A flick of a wrist can careen a castle. A clench of a fist can hemorrhage brains. A wag of a finger can command the multitudes to come forth. What good is it? What good is progress if it is not born of free will? If you violate that in the name of advancement and when it's all "perfect" and "just" and "fair", when you have finally got it exactly the way you want it...who so ever do you lord over? The hearts and minds of a world you cared about? Or thoughtless husks half-baked into your image stumbling upon desecrated land corrupted with your avarice? Their will no longer their own but your own will forced upon them, dictating all they do. You will only rule yourself and one terrible night you will find that you are alone.

Maedalaane Naeurione

(May-Dah-Lawn Nay-Yer-Ree-Own)

"For every dead yesterday there waits a new dawn that we must fight for."


Archon of Life






The Constellate












Alive and Well

Marital Status





320 LB

Hair Color


Eye Color



Neutral Good


Tell Me, Mechanist

Tell Me, Mechanist

Maedalaane Naeurione is an engimatic individual of far flung and undisclosed origin and is the namesake of the user who plays them. They are powerful to the point of rumors being abound that they are a deity, but no efforts have been made to confirm or deny. Said rumors borne of incredible feats of magic, yet a refusal to ever apply it toward violence to the extreme of virtually never retaliating even when assailed (and subsequent and inexplicable survival). With as knowledgeable and well acquainted with the world as they are there is no doubt they've seen much and done even more but personal history is rarely, if ever, shared. Insofar as actions are concerned all that is known is that once upon a time they aided multiple branches of House Aren during its civil war.


Though one to handle words as if they are a precious nonrenewable resource there are yet ways to gleam what person lurks behind either veils of silence if possible, or dialogue of incredible tact if needed. One such are the windows to the soul - the eyes - holding irises like embers veering near a parched forest that find purchase when emotions run high. Another such is actions because of course they've forever spoke louder than words and forever will into the future. Perhaps par for the course for "good" people, their endeavors are what one would expect though commonly to an exceptional degree. If on a splendiferous walk in nature (perhaps doubling as a man hunt...) not even a toe so much as disturbs a mole hill. In the rare instance of a fight every attempt is made to minimize damage, insofar as teleporting opponents to a lifeless pocket plane. The list goes on.

The other side to that coin is lawfulness or more accurately lack thereof. The mentality of ends justifying means oft belongs to those walking that sweet path to hell paved in good intentions but Maedalaane has thus far not went to monstrous extremes to accomplish goals. They may lie with the silver tongue they have but no more than absolutely needed (perhaps a lot may be needed...) and laws are second thought. Considering that most laws are well-intended and they their self are well-intended, it's not too often that they actually break them but they are rarely considered in the first place. They are but the product of politicians, of course, and rarely does Maedalaane find governments deserving of respect.

Still, and even with everything considered, there are those eyes. Eyes like the infinite abyssal ocean so full yet so empty and if you stared too long you would drown. They cut deep even when Maedalaane smiles. The saintly of the world may hold true to the old adage, "never judge a book by its cover", but the sentiment is simply too idealistic for today's Gielinor. They are not the eyes of a saint. If it is true that eyes are indeed windows to the soul then what exactly they are of, and what they hint at, is absolutely better left unknown.


No doubt possessing the ability to shapeshift like every other run of the mill powerful entity, never has Maedalaane been seen in any humanoid form other than their true one. As wholly out of place as it is others might have a hard time believing it to indeed be their true form, but for better or worse it's maintained. Considering this is indeed often for the worse, it stands to reason that their figure is no façade and they truly are alien.

Sometimes mistaken as an Elf turned wight and other times thought to be a Vampyre in Human guise, yet neither of these is correct. At first sight it surely seems like the truth is in between but when considered fully an accurate term would be chimeric, as if they are the end result of impossible crossbreeding or otherwise. Knife ears sit upon a gaunt face that observe the world with unnatural eyes and hides vicious fangs within. Short claws just as sharp accentuate slender fingers and toes (occasionally snagging on the damnedest of things!) and skin white as Mahjarrat bone round off a form that stunningly partners aesthetic with viciousness that only a pretty and thoughtful face could have. All considered, one may wonder why they bother with aesthetic at all.

Because monsters were scary in their own way of making their victims tremble with dread in the face of doom. But to be glared down by a face belonging to a sentient mind that knows of the most abhorrent ways to keep one a cerebral torture in of itself...and the agony has only just begun.

More peculiar yet is their outward gender, or perhaps lack thereof. From neck down their form is androgyny exemplified; flat chested yet of silken skin, slightly curvy but broad shouldered, long but slender extremities. The neutrois trend ends with an angular and heart shaped face that errs feminine, but still there is that soul serrating visage far from the loving gaze of a housewife. It is commonplace for bypassers to mistake them as male from behind and female in front, but more than a glance simply yields exasperation. When asked, and all too often are they, Maedalaane merely responds with a chortle.

