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Parodypires!; And now for something completely different.
Topic Started: Oct 23 2017, 03:19 AM (153 Views)
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Orzic Nedbens

Psychomachia. Slightly more specifically, the paper-wastes, one of many paths between worlds demiurged under the Shinki Rights.

Griffin looked up, staring at the math equations floating in the sky, watching them for a few moments lace among the blue horizontal and red vertical lines of this world, holes burrowing off to similar plane-paths. The vampire sighed, biting his lip to let his fangs extend seamlessly. A simple matter of willing the curious internal muscles to-

"Narrative. Privacy." he said simply, slightly irritated at having to ask. He wasn't a narrator proper, but the base principles were common to this world where the 4th wall was so shattered only the impenetrable boundary between reality and fiction really counted anymore.


A few sidestepped compressed moments later we returned to him, almost done fang-drinking blood from some rag-like thing. He finished and threw it aside, letting it blur out and disappear as it was intended for, and smoothed out his generic red jacket and mildly bloodstained jeans.

Pencil-scratches in the distance indicated a further surplus of incoming equations. Rather than deal with void-mask or wraith-growth he simply stepped out of the boundary of pages, a hole suddenly a window-

A gentle void, the back wall of an observation deck. An abyssal shih tzu, black fur contrasting its white bishop hat ringed in red, was forming a worldsong as it floated within the void, speak-writing book-godhood. A Shinki Rights demiurge being exemplary of its kind. Abyssal shih tzus were already miracle workers, it was unsurprising one had claimed on par with the divinity of its maker.

"And the realm-queens will forge within themselves chambers," the echoing voice resounded in narrative as the dog barked, "that will network in vast sleeping membranes of color and mayhem, each building their own magic..."

Oooh, a show. Gods were cool when they built stuff up like this, and this guy wove a pretty keen observation deck. Griffin decided to call in a friend, because this deserved to be seen.

"Need another moment." he said.


A few minutes later, the last red vestiges of blood magic channeled through the unspeakable floated off Griffin's hand in the form of an intricate circular sigil of red light, and disappeared. The summons were sent.

Accordingly, a blue portal of light opened and another vampire emerged, this one dressed in a toga difficult to determine from a thick sheet and adjusting golden laurels about his short black hair.

"What?" the name-hidden interloper said. "This really a cool show?"

"Yeah." Griffin confirmed. "Gonna be a pretty hefty batch, maybe we could move base from Sable Eridu to here. Maybe ask the owner to a show battle."

"Sable doesn't bring out your sunlight mania," the older vampire pointed out. "Is this place really gonna be much better with that being a thing?"

"Nowhere near enough hunter guys for it to get stupid." Griffin said. "Least, not yet. Dude's spawning empresses, not charming demon-hating youths."

"So this is about feeding."


"You're like, one of the two of us who doesn't need to do anything out of the ordinary to deal with that."

"Are you calling me a-"

"Yes." the unnamed one cut Griffin off with. "We're on a public channel, Jennasakes. Narrative, give us a few?"

"You're totally helping me with the next one then." Griffin said, with an eyebrows-up-and-down-twice signal.

The narrative gets the point and will now end the post. Geez, weirdos.
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Orzic Nedbens

"Think that's enough, yeah." Griffin confirmed as he put his jacket back on over a dark red tshirt, a few trailing red glyphs in the form of red solidifying into cute little bat-winged cats, bat-winged hamsters, and overly cutesy bats which struggled not to distort the artstyle ever closer to anime. "Fully charged. You can declare the fun if you want."

"By right of Mimas," the unnameable vampire commanded in a harsh, stern tone to ensure the narrative was paying attention again (yes, geez, no need to be so rude). "In accordance with the Shinki Rights, I demand audience by battle with the demiurge of this land, in play and by pattern."

A silver column rose up from the floor, a big red button labeled "CONFIRM CHALLENGE" emerging as it stopped at about chest-height. The vampire whose name this narrative is curiously not privy to slammed it with his right fist like it had insulted his housekeeping-spirit ancestry.

