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Glimpses of the Incarnations

Started by Anastasia, January 24, 2019, 11:28:04 AM

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Anastasia

For the rare memories of the Three Incarnations.

Edit: Formatting.
<Afina> Imagine a tiny pixie boot stamping on a devil's face.
<Afina> Forever.

<Yuthirin> Afina, giant parasitic rainbow space whale.
<IronDragoon> I mean, why not?

Anastasia

http://www.soulriders.net/forum/index.php/topic,104169.msg1116465/topicseen.html#msg1116465

Mystra looks at Marie at the same time, a silent and mild rebuke expressed without a word. Then Alicia takes Mystra's hand.

Everything. Nothing.

The moment you take Mystra's hand, reality unfolds. You are in darkness. Everything and nothing.

There is a pinpoint of light ahead. The tiniest droplet of it, spreading apart rapidly. Forest and sky, sun and moon, light and dark. Before you endless droplets cluster together in the middle, while beyond it more spread. Earth, fire, wind, water. They cluster around that core in the middle, as beyond it others gather yet. Glory and hatred, love and destruction, balance and competition. All forms in this one instant, coming together.

Realities, meaning, growth. All of them form in your mind's eye, no words possible for it. It simply is, all being made and yet indistinct, the details of it hidden from your vision. Then you are drawn to it. A spreading Weave, a web of throbbing power. It beats in time to the heartbeat you feel through Mystra's hand, spreading everywhere. It connects all, connects to her, connects.

A voice, certain and inevitable, declares, "You are Mystra. You shall oversee the concept of magic, for you are magic and magic is you. You shall defend it and have absolute power over it, but shall also be limited. For there are parts of Our Creation that must not be broken. You must never block the magic from those like yourself, those whom We choose to call gods. You may favor whichever possible solution to the Answer you please, but you must be restrained, lest you be destroyed and replaced."

"Yes, master," Mystra's voice is heard, new and yet the same as it is now.

"Then watch." The voice commands her. "Choose."

The highest light shines atop the Holy Mountain, radiant even now.

The endless glades of the forest paradise loom forth, beautiful even an instant after they are made.

The gentle place between them, where all is peace and calm, even now calling to any soul who comes to it.

The lowest pit of the Pit beckons and threatens, shadowed even now.

The endless screams of the Abyss threaten to drawn all out, Mystra's gaze turning away from it.

The emptiness between them, where all is gloom and suffering, even now calling to any soul who comes to it.

The place of perfect order, where even now all is accounted for.

The place of perfect chaos, where even now all is unaccountable.

"Choose." The voice demands, dispassionate.

Mystra looks inward. She sees the possibilities - endless wars, magic as a weapon, a tool to be used in warfare. As primal as fire or earth, as deadly as flame or crushing rock. Panic. How? How can she choose?

"Choose or be destroyed," The voice demands, still dispassionate. "If you are unable, we shall have another."

You feel Mystra's fear - she wants to live. She wants to live, to feel, to be. She wants...shouldn't everyone want that? Shouldn't everyone have a chance to live and be happy? Yes. Even though her magic will do great and terrible things, you feel Mystra believe that one fact with all her heart.

"You have chosen," The voice intones, and then all is.

Your vision returns, Mystra letting go over your hand.
<Afina> Imagine a tiny pixie boot stamping on a devil's face.
<Afina> Forever.

<Yuthirin> Afina, giant parasitic rainbow space whale.
<IronDragoon> I mean, why not?

Anastasia

http://www.soulriders.net/forum/index.php/topic,104237.msg1136318/topicseen.html#msg1136318

Before all the party, reality becomes a dream. A memory, a memoryscape. A throne atop a great tower, where it seems all of a vast realm can be seen.

Yet Three dominate. Three presences, overwhelming even in memory. Vast, impossible things, yet with no shape at all.

One of perfect symmetry and order, repeating forever and forever, yet always new and always a new revelation. In it you glimpse the secrets of all Creation, yet they slide from your reeling minds.

One of perfect change and chaos, forever churning forever, yet always coming back to that looming shape. In it you glimpse again all the secrets of Creation, yet again they defy your mind to understand.