Perhaps there is one rhyme or reason to these oddities; Maedalaane is built for war. A passive nature belies what could be such a nefarious purpose, especially when they permanently hold at least twenty lethal weapons at any time, but even their very voice sounds of a weapon. Though on the lighter side it is not a gentle voice belonging in infirmaries and comforting those within. It is a commanding voice that sharpens syllables like Dragonkin sharpen orikalkum; It is a voice meant for cantillating Ancient Hymnals unto the skies to see hellfire rain down and incinerate foes.

Attire and EquipmentEdit

Forever adherent to one face in spite of how out of place it is, the trend is opposite for what they adorn their self with. Signature armor aside (which is perhaps donned all too often but any sane mind would live in a suit of armor if they could in this day and age...) they wear a huge variety of garb. One could even say that the chimera only truly applies their extraordinary power for fashion magic.

One day may see Maedalaane in Wushankan robes covered in the entire color wheel with a staff looking capable of casting rainbows, while another finds them in rustic plate and leather and fur with a bastard sword in hand. Even the color of their very eyes change to coordinate with the outfit of the day though their fire-esque burning irises keep their qualities. The only three consistencies is golden jewelry in the form of intricate earrings and an ornate metallic collar, undecipherable sleeves of black tattoos, and unshod feet. 




Azzanadra (Children of Mah) chathead
All beings keep secrets, and typically for good reason. You keep more secrets than any other I know, so cut the hypocrisy.

This article contains spoilers and information that is at most known exclusively to the character in question or at least isn't told to just anyone. Be aware that your characters may not have grounds to know the contents below.

Sixth Age; Year 5Edit

The ConstellateEdit

You're MineEdit
I know not your source. By principle, I cannot partake.

–Maedalaane's rejection of Ru'a's Anima concoction.


It was Fate.

Ru'a perched behind a rocky outcrop near the entrance to the accursed underground of Sophanem with a visage that not once veered from the dark ingress. She came here under orders from The Jackals of Icthlarin and so it was to be her post tonight, even if whomever was meant to be guarding was there, though they were concerningly absent. The Imperial District always had a sentry posted here without exception. It mattered not - any simple sentry wouldn't have stood a chance against the demon Ru'a was hunting.

When it seemed as though the night was going to be another uneventful one, a sinister pair of electric blue eyes pierced the inky veil beyond the ingress and gazed out to the moon lit sands. Was it the demon? Ru'a vaulted over the outcrop in the blink of an eye and their hands crackled with energy. A swift ultimatum was delivered; "Reveal yourself or be torn asunder."

Maedalaane stepped out. Ru'a saw then that they were at least sentient even though she hadn't a clue what they were. Though she set into a gauntlet of curious inquiries the answer to the topic in question was hardly given but the answers to all the rest rendered her positively engrossed in the details of this stranger. It was difficult for her to discern, but Maedalaane too was more than slightly intrigued by what they found out was a Chthonian demon. A Chthonian demon that that kept their naturally beastly mannerisms almost entirely under wraps, save for wicked fangs and claws. In some ways, the two were even quite alike. The unintentional interrogation was ended with an offer for a drink - but not of alcohol. Anima. Ru'a assumed the chimera to be able to partake of it and she wasn't wrong, however they refused, citing their principles on responsible consumption.

A while more of conversation continued and then the two agreed to a mutual aural lock, wherein the two could freely pluck out each other's signature and locate one another on a whim.

Ru'a simply wanted a friend. Few and far they were in the twin cities of the desert, their beauty only surface deep and sinners lurking in every corner.

Maedalaane had more in mind.


The flames of hell danced like Auspahs inside irises that could incinerate a man with a frown or compliment a smile that ignited hearts. These infernal gems cast downward to their clutch; a ragtag collection of defiant souls who, if not in life, then in death clawed out bloodied semicolons in the history book of Existence. A lionhearted pride of people who refused to dwell in afterlives that were tantamount to imaginary, who refuted oblivion and remained coherent atop Bridge Noumenon. People who likely had willpower so strong that if such a thing were a weapon, they could throttle the ether of the universe and choke their enemies with it. But this was all they had. Willpower. The rest of their efficacy was stolen by whom they quickly came to know as charlatans; the ragged skeleton named Death and the ascendant mutt named Icthlarin. Agents of a cruel system that cursed people with minds that always lasted longer than their bodies. No swords, no magic, no prayers. Everything was taken from them except their innermost flame.

Until now.

Salvation was finally here.

"You have held on for so long," A whispering voice as sweet as chocolate on Valentine's from your beloved began. "Your resolve is stronger than orikalkum. More beautiful than hydrix. Are you ready?" The soothsayer and the clutch were all on their knees amid the shadows cast by the Underworld mountain, hidden and quiet from Icthlarin and his own flock that were crossing the bridge. His barked orders fell on deaf and terrified ears as Amascut's beasts tore them asunder. There were simply too many thralls this time. Amascut was gaining power. These infiltrations of Maedalaane's were always planned to occur during the voyages across the bridge. Otherwise the jackal's wrath would be no easy thing to deal with.

