Hmmm, after everything's been done (whenever there's time and room for this anthology to begin) how does a collab story sound? I really don't know what method is best to accomplish a "hidden story" (or hidden poem, might even be easier) but I very much want to see if it can be done.
The Eldrazi are giant tentacle/bone monsters that eat worlds. Adventureland!Zendikar may be a strange setting, but it's still a setting, and not a gimmick. Zendikar is doomed because Giant Eldritch Mana Gods Are Hungry. (Featuring: Nicol Bolas for some reason??) I mean, this same thing happens every day around noon with Barinellos!
Ravnica was plenty interesting in AoA. There's loads you can do with a city plane that goes beyond the ten guilds. I mean... Ruwin showed that with his take on Verkel in Two Bullets. I'd argue that story is very much about the consequences of covering all the liveable area with city, and then fill that area to the brim with people who hate each other.
It was, FAR better than what Doug wrote and that should pretty explicitly tell you that the guilds aren't as important to the setting.
@Planechaser: As ridiculous as it is, Ravnica does have Worldspine Wurm,
Ugh... Wurmrakul is one of the most hideous, bloated designs that the team has churned out in ages. It's just demonstrating the frustrating "creatures first" mentality.
Anyways, as a further note, choosing just any period does come with some strings attached. Anytime before the guildpact's dissolution (except possibly the VERY start) means that any and all planeswalkers are off the table for appearances. That's just an example, but the same is true of a number of other things.
_________________
At twilight's end, the shadow's crossed / a new world birthed, the elder lost. Yet on the morn we wake to find / that mem'ry left so far behind. To deafened ears we ask, unseen / "Which is life and which the dream?"
The Eldrazi are giant tentacle/bone monsters that eat worlds. Adventureland!Zendikar may be a strange setting, but it's still a setting, and not a gimmick. Zendikar is doomed because Giant Eldritch Mana Gods Are Hungry. (Featuring: Nicol Bolas for some reason??) I mean, this same thing happens every day around noon with Barinellos!
Ravnica was plenty interesting in AoA. There's loads you can do with a city plane that goes beyond the ten guilds. I mean... Ruwin showed that with his take on Verkel in Two Bullets. I'd argue that story is very much about the consequences of covering all the liveable area with city, and then fill that area to the brim with people who hate each other.
It was, FAR better than what Doug wrote and that should pretty explicitly tell you that the guilds aren't as important to the setting.
@Planechaser: As ridiculous as it is, Ravnica does have Worldspine Wurm,
Ugh... Wurmrakul is one of the most hideous, bloated designs that the team has churned out in ages. It's just demonstrating the frustrating "creatures first" mentality.
Anyways, as a further note, choosing just any period does come with some strings attached. Anytime before the guildpact's dissolution (except possibly the VERY start) means that any and all planeswalkers are off the table for appearances. That's just an example, but the same is true of a number of other things.
It really seems like as a whole, the anthology will mostly come together around RTR era both before and after Jacepact. However, if anybody writes a juicy story about original Ravnica timeline or even a Guildless Ravnica (hopefully with their own fancy handwaving) then by all means. I would just encourage to clarify which time period your story generally falls into, and if it is a poem or something else, perhaps merely what atmosphere it holds.
It really seems like as a whole, the anthology will mostly come together around RTR era both before and after Jacepact. However, if anybody writes a juicy story about original Ravnica timeline or even a Guildless Ravnica (hopefully with their own fancy handwaving) then by all means. I would just encourage to clarify which time period your story generally falls into, and if it is a poem or something else, perhaps merely what atmosphere it holds.
I dunno, I see it being far more likely that we'll probably have stories that DON'T fall into the Jacepact or Interregnum Ravnica. There's just not a lot about the return that was done better than the original when you get right down to it. Plus, quite frankly, it mostly doesn't matter. Any explicit references to things like the Dragon's Maze or the like are probably going to stick out like a sore thumb.
I think it's pretty telling that the guilds didn't really actually change worth a damn (besides some visual tightening) between the prior block and the return. The only one that even bears mentioning is the Simic. MAYBE the Golgari, depending on how you want to look at it.
_________________
At twilight's end, the shadow's crossed / a new world birthed, the elder lost. Yet on the morn we wake to find / that mem'ry left so far behind. To deafened ears we ask, unseen / "Which is life and which the dream?"
