Why one should never go on holiday near primordial ooze!

Crisis Rocan Sun Feb 17, 2019 12:36 am

A nice cool breeze drifted through the densely pack jungle trees as I took some time to take stock of my belongings, from my various meanders through the abyss and back. Not that I normally returned here on purpose or for that matter my once second home on Earth but the trip was of something akin to amusement in the end. Anyway I gathered up my odd pile of useless stuff and found a nice semi clear spot with a view of the ocean, and plenty of shade trees. I found two that were just the right distance apart to be cozy. Dropped my hoard of useless Earthy knickknacks and whatnots to go spend some time mini-dridder hunting; well mini-dridder silk hunting to be more exact.

Short story not too long, I wove the silky localized duct-tape into a nice comfortable hammock, and strung it up between my cozy trees and stretched out with my sunglasses, an old styled wide brimmed hat a bit floppy but stiff enough to maintain it's shape draping over my head and eyes as I shuffled a deck of cards listening to the crashing of the waves. Peace and quiet, god it had been far too long since I had that, Earth didn't have it No Return didn't have it, hell the Abyss my once home of origins didn't have it. But maybe here where I could just relax and listen to the sound of the waves and nothing else, maybe I could find some, assuming the lizards didn't start talking too since they had been walking upon two legs as of my last trip through my muddied looking glass of a pool of water. Well all I really needed was a good drink now, but I guessed I'd settle for the warm sun gentle breeze ad the soothing crashing of the waves.

Crisis Rocan Tue Feb 26, 2019 9:34 pm

Shuffling the cards was a bad hobby, in fact I didn't really have any hobbies considering life on this rock was pleasantly dull. If you've ever had someone say I want to live forever, they clearly have no idea what they are talking about. It's not all grand adventures and high seas epics., in fact you spend far more time just killing time then living the high life. Yet there has never been a lack of excitement in life to dull existence enough to consider life eternal worthwhile. By this point in my life I was hero, lord, and god on more worlds than any sane or single being had a right to be, and it was all tedious as fuck.

Milking the sheer tedium of this place was in fact refreshing for me. Eons pass and life everywhere continues to be slaves to the grind. It gets old in ways living beings hardly ever gleam... pardon the smirk I was just reminded of a terrible joke replayed many times over. Short story not so long and winded, this was a holiday in the sun. It's like work, you can't buy peace of mind at a job, and in life finding peace and quiet that truly exist is just as impossible.

I'd say the prime example of this would be my relaxation here, but to be honest I debated losing my doubt of the concept existing. I was mid deal for a few rounds of cruel when something hit me. There was more then just lower lifeforms on this planet. Barring my unintentional hyper development of the lizards of this isle I could sense ages of life having come and gone while I vacationed in peace and quiet. This day I realized life was encroaching close to my isle of silence and novel tranquility. Closer than I would have liked, but more pressing matters were heading my way. Matters much closer to my holiday home, were spiraling out of proportion.

The Essence stirred for the first time in ages on the world known as Galiavan, rolling to the side he glanced toward the ocean. For countless lives he had lain slothfully enjoying his life of solitude away from living beings. A life he had chosen to live after countless wars ravaged his being. Scars were only upon his mind save for a few that marked him in ways mortals found terrifying at best. They were marks craved into his soul when he had been reborn as it were as a human. Two, strangely shaped like swords upon his left forearm and the third a mark that many in his travels considered to be the Mark of Death a sign that labeled him Death's own if not the God of Death. Shaped like a scythe made of bones it rested upon the palm of his left hand, it shown brilliantly white at all times. It was this scar he stared at as he felt the depth of life within the world around him, it was a faint ability that lingered within him as long as he remained near the pool of mud which he had created when the energies that were his people began life throughout existence, an he had felt the closeness of his kin one last time.

He was bound to life throughout all space and time because his people the Essences had given their existence to create it, and a part of him would always feel deep bounds to every world he traversed. Here he felt the pulse of life strongest having been here at the world's inception, in a way it was part of him the life force of the planet beat in time with his own heart. It was strongest when he was near the pool of mud, something he had jokingly begun to refer to as this world's primordial ooze. In a sense it had been too long for a vacation from the real world, but then again it had taken a long time for this world to bloom into a civilized planet brimming with life and teeming with society. He smirked at the realization that there was finally a whole world out there to be seen and be troubled to take extreme pains to avoid.

And this was only the beginning life was also closer at hand then he wanted to believe, there was life here on this island life he could feel stalking him even as he lingered in peaceful slumber!

Crisis Rocan Wed Feb 27, 2019 8:15 pm

He hadn't thought much of the life upon the face of Galiavan, or for that matter much of what the planet was called, he was enjoying the ignorance of his island home. He was sound asleep in his mini-dridder silk hammock when they came, slinking along the forest floor following the sense of his presence which was innate to their kind since the days of their preys blood commingling with their own ages before. Their prey had once been as a god to them; revered, worshiped, and most of all beloved; then he became their devil their evil lord of Death and Hell, a concept which had been foreign to them before his sudden change.

They worshiped him for an age while he came and went paying homage to him whenever he showed himself to them upon his return to Galiavan. He always returned in the same place and ever since they gathered when they felt his presence return, the pool of mud he jokingly called the primordial ooze of this world. Yet over time, they became embittered at his change and his fall from the lofty heights their simple minds had placed him upon. Their primitive minds had cast him as their lord and god, and likewise their devil to which they stalked this very night to bind and destroy. They hunted in a pack concept gleamed from their awareness born of his blood and generations of time passing since their dawning as sentient lifeforms.

Crisis Rocan Thu Feb 28, 2019 10:25 pm

God this is worse then waking up dead! Ugh.

With a sputter and half a mouth full of dirt he choked out that one liner before gagging on more dirty. His thoughts were clear not panicked for him life an death were subjective at best. Where mortal man feared death he accepted its all to familiar embrace; embraced much like the snug cuddling the fresh packed earth was doing to him. The old saying snug as a bug in a rug came to his mind as he blinked some dirt from his eyes only to have more dropped on it. His captors were efficient crude as hell but efficient.

Bound hand and foot he could only wiggle at best as the dirt slowly pilled up around him. Clearing his mouth spitting dirt in every direction to get it clear he looked up through half covered eyes, opening his mouth to speak once again, he caught another pile of dirt mouth fully open before another word could escape his lips.

If you've never been buried alive just a heads up... it's not fucking pleasant, and it gets old really, really fast. Burn me alive, shoot me til I drop, hang me... badly even but buried alive tends to piss me off. It's slow, it's agonizing and leaves way too much time for me to dwell on what the fuck just happened. I knew I hated those damn lizards, but no... I just had to relax and let things be as is... was... whatever.

So I'm choking down dirt, I can't see, I have dirt all over my face, and frankly the shit is starting to feel like it ways a good quarter ton. I'm gagging on the stuff I know my breathing is going to go to shit; any minute now as the last traces of light are blotted out by those bastard lizardsman I'm going to pass out basically dead again. It's getting old I'm tired of waking up dead. Okay to be fair it's only happened a few times, but the temporary black out memory loss leaves me pissed off more than anything else. Hopefully this time I wake with them intact, but then again I haven't been him in a few lifetimes and he always woke up short a lifetime of memory or two. Good old Jack, Jack the misunderstood, Jack the abomination, Jack the Infamous... the Ripper.

It's funny the things you remember before each death. The things that stick in your head when you're about to pass out for that final death. Well not for my final death, I know I can't die at least not permanently. Oh I'm going to kill those fucking lizards... when I get out of this fucking grave. Bastards don't do half measures, it was a long damn drop... I will claw my way out eventually and when I do...

Crisis Rocan Tue Mar 05, 2019 2:38 am

Of all the ways to die being buried alive was one of his least favorite. It's not the dying or even the re-dying over and over again. It's the waiting between suffocating and breathing once again; waiting for the moment the ground shifts just the right way in order to move more than a fraction of an inch. But most of all it's when they get cute and tied him up; now that was the thing that irritated and pissed him off the most. Imagine if you will dying and waking up buried alive, over and over again, but not being able to move having to wait fucking slender rope to decay enough to be pulled apart under the massive weight of the earth on top of you. It feels like an eternity to live through one death at a time.

Snap, well it was more like yawn, gag, cough, gag again, cause I can't breathe, insert realization that the damn rope binding my legs and hands had finally given during my last deathly nap time. What, its not like I had anything less pressing to do while being buried alive for who knows how many years. You get used to being between life and death when the situation happens, while I did anyway. I could finally stretch my muscl... scratch that I could wiggle really, really, really...

slowly...

And not very far at that, to be fair Scrooge Mcduck clearly cheated through his damn gold silo. I've always found sifting a ton of dirt to be a bitch, not some leisurely fucking swim through a mound of cartoon money. Scooge Mcduck my ass.