The defiant looked back to those and what they had to leave behind. A number of them had forgotten just what the land of the living was like. What did fresh air smell like? What did grass under feet feel like? What was pain? To come back was as scary as dying, but they knew they had enough of death. Their hands trembled but they looked back to their new leader and trusted them so.

But plenty of others still lingered further on down the way. Those who were once defiant and perhaps still were, but time still passed even down here. Seconds turned to years turned to millenniums and what were once lively people were now minds claimed by entropy that wandered without rhyme or reason. They weren't even sentient anymore. Once upon a time they were, though, and they were loved so very much. Their minds were gone but their lovely faces were still missed. Never to see them again after this, many wept and their new leader wept with them. The Archon wept with sorrow darker than Noumenon's depths. They always did every time they came down here. Their own beloved was down there with the rest. Mindless but with a face as beautiful in death as it was in life. Maybe, one day, her mind would return to her. Maedalaane checked every time and broke their heart every time. They had been too late to save her...but never again would they be too late to save another. Their clutch had their own ultimatum, too; it was time to move on. They had enough of this forsaken hole.

"MAEDALAANE!!!" Bellowed out the angered Icthlarin from far down the bridge that he was returning from. His keen eyes spotted the savior and their new clutch whom all overstayed their welcome. The instant adrenaline turned the leader's scowl into a maniacal smile, pearly fangs flashing and serpent tongue licking at tears that had fallen to their lips.

"You lose again." Maedalaane sneered down to the sprinting jackal and clapped their hands together. They all vanished from the plane. The new clutch was hatched. Born again. Their death was no more...but their journey had just begun.

To Hell And BackEdit
Imagine, if you will, why exactly your early years were so horrible. You were weak and others were strong and they took advantage of you. Imagine, if you will, the cause of the god wars. Powerful people sought to take from those weaker. Now think if you had this power when you were young - your life would have been much better. Now think if Guthix was still around - Gielinor would be better. I level the playing field. I even the odds. I am bringing these powers to the masses not for conflict but for peace. If everyone is powerful then no one is powerful. Knowing, then, that they cannot plunder without recourse, they will all have to do what they always had to do from the very beginning! Sit down and talk.

–Maedalaane to Ru'a.


One way; through.

A most splendiferous night was at hand amongst the twin cities of the desert, and it was like that almost every single night. Cool, quiet, relaxing. Wind caressed sand with soft sighs and River Elid lapped and kissed the ground with its ebb and flow. Idyllic as it appeared, it harmonized hearts that didn't look deeper. But of course, something had to be enjoyable but even then it was all so superficial. If the lords of the land didn't maintain the environment and appease the senses of their people in the short term, who would want to come at all?

One of life's many tragedies; beauty is so often only surface deep. Not just in people, but in places. What few people know and even fewer people want to know is where else River Elid flowed into. Deep in those waters, in the great unknown, is a wretched network of caves and ruins. Many people have inhibitions against the great unknown, the beyond, and so few people ever wish to know any of this. Sure...that wrenching feeling in stomachs when confronted with what was not understood was only a primal and instinctual fear. Vestigial impulses borne from the core of man's brains that hadn't quite got with the times. It was the same variety of impulses that caused racism, xenophobia, and much more. Rarely does this part of the mind bring good will anymore. Rarely is it right.


This time it would be. Down there, in those caves, is only fear and dread incarnate. The worst of fates await those whom aren't as strong as they are foolish. The very ingress between Life and Death is here. Should one come, an invisible hand clutches its skeletal fingers around their soul. Every...single...step...deeper...the hand clutches tighter. Every...single...moment...the hand yanks harder. The taint of death swallows but this boney hand has all the lively muscle it needs to rip a soul from a body, tendon by ethereal tendon, ligament by ethereal ligament, entrail by ethereal entrail.

Such is the power of Amascut.

Ru'a was teleporting into the heart of it all and she had no idea. She meant to transport herself to wherever Maedalaane might have been, but the final seconds of the swift journey through the Abyss kicked her in the gut and if she were blind she would have well thought herself suddenly disemboweled. What eldritch variable made the teleport go so wrong?

Nothing. Ru'a burst into reality exactly where they wanted to be. Maedalaane stood tall before The First Gate in spite of it all with a ragtag flock of individuals huddled around them. The group was opaque, as though ghostly, but no undead taint radiated off of them and corroded the ether. It was the exact opposite. Pure souls without bodies. Maedalaane lifted an open palm crackling with energy up to Ru'a.

"M-M-MONSTER!" One of the ghostly cried out and brandished an ethereal sword, hardly knowing how to swing it. "Is it...A-Amascut?" A girl no more than thirteen years whimpered up to Maedalaane as she hid behind their cape.

"Not quite." Maedalaane saw who it was and dropped their hand. There was no end of questions in Ru'a's mind as to what in the hells was happening here but the answers were only given when it was all said and done. The chimera was swift to requisition her help because this was exactly what their angle was and the scenario couldn't have been laid out better. Maedalaane reasoned that they could have explained their ideas to Zamorak himself and he would have thought them to be insane. Nobody would take it at face value, but to be thrown into the thick of it? No one could doubt it then. And, without a doubt, no one would not offer their help. You did not tell no to someone who could not only cheat death but steal from it.