The dog seemed to finally notice the observation deck, realities lined flush rather than one-sided. The glass slid down, and both vampires floated forward to speak with him. As they passed, the glass slammed back up again.

"Want a battle, eh?" the Dogiurge said, grinning in that disturbing way only helldogs are known to. (Wow that's a catchy name I'm sticking with that.) "Base terms rush forceaccept, privilege of Grimoire. I hereby summon my finest creation by right of Yumeko, which happens to be, oh, saaaay....TESTQUEEN GODSEND VIRTUEENESIS CATOBLEPAS OF THE FIRST AND HIGHEST LIMIT!"


The scene changed from black void to a coastal city at the end of sunset, the beaches set for a party yet with almost no-one there. The skyscrapers seemed already black, a few witches on brooms flying alongside strings of orange lanterns. A vaguely feminine outline of blue light studded with yellow stars seemed to form, from nothing into mist and gel.

"Behold, the paradise of a remade unforged world!" the Dogiurge proclaimed, proud of even his unfinished creation, "I will-"

Griffin turned into a bright orange (hell)cat with bat wings, and flew off into the city before the Dogiurge could finish talking. Not that the Dogiurge bothered, lapsing into high-pitched darking and chasing after the cat (meriting a hail of bats exploding into red mist and sparkles in pursuit.)

Godsend and the nameless one looked at each other for a moment at the antics of maker and friend respectively, before shrugging and preparing to duel. Space warped: a claw rake clattered across an emerald bubble shield, only for a portal to emerge and the nameless one to bash up against another wall, resounding like against glass, a shove tossing him back through both. Space normalized, only to be sundered and unsundered in a pair of bursts. Both bowed, before entering an accelerated volley.

Meanwhile in the streets of the city, the cat had become several cats and the Dogiurge had become several dogs: a series of intersections later led to the reunification of cats and separate reunification of dogs, which wasted all that time.

Dog caught cat. With a sort of high pitched 'nononono' at scruff getting caught, Griffin reverted to normal in a failed attempt to shake off the dog god, resulting in the awkward scene of a black shih tzu with a funny hat holding up a fully grown man several floors above street level by the neck.

"Tag." the Dogiurge mumbled.
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A long and confirmedly offscreen battle later, Godsend and the nameless one seemed mutually exhausted, having fought almost to a standstill.

Griffin and the Dogiurge, who had been sitting atop a nearby skyscraper since Griffin's 'defeat' what was now pretty much ages ago, had been discussing how Griffin was more akin to a large surplus of constantly growing energy without any real limit jammed into a vampire than something with a max-capacity mana meter (more like 'maximum current expression capacity' to release in a single set of actions which will not be discussed), while the Dogiurge as crystallizing the ideas of Bloodforge Queen Amestris Venomockery of the Lifeweaving, who ruled over volcano-forge and dwarfelves, creating both life and mechanism.

"And the dwarves have elf ears!" the Dogiurge confirmed. "Really just pointy regular ears. But close enough. And they've got a slightly wider sensory range than humans, especially with visual colors. And darkvision. And they also eat things in battle like Dwarf Fortress elves. But instead of tantrums, they get CREATIVE! Moods practically on command! And maybe instead of alcoholism they eat stone and earth, like worms!"

Griffin rolled his eyes while the Dogiurge noted. "Blood for the bloodqueen, I guess."

And then, it was time. A few last swings and lazy projectiles. The queen and the name-secret had fought to the last. Exhausted, waiting on their respective regenerative properties to return them to fighting condition.

"Truce of parley?" Godsend offered.

"Truce of parley." the vampire confirmed.

With the keen senses of being God, the Dogiurge heard this and barked in acceptance of the verdict.

"Well, there you have it." they said. "My champion has ceded. I guess we can, uh, keep talking since we were already doing that yeah."

The two combatants floated up, slowly and uncertainly, winded but their wounds visibly healing.

"By Right of Satan," the Dogiurge continued, "if you use that as a base anyway, I can just work you in with one of the few Queenless Lands that arise in the wild. Uh, lemme cough up something. But not here."

