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NO, I will not stand idly by again.
Humanity… so capable yet so crippled by it's inabilities. They could channel magical energies with the best of the magic using species, but they could not store it within their own bodies, not yet. They have not figured out how to channel it from existence itself either. They wouldn't figure it out, not without centuries of practice and self-discovery. Their lives are so short. If they had peace, they may have a chance; they could stand on each others' shoulders and reach for the heavens, grasping for the secrets of the gods. But peace was impossible. It was distasteful.
There was a workaround though. Until the Fifth Age, runestones were seen as gifts from the gods. Tiny stones that carried the magical energies man couldn't. When they were plentiful, oh what wonders humanity accomplished! But the gods were gone from Gielinor; their wars left the world in ruins. It was an age when even the high and mighty gods stooped down and unknowingly did her will out of a hatred and suspicion that had been growing amongst them since she was cast out from their company. But they had failed to destroy the world. She had failed. Her final gambit as a goddess had failed.
Cast out of the company of the gods and into the thinning ranks of humanity, she resolved to make it so that where the goddess had failed, the woman would succeed. Humanity would succeed. When the true potential of human biology was finally made apparent to her, she ascended to the heavens, descended to the cavernous hells below, and searched the planet for the rock that shaped the world. The God Wars had consumed most of humanity's runestone stock, but the human race survived in spite of challenges from both more magically adept and warlike mortal races. Their survival of the fourth age was rewarded by the fruits of her labor. The gift of fire descended from heaven and was given to humanity once more. The creation of runestones was no longer something only the gods could do. The Age of Man had begun.
The gods were gone, their grip on the minds of humans waned as the study of science and magic progressed. But the flames she had intended to consume the world were snuffed out by a resurgence in religious fantascism. She just watched as the Saradomists hoarded information on the craft in the Wizards' Tower away from the Zamorakians. She watched the Zamorakian paranoia and spite for the Saradomists grow. She watched as the Fremminik tribes, the very people she chose to share the workings of runecrafting with first, rejected her gift and turned their backs on the progress of humanity and their eyes toward the gods. All because the prospect of the violence that would follow excited her. And she watched and cheered as first the Mage Training Arena then the Wizards' Tower were burned to the ground, turning the "secrets" of runecrafting to ash.
She had just watched as destruction was used against her. Against the goddess of destruction. Against her plans for greater destruction. And she cheered.
Just a small hiccup. She could recover from this. She always did. Plans were already underway.
There were problems closer to home. Gods. The gods of the desert still walked the mortal plane. They were stubborn and uncowed by the god that claimed to have formed the world, of course, just like she was. They were her family and the toys her father had made in a state of delirium and depression. TOYS. Not true gods. Never. NEVER.
Why did he love them? Why not his own daughter? His only daughter?
The desert needed war, it needed to forget the gods in order to get out of the backwards state it was in. But how could they forget when the gods themselves where suing for peace? How could the desert progress with this band of monkeys camped in the middle of what was supposed to be a warzone, reminding everyone to chill out and be friendly? Talk things out, be social, play games, don't fight. Just like that baboon faced freak her father…
"YOU AREN'T MY SISTER!"
Once again the gift of fire descended from heaven.
Humanity… so capable yet so crippled by it's inabilities. They could channel magical energies with the best of the magic using species, but they could not store it within their own bodies, not yet. They have not figured out how to channel it from existence itself either. They wouldn't figure it out, not without centuries of practice and self-discovery. Their lives are so short. If they had peace, they may have a chance; they could stand on each others' shoulders and reach for the heavens, grasping for the secrets of the gods. But peace was impossible. It was distasteful.
There was a workaround though. Until the Fifth Age, runestones were seen as gifts from the gods. Tiny stones that carried the magical energies man couldn't. When they were plentiful, oh what wonders humanity accomplished! But the gods were gone from Gielinor; their wars left the world in ruins. It was an age when even the high and mighty gods stooped down and unknowingly did her will out of a hatred and suspicion that had been growing amongst them since she was cast out from their company. But they had failed to destroy the world. She had failed. Her final gambit as a goddess had failed.
Cast out of the company of the gods and into the thinning ranks of humanity, she resolved to make it so that where the goddess had failed, the woman would succeed. Humanity would succeed. When the true potential of human biology was finally made apparent to her, she ascended to the heavens, descended to the cavernous hells below, and searched the planet for the rock that shaped the world. The God Wars had consumed most of humanity's runestone stock, but the human race survived in spite of challenges from both more magically adept and warlike mortal races. Their survival of the fourth age was rewarded by the fruits of her labor. The gift of fire descended from heaven and was given to humanity once more. The creation of runestones was no longer something only the gods could do. The Age of Man had begun.
The gods were gone, their grip on the minds of humans waned as the study of science and magic progressed. But the flames she had intended to consume the world were snuffed out by a resurgence in religious fantascism. She just watched as the Saradomists hoarded information on the craft in the Wizards' Tower away from the Zamorakians. She watched the Zamorakian paranoia and spite for the Saradomists grow. She watched as the Fremminik tribes, the very people she chose to share the workings of runecrafting with first, rejected her gift and turned their backs on the progress of humanity and their eyes toward the gods. All because the prospect of the violence that would follow excited her. And she watched and cheered as first the Mage Training Arena then the Wizards' Tower were burned to the ground, turning the "secrets" of runecrafting to ash.
She had just watched as destruction was used against her. Against the goddess of destruction. Against her plans for greater destruction. And she cheered.
Just a small hiccup. She could recover from this. She always did. Plans were already underway.
There were problems closer to home. Gods. The gods of the desert still walked the mortal plane. They were stubborn and uncowed by the god that claimed to have formed the world, of course, just like she was. They were her family and the toys her father had made in a state of delirium and depression. TOYS. Not true gods. Never. NEVER.
Why did he love them? Why not his own daughter? His only daughter?
The desert needed war, it needed to forget the gods in order to get out of the backwards state it was in. But how could they forget when the gods themselves where suing for peace? How could the desert progress with this band of monkeys camped in the middle of what was supposed to be a warzone, reminding everyone to chill out and be friendly? Talk things out, be social, play games, don't fight. Just like that baboon faced freak her father…
"YOU AREN'T MY SISTER!"
Once again the gift of fire descended from heaven.