At least Ru'a wasn't compliant out of fear. She hated Amascut and all the goddess' influence as much as the next desert dweller did. One such influence was the instability of magic in the caverns. Warped and twisted as it all was, not even Maedalaane could teleport out. The only way out was through for them and their clutch and even if one spell could fall each thrall, the shepherd had a weak flock. This trip was ruined they all become surrounded. Ru'a was much needed help.

The journey through was a slaughter on both ends. The chimera and demon found no challenge in Amascut's mindless thralls, but most of the herd was not so capable and Maedalaane knew it. The venture was as much of a test as it was a necessity but not like any of the reclaimed souls had thought at first. It was a test of willpower. Their leaders began with a dead sprint and some could follow while others could not. The ones who did had no doubt that this what was they had to do, and 'lo, they willed themselves to keep up even when the speed of the run came to a delirious level. No physical body inhibited them. Nothing could stop them (sans any thralls that thought otherwise...). They were as pure as they could be and became what they thought. The sprint then shifted into flight, their leaders sprouting wings and bypassing the bulk of the thralls below, and this was yet more difficult to accept. Like before, others were left behind in belief that this was impossible, but still yet some found the will to survive and so they did.

The survivors were congratulated and teleported off for the next step in the process administered by one of Maedalaane's counterparts. Though Ru'a had the time of her life basking in the slaughter, it was over then and she absolutely demanded answers. They were given then, far away from the wretched place, over tea in someplace much more pleasant. The two's adventure and talks afterward solidified them as nigh inseparable allies.

Time is BlackEdit
I have a feeling as if I've just made the first step upon a path that I will never come back from. So then, what do you want of me?

–Evgeni's first words to Maedalaane.


"...Take the workers down in that city below. They toil until their hands bleed to the bone," Maedalaane begun, setting into what was now rather rehearsed and practiced parameters of a speech. Though some variation was inevitably told to all that they requested alliance from, all of it was sincere. Every single letter. That's why it was effective and why they used it. "Only to have the bourgeois steal from them. To the other end of the spectrum - the God Wars. Powerful people came to take from a planet that was not theirs. Imagine now, if those workers had money to throw around. If Guthix were still alive. If good people...just had power. Do you see where I am going?"

"Even the best of academy could not fix it," Ahvgaeni D. Avencianci drawed a premature conclusion as to where that train of thought was going as the two glared down to the Golden City from Sophanem's temple roof. Maedalaane was no short individual but Evgeni was no tall individual; he was colossal. The Mahjarrat stood proud with a nearly a full foot of height over the chimera, however his mental stature was humbled with every minute of conversation. His assumption made sense at least. He, a prior Grandmaster of the Academy of Heroes. a way. "It's not enough that people be taught. No...I want to be the Pharaoh."

"Is that right? Well. Maybe you would be a better ruler than this Osman of Al kharid who's very first official act was to murder his predecessor in cold blood, uncaring that he had been nigh mindlessly enthralled by The Devourer. No - you absolutely would be. I know it. But the world needs more yet. At the end of the day, atop a throne, you will still reign over disparity no matter how you try to distribute it. What about when you are no longer Pharaoh? It would happen one day. Will it be a good soul in that seat? You do not know and even if you did the wheel still keeps turning and turning and turning and TURNING!" Maedalaane's words caught passion like fire caught forests and they found theirself shouting out into the air without meaning to. The chimera cleared their throat and went silent.

"Do you know what Zaros wanted, back in the Second Age?" Evgeni inquired, tossing a concerned glance over his shoulder to his new ally. 

"...Not first hand, no. I was not here at that time unlike you."

"An empire. Where everyone was free to do as they pleased and become what they wanted. Guided by a loving hand. Subtle, unseen, but there. He wished for people to become their very best, and perhaps in time, even come to no longer follow him. To think and reason about the very divine itself and come to form their opinions rather than worshipping him. That is why he no longer my god...because I do not need him and I know he is okay with this." Evgeni's words were sharp and collected. Truthful but roused from calm contemplation rather than the fury of suns like Maedalaane's was. "I wish to succeed where the Empire failed." 

"...I see," The chimera leaned against the platform that supported the steeple of the temple and idly dragged a claw along the concrete. "Honorable. But you can nudge a man's avarice to altruism and wrath to love through whatever metaphysical means you so choose but even this is a violation of the sacred right of the sentient; free will and self determination no matter what. If you want true progress, Evgeni, it must be spurred by solely the mind. It is absolutely meaningless unless the good will of a heart comes from the heart. Otherwise? You will only lord over yourself, in the end." A long and wistful sigh escaped from their lips, lost in the wind that blew their free flowing platinum hair this way and that. Before Evgeni could give a rebuttal they continued further. "Do not be mistaken. Our goals are congruent. They can work together. But I have the solution to all this. To the disparity, to the eternal plundering. I want to, and know exactly how to, empower everyone! From orphans so poor they cannot afford shoes, to royalty with golden heels! I am to set everyone on the same level so that no longer will any ill-intent be free of recourse. Their power actually stripped, then, by equality...everybody will do what they always should have done from the very beginning! SIT DOWN AND TALK!!" Every time Maedalaane went along the parameters of this speech they only felt it deeper and stronger rather than becoming used to it. The emotions flared higher and higher every time. 

