NameIess

Subversion was ready for the chains this time, managing to get her Blade up and under them before they snapped into place. "I suppose you could say I absorbed her." With a swipe of her Narrationblade, Subversion was free. She batted the blade away from her neck and took a step back. "Or that she absorbed me. She was me, the parts that cared the most. She played her part, as did I, and now we're whole again." Meanwhile, behind Fog, several hummingbirds flitted around the Nullifying machine. One of them had landed on it, and was busily pecking a hole to get at the delicate internal machinery.

I think it would fit The Sandwich well, since it fits the trope perfectly. Narrators can voluntarily give up their powers. My first Narrator Nameless did that, deciding he didn't want to be a Narrator anymore. He was much happier, up until an old friend turned enemy decided to kill him. Taking a Narrators powers involuntarily would be pretty difficult. "...Fair enough." Subversion circled Fog until the withergeist was between her and the nullifying machine. "I'm not entirely certain how all the science of that works, could you please start a lengthy description of it? Or a monologue about your evil motivations, I'm not picky." She made some not-so-subtle hand motions that Fog probably noticed, directed at something behind the villain.

Subversion struggled against her chains, but couldn't quite manage to maneuver her Blade to cut through them. She managed to duck and dodge the dehumidifier parts, as her legs were still free, though she did look a bit ridiculous doing so. "I came because you were murdering an innocent child." Subversion said. "I decided, at the conclusion of my... more like one and a half thousand page existential crisis, that I want to care. And since I now care that you're an awful, despicable person, I decided to do something about it." Subversion grinned, and the chains binding her transformed into hummingbirds. She then transformed into a hummingbird herself, flying zigzag through Fog's essence, Narrationblade formed into a blade on her beak to stab annoyingly at the withergeist's essence. The other hummingbirds aided her, pecking at Fog with beaks made from solid light. Subversion abruptly transformed back into her normal self and the hummingbirds became ordinary hummingbirds, flitting away as quickly as their little wings could take them. "A fight without powers, eh? A field like this does not discriminate, last I checked." She held her Narrationblade out before her. "Sure, why not? I'm sure I can survive for the time it takes me to burn through the Nullite in that machine." Lyric frowned, reaching out to take the coin from Jack. "What is that you hold, my friend?" The Witherlord chuckled. "Not you." He gestured past Rebus to Symbol. "Her. And you should know why I have come. Long ago, you made a deal with Fate." He drew Malevolence, darkness spreading through the Dynessence ocean towards the rock upon which Rebus and the others stood. "You should have known that such deals never end well. I bring you the fruit of your own actions."

Subversion took this to mean that Fog was focusing on Nullifying Rebus, since he was the other Narrator to her. She took advantage of this opportunity by summoning ten thousand dehumidifiers, which immediately began sucking in Fog's essence and precipitating it into inanimate Mordite powder. "Now why would I do that?" Subversion asked, weaving artfully between the Mordite blades, knocking aside any that drew too close with delicate blows of her Narrationblade. "You'd kill me if I just held still, wouldn't you? And if you killed me, I wouldn't get the pleasure of ripping your still-beating heart from your chest and tossing it into the nearest volcano." She eyes Fog's incorporeal form. "Figuratively speaking, of course. Your heart, if you ever had one, has been stopped for a long time I wager."

Lyric looked at his friend. "I am Lyric. Don't you remember me?" - The Witherlord descended from the darkened heavens, landing on the ocean in front of Rebus and Symbol. Where his feet stepped, the light of the Dynessence died. "Stand aside, Rebus, and I will kill you last. Or first, if you so desire." The Witherlord said calmly. He looked down at the liquid beneath his feet, examining it curiously. "Perhaps I will even leave you alive, for a little longer." "Dragon missed." Subversion said in a slightly strained, but steady voice. "A sudden gust of wind blew Subversion to the side." Fog's blade missed by a hair's breadth, a sudden gust of wind blowing Subversion just out of reach. "I think," The Narrator said coolly, still glaring daggers at Fog. (Literally. Two daggers made of light shot towards Fog's head, burning away any stray tendrils they contacted on the way) "that you overestimate your skills as an Ennuller if you think you can totally Nullify the powers of two Narrators at once."

