Makhleb

[bcadren]

I'm doing a miniseries on how -I- see the gods; which is for how ones I may borrow for my own game projects will be portrayed there. First up; Makhleb.

Makhleb: God of Destruction

At a time a full layer of Pandemonium was filled completely with Pain elementals, Chaos elementals and other experimental elementals created by a wizard trying to perfect his magic to create elementals and golems out of anything. In a particularly horrible miscast, the wizard merged himself into a pain elemental. As an intelligent being literally made out of suffering, constantly being tormented himself, but growing because of the suffering, instead of dying like a natural being would; his mind nearly broke; but barely, he was able to maintain his intelligence. In time; he began to see pain and suffering as a form of enlightenment, keeping his mind free and nimble from desires of comfort and luxury.

By inflicting pain and absorbing the suffering of others that entered his realm of Pandemonium, he grew; until he completely absorbed his previous creations; his wizard tower and several complete realms of Pandemonium. With his power, he developed tentacles into other dimensions, including the Abyss and the main world. He corrupted people driving them mad with torment to cause them to create temple in his honor and worship him. To any traveler, he offers his help in return for their constant emotional and physical torment; hurling bolts of chaos into their world in return for their pain. In truth, both the destruction he causes and the suffering of his followers allow him to grow in power.

He chooses to force people to hurt themselves in order to call upon his power to be certain that they are certain; in other words, as powerful as he is, he isn't omniscient, the eyes and suffering of his followers call his attention and his help is determined by their intelligence not his own. His destroying agents know that when they will die, they will merge with their god in eternal blessed agony forevermore. Makhleb, himself, knows that as long as nothing powerful enough (such as another god) tries to destroy him and people keep asking him for power, eventually he will absorb all of pandemonium and perhaps even a stake of the much disputed natural world.

When wandering pan, there is a chance you may find yourself inside of Makhleb. It's best to just find a portal to leave; as you cannot destroy him. Any pain you inflict upon him, may cause minor physical damage, but only serves to make him stronger. You'll know you are inside him, by seeing pained eyes in the walls watching you; perhaps marking you to send his servants to attack. Perhaps if you are strong enough, he could even attack you himself, thrusting tentacles inside himself to thrush you out and force you to become part of his gigantic flesh, made of the pained bodies of others that wandered into his domain and his former 'followers'.

[sgrunt]

He

Makhleb sneers at your puny pronouns.

[Viashino_wizard]

Wow is it Fanfiction Friday already

[Hirsch I]

I would post my Lamia fanfics, but then Grimm would lock the thread and banish me.

[arcanist]

I want to read lamia fanfics nevertheless

[archaeo]

Okay! Here is my B- effort arcanist, but you can't work wonders in like 10 minutes of writing:

Lamia slithered out of her barding gratefully, the cool rock of the Pits' walls soothing her sore muscles. How many orbs to kill a minotaur, these days? The Greater Naga Council had given her a respite from directing the clean-up, and in her private chambers below the Hall of the Caduceus she had dismissed the salamanders minding the coals under the stone floors. Now she could rest. Her armour followed, her venomous glaive already propped in the corner.

She had already drifted off to the cold damp sounds of the Pits rising above her when a flash of violet light on her eyelids brought her back to full awareness. She held her hands out, the pale swirling energy already gathering within its magical envelope.

"You wouldn't destroy your favorite pupil, would you my Queen?" said a voice Lamia hadn't heard in years. Its owner glided in accompanied by a puff of purple smoke, and Lamia let the energy dissipate with a fond grin. Vashnia had returned.

But who was this dangerous looking nagess? Lamia remembered guiding her to the lowest levels of the Dungeon, conducting the necessary transactions to reach Abyssal gateways safely, packing the meat rations and scrolls she would need to find her way through that confusing plane. That Vashnia had worn the gilded barding of her mothers, had kept her gorgeous hair up twisted around a wand of haste, a wand she had zapped at her mentor to goad her. At her lover to spur her to greater heights.

Lamia reached out her hand to brush Vashnia's cheek. Above the young warrior's eyes, a bandana held back wild tangles; below the smug smile, a snug dress made of some unidentifiable Abyssal creature's scales hugged her bosom. Lamia's hand wandered. "Your queen--"

"Lamia--"

The Queen of the Naga's hand found a fistful of hair. Lamia pulled Vashnia to her, drew her into a kiss, her body snaking around her subject's. "We do not intend," Lamia said against Vashnia's lips, "to listen to long tales of Abyssal training, of translocative lessons learned--"

"Lamia, list--"

"Of lessons learned by young marksnaga who should've been home--" Lamia felt a jolt in her stomach and gasped. She pulled back, her hands both falling away from Vashnia's neck to the crossbow in her pupil's hands, her lover's hands, her killer's.