I felt more like somebody dropped his damn vault on my fucking skull. Just how deep did those bastard lizardman bury me? The longest part after waiting for the ropes to decay enough to break is shifting position. All the strength in the world doesn't mean a damn thing if you cant breathe long enough to even flex a muscle. Painstakingly slow is what shifting position under a ton of earth is, long and boring and repetitively dead tiring. Bad puns aside clawing my way free took time and I wasn't sure which had lasted longer the years waiting for the damn mini-dridder silk to rot or getting into a position I could actual escape from. When I broke the surface I only had one thing to say really

After years of being buried alive he finally clawed his way to the surface, brushing dirt from his body and clothes he looked down pulling his wide brimmed hat and sunglasses from of the dirt grave as well.

Son of a bitch, I really liked that hat too dammit all, screw it I'm wearing it anyway!

he brushed off the dirt as he put on his sunglasses and stuck his fingers through the holes in the brim of his hat. There truly would be hell to pay for ruining his hat!

Crisis Rocan Wed Mar 06, 2019 11:07 pm

The Ancient Lizardman of Galiavan is a common, yet highly uncommon species of Galiavan tribesmen, found exclusively on the isle of Shi no Shima. This rare variant of the common Lizardman predates your common garden variety lizardmen; which in fact is a bastard offshoot branch of the Ancient Lizardmen to begin with. Predating known history the Ancient Lizardmen were the dominate race of Galiavan, technologically superior to the most advanced society in Galiavan's long prolific history.

Qizztren'tor Kawrath a seemingly average and normal looking female Lizardman pride of no one, remarkable in no way, her only claim to fame the title of tor. In the culture of the Ancient Lizardman royalty was denoted by the simple title of tor, or God-born. Those of whom descended from their former God's bloodline, the progenitor and those first young lizardlings which drink of his immortal blood, and that which covered him when he first appeared upon the isle of the Dead. The forerunners of the Ancient Lizardmen crawled through a pool of mud mingled with the blood of a being they deemed father and god as their intellect increased and their society formed around the primordial ooze from whence they spawned anew. Qizztren'tor Kawrath scion of nothing, royal by birth alone, just another average Ancient Lizardmen, and yet her story is the prime history of the modern Lizardmen.

It began in ages passed as they developed into sentient lifeforms but at an alarming and uncontrollable rate. Pure life, pure knowledge poured through them forcing a rapid and extremely accelerated evolution. While other life upon Galiavan slowly advanced the Ancient Lizardmen had it thrust upon them en-mas. As they grow they learned passing their stolen knowledge from one generation to the next gaining more as they evolved into bipedal beings of higher intellect. Metallurgy and construction were the first skills the primitive Lizardmen retained and improved upon even before they began walking upright upon just two feet.

They dug into the earth, borrowing down deep into the soft soil, tunneling a safe haven from the harsh environment their minds knew the world above to be. As they evolved into a bipedal species they developed tools to speed their digging and delving into the ground along. The faster the dug the further the went along the path of advancement. From tools they progressed embracing their knowledge of construction to build homes dug deep into the earth. Large buildings constructed within cavernous hollows leftover from their digging throughout the generations. More they built out of curiosity tools, structures, ground transportation, weapons and more so much more, they became a race of avarice and arrogance. Priding themselves on their knowledge and power they lived secluded from the developing world beyond their earthen borders.

Taking the title of 'tor; God-born, the Ancient Lizardmen continued a rapid evolution dwelling in pure fear. During the formative years of their evolution they were spurned by their god and father whom they proclaimed of their own volition. This single act drove they Ancient Lizardmen to delve deep in fear of their God, along their path of advanced evolution... and more to the point the God-Hunt.

Crisis Rocan Thu Mar 07, 2019 2:03 am

They gathered in fear the 'tor. Hunted by the presence of their God, beloved, reviled, feared above all else. Their generation had been born in the time before his return, the time before their God walked the earth. But this was new to them the feeling of his blood pulsing within their veins a benign feeling lingering in the depths of their minds, haunting almost torturous to this generation of Lizardmen who did not know what it was. They could feel his presence like a beacon blazing in the darkness of their hallowed halls, calling to them.

The elders knew, those old enough to have seen him when he had last walked the earth above them. Some a very select few remembered the day, that day he threatened their lives if they greeted him again as they always had. Betrayal was the feeling that had driven them into the earth all those lives ago, lifetimes for some had survived the long years well beyond their usual and normal span of life. Some living two or three lifetimes longer than their brood siblings.

The old ones conspired a plan, a devious way to free themselves of the living fear of his wraith his inevitable return. Their own imaginings had caused the situation they had found themselves in, in their delusions and fear they decided to end their torment. To the young ones they told a tale the rise of the Devil, the Lord of Death who chased them from their former paradise. Their once beloved God who gave them the power of knowledge and greater life, of the changing and growing into the race of sentient beings they were, and of how he violently fell from grace cursing them. Blaming them for the gifts he had given his blessed children the 'tor, blaming them for his fall in a manner unbecoming of a true blessed deity. His own children, he cursed them damning them for stealing his power and knowledge. In fear they had fled digging deep into the earth, honing their knowledge developing it into tools and skills, weapons of war and protection all to prepare for the day they could turn the tables on their former father and God.

The young they told this tale to; arming them for war against their Devil, their God of Death. The explained that the feeling they had that strange haunting presence beating within their minds was the will of their God of Death beckoning them to come to him to die for their transgressions, to atone for their sins against him.

They lied to their young all but one in agreement with the plan and course of action they had sent their descendants upon. To murder their father, to hunt their God down and destroy him freeing themselves from the fear that drove them to build a safe-haven within the earth far from the knowing eyes of their god...

One of the 'tor, of the eldest God-born stood resolutely against the plan to slay their lord and father. He was 'tor Kawrath and they shunned him, they shunned his children and their children throughout time. The God-Hunt was in the end a success and 'tor Kawrath and his line were tasked with guarding the final resting place of the Lord of Death for all of time. Banished from their hallowed halls beneath the earth accept to carry on their lineage of shunned guardians of the fallen God. Punishment for standing against the 'tor and the future of their tribe.

Crisis Rocan Sun Mar 10, 2019 7:17 pm

For the record no, no, no... no... and no way in hell am I ok with narrating my own multiple attempted murders. This is sadistic even beyond my taste. Homicide is one thing, narrating your own attempted homicides is a bit arrogant even for me. Next up folks how I survived my own attempted murders. Give me a break, newt screws ups were taking pot shot at me left, right, center, and bent over backwards. All the attention seriously makes a guy want to commit genocide on a bastard species.

Again for the record I'm against this entire narrative, why me, can't it be one of the lizard queens doing this. They tried to kill me... over and over again. They sucked at it, but still I find this in bad taste, extremely bad taste mind you.

I don't feel very charitable to say the least, so let's start by being blunt and to the point. All anger aside. This God-hunt was a joke, the eldest of the Ancient Lizardmen, the so called 'tor, or God-born, had a plan to rid their world of gods. My guess they probably just wanted to replace what the revered with themselves. Wouldn't be surprised, really it tends to be the way of all mortal beings sooner or later. Someone gets the brilliant idea to tear down the old gods and replace them, usually with themselves and rarely with a patsy to foot the bill if the old ones don't go down so easily or if someone gets cute and tries the same thing in the future.

So the scaly little pest decided to burn their own god from the records of their people. Ok I might have caused all the misunderstandings. But I flit through time and space like a chain smoker smoking. How was I supposed to know I accidentally created a super species of lizard people in my future during the past of this planet. Entirely not my fault. And I never asked to by licked in worship... forget that, that's gross; if I wanted to be eaten it wouldn't be by a primal society of lizard humanoids. Maybe some nondescript red heads... but I digress lizard hunters.

Whoever thought to send immature lizards to hunt a god level being was an idiot rather a council of idiots, but to be fair one of my home worlds is notorious for doing stupid shit and having it turn out frighteningly in their favor. I dealt with them in packs, yup lizards hunting man in packs. Sounds twisted when you think about it but that's the way of the world.

I was dragged out of my hammock by the first packs of lizardscouts... ended up bitch slapping more than one of them into submission before they retreated. That caught me off guard, nothing says mood killer like scaly hands yanking at your hair dragging to the ground and trying to impale you on the ground with spears and swords. And not especially sharp ones by the way. Think these newts could use a few lessons in sharping blades. I'm not saying I want to be dismembered, but for the love of a freaking wet stone, it felt like being stab with a dozen half sharp butter knives with rounded tips.

Screw it breather... too much I can't believe I'm not butter nostalgia going on here.

Crisis Rocan Tue Mar 12, 2019 8:39 pm

Let's see, where to begin, oh yeah being bludgeoned to death by the dullest blades in the history of everything. Please next time let them use paper, at least that will cut and not get old and irritating. Anyway the little twerps did a number on me, in fact I'm sure the enjoyed the quiet that they had produced from murdering me, short victory though it was.

Dying is annoying having to go death by blunt force dismemberment very annoying. Frankly I didn't bother keeping track of how long I was gone, I was feeling lazy, extremely lazy, eternally lazy to be completely honest. This whole dying and living and dying and being killed thing, tiring. I just wanted to relax and enjoy my quiet life. Well God-hunt not withstanding the damn lizards wanted their own peace and quiet which meant one of us had to die. Apparently my lazy ass was the one that had to die, so much for genocide on the lesser species.