Subversion closed her eyes. She ignored the cloud around her for the moment, ignored Fog's taunts, ignored the tears that continued falling. She focused on the light within her, and the darkness within Fog that pressed against it. Another vacuum cleaner popped into existence. Smaller than the last one, it nonetheless began sucking the cloud away from Subversion. "Perhaps it could have, had I arrived in time." Subversion opened eyes now glowing with iridescent light. "And if you think me weak, then I'm afraid this battle will be a bit of a shock for you, child." It's fine. Shard can be weird sometimes.

@Through The Living Glass Did you see my post?

Subversion looked at Atlas's corpse. "Yes, I was." She said in a subdued tone. "Too late to save her. I should've come earlier, but I thought Rebus could handle you." She raised her Narrationblade, glaring at Fog through tears. "I am not, however, too late to avenge Atlas." Subversion stepped forward and swung her Narrationblade at Fog's foggy face.

Lyric broke off his song entirely. That did not sound good. He turned to his companions. “Have any of you heard of the ‘Shadows of Law’?” The Witherlord observed the planet he’d emerged above. Oceans of glowing liquid were on its surface, and he could sense only three living beings on its face. Although of the three, only two had true life. The other was a mere shell, abandoned by her author, nothing more than a shadowed hope of eventual return. The rifts the Witherlord had cut all around the solar system begs to expand. Those on the planet below would see a darkness pass over the sky, stars winking out one by one as the Void surrounded the planet. In moments, it was done. This solar system was now cut off from the rest of reality, impassible to traditional teleportation. The Witherlord smiled, and descended towards the planet below. This Rebus is supposed to have a conscience. He thought idly. I wonder how he’ll respond to the knowledge of what his other self has done? The letter read: To my good friend, *name redacted* I write this letter to explain my actions, which in no small part have contributed to Malevolence’s ascension to the Mantle. When Malevolence came to me and asked me to make for him a Blade, I realized three things. First, the Witherlord’s return was inevitable. The secret of the Lost pages was out, and whether it was Malevolence, Rebus, or some third party, the forces of evil would not stop until the Witherlord had been truly returned. Second, I realized there were no weapons capable of defeating the Witherlord. For a time I had thought the converter would suffice, but it is too weak a hope. Even if one could gather and convert enough Prismite to forge a blade or some other tool, it would not assure victory. such a Blade would threaten the Witherlord, but defeat him? He has slain the Luxsprites and corrupted their greatest members. It is no sure thing. Last, I realized that I had an opportunity to forge a Blade that could kill the Witherlord. A blade he could not corrupt, for it is forged of his own essence. A blade he could not destroy or control, for it is linked to his own soul. The blade of which I speak is Malevolence. The blade I made for him. Old friend, if Malevolence can be taken from the Witherlord, it can be used to destroy him. He cannot manipulate it, for to do so would be to tear apart his own soul. Neither can he dismiss the Blade, to keep it safe from all who would steal it. Old friend, I hope that you will put this knowledge to good use. And I hope you will forgive me, for the destruction and sorrow Malevolence has and will cause. Sincerely, *name redacted* It could work, or BftS could just be an eccentric corner of TLT where the Plotblade of Macguffin runs rampant, or it could be similar enough that that Enullers let Narrators through, or whatever explanation you want. Subversion appeared in the nick of time, deflecting the Dragon with her slender Narrationblade. She wore a blue dress with gold trim along the sleeves and bodice, her black hair was tied in a braid, and her silver-grey eyes gleamed with determination. ”I was going to wait for a more dramatic moment to reveal my decision, but I realized that that was stupid. And anyways, I can’t just let you murder a child.” With a flick of her fingers, Subversion summoned up a giant vacuum cleaner which began sucking up all the dark smoke surrounding Atlas. @Keke @DragonHeir

I bribe the IT people to set up even more massive speakers.

Lyric’s song faltered, and he halted in place. Hesitantly, he picked his song up again. ”Stones of oaths broken now, answer me my question. What shadows hide the boy, where has he been taken?” “Look for him, and you will find him. Or Omen, anyways.” Unintelligible shrugged. “He can sense those who search, I think.” That about the Witherlord is not accurate. The Void may exist outside of TLT as well as within it, but the Wall created by the Enullers keeps the Witherlord contained regardless. If Narrators could get to BFtS, then I would have to say that it must be within that Wall, since they can’t canonically leave either. either that, or TLT rules don’t apply in BFtS. “Luxite? So he has found Nameless’s converter.” The Withelord’s voice replied. “You have done well. To be caught unawares by such a weapon would have been dangerous indeed. Continue watching, and inform me of new developments.” The Witherlord turned his attention back to his current plans. Finding the planet had proven difficult. Rifts created around it had gone astray, opening in inconvenient locations. But he had persevered. As he swung Malevolence through reality one final time, he was rewarded with the sight of his goal. A smile spread across his face as he entered reality, prepared to bring destruction and death.

