Difference between revisions of "Scytheus/That Is Which Is Not"
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In the beings presence, living things died. Inanimate objects rotted to nothingness in mere moments. The very air entered a vacuum around It. Essence simply would not exist around It. The vision of any who looked upon It became troubled and blurry (think The Ring) as though trying to register something that does not exist yet is manifest. All that the gods and Primordials fought over was about to be wiped away. So, in perhaps the only case where the two found common ground, the gods and Primordials entered temporary truce.<br> | In the beings presence, living things died. Inanimate objects rotted to nothingness in mere moments. The very air entered a vacuum around It. Essence simply would not exist around It. The vision of any who looked upon It became troubled and blurry (think The Ring) as though trying to register something that does not exist yet is manifest. All that the gods and Primordials fought over was about to be wiped away. So, in perhaps the only case where the two found common ground, the gods and Primordials entered temporary truce.<br> | ||
− | Autochton forged five weapons - | + | Autochton forged five weapons - [[Scytheus/The|TheFiveMajesticStancesOfAllCreation]]. Each a grand daiklave of considerable power and wielded by five forgotten Exalted heroes. Each made from one of the Five Magic Materials. Then Autochton instructed eight fair folk in the forging of [[Scytheus/The|TheEightFaedoomLances]] - eight spear-like (think NGE's "Lance of Longinnes") weapons of cold iron. Naturally, the fair folk who forged them died in the process. Their spirits lived on in the iron, however. Singularly focused on the task for which they were destined.<br> |
− | Then he constructed a great prison, as large as a dimension, from a goddess and a Primordial. The Primordial's iron bones composed the prison's walls as the goddess' eternal Essence provided fuel to replenish the Primordial's strength for eternity. However, as a failsafe, the Primordial and the goddess were now locked in a symbiotic relatioship - the goddess could no longer keep her existence without the stabilizing presence of the Primordial. Likewise, the Primordial could not survive without Essence provided by the goddess. Both would become martyrs to the cause of ending the threat of That Is Which Is Not. They would become | + | Then he constructed a great prison, as large as a dimension, from a goddess and a Primordial. The Primordial's iron bones composed the prison's walls as the goddess' eternal Essence provided fuel to replenish the Primordial's strength for eternity. However, as a failsafe, the Primordial and the goddess were now locked in a symbiotic relatioship - the goddess could no longer keep her existence without the stabilizing presence of the Primordial. Likewise, the Primordial could not survive without Essence provided by the goddess. Both would become martyrs to the cause of ending the threat of That Is Which Is Not. They would become [[Scytheus/The|TheVaultOfTheMartyrs]].<br> |
Autochton knew that the fae were beings borne of pure untapped potential. Beings of chaos and capriciousness. Only such spirits could possibly stand the touch of what the gods and Primordials dubbed "That Is Which Is Not". Perhaps only chaos can grapple and hold nihility. With that hope, the gods let fly the eight lances. The lances struck true no matter how much the being tried to ward them. It was as though they were being called towards It. Impaled by the eight lances, the nihilistic anti-aura that surrounded That Is Which Is Not subsided. Now, Essence merely waned and weakened in Its presence and life drained away at a much slower rate. Long enough for the gods to throw It into The Vault of the Martyrs.<br> | Autochton knew that the fae were beings borne of pure untapped potential. Beings of chaos and capriciousness. Only such spirits could possibly stand the touch of what the gods and Primordials dubbed "That Is Which Is Not". Perhaps only chaos can grapple and hold nihility. With that hope, the gods let fly the eight lances. The lances struck true no matter how much the being tried to ward them. It was as though they were being called towards It. Impaled by the eight lances, the nihilistic anti-aura that surrounded That Is Which Is Not subsided. Now, Essence merely waned and weakened in Its presence and life drained away at a much slower rate. Long enough for the gods to throw It into The Vault of the Martyrs.<br> | ||
