The Sleeper Wakes
Posted: Sat Apr 03, 2021 11:24 pm
Tremors rock the edges of Greybeard's Fourth Diagram as an omniversal reset sweeps over reality. The intricate foundational magics shudder as stars wink out, one by one, and darkness settles over the land for three breaths. Darkness, and worse things. Rot, Rust, Decay, and Flesh seethe in (do they though?) through the edges of the weakened diagram sensing a fertile ground of possibility to breed in amongst the moist darkness of mana. This place could be a foothold to them, a place to push forth from to invest the many worlds beyond.
Then, at the core of this universe, a crack forms in the shell of the world.
Searing, omnipotent light both glorious and terrible beyond words sweeps the land. The horrid elements which were never really there have their potential conquest scorched from reality even as the metaphysical laws bend, buckle, and break under the presence now awake and observing creation around it.
At this point even Greybeard's monitoring magics give out under the terrible strain of observing The Sleeper directly.
Time passes.
Reality comes back online for a second time, the magics of the Archmage who created this dimension having been prepared for The Sleeper one day waking. The Sleeper itself is nowhere to be seen. Backup reservoirs that have lain dormant for untold eons spark to life, injecting substance back into the cosmos and reconstituting parts of what was lost. Noix at its core has been shattered, what was once a planet of great power rent into a thousand pieces by the terrible violence of The Sleeper's awakening. Despite this, inexplicably, many pieces have survived more or less intact and now float around a core of white-hot light which echoes with the power recently (as if time could any meaning after such an event) displayed.
Factions begin to emerge. Most of those who have survived seem empowered by the upheaval. Roriana, Goddess of Orcs and Warfare, has survived and now marshals her remaining forces to claim errant shards. A city of Ancients seem to have made it through mostly intact and are assembling a network of shards for some unknown goal. The Doombreakers, the order of modified warriors which bind their souls to disposable corporeal shells, has mobilized to protect those pockets of civilization that remain. A lurid slate-blue mist pours forth from one cluster of shards and is slowly but steadily engulfing those nearby. The great sun itself has dimmed as streaks of black writhe over it only to be incinerated one after another by solar fire even as they continue to swarm it. And on, and on.
A new age of great danger and opportunity has dawned for this shattered planet, and calls have begun to go out for aid.
Then, at the core of this universe, a crack forms in the shell of the world.
Searing, omnipotent light both glorious and terrible beyond words sweeps the land. The horrid elements which were never really there have their potential conquest scorched from reality even as the metaphysical laws bend, buckle, and break under the presence now awake and observing creation around it.
At this point even Greybeard's monitoring magics give out under the terrible strain of observing The Sleeper directly.
Time passes.
Reality comes back online for a second time, the magics of the Archmage who created this dimension having been prepared for The Sleeper one day waking. The Sleeper itself is nowhere to be seen. Backup reservoirs that have lain dormant for untold eons spark to life, injecting substance back into the cosmos and reconstituting parts of what was lost. Noix at its core has been shattered, what was once a planet of great power rent into a thousand pieces by the terrible violence of The Sleeper's awakening. Despite this, inexplicably, many pieces have survived more or less intact and now float around a core of white-hot light which echoes with the power recently (as if time could any meaning after such an event) displayed.
Factions begin to emerge. Most of those who have survived seem empowered by the upheaval. Roriana, Goddess of Orcs and Warfare, has survived and now marshals her remaining forces to claim errant shards. A city of Ancients seem to have made it through mostly intact and are assembling a network of shards for some unknown goal. The Doombreakers, the order of modified warriors which bind their souls to disposable corporeal shells, has mobilized to protect those pockets of civilization that remain. A lurid slate-blue mist pours forth from one cluster of shards and is slowly but steadily engulfing those nearby. The great sun itself has dimmed as streaks of black writhe over it only to be incinerated one after another by solar fire even as they continue to swarm it. And on, and on.
A new age of great danger and opportunity has dawned for this shattered planet, and calls have begun to go out for aid.