The Witherlord watched a world burn. Surprisingly, his hand had not begun the blaze, although he had perhaps laid the tinder. This universe was doomed. With Malevolence the Witherlord had struck down its core, creating a rift to the Void that steadily grew, consuming stars and galaxies entire. Reality would break down, darkness would grow rampant, and eventually, death would come to this world and all who lived on it. But it was not the Witherlord who had begun the fighting on this planet. Indeed, their destruction by his hand was distant, perhaps as far off as three centuries. If they had responded to the discovery of their doom with cooperation, perhaps they may have been able to delay their destruction by flight to a more distant planet, or even escape to another universe entire. But that had not been their reaction, a fact the Witherlord found most pleasing. The response to him was desperation, strife, and destruction. To ensure the fighting did not end before it was too late, the Witherlord called forth a few choice creatures of darkness. Withergeists of illusion, to bond to those willing to serve his ends. Those bonded would become leaders in the conflict, claiming to fight against the doom, while ensuring that no unity could form to allow that doom to be prevented. That done, the Witherlord watched the destruction, and planned his next move. This universe was a mere trifle, a useless nothing, cared for by no Author or Narrator. Scarce were the places established, cared for, fleshed out. The Ghanderflaffle empire was hardly remembered, and almost impossible to truly destroy in any case, even for one such as him. Death and rebirth was a part of their lore, their identity as a people. They would die truly in the end, but he could hardly begin a campaign that way. Rebus's empire was a promising target, particularly due to the Narrator's preparations for war against him, but again, very poorly fleshed out. Sequence's world was a part of that empire, and would have been a promising target indeed if it were not for Ivisyre already destroying it. To begin a campaign of total destruction by redestroying what had already been ruined once... was not appealing to the Witherlord. It stank of weakness. Onyx's realm was an unknown, and would doubtless he would face fierce resistance there. There was Heaven, of course. Thought Sanguine had as yet failed to reach heaven, the Witherlord had no doubt that he could achieve that realm's destruction. Indeed, the Witherlord was beginning to feel that heaven was the best starting point, when a thought occurred to him. It was a dastardly thought, and ever so thematically appropriate. A target that would cause anguish and pain in one of the Witherlord's most threatening foes. A target that would crush hopes, draw out heroes for destruction, and ensure a proper beginning to his campaign. The Witherlord smiled, and vanished into the void to gather his forces. Lyric accepted Seamus's hand and climbed to his feet. His head spun and vision swam, but as he released Seamus's hand he managed to stay upright. Lyric hummed a somber tune, and laid a hand on nearby rubble. "Temple of Plot, aid us. Reveal surviving souls within, show us son of Seamus. Aid us, broken temple. Guide us in our search." With those words, Lyric set off through the rubble of the temple. @DragonHeir@Verdance Unintelligible nodded. "Of course." He frowned. "Although... I have no idea how to teach you how to use a Plotblade. I never had much luck finding a useful one, so I never really gained much experience using one."

I think the 1 in 1,000 number is among the general population. Allomancers would have significantly higher chances at having Misting or Ferring children, which would help a breeding program out. My evidence for that is that we did see the Set basically setting up a breeding plan, so obviously it was viable in some way. Since the odds must be much better than 1 in 1,000 for such a plan to be viable, they likely are. I believe the kandra said it was likely the Terris would have a full feruchemist born within a few generations given their efforts to consolidate their bloodline, so that's possible as well. Still incredibly immoral, but given that at least one group has already tried to do something similar to a breeding program, I don't see it as all too unlikely that other groups will continue, especially as modern science makes things like sperm donation possible/easier. Now, bene gesserit level? Probably not. Before we get to that point, scientists will probably have figured out how to make Lerasium or replicate the Bands of Mourning.

