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rainbowfic2013-01-27 01:41 pm
ysonesse) wrote in rainbowfic2013-01-27 01:41 pm
Provence Lavender #8, Tyrian Purple #20
Name: leiamoody
Story: Phantasmirrora—“A Long Time Ago"
Colors: Tyrian Purple #20 “Watcher with a thousand eyes”; Provence Lavender #8 “View from the hills”
Word Count: 1202
Rating: PG
Summary: The Summoner looks out over his domain while contemplating his past and a possible future.
Warnings: Mention of deity rape.
The Summoner stood upon a twisted black glass parapet looking over the Ash Valley.
He was a child of the Great Sun Demon and a priestess. Najahal was invaded on the first night of the summer solstice by Ialo. She retreated into the deepest heart of space until her fiery spawn emerged into the universe.
His ultimate talent emerged soon after birth, when he summoned the Chief Dead from their abiding places in the lower reaches of the First Netherworld. Those creatures rose up from the abyss and were bound into an unholy alliance with him. It was after this victory when he christened himself with something other than a name; instead he chose to call himself “The Summoner”.
The Summoner began fashioning an experiment: one little globe placed in direct orbit with the solar body meant to give it heat and light...he scattered a few thousand people upon the surface to create a population that would live and die on the surface of this lone planet.
Millenia passed; the civilization on the little world evolved, thrived, called itself Ysonesse. The Summoner practiced and refined his dark arts, formed his minions into a lethal force, and waited for the perfect day to end the world he created. He was god-master/manipulator/ultimate force over the unfortunate people of Ysonesse.
His physical form evolved in a twisted fashion which matched his personality. His body formed pulpy white scars braided together with red and yellow blisters; he chose a skeletal frame that signified the perpetual state of decay. The Summoner clad his terrible body in a sweeping black cloak, from air to ground.
His eternal abode was an iron and obsidian fortress stretched high across the upper western lip of a dormant volcano. This desolate gray and black landscape served a dual purpose: as The Summoner's home and the supposedly metaphorical afterlife which most Ysonesse citizens believed in as part of their religion. The Summoner allowed these deluded souls to believe their faith was real...they were correct on the matter of the barren afterlife, but absolutely foolish when it came to a benevolent creator. This wasteland would become their final abode; innumerable rows of the deceased would stand shoulder-to-shoulder, unconscious, devoid of their former personalities, eternally enslaved to The Summoner's whims.
The Summoner realized keeping souls trapped around his forsaken land was pointless. What purpose could these once-living and forever-dead serve other than standing around in a cold valley? Perhaps if he allowed these souls to inhabit more than one physical body across many centuries...
It was after the reincarnation process was implemented when The Summoner finally realized the ultimate means of destruction for Ysonesse. Not only for those people, but for another universe after his first creation was destroyed. He could fashion another, smaller world than Ysonesse and the corner of the Vastness...Ialo's offspring did not share the unbridled ambition of his progenitor for large spaces filled with empty worlds and some randomly populated planets; to what ends could a large, unorganized mass of humanity be punished for simple amusement?
The Summoner decided it was more interesting to have a little group of humans who could be passed around and knocked about at his command. He focused upon the business of life and soul manipulation, recycled the wretched across time, and plotted his little universe's denouement.
Sometime during this period, he clashed with the former temple priestess who gave birth to him. Najahal emerged from her cave at the center of Light; during her self-imposed isolation, Najahal had learned the essential tenets of magic and risen far above her lowly human status to become a demigod. Something, or someone, had given her a dram or twelve of the Gods' Elixir, granting her immortality. Samanea was only reserved for gods and their children; mortals should not be permitted such a luxury. How could his lowly incubator obtain the rarest of all substances? Surely not from Ialo, who presented his only begotten son with the samane root and a fresh presentation of its distilled essence on the first day of his magical apprenticeship. The Summoner drank of its bitterness, its burning tide, its freezing ebbs as the wine transformed his mortal shell into a pure vessel made for eternal transcendence. He was ageless, impervious to disease and injury (only great magic could obliterate him from space-time).