− | That done, the truth behind the cage's namesake would be revealed. The five forgotten Exalted then entered the Vault and did battle with That Is Which Is Not. As their lives ebbed away, they pinned four of Its six wings. However, in the struggle the Solar Exalted's Stance - | + | That done, the truth behind the cage's namesake would be revealed. The five forgotten Exalted then entered the Vault and did battle with That Is Which Is Not. As their lives ebbed away, they pinned four of Its six wings. However, in the struggle the Solar Exalted's Stance - [[Scytheus/Somber|SomberAbsolutionOfAllCreation]] - broke off into Its fifth wing and its tip worked its way into Its wing like a splinter. Forever, giving That Is Which Is Not a fatal weakness against orichalcum. But, with only four of Its six wings pierced, That Is Which Is Not thrashed against Its pins like a desperate pigeon - slowly loosening them. With their last bits of strength the five Exalted prayed to the gods and Primordials. With those prayers came silence. The silence of she who would later become Adorjan. Adorjan quickly ripped away the sixth feathered wing of That Is Which Is Not and scattered the feathers all across Creation. Unfortunately, Somber Absolution of All Creation too was cast on the silent winds of Adorjan. Dealt this blow and severely weakened by Its violent struggling, That Is Which Is Not slipped into a dormant torpor. The Exalted heroes died martyrs - however forgotten - for they stayed too long in the presence of That Is Which Is Not and their Essences and Names were no more.<br> |
The one chink in That Is Which Is Not's armor, the missing Stance that gave It a weakness to orichalcum is also a flaw in Its prison. Even with Adorjan's help, now only four of That Is Which Is Not's remaining five wings are pinned. And as millenia pass into Aeons, and the gods bury themselves into their Games of Divinity; as The Primordials are wiped out save for the few Malfaens bent on revenge and the Solars struggle - practically alone - back from the jaws of extinction; as the Terrestrials war amongst themselves over temporal power and the Laws of Heaven are all but ignored; in a lonely silent cage of ancient primordial iron...a wing twitches...<br> | The one chink in That Is Which Is Not's armor, the missing Stance that gave It a weakness to orichalcum is also a flaw in Its prison. Even with Adorjan's help, now only four of That Is Which Is Not's remaining five wings are pinned. And as millenia pass into Aeons, and the gods bury themselves into their Games of Divinity; as The Primordials are wiped out save for the few Malfaens bent on revenge and the Solars struggle - practically alone - back from the jaws of extinction; as the Terrestrials war amongst themselves over temporal power and the Laws of Heaven are all but ignored; in a lonely silent cage of ancient primordial iron...a wing twitches...<br> | ||
− | That Is Which Is Not appears as a towering feminine humanoid, about 15 feet in height, bereft of genitalia, naval or areolae. Its head is completely draped in pitch black, chest length, straight hair that gives no sheen. Beneath this hair, if one ever looks, is a head absolutely void of facial features. Its skin is sickly pale and clammy. It used to bear six wings - two resemble the leathery wings of a demon. Their joints thin and bony allowing the wings to fold inwards neatly and compact when not in flight. Two resemble the thick, proud leathery wings of a drake. The wings attached to muscular arm-like appendages that wrap around That Is Which Is Not like a robe or cloak of sorts. Two resemble the feathery wings of an angel. Yet the Feathers are of a tar black color. Now, It bears only five as one of the wings was torn away by Adorjan during Its imprisonment. Encaged, it is supposed to be impaled by eight spears of cold iron. One in each shoulder, one in the neck, one pinning both feet in place, and four in the abdomen. Now, the spears are missing, as is one of the four Stances that are supposed to pin Its wings. The Stance of Soulsteel - | + | That Is Which Is Not appears as a towering feminine humanoid, about 15 feet in height, bereft of genitalia, naval or areolae. Its head is completely draped in pitch black, chest length, straight hair that gives no sheen. Beneath this hair, if one ever looks, is a head absolutely