Lyric slowly sat up, head pounding. "I can guide us." He held a hand out to Iromem. "Help me stand." @DragonHeir@TwinStorm The Witherlord sighed. Now he'd have to go destroy a planet or something while he planned. It is best generally to keep to one Narrator (at a time) per Author.

It's actually a reference to this trope. But I expect Fog is capable of morphing into a dragon if she so wishes. "I could search for him." Lyric reluctantly volunteered. He wondered if the man was seeing things, seeing as they'd simply walked up to the ruined temple. "If he survived, I can find him. If he perished... I hope he is merely dead." Lyric looked at Jack curiously. "Friend Jack? Are you alright?" Subversion shot Rebus a sideways glance."...While you're there, would you mind asking Onyx if Nogard is around?" She pointedly turned away to hide her expression from Rebus. "I need to... speak with him." The Witherlord appeared behind God Slayer in all his glory. In his hands he held Malevolence, a dark blade that seemed to suck in the light. Shadows deepened around him, and the stars above winked out. "Hello there. I understand you think you can defeat me?" Xino would be, since it's his character's domain.

Lyric looked around at the destruction. "...I fear his odds of survival are slim. The fiends of the void do not often leave survivors." "Creatures of the void." Murmured Lyric. "I have seen the like before." He looked at Iromem suspiciously. "How was it you survived?"

"Oh." Subversion and Rebus stood on a hill overlooking the edge of Onyx's realm. That edge was near a mile distant, as Subversion was taking no chance with losing her Narration. "Travel through there until you find a place full of sand. Then go to sleep. Don't use Narration, and watch out for the destroyer. He wields a piece of Unity last I checked, and may attempt to incorporate you into his hivemind." Subversion gave Onyx's realm a long look full of reminiscence. "Good luck." She whispered, and was gone. "Very well, we shall... help him." Murmured Lyric. His recent memories rushed back, and his breathing quickened. "Darkness." He muttered. "Darkness beset this place." Humming a tune of clarity, he sat up slowly, head pounding all the harder. Mostly, he wanted to run away and hide. But the man looked desperate... And that other one, the priest. Might he hold some secret wisdom for Jack to know? Lyric remembered hazily what the man had asked. "You seek your son?" He queried. @TwinStorm

No, he summoned a dark monster with tentacles and stuff that was binding Magenta, but hadn't ripped him apart. I try to avoid killing characters without giving their Author the chance to respond/stop it from happening. The teleportation was successful. Subversion stood amidst a suitably misty landscape, wearing a plain grey dress. "You're here about the converter, I assume?" Lyric had a rather large bump on his head, but his breathing was steady. In the way of fiction, the concussion that caused his unconsciousness did not prevent him from dreaming. His father standing on a hill at night, watching shadows cast by pure crystal's light, humming a tune of resonance. Lyric, sitting beside him, a question on his lips. "Why must we guard these hills?" His father's music halting, an answer soon in coming. "We guard these hills, as our ancestors before us, to protect the crystals. In lands far off, cities rise and people gather. The Void sees these of life, and hates them. Where the Luxsprites rule, there is safety. But they do not rule everywhere. Where they cannot be they send these crystals, to guard the cities from the void, to keep them safe from terrors in the night." His father's eyes hardening, a hand laid upon crystal behind him. A command, abrupt and sharp. "Go fetch your mother and uncles. They come from east, I think. The way to camp should be clear." Running through the night, fear twisting in his heart. His father's voice behind him, singing the Thread's song. Lyric's eyes snapped open. His head pounded with a fierce headache, and his vision spun. Still, he saw the newcome priest, and old man before them. "Friend Jack?" He murmured softly. "What happened?"

Yeah, the dark tentacle thing that was attacking Magenta. Lyric made some unconscious person noises. Perhaps Jack would be able to help. @DragonHeir