"I have a bar for people to sit down and talk in." The Mahjarrat was deadpan but it was a wisecrack. Maedalaane knew it, too, but their reaction was polar opposite of previous reactions to his humor earlier in the night. The problem wasn't the joke, there just simply wasn't any room in their scorched headspace for humor.

So strong it all was - the chimera's fists clenched until their claws ripped and tore into palms that nothing else could have cut. Viscuous black ichor bled out and dripped onto what had been a spotlessly clean roof. They turned around and scowled up to Evgeni with irises so grossly incandescent that the sun would have turned green with envy if it wasn't on the other side of the world. "...Ha. Ha."

This extreme display wasn't even conciously noticed by Maedalaane until the further intrigued Evgeni summoned forth this ichor to his fingers with a hint of telekinesis. The chimera who otherwise, and incredibly, masked their aural signature in whole had it all slip out the second that their flesh was cut. The gashes were already closing before Evgeni's eyes but his third eye saw Maedalaane for what they truly were, then. Not a pureblood Vampyre across the Salve, not a Dream. Not anything he knew, not from anywhere he knew of. The oddity painted the ether in shades of colors he couldn't understand but yet could still intepret, like a shade between primary colors you just didn't know the name for, or like a new genre of music where you knew the instruments but you couldn't even predict the beat. The blood itself wreaked of the arcane so potently that handling it and sensing it was a facry from grasping a staff or holding a rune. It was pure poison. It smelled like alcohol smelled to the common man but common men still played with such poison nonetheless. 

Perhaps, then, at the end of days, Evgeni was just another common man. He took his chances, played dangerous games, and thirsted for knowledge. He took the latter desire to the edge of sanity, now, and licked the ichor.

It was both the best and worst decision of his life, and this was paradox was the least confusing thing that followed.

It tasted like falling. It made no sense. Maybe it didn't taste like 'falling' but whatever the true taste of this substance was, it was masked by going from zero to terminal velocity quicker than the snap of fingers. Even Marimbo could have possibly retched this ethereal alcohol back up due to such a jarring experience but Evgeni somehow held firm. Very firm. Why, he didn't go anywhere at all. What this a mean trick by the chimera? Evgeni could see, clearly, that his feet were planted right where they had been this entire time. He could feel the same stone under his soles. No, wait. Feel? Did it knock the damned boots off of him? What kind of trick was this and why was his skin not the color it was supposed...



Those weren't his feet or legs or hips or BODY. He sputtered and blinked and he saw Evgeni do the same in the peripheral of his eyes as he stared a hole into...


This was Maedalaane. He was Maedalaane. No, he wasn't Maedalaane, because he was staring at himself. No, no, Maedalaane was staring at him staring at them? 


The shock of the "fall" was wearing off now and, whatever the hell was going on, it wasn't...bad. Advanced words for this feeling eluded him because no words did justice for this alien sensation. The closest that he could peg this to was his very first time teleporting and being exposed to the Abyss - plane of a million different echoes of Anima. Or perhaps the exasperation was like trying to look at Maedalaane's aura. Evgeni had almost completely became at ease toward this oddity and was just about to write it off as a side effect of ingesting alien blood. Sure, it was probably a ridiculous risky stunt, but nothing that bad came of...


The Mahjarrat remembered something that he couldn't believe he even forgot in the first place. Maedalaane's memories. 

This wasn't a mimicry of the Wizards' Tower new invention of virtual reality scrying. He was integrating into Maedalaane's very headspace. A head that held 86,305 years of memories and all of the god forsaken strife it entailed. 

His own 9,100 something years were but a small contribution to the weight of a world that just dropped upon him.

Evgeni saw himself like a remote controlled avatar as he stumbled back and fell to one knee. He swiftly picked himself up and then stumbled over and then side to side, in danger of plummeting off the roof of the temple as he gagged on maniacal laughter in short bursts. The weight was too much. He collapsed to his knees in front of himse---no, Maedalaane, and braced himself with his hands. He choked and sputtered and retched, finally realizing he had to get this poison out of him, but only minute traces were hacked up. There was no more laughter. Nothing was a laughing matter. What was the point in laughter, ever? 

"It's all a fucking joke," Evgeni whispered to whoever had the mercy to listen to his agonized musings and he felt very sorry for the Mahjarrat in front of him. "All of's fucking hysterical..." A single tear rolled from eye to jaw and then dropped off into the black ichor on the stone. 

His pain only just begun. 

