Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-25828117-20190911184542/@comment-5543592-20190915212215

Somewhere, two dimensions removed...
...there was a beach. The sand were the color of freshly tanned leather, the ocean a deep, impenetrable blue. The hum-drum of the tides played itself out, a pleasant melody, and the cry of gulls joined with it.

The shore extended to infinity in either direction and on it, walking in the direction of a rising sun, was a single man. He was tall and lean almost to the point of skinniness, and had dark, aged features. His distinguished features were battered and scarred, his long braided hair faded and grey, his beard salt&pepper. A heavy robe gathered around him. That, too, seemed to extend into infinity.

Further up the beach from him twelve thrones stood in the sand. They were organized in a circle, each situated as if at the hand of a clock. The beach was uneven, and so the thrones were at uneven heights. The one at three o’clock sat halfway in the water. The one at nine o’clock was situated on awow high dune. There was a great distance between the thrones, as if each of their occupants needed space.

And those enthroned were something else indeed. Men and women that radiated power, elegance, and poise. They were silent as the man approached, staring at one another, expressions guarded.

He reached the throne at six o’clock, lay a hand on the chair’s tall, steel back, taking a moment’s rest.

Diagna grinned at the other eleven Gods of Yokuda as he leaned against his throne. “Wow, I am tired.” He clapped his hands together and dropped into the throne over the arm and then swung his legs around to sit properly. He held up a flagging finger to emphasize a point-- “Do you see the shit that’s going on down there?”

“How could we not?” Leki asked. Her Shehai was laid across her lap and she drummed her fingers on the blade, as though eager to use it. “There is little else for us to do but watch.”

“To watch without waiting.” Tu’whacca whispered from within the depths of his hood, his pronunciation almost serpentine. “That is the burden of those here in the Far Shores. To see eras pass by, to see all they know crumble and turn to ash.”

“The machines of war turn all things to do dust.” Ebonarm’s metallic, bland voice rang out from within his helmet. “There wheels flatten all things beneath them, mortal and immortal alike.” “And the winds of change are uncaring to the desperate cries of men.” Tava spoke powerfully. Her dress fluttered violently in the wind, as did her throne of feathers, and her clothing merged seamlessly with the water that rose around her ankles. “A scream is torn away by them as easily as a home--the sea erodes all that stands before it, without falter, without scrutiny.”

“We’re not to the ‘everything turning to ash’ part yet.” Diagna said, holding up a forestalling hand. In the years since the fall of Yokuda, the other gods had gotten more and more detached from the mortals they were responsible for, especially now that their physical manifestations were dead, leaving them trapped here in the Far Shores. While he had changed with the times, they had remained static. “We’ve still got a good year or two before it gets really serious, if it ever gets there. You know how the Daedra are. They’re like children, never focused on any one thing for too long.”

"Is that your final word, son?” The Hoon-Ding asked, leaning forwards to rest his elbows on his knees, boulder-like shoulders hunching. “That the Daedra will give up, in time?”

Diagna pursed his lips. “Er… no.” He shook his head. “More likely than not, a victor will emerge from among the Princes, one Lord who will be able to exert his full dominance over Mundas.”

“Well that’s not good.” Sep chuckled, leaning back, crossing one leg over the other. “Maybe it’s better it turns to ash before that, huh? If we can’t have it, no one can! That’s what I say.”

“Quiet, snake.” Leki sneered at him. On the clockwork of thrones, they sat opposite each other. “It may be your way to torment those afflicted with mortality, but it is not our’s.”

“Of course, sister, you are quite right, we should leave them be! The Daedra are far better at tormenting than I am.”

“Spineless cur--”

“Stuck up bitch--”

“Silence!” Thunder boomed. High up the dune at nine o’clock, where the sun met the horizon, the king of the gods sat on a throne of pure fire. Ruptga’s gaze was as difficult to meet as the sun. “We waste time while you bicker like children. We have not gathered here to reopen old disputes.” The sky rumbled, shook. “We have gathered here to settle new ones, those not of our own making.”

Brother and sister nodded to their father and fell silent.

“Better.” Ruptga grumbled, sitting back. “Diagna. You are our avatar in the mortal realm. What is it you propose is done?”

The last god of Hammerfell smiled and opened his hands. “I thought you’d never ask.”