The Dreamsmith nodded. "The contents of that letter should not be secret. The Witherlord knows my plan, at least well enough to take any countermeasures he can." He opened his mouth and... The Dreamsmith told Rebus what the letter said. The Dreamsmith frowned. "That was... odd. Did you get that?" The Dreamsmith repeated what he'd said. "Curse it all! Listen carefully. My plan is simple, though carrying it out will be enormously difficult..." The Dreamsmith told Rebus the secret to defeating the Witherlord, speaking loudly and slowly. The Dreamsmith's eyes flared with anger, but he did not bother repeating himself again. "It seems my Author will not allow the contents of that letter to be revealed. Storm him. I knew he'd planned for events to play out differently, but... I see now that he's unwilling to let go of the Witherlord too soon. Deliver that letter, Rebus. And... if Onyx cannot be found, then try to read it yourself. Perhaps my Author will relent." Lyric regained some of his cheerful composure as they walked. Though he hadn't felt like singing, doing so with his friend, walking under a clear blue sky, returned to him some measure of calm, despite the tone still reverberating through the Thread. By the time they were near their destination, he could almost have called himself happy. Then he saw the temple. Did the Withergeists succeed in stealing Plotblades from the temple/High Priest of Plot? That was the Witherlord's original goal in attacking them, to claim a Plotblade to give the Guardians of Plot. As soon as Lyric saw the temple's ruins, he knew what forces had struck it. Listening closely, he could hear the manyfold tune of destruction left in the wake of darkness. Memories flashed through his mind, of destruction, of terror, of death. The song of the withergeists in the night. Lyric's eyes passed over the man among the ruins, but saw him not. His mind was elsewhere, in times long distant. Screams in the night. Dark shapes clawing at crystalline light. Black wounds rotting, men dead while alive, doomed to join the throng of darkness. The song, that terrible tune, proclaiming terror, fear, death. And another song, rising to meet it. The song of- Lyric's mind recoiled. His legs failed him and he fell to the ground with a cry of terror. His head struck a rock as he fell, and all went black. Did Magenta self-sacrifice to kill the dark monster the Witherlord left behind?

Oh, cool! Well, if you wanted to rp the destruction in TLT, they could show up after that blog took place. The Witherlord was planning to pay a personal visit to the temple, to claim the Plotblade he’s agreed to give the guardians. If not, they can arrive after the destruction.

Thanks! And Luxite could work, but getting enough will be quite tricky, and even then not an instant win against the Witherlord.

A dark mass burst from the Witherlord's blade, sprouting tentacles that wrapped around Magenta's jaws, forcing them apart. The Witherlord stepped forward, sheathing Malevolence. "I came here because you offered me a Plotblade. Well, I see that you will not give it to me." A tear in reality opened in front of the Witherlord, and he walked to it. "I see no purpose in carrying out a long and annoying battle here. But worry not. If you wish to contest with darkness, I will allow it." He gestured towards towards Magenta, whose body was now wrapped entirely in the tentacles of a monstrous, unformed creature of darkness. Nullite nullifies everything, ie, destroys/silences powers in an orderly manner. Luxite would be aligned with Creation, but ordered, unlike the narrators. It could be used to stabilize reality, to reverse corruption, that sort of thing.

“A Luxite weapon… such a thing has long been sought after.” The Dreamsmith looked long at Rebus. Eventually, he seemed to come to a decision. Reaching to a workbench beside him, he tossed a four-pointed medallion to Rebus. “Take this. It is real, entrusted to me by Subversion. It is a creation of Nameless, a converter made with fragments of each of the four powers. He obtained a small amount of Luxite from the skeins, Ordered-light entities who survived the Dies Luxfrang.” The Dreamsmith grimaced. “It is… inefficient. The whole of the Prismite from a Narrator’s core would not create enough Luxite for a blade, and from my experience the other metals are even more inefficient. But it will, I think, be more efficient than your own attempts, working with those who can manipulate only two of the four powers. And perhaps you can discover more of its workings than I. Your discovery of Ordered Chaos was certainly… surprising to me.” The Dreamsmith held up a letter, handing it to Rebus as well. “Take this letter to Onyx, if you would. I… hope that its contents bring him some comfort. Within that letter, I hope, is the secret to the Witherlord’s destruction.” — Lyric walked through the forest, singing his song. He sounded more subdued than other times they’d travelled, and a troubled expression dwelt on his face. Eventually, the pair came to a city. @TwinStorm is the temple of Plot accepting supplicants? “Those who oppose me have never been so weak.” The Witherlord stepped forwards. “Why should I fight you? Your blade has shown no power threatening to me. My time is valuable, my enemies many. Tell me your Plotblade’s name. Tell me why I should not simply leave you here, leave to plan my domination of the Thread.”

“The Plotblade of the Unknowable, then?” The Witherlord did not seem concerned. “Why should I fear that which I do not know? I know my own power, and it is more than sufficient to destroy you.”