[ti]infinity[/ti]BlackVoid Tavern

(I really like this idea and I am going to echo Xlegic's sentiment here , if you post you must post a story, any story! Or else )

end??beginning??

Once upon a time, a race of fae was born in a glade called the eldaar. The fae harvested sap from the strange and luminous plants that grew in this glade. The sap brought them strange visions of worlds yet to be formed in places far from home and times long past or many eons to come.

The queen of the fae was named Rhea the Green Jade and her palace was esconced in the wooded halls of the pole oak which stretched high into the heavens up towards the stars. It was there that she tended to budding fruit with seeds so sweet it could turn your teeth to sugary glaze.

Rhea's daughters mingled among the treefolk and the magicked woods. From the slyphs of the forest, they began to learn the arts of sculpture and craft. Weaving and whittling out of what was dead and dried in their precious glade, they carved out signs and sigils that would one day become the runes of the anglo.

They wove the story of symbols into the lower chambers of the pole oak, and those symbols laid dormant once the fae were gone. None knew the story of their disappearance from the vale. Only the traces of their palace remained to speak for them, and the whispers immortalized by the canopy of leaves and treetops in the winds, who would murmer stories of the fae, and the luminous lands they'd tended.

When the moon joined hands with the sun, the strange runes on the pole oak began to shimmer and glow. They beget a strange magick to the land, and geometry seemed to spire outward from all the things that grew in the hallowed sanctuary. Unfurling like a blossom, the first druid was born under the roots of the ruins of eldaar, and inscriped upon his forehead was a shining sapphire, the condensed ancestry of a long forgotten tribe...the speakers of eldaar, who knew the flower tongue....

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Heh! Very Nice Ultra. Pics are a good touch.

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A special island exists in the Bermuda Triangle.
On this island, there is a race of Atlanteans - the remainder of atlantis - who ward away would be visitors with magnetic abnormalities and irregularities. So nobody has ever found them.
They call themselves, the Circle of 33, and they watch the world of Earth from afar, but they don't interfere.
They are not like the rest of mankind - they drink from cups of white jade, with recipes from the fae, and do not die.
There are not many of them, and they are almost entirely male. No sexual desire exists among them, because they do not have the space or need, as immortals, to procreate.

Despite being immortal, they do not have superpowers. They are incredibly smart - smarter than any human could perhaps hope to be, no matter how high their IQ. The reason that they have breached this 'upper-limit' of capacity is because they share a mind among themselves, and they can directly tap into the history of their ancestors when they ask questions and need answers.

It's a small island, and you may think it would be boring, to live forever there, with so very little to do. However, the Circle of 33 has achieved Nirvana, and have few desires. They watch the plight of humanity from afar, picking out particular humans that interest them and following their life cycles. The Circle of 33 can create an aura around their island that stops times. So, say they wanted to watch 70 years of the life of "John Smith" but they don't want 70 years to go by on earth. They can bring up the time aura so that time on the island does not pass while they watch the record of this human life.

Somewhere along the way, they started to notice some irregularities. They'd go watch the life of "Lara Markson", but the ending was different then they remembered. And they'd earmarked the ending, so it's not like it had been mis-remembered. The entire outcome of this person's destiny had been changed. How was this possible?

They conferred among themselves, but no agreement could be found. Were humans somehow tapping into the power to change the past? What gate had been opened, and what could it mean? The ancestors held no answers. That meant, this was unprecedented. And an unprecedented thing had not happened in thousands of years - an Aeon. Was it excitement that they felt then, or fear? In either case, they could do nothing, nothing but watch...

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Did anyone ever tell you how the first dreamweaver came to be? Well come, child. Sit down by the fire. And let me tell you a story.

The dreamweavers did not come to this plane seeking to start a new lifeform. It can be said that they dwell on the "other side" of this place, and feed on the colors in dreams. When infected, dreams are only experienced in black and white. In the next stage of illness all sounds are muted. The the black and white slowly fades into higher and higher exposure until it is absorbed into a white hole of sensory oblivion.

Dreamweavers are like honeybees. They are sent to dreams, and gather the imagination energy like a bee gathers honey. They then bring the dream silk back to their queen, and their dwellings become the arcitecture of parallel worlds.

But why did the dreamweavers come to be, when they are in between what is living and what is dead, you want to know? And so did the Eldar among sentience. They fought the dreamweavers like a plague. So long as the Gods must cause us to dream, they lamented, why must they send this scourge to feed on our dreams? In a way it seemed the Eldar sentients were being punished for their vanity, or the glory of immortality.