I'd swear they were milking my deaths for all they were worth if it hadn't been for the extreme prejudice toward me. So needless to say I wasn't fighting back which means the cliff notes. I told you I was feeling lazy.

The top of my hate the way they killed me list.

Number ten; drowned to death on dry land. Fucking lizards pinned me down bound me and forcefully held my head underwater. Crude but effective.

Number nine; hanging by scaly hands just high enough off the ground not to be able to touch it.

Number eight; force fed lizard shit... fucking started to piss me off with that.

Number seven; force fed a tree sharpened to a point through my ass.

Number six; poison, I mean really fucking poison they were truly getting on my nervous by this point. Let's not forget the count other murder death kills inbetween each.

Number five; attempted starvation six long years of being bored to death... literally I just let myself die to end it.

Number four; death by stoning. Let's just note that the bastards don't do things by half measures, hell I'm fairly certain measuring isn't a concept they've mastered yet. Prime example the fucking boulders they bashed my skull in with repeatedly.

Number three; and this one I took personally beyond everything else. Let's just say I'm no rollerboy and this wasn't my prayer... but it sure as shit was a literal version of the day of the rope. FUCK FUCK FUCK.... I'm really pissed off now just thinking about it. Fucking lizards lynched my junk right off leaving me bleed to death. Death to all lizardmen!

Number two; the ate me alive piece by piece by piece.

Number one; crucifixion, now I am by no means a stickler for doing things the right way, let alone going all out but they didn't just butch me they butchered the damn crucifixion. First they didn't just break my legs they broke every god damned fucking thing they could. How many bones did I have in one piece I'm not even sure at this point. On top of that hey decided one thrust to bleed out just wouldn't keep me down, so I became a lizard dart board for the entire race of bastardmen. I don't think they had a pointy object left in their entire underground kingdom left to stick me with. Then to add insult to injury they lynched me both heads at the same time with the same damn rope which they lassoed over the highest tree and pulled it taunt while staking me out between a pair of trees.

Number Zero; just plain fucking dying that last way was enough to twist my nuts in the wrong direction... literally. Hold on give me a minute!

Crisis Rocan Tue Mar 12, 2019 9:46 pm

Son of a bitch, I really liked that hat too dammit all, screw it I'm wearing it anyway!

So I woke up buried in a ton of dirt pissed off with the urge to kill everything fucking lizardman in existence. Clawed my way to the surface and what did I find a single lizardman watching over my very not fucking shallow grave. I was ready to gut the salamander bitch except I was taking by surprise.

Qizztren'tor Kawrath knelt beside the grave of the fallen god. Her blue scaled body glimmered in the fractured rays of light which pierced the canopy of the forest. She was guard and warden, jailer and disavowed 'tor all in one. The price her family paid for supporting the belief of the god in the grave. The only Ancient Lizardmen not a part of the underground nation of the Lizardman tribe.

She waited kneeling, watching, praying to the felled god for his good health and speedy return. No restraint, no guilt at the blatant sacrilege to her own people. The instant he was free of the ground she changed her position helping him rise again, cleaning him of dirt and all other manner of filth. He stood in shock grabbing his wide brimmed hat in one hand as she cleaned him with hands and tongue where the dirt and filth clung tenuously.

My God!

OK that throw me off my game entirely, wasn't expecting worship by lizard tongue... well at least it's a female... I think.

Easy there, Lickazilla. One reason, just give me one good reason why I shouldn't flay your scaly ass right now.

I serve you Lord of Death, my life is yours to do with as you please!

There was a hint of more than just the loyalty follower to her voice and look as she spoke, there was something divine and worshipful. A lust for the love and praise of her god shown brightly in her eyes as she looked upon him tongue slowly retracting into her mouth as she grinned with the look of consideration in his eyes.

Crisis Rocan Tue Mar 12, 2019 11:15 pm

It really does help to have a local guide when you're committing genocide.

Qizztren'tor Kawrath walked behind her god as they came to n understanding. She would act as guide, bait, weapon, and every other tool he needed to exact their revenge upon her people the 'tor, the God-born, the Ancient Lizardmen. Her duty was to watch over the grave of the devil of her people and to report back if she could of his rebirth upon their world. And ironically that would be exactly what she was going to do, only she was taking the long way to the lesser used entrance to their world underground.

The entrance she led her God to was the first entrance the very beginning of their dig into the ground. A walk down memory lane for her people, a history lesson for their Evil Lord. As they followed the tunnel he noticed with an eye for detail that the walls of the tunnel were dug with a rapidly changing level of technology. It was clear that the walls had been dug at first by the hands and claws of the smallest lizardmen in their primitive forms. The digging began to change as they developed as a species, deeper claw marks like a shovel was being used until the marks became more shovel-like rather than claw. Quickly and rapidly the dig marks became shovel marks soon to be replaced along the way with scattered bits of broken tools far to close together to be a natural progression from shovels to pickax and drill, to cutting tools strong enough to cleave stones and metal. Something close to scorch marks followed as though a blowtorch or laser type cutting tool had been developed. These lizardmen were growing at what was clearly an accelerated rate; all of this he took in as he walked the long forgotten halls of the historic journey through time and the earth.

Their was much to take in along the way but as the came closer Qizztren'tor Kawrath become quiet motioning for him to follow in silence and prepare for the first encounter with her people. Taking hold of her wrist he pulled her back as he could see clearly enough the location of the first victims of his hunt of the God-born. Raising a finger to his lips he brought her to silence, waving for her to stay where she was, he walked forward into the shadows of the wooden gates of their underworld!

I didn't let the irony of this moment slip by me. I was their God of Death coming to claim their underworld for my own by killing them all.

The wooden gates were sturdy but crudely formed as though the tools used to fell the trees were not often used for the purpose almost as though a pickax had been used to bring the massive forest gods to the earth. Crude and fitting for the lizardmen's history. The gates were sturdy and his fit slammed into them causing a loud thunderous knock, once, twice, three times his fist slammed into the wooden gates followed by a splintering roar. A crack spider-webbed out from where his fist impacted against the massive gate, spiraling outward until the gate as a whole crumbled splintering into pieces making a way for him to progress.

Immediately the gate guards scrambled forward through the raining slivers of wood only to meet their God unexpectedly face to face. Grabbing one by the throat he held the lizardman up squirming restlessly. With his left hand he grabbed the sword arm of the second guard yanking him entirely forward. The lizard man slammed into the wall of the tunnel behind him, missing a sword and the arm holding it. Flipping the arm around into his hand shaking the sword loose and thrusting the claw of the lizard man's arm into the body of the one he held over and over again. In the single beat of his heart, he let the arm go and snagged the sword with the heel of his foot sending it flying straight into the other arm of the lizard it belonged to pinning it to the tunnel wall. Squeezing tightly his hand clenched until his fingers touched the lizard's head flying up into the air. Slowly he turned, well slowly for him as the head spun through the air, rotating around he caught the tongue of the lizardman whipping it straight into the face of the pinned guard smacking face to face, lips to lips full on tongue. Suppressing a laugh he walked to the guard thrusting his fist straight through both skulls.

Crisis Rocan Wed Mar 13, 2019 10:25 pm

Yeah I think I over did it a bit on those first two geckos, it's always touchy finding the right balance between a world's gravity and my own physical prowess. To be fair I hadn't actually tested my limitations here, wasn't planning on it either, but you know what they say the best laid plans of mice and men ad all that shit. Anyway on with the body count, I was aiming for deeper into this reptile pit...

MORTAL KOMBAT!

Sorry I couldn't resist. Right deeper down, the long quiet walk with a rather silent scaly blue assed lizard bitch hot on my heels... Can lizards be hot? I'm not even going to consider the multiple means of that thought. Eh hmmm. Next gate please, narrator if you would.

The second gate of the underground kingdom of the 'tor, the God-born, the Ancient Lizardmen was a work of stone hewn construction. But much like the first gate made of wood this gate held up no longer to sound sturdy knocking of their big bad devil. As quickly as it had happened the guards at the gate met grizzly fates. A crushed skull, another drawn and quartered by it's own claws, a third brutally stuffed head first through its fellows corpse into the rubble of the stone gate.

Qizztren'tor stayed beyond him, far behind him as he raged through the gates. Fear welled up inside of her. Never once in the stories of their god, of him did they make mention of the ferocity of his rage, or the immortal strength he possessed. Sheer terror and awe kept her more than just a few feet behind him. She knew her place and it was beneath his feet far far behind and below him. Watching in horror at the unstoppable force that was her god, began to awake deep within her a lust!

Another league and the third and final gate to the underground kingdom of the 'tor, a wall of sheer metal seamless in appearance.

Wood, stone metal, oh yeah this reeks of the three little pigs. Guess I'll be the big bad wolf and huff and puff and blow their door down. I bet the don't have a 9 11 to call or a Rambo to send out just as fast as they could. Well here goes nothing...

OH shit where did they get a Gatling gun!