And then, the great day of destruction fell upon Ysonesse…
His act of destruction began with an act of seduction. Down on Ysonesse, there was a king with two daughters; the youngest daughter was bored with her protected life in the palace. She craved dark adventure.
The Summoner found the perfect victim.
He assumed the guise of a mysterious human who would seduce the young princess, then gain control of something vital to Ysonesse.
It was a perfect apocalypse: crush one soul and rid himself of a civilization.
The Summoner turned away from the ash-choked landscape which surrounded his demesne. It was less amusing to gaze upon a sprawling barren landscape hour with little changes to keep boredom from creeping into his existence.
The second pocket universe was contained within a sphere made from eternity glass. It was a perfect creation, divided into land/sea, sky/space then populated with creatures from another planet (which Father Ialo revealed to him; it existed in another dimension on the far left side of the universe). It was a ready supply of tortured souls (since he decided to give his subjects eternal life, the amount of available test subjects would be limited).
But how to bring anyone from that world into his domain? The Summoner investigated various mythologies and uncovered an intriguing portal: the mirror. Various cultures placed importance upon the device; it was used for decorative purposes and in matters of sorcery. The Summoner came up with a unique method to bring new victims into his realm: use a mirror to bring a person from Earth into his domain. His new batch of souls would be “recruited” via a book authored by the king’s daughter, drop said tome into the lives of certain individuals who once inhabited the bodies of various Ysonesse citizens, then watch each person follow the spells in the book of Lia Dolorosa, have them come through mirrors…and they would be trapped in his land forever.
The Summoner floated over to a large viewing orb near the balcony. Images moved within the crystal: various beings from around The Realms going about their daily machinations, including the latest arrival (currently residing in the mansion of his regular foe, that hopeless deluded romantic soul called St. Cyr). The human female called Miranda Shaw seemed resilient to the inevitability of her imprisonment. She continued to believe there was some kind from The Realms. She was foolish, certainly not the first being to entertain such a notion, so not even a challenge.
Nothing was ever a challenge here. The Summoner created torments, fashioned nightmares, then watched his victims deal with their inevitable depressions. The introduction of a new victim was just one more person who now resided within his domain.
The Summoner turned away from bleak vista which lay around his fortress. It was time for another malicious creation to divert his eternal attention.
Story: Phantasmirrora—“A Long Time Ago"
Colors: Tyrian Purple #20 “Watcher with a thousand eyes”; Provence Lavender #8 “View from the hills”
Word Count: 1202
Rating: PG
Summary: The Summoner looks out over his domain while contemplating his past and a possible future.
Warnings: Mention of deity rape.
The Summoner stood upon a twisted black glass parapet looking over the Ash Valley.
He was a child of the Great Sun Demon and a priestess. Najahal was invaded on the first night of the summer solstice by Ialo. She retreated into the deepest heart of space until her fiery spawn emerged into the universe.
His ultimate talent emerged soon after birth, when he summoned the Chief Dead from their abiding places in the lower reaches of the First Netherworld. Those creatures rose up from the abyss and were bound into an unholy alliance with him. It was after this victory when he christened himself with something other than a name; instead he chose to call himself “The Summoner”.
The Summoner began fashioning an experiment: one little globe placed in direct orbit with the solar body meant to give it heat and light...he scattered a few thousand people upon the surface to create a population that would live and die on the surface of this lone planet.
Millenia passed; the civilization on the little world evolved, thrived, called itself Ysonesse. The Summoner practiced and refined his dark arts, formed his minions into a lethal force, and waited for the perfect day to end the world he created. He was god-master/manipulator/ultimate force over the unfortunate people of Ysonesse.
His physical form evolved in a twisted fashion which matched his personality. His body formed pulpy white scars braided together with red and yellow blisters; he chose a skeletal frame that signified the perpetual state of decay. The Summoner clad his terrible body in a sweeping black cloak, from air to ground.
His eternal abode was an iron and obsidian fortress stretched high across the upper western lip of a dormant volcano. This desolate gray and black landscape served a dual purpose: as The Summoner's home and the supposedly metaphorical afterlife which most Ysonesse citizens believed in as part of their religion. The Summoner allowed these deluded souls to believe their faith was real...they were correct on the matter of the barren afterlife, but absolutely foolish when it came to a benevolent creator. This wasteland would become their final abode; innumerable rows of the deceased would stand shoulder-to-shoulder, unconscious, devoid of their former personalities, eternally enslaved to The Summoner's whims.