The scene shifted, bringing the dog and vampires (but not the Testqueen, who stayed home) to where a white void met a black void so that it was white above and black below, with a narrow band of grey as the horizon, and the dog-god spat a green doubled-egg coated in pale green slime into the black void. With a third spitting motion, a bluish-teal egg with an aquamarine gel-coat landed at the center, the border from black and white.

The doubled-egg hatched into the two queens that would govern from their black tables the war of the Cringing Crag and the Hellhags, the one on the crag terrifying but for moments of unfolded madness-glory beautiful in strange, and the Hellhags who wove the horror of other worlds to combat the strangeness under her mirror-sister's insanity. The dream of grey stone unfolded, filled with high mountains topped with warring citadels shifting between the control of the two, great tables float-moving to battle the dance.

The blue egg hatched into a purple-tinted emptiness, which resolved in rock a great black castle-city in memory of the Quartz autogrowth, a world-root of its own game.

"Kay you can go chill out there while I go build...something. Maybe involving cars, Rosie the Riveter, and Osiris. I hereby knight you under the Right of Byakuren now do whatever I'm bored. You may bring your kind all that yadda yadda settle in thanks for the free ideologiconceptuate and all the fish bye I'll retcon you in if you need itit."

...It had taken weeks to crystallize in the paper-wastes. Besides the gratuitous fight scene, it had taken them a fraction of the time to secure home.

They were incomplete elements, really.

Griffin looked over them as the namehidden one brought them in.

Himself. Turned as a teenager by a demon in some pseudo-medieval setting, having survived into the modern age through disturbing powers of creation. Traditional weaknesses simply made him less powerful rather than actually destroying him (he suspected it'd take copious amounts of fire and ensuring he didn't have a proxy body hamster or something to escape with and regenerate from), but long story short many of them made him embarassingly manipulable rather than damaged. Could turn into several animals at once and spawn/withdraw bat wings from a specific part on the back. His personality was far less complete than his abilities. He was mildly nerdy but put on a serious face to deal with some things, but he felt...incompletely written.

The unnamed one. 'Part maid', as in his family on both sides (mostly the mother) was part housekeeping-spirit (and there was some elf in there somewhere). Turned in some nebulous Grecoroman period as a 'gift' from one god for desecrating the temple of another by what was supposedly an accident, and survived by being able to bite people from range through abuse of portal powers over space and mildly time from housekeeper ancestry. He was prideful, but had enough deference hereditarily that it crumbled under sustained pressure.

And then came the others.
Edited by Nedben, Oct 26 2017, 02:50 AM.
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Orzic Nedbens

Olga Yvenne. Superstrong athletic linefounder, with the power of forcefields and controlling her size, and a few miscellaneous powers of her associated kind. She was from somewhere Vikingish and took on a new name. Despite being from a family of archers she prefers melee offensives; she was basically a draugr who retained something close to the blush of life rather than the stench of decay, because her hateful element was mostly directed towards dying rather than they that killed her and her family in a raid, funneling it all into a jealousy for qualities of life that could not be taken into normal restless undeath by violence alone; essentially, she was so angry at being killed and death in general rather than those that did it, she came back as something slightly closer to the alive-feeling end of the undeath spectrum than would be standard for her kind of revenant out of sheer spite, becoming a first-generation vampire rather than a standard draugr. Strong willed, obviously. Rather than the traditional vampire weaknesses possesses the weaknesses of draugr (as she technically qualifies as one lifelust or no); iron weapons, fire, sticks, and ritual entry seals are capable of weakening or barring her with surprising ease even as she shrugs off more powerful weapons with far less damage, and if someone can outwrestle her in strength it will be sufficient to actually loosen her grip on the world. She intends to live life to the fullest: she is a partier and heavy drinker, and is often a great leader and captain in general. She is able to extend her lifelikeness-type draugrism to undead of different forms like ghosts and zombies through a fairly simple but hour-long ritual of blessing, making her an interesting case of spreading among the undead rather than the living. She drinks blood and has vampire fangs because of her form of life-seeking, and she is capable of supercharging her powers of strength and regenerating through the use of blood. She also likes fishing, and takes advantage of her peculiar undead physiology for such antics as eating fish whole straight from the net.