void of facial features. Its skin is sickly pale and clammy. It used to bear six wings - two resemble the leathery wings of a demon. Their joints thin and bony allowing the wings to fold inwards neatly and compact when not in flight. Two resemble the thick, proud leathery wings of a drake. The wings attached to muscular arm-like appendages that wrap around That Is Which Is Not like a robe or cloak of sorts. Two resemble the feathery wings of an angel. Yet the Feathers are of a tar black color. Now, It bears only five as one of the wings was torn away by Adorjan during Its imprisonment. Encaged, it is supposed to be impaled by eight spears of cold iron. One in each shoulder, one in the neck, one pinning both feet in place, and four in the abdomen. Now, the spears are missing, as is one of the four Stances that are supposed to pin Its wings. The Stance of Soulsteel - [[Scytheus/Pleasant|PleasantSlaughterOfAllCreation]]. |
Latest revision as of 01:25, 9 June 2010
"In times of old
the gods of old
fought the older beings untold
two did what they should not have done
and from that union there was none"
- Old children's rhyme chanted during Calibration
- Old children's rhyme chanted during Calibration
STORY ALERT: In Exalted, it is canon that Oblivion did not exist until the birth of the Malfeans. However, this Storyline assumes that Oblivion had always existed, even if never acknowledged. After all, before there is art - there is blank canvas; Before there is the act of creation - there is nothingness...
Also known as The Aeternal Abomination, The Seditious Blasphemy or The Inverted Womb. That Is Which Is Not was, in primeval times, the goddess Elimui the Conqueror - goddess of the desire to vanquish foes. A minor goddess, Elimui was ever covetous of Mars, The Maiden of Battles. With the war on the Primordials well under way, she patiently bided her time until she might find the Maiden weary. However, as aeons passed, her ambition gnawed at her sanity and, all the while, seemed less and less likely to ever happen. Until...
It is unknown how, but Elimui learned lore that enabled the melding of god and Primordial. The resulting union would forever be controlled by the being of stronger will. Elimui knew of a passive and little acknowledged Primordial known as Oblivion. She used the lore to merge with a shard of Oblivion; a sliver of nothingness. Perhaps her now madness caused her to throw caution and sense to the winds. Who knows. But soon after, her folly was turning upon her as the sliver of Oblivion slowly consumed Elimui from within. In soundless speech Oblivion whispered:
"in embrace nothing exists. and nothing will remain once have consumed"
Elimui's final words were a curse upon herself and her Name. "Then I renounce my Name, and my Nature and my Domain! May any who bear them be frought with lunacy and treachery as I was!" With that, Elimui was gone - consumed. Aeons passed. The war with the Primordials was nearly over, and - for some reason - the shard of Oblivion could not reunite with it's source. Perhaps the very nature of Oblivion would not allow it. For Oblivion does not "destroy". Rather it "ends" things. However, Oblivion, even if just a shard, cannot be ended. For it never "began", it merely always was. And without event or prelude, the shard of Oblivion was itself consumed from within!
"am nothing and have remained once was consumed"
In the beings presence, living things died. Inanimate objects rotted to nothingness in mere moments. The very air entered a vacuum around It. Essence simply would not exist around It. The vision of any who looked upon It became troubled and blurry (think The Ring) as though trying to register something that does not exist yet is manifest. All that the gods and Primordials fought over was about to be wiped away. So, in perhaps the only case where the two found common ground, the gods and Primordials entered temporary truce.
Autochton forged five weapons - TheFiveMajesticStancesOfAllCreation. Each a grand daiklave of considerable power and wielded by five forgotten Exalted heroes. Each made from one of the Five Magic Materials. Then Autochton instructed eight fair folk in the forging of TheEightFaedoomLances - eight spear-like (think NGE's "Lance of Longinnes") weapons of cold iron. Naturally, the fair folk who forged them died in the process. Their spirits lived on in the iron, however. Singularly focused on the task for which they were destined.