The Summoner realized keeping souls trapped around his forsaken land was pointless. What purpose could these once-living and forever-dead serve other than standing around in a cold valley? Perhaps if he allowed these souls to inhabit more than one physical body across many centuries...
It was after the reincarnation process was implemented when The Summoner finally realized the ultimate means of destruction for Ysonesse. Not only for those people, but for another universe after his first creation was destroyed. He could fashion another, smaller world than Ysonesse and the corner of the Vastness...Ialo's offspring did not share the unbridled ambition of his progenitor for large spaces filled with empty worlds and some randomly populated planets; to what ends could a large, unorganized mass of humanity be punished for simple amusement?
The Summoner decided it was more interesting to have a little group of humans who could be passed around and knocked about at his command. He focused upon the business of life and soul manipulation, recycled the wretched across time, and plotted his little universe's denouement.
Sometime during this period, he clashed with the former temple priestess who gave birth to him. Najahal emerged from her cave at the center of Light; during her self-imposed isolation, Najahal had learned the essential tenets of magic and risen far above her lowly human status to become a demigod. Something, or someone, had given her a dram or twelve of the Gods' Elixir, granting her immortality. Samanea was only reserved for gods and their children; mortals should not be permitted such a luxury. How could his lowly incubator obtain the rarest of all substances? Surely not from Ialo, who presented his only begotten son with the samane root and a fresh presentation of its distilled essence on the first day of his magical apprenticeship. The Summoner drank of its bitterness, its burning tide, its freezing ebbs as the wine transformed his mortal shell into a pure vessel made for eternal transcendence. He was ageless, impervious to disease and injury (only great magic could obliterate him from space-time).
And then, the great day of destruction fell upon Ysonesse…
His act of destruction began with an act of seduction. Down on Ysonesse, there was a king with two daughters; the youngest daughter was bored with her protected life in the palace. She craved dark adventure.
The Summoner found the perfect victim.
He assumed the guise of a mysterious human who would seduce the young princess, then gain control of something vital to Ysonesse.
It was a perfect apocalypse: crush one soul and rid himself of a civilization.
The Summoner turned away from the ash-choked landscape which surrounded his demesne. It was less amusing to gaze upon a sprawling barren landscape hour with little changes to keep boredom from creeping into his existence.
The second pocket universe was contained within a sphere made from eternity glass. It was a perfect creation, divided into land/sea, sky/space then populated with creatures from another planet (which Father Ialo revealed to him; it existed in another dimension on the far left side of the universe). It was a ready supply of tortured souls (since he decided to give his subjects eternal life, the amount of available test subjects would be limited).
But how to bring anyone from that world into his domain? The Summoner investigated various mythologies and uncovered an intriguing portal: the mirror. Various cultures placed importance upon the device; it was used for decorative purposes and in matters of sorcery. The Summoner came up with a unique method to bring new victims into his realm: use a mirror to bring a person from Earth into his domain. His new batch of souls would be “recruited” via a book authored by the king’s daughter, drop said tome into the lives of certain individuals who once inhabited the bodies of various Ysonesse citizens, then watch each person follow the spells in the book of Lia Dolorosa, have them come through mirrors…and they would be trapped in his land forever.
The Summoner floated over to a large viewing orb near the balcony. Images moved within the crystal: various beings from around The Realms going about their daily machinations, including the latest arrival (currently residing in the mansion of his regular foe, that hopeless deluded romantic soul called St. Cyr). The human female called Miranda Shaw seemed resilient to the inevitability of her imprisonment. She continued to believe there was some kind from The Realms. She was foolish, certainly not the first being to entertain such a notion, so not even a challenge.
Nothing was ever a challenge here. The Summoner created torments, fashioned nightmares, then watched his victims deal with their inevitable depressions. The introduction of a new victim was just one more person who now resided within his domain.
The Summoner turned away from bleak vista which lay around his fortress. It was time for another malicious creation to divert his eternal attention.
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