A woman who prefers to be known only as Granny, and signs a lot of her more personal communication as Abuelita. Essentially the collective spirit of a lot of carnivorous and parasitic plants in something akin to a reverse vampire, she's somewhere between 'showgirl' and 'flapper'. Eats a lot of salad, loves sunlight. Very celebrity personality. Sort of like that one type of slug. She also possesses the ability to feast off attention and intense emotional energy rather than direct blood, but actually is just as pleased being part of a chorus, supporting actress, or a backup dancer as the star of the show. And can also spray blood at will. Dislikes most of her powers since they're not very useful, but likes using her separate control over plants for such endeavors as gardening. She originally signed up as a proxy for Griffin during situations where he would become embarrassingly manipulable due to sunlight, mistaking it for some form of easy one-off advertising or acting job due to word of mouth mistranslation among the supernatural community. Spreads reverse vampirism in the form of a specific form of plant control applicable to carnivorous or parasitic plants, which can then be transferred to animals, but she hasn't done so in ages.

Lucienne. A part-reaper, authorized to deal with death-in-special-cases but never doing anything with it. She possesses the ill-defined power to 'deliver devastating attacks regardless of the enemy', which consists primarily of being able to inflict massive damage in the form of many bizarre and overpowered attacks (like a less powerful but more visibly impressive version of Flandre's ability to break anything or Yuyuko's manipulation of death if you need a reference point). A grumpy woman who acts elderly despite looking that sort of ageless young-but-not-that-young of immortals like vampires, because she doesn't have nearly the special powers of the others. Vampire weaknesses, including sunlight, merely reduce her to a spectral form somewhere between a ghost an an actual reaper, a defensive mechanism against taking damage from it. She is a vampire to render her fully immortal, because 'weird stuff happens when even Death may die' so they don't want to actually risk it from even a part-reaper passing on.

A nameless half-elf boy with the ability to conjure laser blades of light, being a fairy that was in service to some of them.

A painter who was essentially the reborn Gunner Lady, appearing as countless women (and sometimes men) in the background for no clear reason.

Archwitch Gwynny, a fairly benign and reasonable figure, who was so unstable she was seeking to be writ into the world as one of the realm-queens, perhaps of some college of magic.

Crusader Junemarch. A warrior(-king?) who lead a host of angelic warriors.

Many incomplete ideas just fell into the world at the Dogiurge's mercy.

"We're getting written up this way?" Griffin said happily to the narrative.

If you can keep him excited. I hope you do.

A rare moment of kindness and worry passed between the narrative and the characters bound within.
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Orzic Nedbens

"And then Imperial Jocelyn raises the land of king's courts and aesthetic wizards." the Dogiurge commented offhandedly about Gwynny's territory, where the High Queen would raise the Lesser Queens in unity as the archmagos, as the Dogiurge sat above with Testqueen judging the malarkey and writing a tale of madness even as the world lived.

Griffin tried to look cool as he floated above the carnage of newly-forged war-peoples streaming from the forge, but was really more unnerved at the sight. Great flaming circles of red and black pulsated, beating in time to the frenzied blend of multiple genres of music as the Queen of Blood and Forges smelted and shaped the rampaging hordes of First Children. Dwarf-elves erupted, carried off to newborn planes of existence by harpies that shouted in celebration. Great alien beasts wrenched from impossible geometries tumbled gleefully from the burning mountain that erupted with life and gore as well as fire and ash. A shaping-hammer thundered, beating new patterns of possibility and life from a hearty fountain of magic.

His authority as a messenger-knight of the interlopers did more to protect him than any particular action. The harpies sped past him, opening a way simply by taking whatever spare legends came from the forge and dropping them in created landscapes in a process the randomness of could not be discerned.

"Uh, hi?" he said, approaching the titaness.