True to his thoughts he charged the metal wall throwing all of his weight into the forward momentum. This had the adverse effect of not allowing to slow or stop or for that matter even change direction as a hailstorm of bullets burst forth from the top of the metal gate from the concealed weapons nest in which the Lizardmen had installed a first line of defense. The resulting clash of opposing forces resulted in the complete and utter destruction of the metal gate sending the Gatling nest flying into the cavern ceiling. Stumbling forward he came to a sudden stop dropping to his knees within the gate's ruins bleeding out.

I think I'll take a nap now!

Clunk! He died yet again, this time with the Gatling gun caving in his skull as it shattered to pieces upon impact!

Crisis Rocan Wed Mar 13, 2019 11:48 pm

Qizztren'tor Kawrath stood in shock and horror. It was not that it was an unknown secret that he could die, but to see it having spent her whole life watching over his grave it was a culture shock. To actually witness the death of her God, to witness it was unreal. She ran to him falling to the ground atop his corpse brushing debris of all shapes and sizes from his battered, whole holy holey body. She wept in fear as the plain truth began to settle in she had nowhere to run and they would be here in moments her exile would have been a preferable punishment to the fate she would suffer now.

The marching of scaled feet, the pounding of armor clad Lizardmen thundering along the silver paved streets. The 'torcorp, The God-born legion the pride of the Ancient Lizardmen's military prowess stormed forth from within the holy lands of the 'tor. Qizztren'tor had no chance to flee as the Legion cut her off; not that she was moving. The zealot's plea went unheard as she was marched and blade point to the inner city.

The larger part of the Legion remained to deal with the Lord of Death, to lay him to rest in his grave for another life time. At least that was the plan which they intended to follow.

But they just didn't count on my natural ability to fuck people's best laid plans right up... by not staying dead for very long

Fe fi fo fum I'm going to kill all you lizard scum!

Crisis Rocan Sun Mar 17, 2019 2:49 am

Let me tell you that was very upsetting, I broke three gates with nothing but my fist. Hell I really didn't need to put much effort into it to be honest, and I get myself killed by fucking busted gun emplacement, fuck me! I was having shit for luck to be honest, I guess the old bitches were having a go at me again. Luck and Fate I mean, some would call them gods, but for me they were more like to angry ex-girlfriends, always taking a twisted pleasure in my misfortunes. I couldn't say they were real but I always preferred to think of them as old friends who loved to watch me suffer but always kept me alive and kicking. Luck and Fate were two cruel mistresses, but for all their tortures and mostly harmless pranks at my expense they sure as hell seemed to love me as much as love my suffering.

So death by crushed skull right up my twisted admirers ally. But boy did that piss me off too, I could have avoided that one o I pulled out the old giant on a rampage quote before thrashing myself some lizardaires.... legion lizards... lizardaires... lizard legionaries... bah forget it bad joke to begin with. So I fe fi fo fummed at them!

The blades of the 'torcorp were strong firm powerful, and a bit too advanced for cavemen, or rather cave lizards. Among the things that the 'tor had learned over their years of delving into the earth, they grew in knowledge, knowledge gleaned from the blood of their god! Blades sharpened to a fine point, nothing like the brutish weapons once used to bludgeon him to death; these could slice a man in half, a Lizardman that is! The legion wore plate mail, to the eye it looked heavy enough to weigh down a man, but hey had marched in and surrounded his dead body as if they were not weighed down in the least. The metal was dark a color hard to describe, but from the ease with which they moved it was clear to him that they had learn a bit of metallurgy and used it to create a metal alloy light of weight but extremely strong. Easily sharped to the extreme he chose a different approach then his recent blunt force method that had brought the three gates of the Underworld crashing down.

Cold blooded bastards had me surrounded and their blades were as sharp as their armor was sturdy, to be honest I was considering just going all out again and denting they pretty little armor in and shredding their hearts with it. But somehow I didn't think being shish kebabed to death over and over again would truly be fun. Well I had the time to think it through and I was reminded of something I used to do back on Earth, when I had been between my life before and this one. I used to shoot pool, billiards, whatever you want to call it playing my right hand against my left. My right always represented power, pure power play, luck and fate mixed with straight up force, but my left hand. My left hand was skill, accuracy, not so much power but control to a much finer degree, well it once had been. Ironically once upon a time I had damaged that hand being left with a scar in the center of my palm. I jokingly said I had been marked by death, the scythe shaped scar on my palm truly emphasized the joke. I stood not daring them to move but considering my options, on the one hand I could go with brute force, and that would be right. Yet on the other hand I could go with accuracy and skill, speed and perfect timing. I could see the reason to pursue force, but I was of the mind that it was time to shoot with my left hand for a bit.

He had more than enough time to think he was moving in slow motion but faster than the legion pointing their blades toward him, he stood pulling the Gatling gun's fractured remains from his eye as it regenerated to normal. A splinter of metal popped out of his jaw as it was ejected by his healing flesh. He looked them down, knowing each of his enemies were seeing the mess of metal being pushed from his face as he healed from death. This was not the first time he had risen from the spot he fell immediately after dying, but it was the first time his bastard children had witnessed his sudden rebirth.

He looked them over slowly turning just fast enough to keep them hesitant from striking at him, he was looking them over looking for the one who held rank. It took three full revolutions before he found their leader, a slight variation of the armor a fold near collar of the neck plates barely noticeable marked the lizard as highest of rank. It wasn't his fault he was faster and stronger than they were, but he knew that even greater strength did not always mean victory. Unable to stay dead, that was almost a guaranteed way to win assuming his enemies were ignorant of it long enough for him to succeed.

Eyeing the leader of the legion he glanced at his own left hand the palm scarred in the shape of a scythe the mark of Death's weapon on one of his homes. Curling his hands into fist then relaxing them he sprang not forward toward the leader, but backwards marginally sidestepping a blade as he gripped the arms of the two legionaries he halted between. Speed and accuracy, precision was his weapon of choice now. He pulled both arms across his chest stabbing their blades into the opposite lizard. Two down many more to go, to twist the circle to his rhythm and pace he slid back into the center of the ring of enemies and began to move in erratic patterns sliding closer to the ring on one side only to shift his weight spin on one foot and lunge across the ring diving out of the circle behind a Lizardman pulling his blade across his throat, only to return to the center of the ring. Again and again he moved the lizards finally realizing they must strike first before he killed them all one by one by one with their own blades.

Six Lizardmen down and a dozen or so to go and their leader still stood being eyed by him every single time he stepped back into the center of the circle as though taunting him to come at him. Finally the Lizardman in charge did just that, straight through his arm the blade pierced him as he spun away, the blade came with him. Pulling it free he began to dance with the blade as though it was no more than a mere fencing foil, a blade he had once studied and mastered. This was the peek of precision and speed, accuracy and swiftness matched only by his obscene strength. The last of the Lizardmen fell to his swordplay.

I cut'em to ribbons, hmp never thought I'd say that!

Crisis Rocan Tue Mar 19, 2019 9:06 pm

Ugh! I'll be spitting that up for years. Seriously no...no! God! That was, ugh just no. For the record don't ever swallow Lizardman blood, I don't care if it looks the same, smells the same, and goes down the same. It sure as fuck isn't Mountain Dew!

Makes me want to murder their whole damn species... scratch that in process now. I took stock of my situation; piss yellow blood all over the place, and at least a half gallon of the shit straight down my throat. Lizardmen corpses everywhere in a neat little circle of fil-a-lizarda, diced to perfection. Armor all useless, sliced to pieces as well, the sword of their leader still in my hand, functional to say the least. It was clear enough to me that the blade was at least good of craftsmanship, although looking closely it seemed as though the blade was rolled around itself. I had a feeling that wasn't naturally how the blade had looked more of a result of being abused.

Well I was committed, I had to go after Lickazilla, it was the right thing to do; after all I did make her situation worse off.... I think. Well the were going to stop me and chasing after them was the only course of action thankfully the trail was rapidly filling up with more lizards to follow. Frankly the battle from the last gate to the center of their Underground world was dull for me. All these advancements and technology and the poor fools didn't even have the skills to fight a proper war. BORING!

I'm good but compared to these wide eyed newts I was a God of the Blade, good but come on put up a real fight. Screw it I'm not even going to talk about it anymore. Bloody piss water flavored reptiles...

So the city was gilded with silver all along the streets halfway up every building in sight. The upper portions were a mix matched array of colors stones and metals, a kaleidoscope of precious ores fixed in place gaudy and blinding at the same time. The whole city was decked out like this, but once you get to the center of it all, the very heart of their Underworld, it all changes. The Citadel of the 'tor!

I should probably note that the Lizardmen think themselves God-born... because well apparently I accidentally evolved them into a super species. What accidents happen all the time, why do you think they say don't drink and park on Earth... Accidents cause people.

The Citadel of the 'tor, the Throne of the Uplifted, the ... blah blah blah...