His persona, his ego, his attitude, his personality, all of it was flaying off into the ether. Wait, no, this wasn't right. He was right there in front of himself. No, in front of Maedalaane. Maedalaane? Why was he thinking of himslf in third person now? He was gone but he was there. Black and white became gray and zeroes divided and truths and lies became one. Nothing was paradoxical. Insanity was sane.

Maedalaane, the 'real' Maedalaane, was virtually clueless as to what the hell had just happened in a span of two minutes. The chimera conjectured that it would certainly give someone a severe case of indigestion if they drank of their ichor...and it sure seemed like it...what with Evgeni choking it up while on his knees. Yet, no one had ever done such a thing. No one was ever that moronic. It absolutely befuddled them as to why someone as shrewd as Evgeni did something so rash. 

But this person...this god...this someone who Evgeni now knew could had literally thrown the twin cities into the fucking sun rather than think about how to fix them...was..worried. The impassioned fury of the heavens' stars that he was incinerated by had finally simmered down from that seething monologue a moment ago, and they could see this ordeal was going terribly wrong. Nobody was shellshocked and stared ten thousand miles into the horizon by a bad drink. The white hot anger so swift turned to such love and care that Seren would have wept with joy. Oh, Evgeni always loved this Mahjarrat and wished the best for him. No, he loved himself? Yes, everything would be okay. No, it was Maedalaane? Maedalaane loved Evgeni? Oh, heavens above, he was exemplary for all that was right with the world! He'd done so many good things. But who knew? He had no doubt in his past actions...or...or...was it Maedalaane who had no doubt? Was he doubting Maedalaane? Evgeni's mind was bent and beaten into an Ouroborous of infinitum confusion and doubt. It wasn't ending. It couldn't end. Where were the answers in this damned sanity?

"Fucking...joke..." The Mahjarrat mumbled again. 

Maedalaane understood by now what was happening to this tortured man. Their ichor was Anima laden and Evgeni was Divine. He did not taste the blood. He experienced it. 


...Claw open who?

The chimera brushed aside the very brief moment of rage that had welled up inside of them. Evgeni couldn't understand it all, they figured. Or could he? All they actually knew was that he was experiencing a piece of their own essence. Whatever it entailed, they were clueless still.

"All of it! was for nothing. Nothing has changed..." Evgeni quirked a platinum brow down to the shriveling mess of a Mahjarrat. "My life had been pointless until now. Now...I've met, and tasted, what it's like to be god! are a god and I know now! From life begins."

Evgeni wondered what in god damned lunacy was running through Evgeni's mind. That ichor of his was really throwing him for a loop. Fucking numbskull, why did he do this? He saw himself punch the roof in rage. Why couldn't he even understa---...

He wasn't mad at himself. Well, maybe he was. He didn't not understand himself. Well, maybe he did or didn't. But Maedalaane didn't even understand. He...was so...useless...not even a deity could understand. 

"Evgeni, talk to me? What is happening?" The deity cocked a head that did not wear the best of crowns for no reason. 

À̼̩̝᷆̇̌N̯̪᷂̺ͮ͊͒G̢͓͊ͬͬ̽̑E̸͕᷊̱ͨ̾̀Ŗ̗̦͓᷅᷄᷃.̼̯ͨ̇̍̓̏ R̷̦̋͒ͣ̅̕Ą̰̘̮̹̯ͧG̦᷿᷆̂̑͐ͤE͕͙̰̤̺̼͜.̜̞᷀͊̓ͩ͢ WHY WASN'T HE UNDERSTOOD?! WHY COULD SO FEW UNDERSTAND INFINITY? NOT EVEN MAEDALAANE! PROBABLY NOT EVEN ZAROS! Was he truly cursed like so? No one understood. No one cared. And that's why it all crumbled. Even the finest of achievements lost to time. What was the point in life if no one understood?

A thought occured, then, a very lucid one that cut through all the...∞∞∞∞∞????...a logical one at last! His mind was coming back! He needed to go hang his worthless waste of creation self on the Ritual Marker so that at least his kindred could benefit! Evgeni had half the mind to do it with this shriveling Mahjarrat's own entrails, personally. He fumbled to unclasp his gauntlets so he could feel the engrossing texture of the deed. Such an enthralling sorrow. And why would he be sad about ending this waste of space?




The sweet release of death brought by an intestine noose and his Divine essence scattered to the ether would have been preferable to what he felt next.  Maedalaane would have surely never done this in any other circumstance - but this was an urgent exception. Evgeni was suffering because of their own mistake. They should have controlled their self. They shouldn't have cut their self and let his curiousity take hold. They should have just...been calm. It was hard for the chimera. So very hard. Still, something had to be done. They haunched down over Evgeni and placed the most gentle of hands upon his forehead to take just a look-see of what was really happening. Not to invade privacy. Never to invade the sacred right of the mind's privacy! But to help.

As sudden as a mortar assailing a sleeping camp of soldiers delivered the cold hard truth of the reality at hand, Maedalaane figured it all out. 

It was too much. 

Evgeni wasn't just glimpsing and perhaps even retaining some of Maedalaane's memories, he was feeling it. 