There was a great red light of loosely feminine shape, speckled with golden starlight and a rainbow tinge at the edges. Fuchsia light glimmered.
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The fuchsia bent into glimmering light of stars and sun. The latter made Griffin uncomfortable in ways he censored the narrative from seeing. The queen of the land bent forward, her internal stars like besieging eyes.

"Is that vampirism you're offering or are you just artificially happy to see me?" she said with the smugness of comedic supremacy.

Griffin was entranced, the drive to simply obey when faced with that which would weaken or burn away most of his kind clouding higher thought.

"Yes to both." Griffin's dull voice answered, mostly as an afterthought.

A droplet of fuchsia light ballooned into a glimmering teardrop jewel like an anime sweatdrop upon the equally brilliant head of the queen, before being flicked away to a crowd of harpies which would probably drop it on some villain somewhere in a gesture of trolling.

"Uh. You okay there?" the Forgequeen answered, legitimate worry for the ambassador of other worlds entering her expression as ripples of concerned purple darkness momentarily washed over the suns within her body.

Griffin roused slightly at the momentary drop in luminance, managing to choke out "Sunlight" in a nervous tone of voice before "Fine" in the dull one.

The Forgequeen realized she was probably liable to burn vampires due to her true form, and manifesting a golden chain tipped with an amethyst near-sphere of countless facets from her head like some giant braid, with a pull and a double 'kh-chnk' the suns became shrouded in darkness, leaving around the darkened stars the crimson cloud.

"Better?" she asked lightly?

"Better." Griffin confirmed. "I get...messy in sunlight."

"Say that to..." the crimson maiden started, before thinking better of it and an afterthought about legendary pants in general. "You know what you're right the narrative doesn't need to know what we're looking at. Just bite and infect this freaky-ass stone apple thing before the black table chicks hear it from harpies and hags, but don't actually drink more than a little of it, it's funky."

She withdrew from where pockets would be on a solid form a grey granite apple, which was tossed to the vampire who caught it more out of instinct and reaction than knowing it was coming. Griffin looked over the queen's offering and nervously tapped it with his extended fangs, testing for some sick joke. It was far softer than granite should have been, comparable to the normal flesh of an apple.

One bite, confirming an indeed funky taste that was not allowed to be drunk further, somewhere between stone and a discordant wash of pears, mango, liquid violence, peach, grape, carrot, the fulminous storms, magma if it wasn't deadly, and some other barely coherent tastes with only a trace of actual apple. The sort of willful spraying motion with disturbing mouth-muscles only vampires had to release the pathogenic form of a blessing/curse ensued relatively effortlessly. It was turned cleanly.

The apple regenerated, then darkened blood red, its stereotypical stem turning black and its leaf turning lurid shifting colors. With an underhand toss the apple was returned to its maker. Rather than a hand the queen caught it with a black magical circle trapping the gift/poison in midair, extrapolating from the authority of the interloper the gifts of the others.

"I like it." she said. "Condemnation approved. I'll call your people."

There was a disturbance in the air whose source could not be placed, initiated at the behest of the queen to chill this moment.

Griffin felt more like he'd been played than this being an exchange between somewhat-divinities on opposing sides of the line.
Edited by Nedben, Nov 2 2017, 02:52 PM.
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"So I'm thinking: ninjas versus Vance-style-but-unlimited-cantrips with some shaper-dwarves as backup." the Dogiurge said. "Maybe give the Vancers a dedicated martial caste and a few psychics and clerics for flavor, lotta maneuvers, and the ninjas are like....wizards."

"Hasn't that already been done?" the Testqueen said.

"Duh," the Dogiurge confirmed. "I got the idea from television. Now watch this. Maybe I can copy ideas from Asia or something."

In tandem with narration of the same, the Earthqueen of Life and Service-to-War rose up. Earthlifequeen governing the dance of Forgebloodqueen.

"EARTHQUEEN AURON GAIASONG ANASTASIA SPIDERMUM OF THE UNITED SERVICE-TO-WAR!" the Dogiurge named into existence, the green glow-gas emerging from a body of golden stars. "Oooh, wait. I should add another one. Maybe she'll be purple."