Yet both are in opposition to one another. Both are perfect yet perfectly opposed. For a third is here. He is all they are not and more, endless and forever being all, yet here and not everywhere. In it you glimpse every secret of Creation, but it is like sand between your fingers, inevitably slipping away.

"I will see, masters," Io's voice, deferential. It comes from your side, even as your vision is fixed on the Three before you.

From the Endless Chaos comes the words, "Come, light." A voice that is ever changing and all, yet speaking with absolute conviction.

From the Eternal Order comes the words, "Let the light shine." A voice that is meaning as much as words, yet speaking with absolute conviction.

From it the radiance of 21 shines bright. Vastly brighter than Moore or others have ever seen it shine, as if all an eternity is to soar forth and immolate all in absolute light. A third voice comes from beyond that light, unspoken and yet understood: Light, continue to strive forth for our Answer.

And yet Alicia and Seira recoil. Tendrils of fear snake amid them, the sight of this light overwhelming. In that instant they know that should it be turned on them, all will end for them. A light that awaits and will purify all simply to find an Answer, if that is so needed. Antenora's hiss is soft in the air, Amaryl's own cry soft and wordless as she steps back.

"My theory, my hope is that the absolute light shall finally provide our Answer," The voice of the Incarnation of Law.

"Yes, master," Io's voice. "I shall face that light, if it is your will."

"No." The ever changing voice of the Incarnation of Chaos, "Your death will be no benefit to the quest for an Answer."

"Thank you," Io's relief is immediate, "For you have created such a thing that terrifies me, master."

The light of 21 shines ever brighter, seeming to consume all around it.

Then the wordless words of the Incarnation of Balance are heard: Then watch and bear witness to this light, Io and Galaurskax.

Forever is the light of 21, consuming all - even the memory, as at last you all return to yourselves.
<Afina> Imagine a tiny pixie boot stamping on a devil's face.
<Afina> Forever.

<Yuthirin> Afina, giant parasitic rainbow space whale.
<IronDragoon> I mean, why not?

Anastasia

http://www.soulriders.net/forum/index.php/topic,104349.msg1161584.html#msg1161584


It stands before you, in your hands. A solid, heavy sphere of lead. It looks utterly mundane, just the right size to sit in your big, calloused hand. You pick it up, regard it. Yes, you think. This will do as a core. A core no magic can touch.

It will not suffice.

"Master," You say, attention turn from the sphere, torn from your forges, turn from the great quenching barrels. He is everything and nothing, endless and encompassing all you can imagine. In him you see everything you could ever wish to know, yet it slips from you the moment you realize it.

You must improve lead, create a new material to suffice for your desired purpose.

"Master," You bow your head to him, "That is your will?"

There is no reply from the Incarnation before you, yet you sense his gaze. He watches you and waits.

You understand without another word. A test. It is not advice but a command.

Lead. Adamantine. Steel that will not rust. Blue ice. The essence of the runes of strength. A pint of blood from a mage slayer champion. Ten petrified eyes that will never see again. Unliving heartwoods. A droplet of your own blood, drawn from your own finger. All are tossed together into the forges, your hammer coming down on it again and again.

You sense his presence. He watches you.

You work. A metal as gray as the clouds of deep winter, lightless and bleak. A mere droplet sized pebble of it is made, carefully picked and held up to examine. Even forged roughly, it is smooth and without a single flaw to it.

That will suffice.

"Master?" You turn back to him, his presence still here.

Create. That is your share of seeking the Answer.

"Yes, master," You reply and yet..."But why this?"

It is necessary. Forge only this metal until you have enough to sheathe your entire forges one thousand times over. Cast it all as ingots and store it until my command. Until that time, you may use it but no other may.

You merely nod to that.

You have done well, Gond. The actions of Chaos have borne fruit, Elyssa contributes towards the Answer, and in that your own work improves.

At this Gond looks up, "Are we close?"

Yet the Incarnation of Balance is gone, as if he was never there.
<Afina> Imagine a tiny pixie boot stamping on a devil's face.
<Afina> Forever.

<Yuthirin> Afina, giant parasitic rainbow space whale.
<IronDragoon> I mean, why not?