Brandnewbuddy
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Apr 19, 2021
- Posts
- 1,875
Millenia ago, there was an unrivaled civilization that knew its god. While others floundered with belief and wielded immense faith to summon even the weakest of miracles, their god walked with them. His presence was felt not alongside but within them. His foul magic flowed from them as easily as they breathed and soon, while the rest of the world barely learned to work metal, they had conquered the great continent of Bhaya and were ready to begin a full-scale invasion of the rest of the world. Their would be victims, which would come to laughably be known as "the army of light," prepared their last, pitiful defense, armoring themselves with miracles and proto-gods who were not yet even able to ascend to the holy mount of the Gods while their opponent had descended eons before like a meteor.
The few historical accounts of the time would tell you that the army made a desperate charge across a no man's land. Their proto gods performing acts that would one day raise them to the venerable positions of the pantheon they would one day inhabit. You would hear songs of the great beheading of the long forgotten civilization's emperor and how with his defeat the empire crumbled beneath the earth.
But there is another tradition, only passed down verbally by the few survivors and their descendants. A tradition that teaches a lesson that is simple but always relevant: the will of the gods is fickle. The civilization did not end because of a righteous cause or a desperate strike. It ended with three words from their god:
"You bore me."
Their god spoke those words and his blessing was annulled. He had not merely guided his people: he was his people. His magic was in their buildings and in their very air. Without his blessing, the very foundation crumbled and the magics that allowed them to defy the laws of physics evaporated. The people who once flew through the sky smashed into the ground and the ones who drank the deepest from his gifts were left struggling for breaths that would never come. The empire died and was buried deep away because their god lost interest.
Yet even if that history is lost, the ground which it now rests under is still there. Deep under the dread city state of Santosha there are still paths one might take that would lead you to a series of makeshift mine shafts from which the poor and destitute explore in hopes of unearthing artifacts they may be able to sell so they might feed their bellies for one more night or escape to the pleasure district of Moda to get away from the hell that is the ongoing skullduggery of the nobles that use the city as their playground and battlefield. The more adventurous might follow the shafts into forgotten tombs and palaces whose dimensions stretch into realms of death and nightmare and find glory or a heroic death.
But if you are desperate...
If you are willing to risk more than even your soul...
If you are trying to escape the ever present eyes of the city's living towers and the noble houses...
Then you may seek out the district known as Kacra. A place where even the undead fear to tread. If you survive the flesh feasters and their eldritch hounds and do not draw the wrath of The Buzzards, you may find a special shaft. One that was dug by madmen for centuries. Each believing they were just one more dig away from the treasure they had always dreamed of. Descend past their bodies: some of whom will still be digging, you will find an abyss.
Fling yourself into it.
If you were not ripped apart by an anomaly or made the plaything of a being whose will is unknowable, you will find a path to a temple that is light by cold fire that casts shadows of all who have died on the path. If you make it past these shadows you shall need to pass through traps that are as deadly as they are ancient.
And if you survive you shall see the body of a smiling goblin that is impaled upon a spike. It has been dead for centuries yet rot will not take it or rob its glee.
And then you shall see a throne of brass that is too tall for even the greatest giant.
And that is where your adventure shall end.
That is where it should end. But if you have come here and know the name of the long forgotten god you may make a request of him. If you are lucky, he may appear in his full dreadful splendor and you shall die from conceiving him. If you are unlucky, he shall appear as a winged one, a demon as the layman would call him. Though do not be fooled. Whatever form he takes it is merely to amuse himself upon you. Only a fool would seek out his favor. A civilization that praised him in every way was snuffed out on a whim and you think you will do better? What is his name? Have you not been listening? The worst thing of all is to acquire his blessing...you are serious? You must forgive me, I do not often entertain fools...but you have paid my fee.
His name is Katahmu.
Before you go, let me offer one last piece of advice: Be sure your request is interesting.
Make sure your request is interesting.
The few historical accounts of the time would tell you that the army made a desperate charge across a no man's land. Their proto gods performing acts that would one day raise them to the venerable positions of the pantheon they would one day inhabit. You would hear songs of the great beheading of the long forgotten civilization's emperor and how with his defeat the empire crumbled beneath the earth.
But there is another tradition, only passed down verbally by the few survivors and their descendants. A tradition that teaches a lesson that is simple but always relevant: the will of the gods is fickle. The civilization did not end because of a righteous cause or a desperate strike. It ended with three words from their god:
"You bore me."
Their god spoke those words and his blessing was annulled. He had not merely guided his people: he was his people. His magic was in their buildings and in their very air. Without his blessing, the very foundation crumbled and the magics that allowed them to defy the laws of physics evaporated. The people who once flew through the sky smashed into the ground and the ones who drank the deepest from his gifts were left struggling for breaths that would never come. The empire died and was buried deep away because their god lost interest.
Yet even if that history is lost, the ground which it now rests under is still there. Deep under the dread city state of Santosha there are still paths one might take that would lead you to a series of makeshift mine shafts from which the poor and destitute explore in hopes of unearthing artifacts they may be able to sell so they might feed their bellies for one more night or escape to the pleasure district of Moda to get away from the hell that is the ongoing skullduggery of the nobles that use the city as their playground and battlefield. The more adventurous might follow the shafts into forgotten tombs and palaces whose dimensions stretch into realms of death and nightmare and find glory or a heroic death.
But if you are desperate...
If you are willing to risk more than even your soul...
If you are trying to escape the ever present eyes of the city's living towers and the noble houses...
Then you may seek out the district known as Kacra. A place where even the undead fear to tread. If you survive the flesh feasters and their eldritch hounds and do not draw the wrath of The Buzzards, you may find a special shaft. One that was dug by madmen for centuries. Each believing they were just one more dig away from the treasure they had always dreamed of. Descend past their bodies: some of whom will still be digging, you will find an abyss.
Fling yourself into it.
If you were not ripped apart by an anomaly or made the plaything of a being whose will is unknowable, you will find a path to a temple that is light by cold fire that casts shadows of all who have died on the path. If you make it past these shadows you shall need to pass through traps that are as deadly as they are ancient.
And if you survive you shall see the body of a smiling goblin that is impaled upon a spike. It has been dead for centuries yet rot will not take it or rob its glee.
And then you shall see a throne of brass that is too tall for even the greatest giant.
And that is where your adventure shall end.
That is where it should end. But if you have come here and know the name of the long forgotten god you may make a request of him. If you are lucky, he may appear in his full dreadful splendor and you shall die from conceiving him. If you are unlucky, he shall appear as a winged one, a demon as the layman would call him. Though do not be fooled. Whatever form he takes it is merely to amuse himself upon you. Only a fool would seek out his favor. A civilization that praised him in every way was snuffed out on a whim and you think you will do better? What is his name? Have you not been listening? The worst thing of all is to acquire his blessing...you are serious? You must forgive me, I do not often entertain fools...but you have paid my fee.
His name is Katahmu.
Before you go, let me offer one last piece of advice: Be sure your request is interesting.
Make sure your request is interesting.
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