The dog turned and barked rapidly in excess.


Two new Named Queens did about their work; green mist orchestrating a war among newborn civilizations of ninja wizards and not-ninja wizards defended by pirate dwarves, cheating swordmen, clerics, and psychics; purple mist forging the war between Rosie the Riveter and Osiris.

And the Dogiurge looked down on his creation and said "good enough for now, let's playtest."

The dog then pulled out a cellphone and called the vampires, because this creation myth was a trainwreck of other worlds.
Edited by Nedben, Nov 19 2017, 05:41 AM.
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Oh no. The dreamer was moving again. The dogiurge hardened the walls, and the defenders gathered on them. Beyond the end of an infinite world lay a border and boundary of verses, and on this a lot of recently knighted vampires gazed into the raging paperwastes.

The Nedben spoke in words of madness and fantasy. A roving tower-tornado-fountain, spraying tentacled things and being chased by an army, was ravaging the sheets. Math hung violently in the sky, a storm of equations lashing out in hunger.

Lucienne's scythe and authority as a half-reaper rung out. Trans-conceptual assault lane "the ability to perform and inflict devastating attacks regardless of the enemy". Azure waves of suffering and authority crashed outward, C-shaped patterns of brutally potent 'no'.

A heavy narrative act stuck, pages and pages of high-information-density glyphs raining down. A few decompressed words stuck out in ribbons of storyline. Entry denial. Boundary establishment. Repulsion wave. Arbitrary conceptual cancellation. Dozens of these unholy things burned their way through, saying "This is a boundary, no tresspassing without authorization."

The dogiurge barked out a few secondary demand pulses. Nigh-omnipotent or no, he was a raw creator, not a good weaver.

The fountain was stunned momentarily, thrown back by abject denial. It continued iffily, the army of heroes and madness trailing into it beginning to tear into its flesh and erasing the illegal spawn.

Cannons manifested. Names and numbers and old magic beating in time to the song of everything and nothing. The exception of infinity.

The tower of doubt and storms chimed back. Heretical, but claiming to be essential as all martyrs. Which is to say, waste and damnation.

The one who keeps hiding their name called this bullshit and slammed space into it, telling to to shoo.

6 asterisks the dawn turns leftward shut up ALBATROSS!

That wasn't helpful.

"I know!" the namehidden one shouted. "Can't you help?"

I'm a narrative, barely a narrator. Bullshit haxdreams like that are really hard to tie up. You're naming them now, and look how they're cancelling appellations. Redkey it, I dare you.

The tower tried to ram the wall, only to be held back by a glimmering pink barrier of assorted shapes. Olga shouted something about continuity edges and much of the shapes burst into stars as the tower bounced off.

The bloated thing exploded into a black, hateful storm, coating the barrier in black that was occasionally pierced by hordes of rampaging heroes.

There was a sense of pause as the heroes grew dimmer and cut through less often.

"So, uh." the Dogiurge started. "Guess it's a rainy day in the paper-wastes until these blow over."

Various people made groans of annoyance.

"Everyone could cut through that fine but for the horror." the Dogiurge complained right back. "Guess we'll just stay home or something."

The Voidqueen offered a plateful of various kinds of fresh cookies she had been baking, before commenting "Hey, didn't Earthqueen have a war we could go spice up?"

"Sounds good to me." the one whose name is reference-blocked said, using portals to steal some of the cookies.
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"Buy me the church..." Griffin muttered, staring at the battle below as Auron wove her peoples as asked for.

"Lote surpassing." the Dogiurge confirmed. "Already our right."

"Like a witch ball at sea, I have rarely been comfortable with sacrifice."