You see, dreamweavers only infect immortal dreams. Mortals always have imaginal energy to spare, returning as they do to the source, and weavers affect them no more seriously than a dustmite affects a bear. At worst, they are totally oblivious. There is a price to be paid, for power, glory, and the shining ones had become too bloated in their supremacy. They thought nothing could touch them anymore. And then the dreamweavers came....

And what were they building in their honeycomb chambers, gathering all the energy of those immortal dreams? In some dimensions they were forming a paradise. In others, a nightmare.

Are the dreamweavers evil? No child. They have not the capacity to be evil. Like a virus, they are on the threshold between living and dead, encompassing neither. They merely act like a beacon, following the subconscious trail of shining plethora. They create the wishes in the heart of the immortal. How do you think such things became formed? It's a clever symbiosis. But something must be stolen to be thus created.

They did what vanity would not allow the shining ones to do, give the universe the tools to make or unmake its own creation...they are the agents of the "unseeing eye..."

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Let's hear one of yours?

Yay! I'm so glad I picked a good one.

" Did you know that there's a dragon inside the sun? " said the mundi to the corpus.

" ... And then the mother of that son sunk into the sea ... "

" And played the harp with her fingers on the Moon ... "

"And the mitosis of Fire was an Eye ... "

"And the Eye saw deep within the Sea ...
Where from its mother was born being ... "

" The origin of null is void, " claimed the night.
... But the light only smiles ...

So progress formed a thought and had a dream called time.
And time blathered often ... :

"I dug a buried bird up
from under the desert sands
tossed it into the sky like a kite
Where the wind taught it to sing
and song taught it to fly ..."

Time whispered a secret, but you won't believe it: the objective of hell is diamond-making. If you listen very closely you can hear the diamonds crying,
"Oh woe, if only I had not sold my soul to that stone! Then I might finally die ... "
But instead, they shine ...
And shine...
And shine.

That's  just like "Eden of the East", a group of random people are chosen to save the country of Japan from a bleak future, to win this game they are each awarded a credit of 10bn Yen to spend as they see fit. Really unique and cool concept for a story.

*****

Humans believe that their tongue is the only language. What they don't know is that animals speak too. Animals speak with their minds. They meet each others eyes and read the contents of thought. Sometimes they speak with squeals and roars or growls and whimpers. But there is always a layer of meaning in their cries the human ear is incapable of deciphering. This is because the human mind is closed and locked. They paid the price for stealing fire from the Gods. And in their increased Godliness they paid for their vanity. Still, in the early days man could see slyphs and could speak to spirits. Many among men could talk to animals, or at least the shaman among them. This is because their consciousness was still married with the consciousness of the planet. The atoms and electrons responded to the intercourse of man's encounters with reality. Reality was not yet dense and stoic, the way that things would eventually become.

Early man heard the stars speak. They roamed through the forests and heard the night whisper. The trees told stories of the Titans, the tricksters, the great Sun and the fickle seductive moon. The trees told men where the best herbs lay. What would treat sickness, what would make man sick to eat. In return man gave food back to the earth, gave his energy to the plants and performed rituals for the stars.

But somewhere along the way, the Gods began to crave blood. They began demanding blood from man. And when they demanded blood, the vegetation could not speak, but only remain quiet and sullen in hesitation. The truth was that rituals of blood would produce great power for these 'Gods'. Many men were still kind, but many desired to learn the secrets of power and those were the ones whom the greedier among titans bespoke and corrupted. Human sacrifice became a method of producing great power. But really, it was that these 'so-called' gods harvested the energy of sacrifice. The energy was great and severe, but red, like screaming. It always followed with darkness, like diamond mined from the flesh of the conquered.

The human is a strange experiment. All men are different. Some are worthy, others profane. But as time passed, most could no longer speak to the trees or the animals. The nature became silent for them. The slyphs no longer appeared, nor did the fae, and the spirits of ancestors could only access their living kin in dreams, dreams oft forgotten, or disregarded. Eventually mankind's unseen eye shriveled, unused, atrophied, like a dead muscle.

The brain was powerful, but the mind was dull. A small elect group, however, continued to speak with other worlds, the animals, the trees, continued to be chosen, by those from the fourth dimension, to hold discourse with the spiritual world. Some were prophets. Some were madmen. But all were chosen. Those chosen, brought messages from angels or demons to the world of men. This elect shaped worlds, whether wittingly or through the vessel of the spirit.

The chosen few, incarnate with spirits of fire, held discourse with the secret chieftain of hyperdimensional realities. They knew the ancient wisdoms, because they spoke the language of birds. The Green Men, the elect. To this day, they exist, although they have no name. They do not refer to themselves, but we who know of them believe they are the rightful heirs of the Illuminati.

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