Then he constructed a great prison, as large as a dimension, from a goddess and a Primordial. The Primordial's iron bones composed the prison's walls as the goddess' eternal Essence provided fuel to replenish the Primordial's strength for eternity. However, as a failsafe, the Primordial and the goddess were now locked in a symbiotic relatioship - the goddess could no longer keep her existence without the stabilizing presence of the Primordial. Likewise, the Primordial could not survive without Essence provided by the goddess. Both would become martyrs to the cause of ending the threat of That Is Which Is Not. They would become TheVaultOfTheMartyrs.
Autochton knew that the fae were beings borne of pure untapped potential. Beings of chaos and capriciousness. Only such spirits could possibly stand the touch of what the gods and Primordials dubbed "That Is Which Is Not". Perhaps only chaos can grapple and hold nihility. With that hope, the gods let fly the eight lances. The lances struck true no matter how much the being tried to ward them. It was as though they were being called towards It. Impaled by the eight lances, the nihilistic anti-aura that surrounded That Is Which Is Not subsided. Now, Essence merely waned and weakened in Its presence and life drained away at a much slower rate. Long enough for the gods to throw It into The Vault of the Martyrs.
That done, the truth behind the cage's namesake would be revealed. The five forgotten Exalted then entered the Vault and did battle with That Is Which Is Not. As their lives ebbed away, they pinned four of Its six wings. However, in the struggle the Solar Exalted's Stance - SomberAbsolutionOfAllCreation - broke off into Its fifth wing and its tip worked its way into Its wing like a splinter. Forever, giving That Is Which Is Not a fatal weakness against orichalcum. But, with only four of Its six wings pierced, That Is Which Is Not thrashed against Its pins like a desperate pigeon - slowly loosening them. With their last bits of strength the five Exalted prayed to the gods and Primordials. With those prayers came silence. The silence of she who would later become Adorjan. Adorjan quickly ripped away the sixth feathered wing of That Is Which Is Not and scattered the feathers all across Creation. Unfortunately, Somber Absolution of All Creation too was cast on the silent winds of Adorjan. Dealt this blow and severely weakened by Its violent struggling, That Is Which Is Not slipped into a dormant torpor. The Exalted heroes died martyrs - however forgotten - for they stayed too long in the presence of That Is Which Is Not and their Essences and Names were no more.
The one chink in That Is Which Is Not's armor, the missing Stance that gave It a weakness to orichalcum is also a flaw in Its prison. Even with Adorjan's help, now only four of That Is Which Is Not's remaining five wings are pinned. And as millenia pass into Aeons, and the gods bury themselves into their Games of Divinity; as The Primordials are wiped out save for the few Malfaens bent on revenge and the Solars struggle - practically alone - back from the jaws of extinction; as the Terrestrials war amongst themselves over temporal power and the Laws of Heaven are all but ignored; in a lonely silent cage of ancient primordial iron...a wing twitches...
That Is Which Is Not appears as a towering feminine humanoid, about 15 feet in height, bereft of genitalia, naval or areolae. Its head is completely draped in pitch black, chest length, straight hair that gives no sheen. Beneath this hair, if one ever looks, is a head absolutely void of facial features. Its skin is sickly pale and clammy. It used to bear six wings - two resemble the leathery wings of a demon. Their joints thin and bony allowing the wings to fold inwards neatly and compact when not in flight. Two resemble the thick, proud leathery wings of a drake. The wings attached to muscular arm-like appendages that wrap around That Is Which Is Not like a robe or cloak of sorts. Two resemble the feathery wings of an angel. Yet the Feathers are of a tar black color. Now, It bears only five as one of the wings was torn away by Adorjan during Its imprisonment. Encaged, it is supposed to be impaled by eight spears of cold iron. One in each shoulder, one in the neck, one pinning both feet in place, and four in the abdomen. Now, the spears are missing, as is one of the four Stances that are supposed to pin Its wings. The Stance of Soulsteel - PleasantSlaughterOfAllCreation.