A sitting room, in a narrator box. The constructs for the tale-telling that would weave-birth a world. WILMA, a creatrix untied, wondered why she was restrung. The fact that she wondered at all was a marvel, for the string of birthing rarely thought about how she was woven (whole nations had driven her stormy seas!). She looked back on the arrest and shouted "WHO WROTE THIS?!" and was terror and anger and fuck that experiment that was unethical. O super-man, o judge, o mom and dad-

Boredom was insidious and she was laughing-wire meant to be an eastern girl. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaamaranth. A nightwish of evolution tore at her branes and in brains she said hello from the other side, break-unbreaking by reweaving herself, femtofiber and the analysis of planck binding pseudoscientific to the auchmen-


Like !!IAEL!! had sundered her sundering, the wire-woman said 'screw it' and went to bed like a flower. Anon Azathoth, sleep peacefully, immortal smoke!


"Is it safe to come out yet?" Iael no Sage said, peeking through the door and seeing a sleeping thread-woman form a crystalline coffin. "Okay I stand corrected that's kinky and I need to find a better attack than doing this, but she did it herself."

Deep breath. "Boy."

"Well, I guess it's a viewing party."

The Dogiurge felt a fellow creator in the region. Two, actually, followed by one sleep-blossoming. The great shih tzu cringed in that way dogs do sometimes and recoiled at something unspoken.

...The narrative voiceover feel, impenetrable as this text, though perhaps kinder. Griffin had decided to stay away from the raging battle (because the clouds were clearing, and sunlight made him...loony), and retreated to a nearby bar on a cliff overlooking the strife, waiting for the weather to worsen. He had seen no-one when he came in, but as he sat down at the oddly modern wood-paneled bar the keeper emerged. An ambiguous heavy figure, familiar to stranger flesh-

The Dogiurge immediately hard-grabbed the narrative, wresting the camera from the scene and wrestling it fully like a dog playing with a ball, which in all honesty was completely true and-BARKBARKBARKBARKBARKBARK

Olga, on the other hand, had might to take over. She watched the lands be defined. There was...

Auron spat music and so the ninjas were defined. By section, since they were to be spoiled by the background music that could not be heard in text, as a medium bullshitting.

The Land of Woodwind, the Land of Brass, the Land of Strings, the Land of Percussion, and Land of Conducting (which was also really 'everything else'). They were lined tenously as the Orchestra Alliance against the...

Auron spat prosaic poetry and so was the casting...The vomiting came bitter, and she threw ink to extend the rewriting and implored permission, because there were other ideas and that was policy. The Dogiurge flipped upside down for another viewpoint, and consented as a general rule, so he didn't have to do any more work directly. The green cloud glimmered, and spat mages of books, who rarely bothered to memorize and spent much in components to avoid far more in charge time.

There were the Poets who were disc-bards that evoked weaklet narratives, more namesakes than true narratori, the appellation children made of things like fanciness and charming sparkles that were its sister magics of 'do this because the plot demands' that were the magics of the imaginative and the patterned. There were the Sigils who were ancient demon-love and brought of the Black Tables and the Violet to the Green, war-creatures and curses. There were the Shouting, who proclaimed intents and brought of the Blue and the Red, who did their descriptions in books and then brought the blasting-guns to the formal field. There were the Pens who were mightier than swords, for they also had shields made of angry fighting spells in clouds and sharpness. There were a few other people that Auron didn't bother naming directly and left them to write themselves in chaotic creatia. Together, Poet-Sigil-Shout-Pen and the rest became the Perspiration, for the sweat and tears joke was getting silly. Perspiring? Maybe. The Perspiring, good enough.

An orchestra against a guild of sweaty people. Whaaaat.

Olga, now facing something slightly more defined, stepped down to the Land of Conducting and found herself in a technological future of black and blue, the city made of soft light and chaos. Dwarf-elves of the Red had made their foundries here, in the city of Calensk. It was one of the great bastions of Conducting's mercenary trade, adventurers who would take bounty operations against the Perspiring. Shaking her head a bit, the linefounder strode confidently into one of the Conducting Mercenary Halls. It was time to see how the dead were doing.

"Third wave necromancy." someone said to someone else, irrelevantly.
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Golden Sunrise GSAR ToK Golden Sun Universe GSHC GSL Aeiou TLW GSUN