's like. So just be careful.

Okay then. Does it mess with the original CBST timeline though?

Do I get to hear about your devious scheming?

I'll take it that means you want in, Fadran.

That's okay, Unknown! I'm happy to have you aboard.

I have... an idea. And it's a massive one. (Yes, I just posted a status update about this, but this needs more publicity - and this thread will give more detail anyway ) So a lot of you guys may know the acronym CBST. Perhaps you also know that it stands for The Cosmic Battle to Save the Thread and that it was an RP started on TLT. Well, the CBST-verse is a MASSIVE one with cosmere-sized potential. See, as I said, CBST started on The Longest Thread and if you know anything about TLT, you know that it's a chaotic hot mess, which is... not exactly the most stable place to start a storyline. In the two years since CBST started, I have made MASSIVE leaps and bounds to organize the craziness that started there and I think that just maybe, we could really make something fun out of this. If y'all can't tell, I'm just begging for more CBST content, please send help. I'm sure that if you're reading this here and not in my status update, you'll need a tiny bit more elaboration. So, CBST is built around the concept of Narrators: beings with nigh-infinite power that are incredibly human. The magic system is based on the concept of Light, Darkness, Order, and Chaos. @xinoehp512 and I have worked very hard on the story, the characters, and the world that CBST takes place in. It's very dear to my heart and I think since everyone reading this is here on a book fansite, y'all will love the meta undertones about authors, writing, and story tropes that are a huge part of this world in which my heart resides. So here's what I'm proposing. I want to re-tell CBST. That implies that we'd just be re-doing CBST stuff, but that's not what I mean at all. There are so many different worlds, magic systems, and plot lines that could be explored here. If this sounds interesting to you AT ALL, just say so and I will add you to a planning PM. It will require some explaining of the magic (which I will explain as concisely as I can and allow for a ton of room for y'all to experiment) but I am STOKED for this to maybe take off. Happy RPing! Love you guys. Character Sheets:

Rose did not move to acknowledge Jahora's arrival in any way. Her wide-eyed expression, lack of movement, and pale skin made her seem as though she was dead, but her red eyes and tear stained cheeks insisted that breath still flowed within her. "Why are you here?" she rasped. "I knew you would come, but my future sight doesn't let me feel people. You don't make any sense."

They were staring at her. Riva could see their reflections in the window; a group of nobles that were not-so-subtly trying to catch a glimpse of the infamous Raveness. She couldn't really blame them, considering these balls were the only times she got to show her face. She paused. That wasn't entirely true. Her face wasn't what they were getting a glimpse at, it was her mask. No one would recognize her without it, after all. There was power in her anonymity - the fact that her face was kept a secret meant that she was far harder to identify and thus far harder to catch and kill - but there were also downsides. While wearing the mask, she was the Raveness; powerful, cunning, immortal, legendary, otherworldly and inhuman. But without it she was no one; a weak old woman of no consequence. In many ways, her double life was a kind of torture. She didn't hold the power, the mask did. That was something she might soon have to rectify. She turned on the small crowd she'd attracted. "May I kindly suggest that all of you find something else to gawk at? Perhaps something that is less likely to affect whether or not you'll be going home in one piece tonight." The words dispersed her entourage quite quickly. Stars was she looking forward to this night's conclusion. She could use some good screams to clear her aching head. ------ Nicolae Kimby was clumsy enough while sober. While drunk... Well. It was about as disastrous as you might imagine it to be. After some rather unfortunate trips, bumps, and stumbles (which had earned him a fair amount of dirty glares and insults), the poor boy had resigned himself to stacking glass cups at an empty table. What could possibly go wrong?

"Star is the best hugger, I think." Ember paused, suddenly nervous. "Heather, maybe you should give Pheonix a hug. He would like that better..." "You think I'm a better hugger than you are?" Heather muttered. "Well, yes. You have been alive for far longer than-" "Trust me. This is not my forte." "Oh...." Ember sighed. "I am sorry, Master Pheonix. ... Perhaps you and Star should speak to one another. I am sure she would not like to see you sad."

Ember paused, unsure of what she should do next. Hesitantly, she sat down on the bed next to him and picked at her nails. "I am not a very good hugger.." she admitted.

"Xino's doing meth." - Me

How am I only finding this just now.... "It's not like I was completely destitute in the sucrose department." - @xinoehp512 "Maybe it was cruelty free torture." - @Butt Ad Venture "Concussions are an excellent family tradition." - @Jaywalk "That guy is very wide." - @Butt Ad Venture "Camels and humanity. That's what I have." - @Butt Ad Venture "Stabbing people is a social activity." - @Doomstick "I sold my imagination for fruitsnacks in Kindergartern." - @Butt Ad Venture "I love watching things burn. Especially empires and mental health." - Me

Not too bad at all. It was about 500 pages in the little paperback.

It’s AMAZING.

HMMMMM. So many choices. Raskolnikov is very high up there, he's from Crime and Punishment. But Ferrin and Nedwin from Beyonders and Murtagh from Inheritance were almost as influential as Kell was.