It really seems like as a whole, the anthology will mostly come together around RTR era both before and after Jacepact. However, if anybody writes a juicy story about original Ravnica timeline or even a Guildless Ravnica (hopefully with their own fancy handwaving) then by all means. I would just encourage to clarify which time period your story generally falls into, and if it is a poem or something else, perhaps merely what atmosphere it holds.
I dunno, I see it being far more likely that we'll probably have stories that DON'T fall into the Jacepact or Interregnum Ravnica. There's just not a lot about the return that was done better than the original when you get right down to it. Plus, quite frankly, it mostly doesn't matter. Any explicit references to things like the Dragon's Maze or the like are probably going to stick out like a sore thumb.
I think it's pretty telling that the guilds didn't really actually change worth a damn (besides some visual tightening) between the prior block and the return. The only one that even bears mentioning is the Simic. MAYBE the Golgari, depending on how you want to look at it.
I'm just trying to establish the freedom to do so. It's a little jarring, and no offense but it rubs me the wrong way when freedom is scrutinized and so are the specific guidelines. In this example, it's sticking with a cycle of cards much like the Quests were for Zendikar should be avoided, as well as freedom to write from *nearly* any point of the timeline. If no one writes it (though I'm bound to) then so be it. It wouldn't exist, thus there would be no such story to place into the anthology.
I'm just trying to establish the freedom to do so. It's a little jarring, and no offense but it rubs me the wrong way when freedom is scrutinized and so are the specific guidelines. In this example, it's sticking with a cycle of cards much like the Quests were for Zendikar should be avoided, as well as freedom to write from *nearly* any point of the timeline. If no one writes it (though I'm bound to) then so be it. It wouldn't exist, thus there would be no such story to place into the anthology.
It was just the statement that "most" of it would probably come from around the Return to Ravnica era that bothered me. I'm not putting any guidelines down about anything, just clarifying that the statement seemed fallacious. Honestly, if done right, one shouldn't really be able to tell when a story takes place because it shouldn't be about the events outside of the story.
_________________
At twilight's end, the shadow's crossed / a new world birthed, the elder lost. Yet on the morn we wake to find / that mem'ry left so far behind. To deafened ears we ask, unseen / "Which is life and which the dream?"
I'm just trying to establish the freedom to do so. It's a little jarring, and no offense but it rubs me the wrong way when freedom is scrutinized and so are the specific guidelines. In this example, it's sticking with a cycle of cards much like the Quests were for Zendikar should be avoided, as well as freedom to write from *nearly* any point of the timeline. If no one writes it (though I'm bound to) then so be it. It wouldn't exist, thus there would be no such story to place into the anthology.
It was just the statement that "most" of it would probably come from around the Return to Ravnica era that bothered me. I'm not putting any guidelines down about anything, just clarifying that the statement seemed fallacious. Honestly, if done right, one shouldn't really be able to tell when a story takes place because it shouldn't be about the events outside of the story.
I more-so intended RTR era to be an easy or expected time to start with for most who want to. If someone wants to go further back, there's no problem with that. We would have both to work with, and to have a progressive order of some time (even if only used loosely) it helps a lot to know what sort of time was intended. For example, no guild activity whatsoever is featured in a given story, it helps to know so that it can be placed either beginning, middle, or near end of the anthology, matching up with Pre-classic Ravnica/Classic Ravnica/AoA Ravnica/Return to Ravnica/Post-Dragon's Maze. The part where I asked for clarification wasn't meant to be placed *within* a given story, but whatever thread is the active "Ravnica Anthology Thread" when the time comes.
I more-so intended RTR era to be an easy or expected time to start with for most who want to. If someone wants to go further back, there's no problem with that. We would have both to work with, and to have a progressive order of some time (even if only used loosely) it helps a lot to know what sort of time was intended. For example, no guild activity whatsoever is featured in a given story, it helps to know so that it can be placed either beginning, middle, or near end of the anthology, matching up with Pre-classic Ravnica/Classic Ravnica/AoA Ravnica/Return to Ravnica/Post-Dragon's Maze. The part where I asked for clarification wasn't meant to be placed *within* a given story, but whatever thread is the active "Ravnica Anthology Thread" when the time comes.
I just don't think we should place any constraints on leading people to a specific time. By implying that people should work with RtR, chances are people are going to be led to think that's what they're supposed to do. I know you're not actually saying people can't do any others, but it seems like something we shouldn't constrain even by implication.