He stood before the Citadel of the 'tor, at it's heart was the Throne of the Uplifted, the seat of power of the leader of the 'tor. To describe the seat of power of the 'tor, one must explain how their Citadel was built, more specifically what it was built from. The Ancient Lizardman were strong naturally dominant when it came to the natural order. In some ways they were the top of the food chain. As described before, they spent generations digging deep underground but there was much he could not have gleamed from the study of the tunnel leading to their Underground world. The truth behind their rise to power, and standing a top the world from beneath it. Looking upon the Citadel he could see part of the reason for their strength in the world. Ringing the Citdael were post, made of the same bone white material as the Citadel itself was. Chained in large numbers they sat, leaned, or lay, waiting for the harsh shock from the collars around their necks to drive them to their tasks for the day. The white pillars were of no true use, as the collars acted as though certain places and distances from the Citadel were off limits to their collared slaves. Shock and pain shot through them whenever they went beyond their limits or too near to the dwellings of their owners and overlords.

The island nation of the 'tor with it's underground capital, and their neighbors a barbaric tribe of nomad elves long trapped upon the island, made up the inhabitants; one the rulers by might the other... Slave labor, the 'tor had dominated the other local tribe of their homeland. The Lizardmen, more specifically their ruler and leader the head of their council had turned their nation to war with their Elfin neighbors centuries before. A cruel twist of fate for the elves, as the dug their own grave the Underworld capital city of the 'tor.

But wait there's more!

They were forced to dig their own grave, and carry their dead with them, the bones of their fallen brethren having watched the flesh of the fallen be devoured by their captors. And yet when they dug so deep they had no need to ever dig further in this lifetime or any other they stopped and began to build the Throne of the uplifted. Elves forging the bones of their dead and dying into the Citadel home of the leaders of the 'tor. The Throne of the Upilifted was bound with spirit energy,which flowed in abundance here, channeled by the elf slaves for their masters twisted desires. The bones of their ancestors and those who died while building it were added in All the elves of the land were added to the Throne regularly upon their deaths, never to see the light of day again. The elves live in chains and collared controlled in every way, yet hope still lingers as though it is buried deep, deep down beneath the works of their hands and lives beneath the lands of the 'tor!

Crisis Rocan Wed Mar 20, 2019 11:07 pm

He stood looking before him a courtyard of enslaved elves, born into bondage, the servitude of generations and worse. Worse for a number of reasons. They were a proud species, tall, lean and muscular, bold of features, sleek pointed ears, blue eyed with silver hair, proud and broken all at the same time. Most of the elves at first glanced appeared like this, some young, but for the most part these were the old elves those of advanced years. Some were of middling age and a few scattered about young and vibrant despite their ancestral chains of bondage made of bones, ghastly and white. There were no cries of fear or desperation they were born, bred, and raised to serve without question, slaves in all senses of the word.

They were raised with one rule that of total obedience, but not all adhere to the rules of the overlords. The 'tor had become their rulers and masters, their owners and more; much, much more! To start with they had once been a proud race noble of baring; living in another place. Through the search for a better land they had come to the home of the 'tor in a time when they were in the midst of fleeing their God. They had come in peace, the 'tor had forced them to their knees and enslavement. It had been in a time after the God-hunt began, when they had become proficient in the creation of tools, among the first were collars and chains to keep their newly captured servants under control.

They had become something different in captivity, brazen at first but stubborn to their core. Slowly over time they became possessed of the spirit of freedom bound in chain. Without the ability to fight back, nor the desire to witness more of the vicious slaughter of their people the elves back docile in a rather short time. The 'tor had no fear of the strange pointy eared strangers when they came, after all their God was undying and they had bested him countless time. So a whole race of strangers on their lands was of little account to them.

The persecution of the elves as generational, from one generation to the next it became more malicious. At first they were just slaves to their masters, a labor force to replace the 'tor from the manual labor of their delving into the earth for a place of refuge from their God during his times of rebirth. Chains were their first bondage to ensure they did not run or flee, soon to be followed by larger links mad to bind them by their necks to the chains which bound them already. Years they tolled and during this time two things stood out to their captors. First they were not suited to hard labor and died often, their corpses became a hassle never decaying and going away just being left where they fell. Secondly the 'tor were quickly developing into a super race in both body and mind. What thy could not break with the strength of their arms the broke with the strength of their minds. The development of more bondage and torture devices was one of their main focuses as time moved on. The apex of their technology was the shock collar which in the end cowed the elves from any attempts at escape or disobedience ever again.

But the spirit breaker for the elves was their own nature, the inability of their corpse to rot and decay. A time came when the lands were barren, and food had become scarce, the elves fared badly but the Lizardmen the 'tor began to starve and die out. Their numbers were dwindling from hunger, the desperate began eating their own as they died, saving themselves from truly dying out. But a single 'tor had come to rise above the rest at this time, carrying an object of power shaped vaguely like a sword blood red and pale white. The blade, the prison of the Essence of the Megalomaniac... Krafey the Sword of Blood!

This 'tor schemed up a way for his people to survive without resorting to cannibalism though he himself continued the practiced long after the forming of the council of the 'tor. Once he traveled back to the resting place of their God in order to participate personally in the God-hunt. The eyes of the God blinked open falling shut once again before recognition could come to them. The twice captive Essence slamming down over and over battering the God of the Death, to death in the hands of the soon to be head of the council of the 'tor.

He began to feel a change come over him as he stood above the grave of his fallen god. A change subtle but forceful, a presence in his mind bending him to its will, warping his logic and thinking in a way that almost felt familiar to him. Like an old friend that had been a guiding light in his peoples darkest hours. The presence felt like that which had guided him to flee with his people in the first place from their former god, an old friend almost. The Sword of Blood the Essence of the Megalomaniac had found a foothold in the world of the living not truly free from his imprisonment but aware of that which had only marginally been there previously. The blood of the Lizardmen's God had smeared across the crimson and white casing surrounding him weakening the seal that held him the Essence of the Megalomaniac at bay from influencing the world and bringing about his will.

While returning to his people he felt the power of the Essence he carried with him sapping his strength and enfeebling him far more than he should have been. Within his mind the old familiar voice rang loud and clear. Stop, rest, eat... drink your fill and replenish your strength. He knelt seeing no source of food, only the dead of his slaves, the beautiful ageless corpses of the elves that had died throughout the generations for his peoples progress and development. Raw uncooked elves, full of luscious blood waiting to be drank, and tender savory flesh so full of life even in death. The thoughts poured into his head from Krafey thinking them his own he knelt at the first corpse he came upon biting deep he drank the corpse dry than ate from its flesh until he could eat no more. A word sounded in his head a word he knew to be a name, a name he thought he thought for himself. Foxblood, for he was the sly drinker of the blood of his elfin slaves.

Upon his return to his fellows he told them of his journey his slaying of their god single-handedly for the God-hunt being raised to the head of their council; and most of all of his discovery of the tender flesh of their slaves and the savory juices of their well aged corpses.

Crisis Rocan Mon Mar 25, 2019 3:19 am

Foxblood stood with his back to the council believing himself more than just a mere 'tor, their council chambers were at the very heart of the Citadel which was built literally from the ancestors of their elfin slaves. Their bones were stronger than many of the metals the 'tor had dug up during their long years of burrowing, but what was more they were practical to use as a building material. The council stood inspecting the results of their latest batch of experiments, a few elves laying upon their council table. Collared, and bound in chains made likewise as the Citadel had been by fussing spirit energy with the bones of their slaves ancestors and dead after the flesh was striped and eaten just as often before the eyes of their slaves.

The studied the bound slaves like pieces of meat for the slaughter. Cattle from the last generation in which they had noticed an increase of variations from those preceding it. A study through of every inch of their slaves had revealed a shocking change when the lineages were kept close and intermingled as much as possible with their fellow slaves. Bred for many reasons through certain bloodlines, but eventually only a small number of the slaves proved to be of use, for the talents they possessed. Those who could work with spirit energy and those physically superior for their underground environment. The latter group were far superior to their distant ancestors who could only thrive so long underground before dying out, each following generation becoming more and more capable of the harsh Underworld environment and the long hours of labor force upon them. Now the former group were the bonus, as slaves who could work harder and longer were much better suited to the 'tor's needs, but their ability to work with spirit energy lead to the discovery that their bones when fused with spirit energy became even stronger than they normally were, making for the perfect building material for the hoe of the 'tor. And to top it off the resource was easily renewable in large quantities. Oddly enough as the two bloodlines where intermixed and continually used to breed the race slowly began to change variations like the ones being fondly and prodded were looked over and under thoroughly exampled for every aspect of their being in order to discover any new features. Mostly the change was a slight rounding of the ears and numerous new colors to their hair and eyes as apposed to their lesser inbred relations that were used as general live stock, food and person slaves that is. The more inbred and stronger the desired traits the more like the offspring of the pairing would become less like their ancestors and more like the new breed they appeared.

It was amid the experiment upon a recently matured slave that the keeper of the Fallen God's grave was brought to the council, Qizztren'tor Kawrath.

Meanwhile he walked between the pillars of bone passing one group of slaves after the next never an eye cast directly upon him stranger though he was, for these were a broken and beaten people with no life other then the slavery they had been born into for generations or the death of disobedience along with every immediately family member. His walk was even, slow, steady as though his purpose was a forgone conclusion.
For the most part he was sizing up the elves considering what he was seeing as he neared the Citadel of the 'tor. Deciding how best to proceed.