The ichor carried all the emotions. Every...single..bit.

Enough to drive anyone else insane and as for the chimera, they were forever thankful that sleep was not a necessity because they feared what horrible nightmares their history could concoct and punish them with. 

The very worst of their fears was manifested - they let someone else feel the pain they vowed they would never let anyone feel ever again. 

And of course Evgeni was experiencing the epiphany first hand and despite it all, the two had one thing in common. Both of their worst fears merged and the nightmares came even to open eyes. Not the first time. Not for the last time.

F̭͉̎̃͂̉͢Ą͚̘ͥͦͨ̃I̴͎͉̮̪̱̒L̸̤̜͂̽͊͡Ư̜̓͊ͨͭ̐R̭͙̄᷉͊᷅͞Ę͍ͦ̒̋ͯ̏ F̖̜̲̔̾᷇̒Ǎ̫͎͕᷄͡ͅI̸̶̧̪̟ͤ͂L̘̞̲̻ͩ̈͜U̶̵̡̳͇ͭ̚R̢̝̳͚̗͌᷅E̞͙̙͍̓͜ͅ F̵͈̺̙ͧ̈̀A̶̳̦᷿᷀᷆᷉I̽̅̉̏̎͆͜L̨̤̺̗ͧ͌̈U̮͙͊͐̎͆͡R̘᷊̳᷾͢͠͞È̡̱ͪͩ͟͟!̸̲ͩ̌̌̿ͯ!̧̝͎͊̏ͪ̍!̣͓̈ͭ̉̍ͮ'

P͏͇ͪL͉̓᷉Ę͙̍A̽́͜S᷂͐̍E̜͒ͪ!̳́̐ P͏͇ͪL͉̓᷉Ę͙̍A̽́͜S᷂͐̍E̜͒ͪ!̳́̐

S̭̞̥̆̄ͦ͝T̵͎̰͙͈̽᷈Ȍ͓͔̲͆͊̐P̵͓᷀ͨ͗̂͟ H͏᷊̯̪͗͢͠U͉͕̐̈͋̇͡Ŗ̛̳̯̘͆̔T̴̩̭ͥ̿̑ͧI̙̺̹᷊̗ͣ͐Ņ̵̱̳̀̃͏G᷂̮᷿͐̎ͩͬ M᷂̫᷊͍̀ͩ͟E̢̢̗͂̈̑᷈!̸̯ͧ̎ͮ̐᷉!̧̠᷅̂̌᷃᷃ I͔᷃͑

Ȋ᷿᷿̣᷿᷿̑ L̥̀᷁O̴͕̊V̼̺̚E̡̎ͣD̤ͯ̚ Yͫ̍᷅O̽᷀̾Ǖ͚!̵̫͖!̗̱̽


Ẽ̱̊̃̃̊̃Ṽ̯̠̊̃̃̊̃̃̊̃G̵̜̃̊̃̃̊̃̃̊̃Ẽ̛̊̃̃̊̃̃̊̃᷅̃̊̃͝Ñ̊̃Ĩ̊̃,͍̃̊̃̃̊̃ T̖̃̊̃̐̃̊̃̾̃̊̃̃̊̃H̃̊̃Ẽ̊̃ G̃̊̃Ã̊̃T̃̊̃̃̊̃̃̊̃͟ͅẼ̊̃S̃̊̃́̃̊̃,̶̃̊̃̃̊̃ H̃̊̃̍̃̊̃Ẽ̊̃L̃̊̃P̃̊̃̃̊̃ͯ̃̊̃̃̊̃̚̚!̃̊̃

