12-21-2008, 03:58 PM
When the Lifestone was broken by the great Lord British, unforseen events began to unfold. The gem was tied to the very fabric of creation, woven with magics uncomprehendable to all but the most ancient beings. The fragmentation of the gem did not break its union to the multiverse, but rather tossed it into a chaos it had not seen since the beginning of time. The balance of the forces of order and chaos swayed violently across a billion, billion worlds.
It is in times like these when old gods die, and new gods are born. But a god does not come into existance as the result of some physical coupling, neither is it birthed from the vast well of magical ether flowing through the cosmos. A god comes to be when its aspect of conciousness is truely encapsulated by a physical, sentient being.
There is only one creator of the cosmos, but that force is split in many ways. Order and Chaos, Light and Dark. Also the seasons could be viewed as aspects of the one. Spring which brings the rains and welcomes the coming of order, light and life after the long cold winter. Occasionally, these aspects bond with a spirit in a physical body, the effects of this union are always unusual.
In the midst of the great disruption, on a world far from Sosaria. Across the vastness of time and space, and the great nether, that void between realities, there existed a small planet called Tiamor. A desert planet of nomadic peoples and strange creatures.
This planet was however dying. Because of the flux in the multiverse it was drifting farther and farther from the sun each time it circled in its orbit. The forces of chaos turned a peaceful planet into a massacre. Friend turned on friend, all manner of demons and unnatural creatures appeared to do evil and feed on the weak.
Tiamor had never been cold or wet, never was there rain, no frost had ever touched the sand and rocks, or desert flora. But the end of the world was coming, and a sandstorm unlike any other began to rage. As if the planet simply wanted to purge itself of all life, and die itself in lonely isolation, adrift in the vastness of space.
While the sand flew on the gale like shards of glass, shredding all in its path, a small boy stood against the storm, not shying away. The people of his tribe scattered for the shelter of mountain and rock, screaming in terror. But the boy Jiraiya remained, he reached out his hand into the heart of the inevitable death swallowing his lands and tribe.
Amidst countless grains of sand flowing across the world, a single snowflake was cought in the wind, pulled down by the power of the storm from the, for the first time, cold clouds above. The flake ducked and dodged, dancing on the eddies and currents, always so close to having its delicate crystal structure smashed and destroyed by the raging storm, but always escaping at the last.
It landed on the outstretched hand of the boy Jiraiya, and in that moment, the aspect took hold. Death did not take him there on that doomed rock. He was transported by the union, pulled to where he could rest and begin to adjust to the union of spirit and aspect. He fell and fell, the fabric of space seeming to tear everywhere around him, allowing him to fall forever unhindered.
A dull thud and a thumping pain revealed Jiraiya's new home. The world of IN:X. He looked around for the first time, feeling like a child lost at the fair, but not really caring. He was no longer just Jiraiya, nor was he the Aspect. The God of Falling Snow had been born. His body was changing rapidly from the darkly tanned skin of a desert nomad, to the color of the purist snow, soft and pearlescant. His eyes which had been a golden brown now were a blaze of blues and whites.
He scanned the immediate area and found himself at the edge of a rather large city. Sneaking to the nearest dumpster Jiraiya found a dirty hooded brown robe and threw it over his naked body. The robe began to quickly wither as if the thread itself was dying, the color faded completely. Frost began to form and the robe became a shredded garment of snow. Strangely enough, it did not feel cold or harsh to his touch, but rather like a soft suede.
Reaching back into the dumpster Jiraiya found a simple black walking staff. He picked it up and it immediately froze solid, snow began to fall from the tip of the staff. Jiraiya sighed and thought to himself, 'This is going to take some getting used to. But lets see what kind of trouble I can get into here!'
With that, he meandered his way aimlessly through the streets of Britain.
****************
It is in times like these when old gods die, and new gods are born. But a god does not come into existance as the result of some physical coupling, neither is it birthed from the vast well of magical ether flowing through the cosmos. A god comes to be when its aspect of conciousness is truely encapsulated by a physical, sentient being.
There is only one creator of the cosmos, but that force is split in many ways. Order and Chaos, Light and Dark. Also the seasons could be viewed as aspects of the one. Spring which brings the rains and welcomes the coming of order, light and life after the long cold winter. Occasionally, these aspects bond with a spirit in a physical body, the effects of this union are always unusual.
In the midst of the great disruption, on a world far from Sosaria. Across the vastness of time and space, and the great nether, that void between realities, there existed a small planet called Tiamor. A desert planet of nomadic peoples and strange creatures.
This planet was however dying. Because of the flux in the multiverse it was drifting farther and farther from the sun each time it circled in its orbit. The forces of chaos turned a peaceful planet into a massacre. Friend turned on friend, all manner of demons and unnatural creatures appeared to do evil and feed on the weak.
Tiamor had never been cold or wet, never was there rain, no frost had ever touched the sand and rocks, or desert flora. But the end of the world was coming, and a sandstorm unlike any other began to rage. As if the planet simply wanted to purge itself of all life, and die itself in lonely isolation, adrift in the vastness of space.
While the sand flew on the gale like shards of glass, shredding all in its path, a small boy stood against the storm, not shying away. The people of his tribe scattered for the shelter of mountain and rock, screaming in terror. But the boy Jiraiya remained, he reached out his hand into the heart of the inevitable death swallowing his lands and tribe.
Amidst countless grains of sand flowing across the world, a single snowflake was cought in the wind, pulled down by the power of the storm from the, for the first time, cold clouds above. The flake ducked and dodged, dancing on the eddies and currents, always so close to having its delicate crystal structure smashed and destroyed by the raging storm, but always escaping at the last.
It landed on the outstretched hand of the boy Jiraiya, and in that moment, the aspect took hold. Death did not take him there on that doomed rock. He was transported by the union, pulled to where he could rest and begin to adjust to the union of spirit and aspect. He fell and fell, the fabric of space seeming to tear everywhere around him, allowing him to fall forever unhindered.
A dull thud and a thumping pain revealed Jiraiya's new home. The world of IN:X. He looked around for the first time, feeling like a child lost at the fair, but not really caring. He was no longer just Jiraiya, nor was he the Aspect. The God of Falling Snow had been born. His body was changing rapidly from the darkly tanned skin of a desert nomad, to the color of the purist snow, soft and pearlescant. His eyes which had been a golden brown now were a blaze of blues and whites.
He scanned the immediate area and found himself at the edge of a rather large city. Sneaking to the nearest dumpster Jiraiya found a dirty hooded brown robe and threw it over his naked body. The robe began to quickly wither as if the thread itself was dying, the color faded completely. Frost began to form and the robe became a shredded garment of snow. Strangely enough, it did not feel cold or harsh to his touch, but rather like a soft suede.
Reaching back into the dumpster Jiraiya found a simple black walking staff. He picked it up and it immediately froze solid, snow began to fall from the tip of the staff. Jiraiya sighed and thought to himself, 'This is going to take some getting used to. But lets see what kind of trouble I can get into here!'
With that, he meandered his way aimlessly through the streets of Britain.
****************