Crisis Rocan Tue Mar 26, 2019 4:14 am

I was close, so close I could feel his presence binding me. It was not something I had suspected possible. Dammit, I had everything planned, from the very first moment I saw what my pathetic brethren would choose to do. The fools would give up eternal life, immortality for what, being a part of everything without any control any sense of self. I would never sink to that level. They were beneath me, every last one of them were beneath me once the vision came. I had them from the first moment of existence, sights, glimpses, looks int the future. I used them for my own ends, my ends were ruling our world. And those cretins were going to throw it all away and create lesser beings. Lesser beings without end. God...! No God.

I'm not saying I'm a power hungry, self-centered, malicious, tyrant type, an evil son of a bitch with a urge to burn every thing to the ground, or even for that matter a devious genius with a unending urge to control everything. I'm saying I am evil, and I would rule all I am the Essence of the Megalomaniac, Krafey!

My people gave up life for being a part of every lesser being, I betrayed them all, twisted my vision of the future to escape the end of my people and wait for the day I would rise again. I had seen the rise of a number of my brethren exiled from our home land into the future created by those fools. I choose a similar fate, one in which I would retain my power and my identity which was more than I allowed him to do! I arranged for the civil war which brought our people to their knees, and he stopped it despite my plans, despite my sight into the future, he changed fate that lucky bastard I acted quickly using my last pawns to change the rewards and punishments the age old tradition of rules and subject after war. Everyone would be punished my solution only they got off worse in truth while I suffered more than I planned on. I was given form as a blade, blood red with all that I was still intact and whole, they were turned to stones to be used as tools and he was striped of his memories, my only solace without control of my own fate for the time being. He would suffer more.

I nearly had full control of that world, the one we had been banished to. I ruled most of it, through proxies fools who thought they ruled, but all of them were my thralls. I am evil as it is described, I am openly what I am the Essence of the Megalomaniac and also Krafey the Sword of Blood. And again he interfered, somehow regaining his memories and control of his abilities, even managing to subdue the other Essences that I had twisted to my ends. His love, the most glorious of all of my prized thralls she was a gem of domination and world conquering of religious zeal. She was my favorite thrall, and he destroyed her and all the other Essences just to balance that world, but I had the last laugh at the time. Drained of power, nearly destroyed on the edge of losing his very life a thing I had thought impossible until I witnessed how he destroyed five other Essences freed of their imprisonment in stone. I still don't know how they managed to reform and become whole but he does. He was involved with it, somehow the cause of it. My anger is as great as my ambition, and he had it all.

I had my revenge his breaking and fading life force trapped in stone I had thrown into the infernal abyss the one place nothing could escape or return from. Again, or so I thought! Not only did he return, but he did it time and time again as a man in all the glory I have waited to possess myself. His powers in full bloom, an unstoppable monster without peer or match, everything I should be, and was denied. He came for me and the last time he struck down my thralls and burnt my kingdoms to ash and dust, but what was me he was not done. He came for me! The gull to strike at me directly, but he did it anyway. We could interact with the world, influence everything around us, he corrupted it his way and I mine.

He destroyed all that I had built and worse himself to seal me away, binding me with his own blood and bones damping my connection to the life around me. He cut me off and stole everything that belonged to me, all that was mine... for ages I waited.

...

...

...

The long silence surround by him sealed away from life from all that was rightfully mine, how my anger boiled my desire to revenge myself upon him grew, but never would I use that word! No matter how much it grew within me, no matter how much I wanted to unleash mine upon him, I hate his name!

But alas I could feel the barrier of his Essence weaken, not much but just enough for me to reach beyond him, to seize upon the mind holding me, a hand mortal holding me. At long last I could regain some of my former glory, no.. not yet, but some of my life... the bound was not weakened as I had thought but someone had taken me in hand and even through his binding I could feel it a life. I did not know his name, but I had a inkling of what I would call him he would be my Blood when the time came. It took time to reach through the binding of that bastard Essence.

What I found was a young world, somehow I knew this, could feel it's age the lifeforms all across it when I focused on the one who held me, the one whose mind I could touch. He was my Blood my thrall to be, what I could do was encourage him to never let me go. The longer he held me the more he would become mine. The more I could see and feel through his body and mind and eyes, the more I lusted for my former glory, my thralls, my power, my world!

Blood was something unique to my knowledge of creatures, not because he was a lizardman, but because he was more. Oddly different than the normal garden variety, there were...

...

Traces of my people in him small amounts of raw Essence lingering within this creature as though he had been touched directly by an Essence blessed or cursed with greater potential than they had the right to have. Yet there was something more, a thing I knew, the one thing I held awe for that I have always found uncontrollable. If Blood was of that line, as inconceivable as it would be I think I understand why I could never control them before... I already had in a different time and place. Perhaps that was the answer, perhaps not. I would have to wait and see for this my Blood was not as clever or sturdy as the Draslanox which came from the Infernal Abyss, far smaller and clearly nothing like those which I knew from my last world, but still remarkably similar. I would continue with Blood.

He was easy to manipulate, his first taste of power and he wanted more, and more was something I could feed him. There was an addiction to power and I was the ultimate source, only with a price of becoming my thrall, a tool for my will upon the world. Blood took me with him back to his people to the rest of the lizardmen, a prize from his throttling their fallen god as he described the being I refuse to name. My nemesis was their god, and they had chosen to slay hi and be free of him, I could only hope it worked.

It did not, the bastard Essence returned as though life was his to have forever. I knew their was such splendid potential from leaving our home and escaping the future of the Essences, and he truly had it all. I needed to regain a body even more now, inside his mind I crept, leaving one thought and one thought only for years I plied the idea, continue the God-hunt, keep him dead, never let that bastard breath fresh air again. It took little enough to encourage his lust for power and to fuel the idea that their god of death would take his power from him. I rode Blood's hip for many years until another of their kind the 'tor went on the God-hunt together. He was called 'tor Kawrath, and blood was the only means of ending Kawrath's intentions of saving their god and re-establishing him to his rightful place. It was not the last time they would fight over him.

My seal was nearly broken through, a great weakening to the binding made by him. Blood had hunted him and slain him before his eyes even blinked open, to be honest I savored his blood splattering in all directions as I was used to cave in his miserable skull before having the satisfaction of seeing him buried once again. I hungered for more blood, I could taste the blood of my enemy and my old hungry had for the first time in an eon been fed. I could see and feel almost crystal clear through Blood's eyes, and he was a sad flavor for my growing hungry. I could almost taste the elfin blood in those pristine corpses just laying everywhere, I had to have them to savior their blood and flesh, if only it truly remained as pure as it looked.

It did, the elves were delicious and savory as I thought they would be, my power was renewing, but still bound. My influence was greater though the more I made Blood feed the stronger I felt, the more influence I had over him. I whispered into his mind a name but one that I found fitting Foxblood. A name he took to mean he was sly and crafty for finding a renewable food source, easily bred, raised, and slaughtered on demand, as they already were but now with a new more practical reason in a time when his people were dying out from starvation.

After this I used Foxblood to place a watch over his grave to have someone on hand to slay the false god, someone who would do it no matter what. I found 'tor Kawrath to be a disruption to my plans of enthralling the 'tor. I problem who would resist me, while most of the 'tor would follow the flow of my wisdom and cravings Kawrath was different. Killing him would do no good either so I set his line to watching the God of Death as punishment for wishing to return him to power and a place of peace without endless death. Foxblood was firmly in my grasp but Kawrath moved against me, him. I had set into motion a breeding plan for the elves to strengthen their natural traits and even began toying with the idea of crossbreeding them with some of the lizardmen to see what would happen, to mingle and mix and improve upon the stocks of both of my tools. Along with other ideas Foxblood had convinced with little effort the rest of the council of the 'tor to undertake. My favorite was the Citadel, my throne for the world as my will would spread and bow as the other had done before, but Kawrath had stuck a blow, to Foxblood, one that only I knew the true results of. He stole me and threw me away above ground far from any lizardmen or the paths that the walked, beyond influencing another of their kind.

And than that Dwarf laid his hands upon me and tossed me around like a lump of metal in his clumsy hands and ground my conscious with his vile touch into a near dormant state. If the dwarf was bad, at least I had sealed my nemesis's fate he would never see the light of day again. My wrath, my hate, and my RAGE, was greater and more powerful than the Essence who brought me low, the Essence of Rage!

As my mind fades into dormancy I laugh with irony that though I live in silence bound twicefold by rage's bones and blood, and the dwarf Toefor's innate handicap in magic, I know Rage will suffer endlessly for all of time and my Foxblood, my partial thrall will somebody return into my presence and fulfill his place as my first among many.

Crisis Rocan Tue Mar 26, 2019 11:39 pm

Things were just dragging out but let's be real for a moment I was walking through a garden of cute pointy-eared elf slaves. Honestly I just wanted to stop and rub a few of the pretty ones ears and see how they would react to it. But... I had more pressing matters, well maybe I could play after I was done killing the lizardman race off. Oh the drag of priorities. If the stark bone white color of their citadel wasn't bright and shiny enough the inside was just as bad. Dull white color, only a few chains here, a few chains there, an odd assortment of what looked like mixed breed elves, I later found out to be the by product of inbreeding to heighten their abilities. Yeah that didn't end well either when I found out about that.