M̸̶̨̬̦͍̭͇̻᷊̤̠̯̍᷾͋͆̄̊᷾᷈̍͆ͦ̃ͫ̿̋͒͝ͅẠ᷿̟̺͍̤̜̮̺̘͕̄͌̄̇̉ͥ͗᷁̇̓̆ͧ̀᷃͊͂̿᷇ͤͅE̴̡̨͎͙̪͎̯͚͖̗̤̖̘̻̟̙̯̝͊ͬͮ̒̿͒᷁̿͘̕͢͡D̥͎̥̫͉̪̤ͫ᷈ͥͮ̈́̆̈̽᷃̇̐͂ͬ͝ͅ͏͎͖͗̐́̓͗̚Ȃ̶̲̲̞̼̟̪̈̄̂͋ͭ͐͊ͩ̌̓᷁᷀̐ͬ̃̎͘͘̚͜͢ͅͅL̢̢᷊͇̩͓͍̜̬̱̲͕̝͙̪͗᷆̂̂ͥ̎̾᷈̈ͥ̄ͥ́̃͛͞A̟͕̱᷂̖̹̲᷊̤͓͓̖͉͙̮᷊͚͐͑̓͊ͣ̒᷁͋͂̽̚͟͜͢A̶̶̢̜͙̱̠̠̘̱̣͔͍̙ͣ͗ͮ̎ͭ᷁͒̈́̃̊᷾͛͘̕̚̚͠Ņ͕̰̘͔̙̲͕̥̰̝̺̙͖̙͐̔̽᷀̎̒̌̉̄͛̄᷇̍̚͠ͅE̢̠̼͇̙̠̭᷿͕͍̳̜͓͓᷊̣᷂̔ͥ̃̓͊ͧ͐̇͐̚͘͘͘ͅ Ṯ̭̘̭̣͎̣᷿ͮͥ̅̄ͩ̎̑᷆ͬ̾̓̄͌̈ͤ͐̄ͤ̍͗͘͢͠Ḩ̴͎͔͚̠̭̝̫̗͎̮͎͗͛͐᷁̇̈́͒̾͒᷇ͭͬ̈᷇ͥͯ͟͜E̶̶̵̢̢̢̡̡̨͈̤̩̱̙̳̫᷿͈̐᷈͊ͥ̈́᷇ͩ͊᷇ͬͫ̚͠ Ŗ̷̴̸̧̧̛̤̟̘̳̹̘͇͉͋ͥͣ͑̄᷆̐̿̍͑̎̋̔ͫ͘͟Ẹ̸̸̙᷂̺̺͇͔̳͙̘̑̽᷆ͣͤͪ͋ͣ̒̈ͬ᷆͛̒᷃̅͜͝ͅA̯͔͏̢̢̮̬̫̪̳̹̱̪͖̠͙̀᷀᷇̿ͥ̆̑͌̍̾̂͗᷅͢͜P̟̠͓͖͉̺̯̙̙ͨ͊ͬ̀ͧ̏ͨ̉᷈̓̚͏̲̦̭͙᷿̖̦̓̅͘E̢̱̼̱͚̦͈̪̝͙̟̣̠̘̾̍̈́͊̓̑̂͐̆͋ͨͯͬͫͧ͘͡R̸̢͖̪̺̫̹̻͓͚̱̥̙̃̊̇̉ͯ̾͂̅̍᷈͛᷁̍̅᷉̚͡͡!̷̧̯͚̪̰̞̰᷿͂̄ͧ̃ͣ᷾͛ͪ᷄ͩ̆̈́ͦ᷄ͫ᷆᷆ͮ̈́͑͠͡

"I do not suppose, then, that you will need to sleep on this after all." Maedalaane idly noted, back to their lookout spot that let them lay eyes upon Evgeni down in Menaphos' square less than an hour ago.


House ArenEdit

The first people Maedalaane had encountered in the Sixth Age. What had begun as curious tailing evolved into an alliance. An alliance not just to one branch but two. Maedalaane saw merit in both The Rat and The Crow and assists both factions without the other knowing. However, the assistance was rarely direct or executed in ways that the factions would hope for from such a person. The chimera covertly diffused violent encounters and minimized damage to the best of their ability with the ultimate goal of reconciling all of the branches, even The Lion.

Demyx ArenEdit

The head of The Crow and a lich who stands against nobles and other Arens who wish to be subservient to those nobles' ways even in death. Though having no inhibition against nobility in of itself nor cooperation as a virtue, the powers of Kandarin have outlawed any form of undeath and various types of magic. As a staunch believer of equality and bordering on zealotry for such a cause, Maedalaane had taken a liking to Demyx's cause but not him a person. He was the example as to why Kandarin outlawed such things in the first place, and so the chimera worked to aid him in changing the political landscape but covertly did their best to sabotage his violent endeavors.

Vynriette ArenEdit

A woman who directly answers to Demyx but Maedalaane did not let this affect their opinion of her. The two rarely conversed with each other but Vynriette had not caused wanton destruction like Demyx has and so they viewed her in a better light.

Morbidia ArenEdit

The head of The Rat and a woman who stood against nobles and other Arens who wished to be subservient to these nobles' ways. Which is exactly what Demyx stands for. Morbidia made that clear and did not attempt to paint the picture in any other way, unlike the lich, whom decries her character. Maedalaane had figured out that Demyx conjured justifications for this war in order to advance his cause and claim for power, but Morbidia does no such thing. Maedalaane greatly respected this level of honesty, especially when Morbidia had skin in the game, and so they also assisted The Rat in the same way they assist The Crow. However they had a greater fondness for Morbidia as a person.


Ru'a Hakim; AKA 'Sadi'Edit

The two had met under the moonlight outside of the entrance to Sophanem's wretched underground caverns. Ru'a kept vigil of any corruption that might have clawed its way up and out from below, especially since the expected guardsman on duty was missing in action. She feared the worst when vicious eyes cut through the darkness of the ingress and held Maedalaane at spell-point. The fears were quelled when the chimera revealed their self to be anything but a monster in all but looks and a proper conversation was had. The two got along so well that they allowed for a mutual aural lock so that they'd be sure to meet again, and they absolutely did.

Roven ManiEdit


Ahvgaeni D. AvencianciEdit

An ally of the Constellate and astute individual who knew his life was forever changed the second he laid eyes on Maedalaane.



  • Constellate2
    This symbol in a section of History denotes that it was played out in game.