"Lamia," Vashnia said, coiling herself around Lamia's back even as she fit another arrow against the crossbow's string. "As usual, too in a hurry to listen." Lamia coughed and Vashnia smiled at the spray of blood; her bandana's dye required constant attention. "Too in a hurry to notice your own dethroning."

Lamia could only take a halting breath in response. "Trog's Teat--" she managed.

"I did learn lessons, Lamia." The door to Lamia's chambers opened wider, a squad of marksnagas looking around the door. "Lessons at the hands of the ancient liches that built these halls. Do you know what they whispered in those dusty voices worn down by the ages?"

Lamia found herself searching Vashnia's hair, feeling for the wand that could save her, but she could hardly see the faces of the marksnagas gathering about her, couldn't feel their arrows sinking into her chest. That other Vashnia, such a pretty naga. With the bright knob of that quick wand flashing above her head.

The ruler's body slumped to the ground. Vashnia dropped her crossbow to adjust a strand of the golden hair framing her old lover's face. "The queen is dead," she said, moving the hair about. "Long live the queen."

[Arrhythmia]

Okay! Here is my B- effort arcanist, but you can't work wonders in like 10 minutes of writing:

Lamia slithered out of her barding gratefully, the cool rock of the Pits' walls soothing her sore muscles. How many orbs to kill a minotaur, these days? The Greater Naga Council had given her a respite from directing the clean-up, and in her private chambers below the Hall of the Caduceus she had dismissed the salamanders minding the coals under the stone floors. Now she could rest. Her armour followed, her venomous glaive already propped in the corner.

She had already drifted off to the cold damp sounds of the Pits rising above her when a flash of violet light on her eyelids brought her back to full awareness. She held her hands out, the pale swirling energy already gathering within its magical envelope.

"You wouldn't destroy your favorite pupil, would you my Queen?" said a voice Lamia hadn't heard in years. Its owner glided in accompanied by a puff of purple smoke, and Lamia let the energy dissipate with a fond grin. Vashnia had returned.

But who was this dangerous looking nagess? Lamia remembered guiding her to the lowest levels of the Dungeon, conducting the necessary transactions to reach Abyssal gateways safely, packing the meat rations and scrolls she would need to find her way through that confusing plane. That Vashnia had worn the gilded barding of her mothers, had kept her gorgeous hair up twisted around a wand of haste, a wand she had zapped at her mentor to goad her. At her lover to spur her to greater heights.

Lamia reached out her hand to brush Vashnia's cheek. Above the young warrior's eyes, a bandana held back wild tangles; below the smug smile, a snug dress made of some unidentifiable Abyssal creature's scales hugged her bosom. Lamia's hand wandered. "Your queen--"

"Lamia--"

The Queen of the Naga's hand found a fistful of hair. Lamia pulled Vashnia to her, drew her into a kiss, her body snaking around her subject's. "We do not intend," Lamia said against Vashnia's lips, "to listen to long tales of Abyssal training, of translocative lessons learned--"

"Lamia, list--"

"Of lessons learned by young marksnaga who should've been home--" Lamia felt a jolt in her stomach and gasped. She pulled back, her hands both falling away from Vashnia's neck to the crossbow in her pupil's hands, her lover's hands, her killer's.

"Lamia," Vashnia said, coiling herself around Lamia's back even as she fit another arrow against the crossbow's string. "As usual, too in a hurry to listen." Lamia coughed and Vashnia smiled at the spray of blood; her bandana's dye required constant attention. "Too in a hurry to notice your own dethroning."

Lamia could only take a halting breath in response. "Trog's Teat--" she managed.

"I did learn lessons, Lamia." The door to Lamia's chambers opened wider, a squad of marksnagas looking around the door. "Lessons at the hands of the ancient liches that built these halls. Do you know what they whispered in those dusty voices worn down by the ages?"

Lamia found herself searching Vashnia's hair, feeling for the wand that could save her, but she could hardly see the faces of the marksnagas gathering about her, couldn't feel their arrows sinking into her chest. That other Vashnia, such a pretty naga. With the bright knob of that quick wand flashing above her head.

The ruler's body slumped to the ground. Vashnia dropped her crossbow to adjust a strand of the golden hair framing her old lover's face. "The queen is dead," she said, moving the hair about. "Long live the queen."

pardon me?

[archaeo]

I mean arrhy you'll excuse me for not giving CYC my A game on a Lamia/Vashnia fic

[cerebovssquire]

lamia can cast haste, right?