There weren't many inside the citadel to impede my progress, but those that remained seemed different from the previous one something odd. Almost elf like, apparently the lizards weren't satisfied with inbreeding elves for better traits they crossbred them to create their legion of fools I mean 'torcorp. God that sounds like a bad marketing gimmick.

Right, back to bloodshed, broken lizards and no it's still not Mountain Dew god dammit. Rank and file legion scale-backs but steadily becoming more skilled as I gutted them one after the other. Yawn, still not worth the effort it was starting to become anticlimactic and fast. Speaking of fast, fast forward through the dull deaths of the peons and enter the council chamber, a throne room if ever I've seen one, and I've been involved in my fair share of burning the like to the ground both literally and figuratively. Short story hopefully not getting longer half the council was dead by the time I reached the middle of the room. Lickazilla was bound and chained just like a pair of the inbred elves were, and that's when the sword broke, always the hard way. Always the hard way.

To be honest I think I was ignoring the whole place, now I don't normally acknowledge this but I am the Essence Rage! Needless to say I can be enraged beyond reckoning, even the the sword breaking was a minor thing it was the straw that broke the camels ass. They already broke it's back, don't believe me, refer to my top 10, numbers 10 through fuck the lizard people! I had had more than enough of this bastard race to last a life time or twenty, and that's just fact I'd died more times then that already. I was cleaning the slate of this mistake...

Now tapping into what I am isn't hard, it's remembering that consequences always happen that tends to be the fuzzy detail. You know oops you level a kingdom, O... M... G... you killed two races not one. God power is such a pain in the ass, responsibility is for the determined not those who just wanted to take a few century long nap. Not a dirt nap. Note the enraged feeling being generated just thinking about it. Explaining it would be too much of a hassle I have a proper nap to get back to and you know maybe an entire enslaved race to free in the process.

I'll be honest I don't think much about the detail when I go all out, shit just happens. Like lizardmen being flayed and drawn and quartered and burnt alive, yeah weird shit happens naturally when I invoke my Essence. The chains flung into the air of three bound before me upon the table collars popping free. I told them to go leave that what was going to happen next none would survive. A second look and even Lickazilla fled something about me scared her.

His power was a thing that could not be put into check, Qizztren and the two elves fled, running from the citadel they stopped thousands of freed slaves staring at them as they exited the citadel, the two with her turned looking back in wonder at the citadel and the man fighting who had freed them, freed them all. Qizztren didn't loss a step though and urged the two to run as she was they followed raised as they had been to obey the rest of them were. The entire slave nation rose free of it's chains and followed Qizztren'tor Kawrath. They were bred to obey and obey they did, the one 'tor left.

Rage stood his ground unleashing all that he was, his power unconstrained raged beyond the council chamber, beyond the levels of the citadel he traversed coming in. His power began to rage, tearing at the laws of nature changing things without rhyme or reason to bend to his will binding the last of the 'tor in place as all he had built burnt to the ground around him. The 'tor had ended, only two remained Qizztten'tor Kawrath and Foxblood, one fleeing the other soon to die. In the blink of an eye the life that had been Foxblood's drained from him pooling in a green stream at his feet. Rage releasing his power turned and began to walk away as he heard a sound he hadn't expected to hear.

Qizztren stopped dead in her tracks she had heard this sound once before, the sound of rock tumbling free falling away from the cavern's roof far above. But the sound did not stop, the breaking the shattering of stone continued on as though the entire roof the Underworld of the 'tor was breaking apart. Which in fact it was doing just that, the ceiling of the cavern long supported by the clever architecture of the 'tor had buckled under the pressure of Rage's power unleashed without restraint. The very consequences he had pondered before releasing his rage! The next sound she heard was one she did not know, the thunderous roar of cascading water, splashing against falling land.

I ran until running was no longer possible dodging rocks, free falling water, and trees, whole downrooted trees, well you can't fucking uproot a tree falling from above now can you. The sky was fucking fall and I didn't see Chicken Little to start screaming like a jackass the sky is falling the sky is falling. Now I want chicken nuggets. Fucking lizards are making me want a number 5 with no ice, and real Mountain Dew... but not McDonald's fries fucking rubber is better for killing people than eating. But I digress as I ran like hell from the world caving in on me. Apparently I did something catastrophic... again.

The island, he had come upon was more than that it was a small continent spanning the ocean encompassing all the landmasses of the modern day Beijio Islands. The pure power of the Essence of Rage pouring throughout the Underworld had destabilized the entire continent crumbling what support there had been entirely. The oceans flooded in through the breaking crust of the continent above, raging waters, falling trees and the ground above caving in. It was starting to get deep, the water of course at a rapid pace. He wasn't sure if he would make it out safely in time, before the ocean swallowed the city of the 'tor. He pressed on diving under the water swimming wherever possible to hasten his escape. He overtook Qizztren and her fleeing slaves easily passing them, only stopping because they were trudging along through the near chest high waters. There were still miles of tunnel to travel before reaching the exit and they would never make it at the rate they were going.

No time to lose as the waters were raising higher and higher with each passing second Rage turned back quickly explain as best he could what he had been doing. A crash course in swimming for cave dwellers under pressure of drowning and death took place. Soon enough the elves dove under the water having witnessed his lesson each slave passing the lesson on to those around them. In a matter of minutes the elves began swimming away as though they had always known the skill and practiced it daily. Qizztren on the other hand began panicking as her slaves fled leaving her behind. Rage stood neck deep in water as her head submerged panicking and trying to claw her way above water. The last living 'tor, he had sworn to slaughter, beneath the rising waters he clenched his fist. Unclenching his fist he grabbed her around the waist as she struggled to the surface again, hesitating only a moment before punching her square in the face.

It's going to be a long ass swim dragging this dead weight

Crisis Rocan Thu Mar 28, 2019 3:58 pm

The time has come the walrus said to speak of many things... yeah... many things. I'm being lazy, frankly I just don't feel like ending this narration commentary forced debacle with a bright cheery sunshine and roses crap. But summing up what comes next... sure why not.

Elves...

Quick learns those ones, well when it came to swimming, anything else and they drag it the fuck out. Well at least these ones were slow learners especially with the whole yes 'tor no 'tor mentality. God brainwash an entire race and you stunt their growth potential. Six months, six long ass months of teaching them not to dig tunnels in order to planet crops. Hunting, gathering, fishing, anything that involved survival they suck at learning. Ugh! Can I wipe them out too... no seriously... please... pretty please... pretty please with extra special mass genocide on top...?

Of course not, lets just call this... umm... balance. Wholesale slaughter, re-reeducation... sure sounded about right. Did I believe it? Honestly I didn't really stop to think about it, they needed to learn to survive and the only one worse off then the elves was Qizztren'tor Kawarath. Talk about a mouthful of a name, you'd have to have flicking slithery lizard tongue to say a name like that all the time... ironic I know. Lickazilla has a real lizardly mouthful of a name. More on her in a bit.

Elves, slow but steady learners. Let's backtrack a bit for a moment there are a few details I should probably clear up. In the present you know the future times from were these events occurred. The Beijio Islands exist, until this point in history, everything within the Beijio island chain including the Island of Genbosama far to the west was encompassed as a single landmass, what scholars might describe in the present as a lost continent. One with a grand advanced technological level, weapons, tools, perhaps even a written language and so much more. As much as I despise the 'tor they had developed into what one of my worlds would have called Atlantis. Thinking back it feels like a similar situations. I didn't intend to make a lost continent. Hint, hint, nudge, nudge, more on that later... no spoilers wink!

The lost continent began to form in history as a result of my unbridled rage against the 'tor. The 'tor all but one wiped from the face of the planet, right or wrong? Don't ask me, I work on instinct almost exclusively. A large portion of the modern day Beijio Islands was formed but not as they appear in the present. Yakamoto and Yakatoro were at this time still connected by the God's forge a volcano, not to be mistaken with the remains of it known commonly as Kasai Mountain in the present. The God's Forge spanned between the modern day sisters connecting them as it still did the day the city of the 'tor was lost. Personally I think Toefor would laugh his ass off at that. Sorry he's no god, just damn good at what he does, and that is one single-minded dwarf. I once spent three and a half weeks locked up in one of his forges, gave him fits for a year trying to figure out which weapon my fighting style was best suited to use. Kind of funny really, he never labels his forges just picks a spot starts working. Anyway the sister islands were still as one, other than that and the little island passed Ryunoshi, the majority of the lost continent was still in tact at this time, everything from the eastern side of Ryunoshi and Cryin Islands, leading westward. The lost city of the 'tor a water cradle situated between the newly formed islands deep, deep beneath the waters surface.

At this point in unrecorded history, the Elves of Beijio were a scattered broken people. The majority of which ended up on the western side of the lost continent following Qizztren, the last of the 'tor. Behind her licking her heels were the two elves from within the council chambers. Twins paternal twins, both female, as different from one another as strangers of the same race could be, but twins none the less. I found them on my heels almost as often s hers, they seemed to have a certain devotion to me beyond their loyalty to the 'tor as they were bred to be. I learned a great deal about the 'tor from the elves. I was a god to the 'tor, then a fallen god, and a god of death. Foxblood the former head of the 'tor had changed after acquiring a sacred object, a red and white object they could do nothing with, an object that had been lost to the 'tor years before their fall. Krafey... I had completely forgotten about him, well dying a lot can be distracting, and then teaching the elves was too important to overlook, or ignore just to track him down again.

There were smaller groups of elves scattered about the different newly formed islands, some to die out in time, but one group in particular, one not as diluted such as the Twins, less inbreeding as it were. The cute little pointed ears, the silky silver hair and eyes that could have just as easily been my own only a lighter less cloudy shade of blue, and unlike mine they stayed piercing blue. This purer group of Beijio elves ancient elves if you will, found themselves upon the island of Izula. They reside their to the present, looking exactly as their race originally looked, as apposed to their more common descendants which followed Qizztren from the 'tor. I figure they must have maintained some form of contact with one of the larger continents after escaping. Maybe some group traveled the newly formed islands, and helped the small colony thrive seeing as they managed to maintain their features without them becoming watered down like the rest of their people. Maybe not pure but still original.

Qizztren 'tor Kawrath, to say she was the last would be like saying she was a pain in the ass, my ass. A complete understatement. My god, my lord, allow me to serve you, I want you... ok the last one was me being sarcastic. Not that she wasn't half way up my ass surrounded by slaves she was slowly losing control of and I wouldn't put it passed her to try and take her god to bed and all that. Yet for her she lost everything, her people, small loss really considering her family had been turned into scapegoats and exiles set to die first if I woke with a vengeance. I did only she was smart enough to hide and be different...

Lickazilla was lost without slaves and the structured order of her people; she was a victim of her people as much as one of them. Where the elves learned to do for themselves albeit slowly, she hardly learned at all; at least not to do manual labor. Sadly her mind and desires were too much like her own people like Foxblood had been. I think it was Krafey's doing, my old enemy, had twisted and warped the 'tor to be his new breed of tools, much like my own people who were banished with us had become. So I spent years trying to undo Krafey's influence over her. I'm pretty sure I failed miserable at that.

I made it worse, but on to other things first. The twins followed me around even more than Qizztren, like loyal dogs, and who wouldn't find a certain enjoyment in the complete and total devotion, loyalty and obedience in two beautiful women. As with all things I enjoy a good ironic twist, so I started calling them the twins of Anubis, after all if I was the god of an underworld and the dead, than in some ways the name would have fit, and like I said they followed me like dogs everywhere without a moment to myself. So I gave in to them, I allowed it, it was what they wanted and as the other elves slowly spread out leaving the four of us behind to live and grow on their own, now capable of doing so I couldn't refuse the Twins of Anubis their hearts desire for the future either.

Qizztren on the other hand was hell bent on regaining what she had lost, what her people had once had and lost as well. Power, control, authority, the right of rule. I could have done something about it, but I was tired, I had died so many times, and had to teach for so long an entire race of people to live and survive, I just wanted to rest and be at peace for a lifetime for a change. For a time she stay with us, and than one day she left. As for myself the Twins never left my side though they could never keep up with me the had but one desire. We lived for years together enjoying the peace without the 'tor, near the modern day island of Shi no Shima we made a home and well each twin had given birth to a child. A nice peaceful happy family. I think for a time I was truly content happy even, the twins whose names I shall keep to myself and our children happy.

Qizztren traveled as far as she could and learned much in the years between our parting and the birth of the Twins children. But in the end she was one of the 'tor the God-born corrupted by the purest of evils Krafey. She discovered magic deep dark magic and the deeper dark sciences which she had begun to learn the day her people died. Once she was considered a blue scaled beauty of her race, but no more. She had developed into a bigger dark beast, something I could predict the future of in a genetic destination kind of way. But what was worse is that she had begun attempting to recreate her people, the 'tor. I believe that was why she had returned because she had learnt that somethings she could not do by herself.

I was impressed when she found us again by her growth, I shouldn't have been lizards do have a knack for growing all the time. She stood eye to with me and her nature build dwarfed my own. She came hooded and cloaked her travels having gone beyond the continent seeing as the locals here were barely adept at growing plants and hunting to feed themselves. I let my guard down and allowed her to return to our home, and stay with us for a time. She pressed me for details, for the knowledge for what she was after though at the time I did not know what she was about. Always curious about the children, and how they were made, of how they were different from their mothers and myself. I grew tired of it, I enjoy my peace and quiet, so I left her to the twins and our children one of the few ways I could get some true time to myself though more often than not still within eyesight of my lovely hounds. Sleep I took advantage of it as often as I could in those days, her presence was useful, it kept the Twins doing something they loved to do boasting about their children and how it happened. Qizztren was very, very attentive to every word they spoke.

It's not easy to describe what comes next. Forgiveness will never be given to Qizztren'tor Kawrath when I get my hands on her again, when I live again, I shall hunt her down and visit upon her for all of eternity the pain and suffer she has cause to me, and my own!

I woke from one such nap the Twins no where in sight having gone it seemed with Qizztren to harvest food, it was that time of the year. So indolent and lazy I went back to sleep, the biggest mistake of my life at the time. When next I woke I was covered in blood soaked to the bone my clothes stained a deeper shade of something not black thrown in a pile against the wall, they had been stained by the blood of my children, slain by Qizztren over my body while I slept. But what was worse I realized she had captured me, taken me from my home, my women, and my life. I was bound be magic, by spells and hexes, evil magic with only one purpose. I know what she did to me, I wanted none of what she planned, she wanted children of her own, and had failed to reproduce her people by herself in the years she had been gone. Simply because I did not want her, pleasant for what it was but still taken against my choosing, she tried and tried again as I was bound without the ability to move. A part of me let it happen numb to the reality of the things I was blocking out, the blood of my children, the loss of the Twins, and Qizztren trying to repopulate the world with her people one way or another. But that still wasn't the worst of it. When mating failed her she went to her magic and tried to raise the corpses of my children into living beings in her own image. Warping them into abhorrent creatures demonic if I had to describe them.

She went further then that, keeping me half dead or dead to maintain a not so much weakened state but one of near powerlessness, as she began dark experiments upon her and me. Most of it was a blur, but the end result is still the same, she was close to creating life even darker and more powerful than the demon spawn she had made of my children. I had broken free she had sent the children to kill their mothers, I couldn't let that happen. She fled but not before I injured her severely, another mistake. The end result was still the same, she convinced the Twins I had murder our children and had sent the two demons to kill them. The two demons that they had killed protecting themselves... our poor children. Qizztren knew I was weak and tired, she had spent much time studying me and her madness and timing were perfect, she came upon me asleep with the Twins and in their deluded rage they killed me to avenge the loss of the children. Qizztren never gave me a chance to solve the problem, she had decided upon a means of getting what she had wanted at my expense, and it did work in a manner of speaking.

After my disposal and death the Twins of Anubis turned to her for solace and support their former master. To shortened the pain, they became her loyal slaves once again, first retrieving the corpse of Foxblood from the lost city of the 'tor. And this is where things turned dark, she mated again and again with his corpse, necrophilia, but the thing is she succeeded in breeding with her dead partner, where she had failed with a living breathing me. I just didn't want it, so I didn't let her have the thing she truly wanted life, young new life not from me. And so began her creation of her lieutenants, first and foremost the Twins of Anubis, changed by the consumption of their own demonized children, her magic and a cocktail of my blood to wash it all down. Of course she never told them a word of it, just fed them without their ever having the slightest clue that she was experimenting on to create her own personal royal guard. The next was a bastard creation from her breeding with Foxblood encouraged by the results of her test with my blood on my ladies. And last was a thing she bred of herself a thing she called Mzrai, a beast, part her, part something else. Four lieutenants to serve her loyally without question, the beginnings of her demon hordes and yes she begat a pure lizardman child as well, many in fact as time went on to restart the line of the lizardmen. But not the God-born the 'tor would die with her, her lizardmen children would dwell on Shi no Shima throughout time worshiping her as a demon god, and never advancing beyond the primitive state in which she left them, intelligent, loyal, and devoted entirely to her as their god, but dumb by the standards of modern civilization.

I would have stopped her, but she had learned her lessons, the lessons of her people well, she took me from the blind side and turned my loved ones against me... but she used me, my blood, my body, every single thing she could to create her lieutenants. And to keep me from interfering by coming back to life, she eat every last part of my body that she did not use to warp the Twins and create Mzrai and her Foxblood.

She fucking eat me, and turned my loved ones into demon gods to serve her will... I would return and she was preparing for it preparing for a war with her god! I didn't know when or where I would re-spawn, but when I found myself alive again I would hunt her down and murder her with crude vicious deliberate intent. Cold-blooded murder!

-fin-

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