Aside from that, I actually am of the opinion that there doesn't HAVE to be a time progression involved with this one. With Innistrad, and the way we set it up, time was implied. Same is true of the Zendikar anthology, but what are you trying to accomplish with the structure of the Ravnica Anthology? Is it to denote time passage? Because there really isn't any advantage to grouping it by era like that. This is an anthology that would actually work with a non-linear grouping. We should probably be looking at placing them with common themes rather than their time.
_________________
At twilight's end, the shadow's crossed / a new world birthed, the elder lost. Yet on the morn we wake to find / that mem'ry left so far behind. To deafened ears we ask, unseen / "Which is life and which the dream?"
Okay, where I had suggested the Protect // Serve, Ready // Willing kinds of cards to serve as a good theme to begin from for whoever chose the given card, as well as indicator to involved guild(s), but what would you suggest then? Because apparently reintroduced limitations via Jace as Guildpact is not showy enough for a focus on time progression, then it would seem some other theming should be adopted. I've already made one suggestion, I'd like to hear a second opinion before I look elsewhere for alternative methods for a theme to follow.
Okay, where I had suggested the Protect // Serve, Ready // Willing kinds of cards to serve as a good theme to begin from for whoever chose the given card, as well as indicator to involved guild(s), but what would you suggest then? Because apparently reintroduced limitations via Jace as Guildpact is not showy enough for a focus on time progression, then it would seem some other theming should be adopted. I've already made one suggestion, I'd like to hear a second opinion before I look elsewhere for alternative methods for a theme to follow.
With Ravnica, the best thing you can do is play the guild angle and actually NOT constrain by any card cycle. You already have a ready built theme just in the nature of the guilds. The problem that comes up there is for the people who don't want to write about one of the guilds, but even then, just making a "guildless" section is easy enough. There's so much to do with Ravnica that narrowing it down will invariably bleed off interest. Zendikar didn't have the same sort of focus that Ravnica did, that's why I chose the quests as a unifying theme.
_________________
At twilight's end, the shadow's crossed / a new world birthed, the elder lost. Yet on the morn we wake to find / that mem'ry left so far behind. To deafened ears we ask, unseen / "Which is life and which the dream?"
As M:EM's Tumblr said, some "not-so-cruel" Rakdos scenes would be a terrific addition. For reference, so I can try and gauge myself, how many Anthologies total are there in the works minus this one on the site? How many of them pertain to canon planes? (no offense to Jakkard, I'll have to pick it up sometime honestly, but just not relevant to my current interests)
Jakkard is relevant to everyone's interests in some way or another, if the @#$! demonweb pits that is the archive map is anything to go by...
At the moment, the anthologies being considered or that've been suggested, organized from most to least likely to be produced in the near future are:
Murasa Expeditionary Missions Logbook Minutes to Midnight Jakkard Ravnica Single Card Stories
...Aaaand Myths of Siraus should be in there somewhere but I have no idea where. Barinellos would have to fill us in on how that project is proceeding.
Jakkard is relevant to everyone's interests in some way or another, if the @#$! demonweb pits that is the archive map is anything to go by...
At the moment, the anthologies being considered or that've been suggested, organized from most to least likely to be produced in the near future are:
Murasa Expeditionary Missions Logbook Minutes to Midnight Jakkard Ravnica Single Card Stories
...Aaaand Myths of Siraus should be in there somewhere but I have no idea where. Barinellos would have to fill us in on how that project is proceeding.
What's Minutes to Midnight? How are single card stories being collected?
...Aaaand Myths of Siraus should be in there somewhere but I have no idea where. Barinellos would have to fill us in on how that project is proceeding.
It's basically done. The problem all comes from Ruwin needing to do a second pass and hammering things a bit.
_________________
At twilight's end, the shadow's crossed / a new world birthed, the elder lost. Yet on the morn we wake to find / that mem'ry left so far behind. To deafened ears we ask, unseen / "Which is life and which the dream?"
...Aaaand Myths of Siraus should be in there somewhere but I have no idea where. Barinellos would have to fill us in on how that project is proceeding.
It's basically done. The problem all comes from Ruwin needing to do a second pass and hammering things a bit.
Oh my. O_o
Ok, let me pull up that document... Righto, here it is!
The Pulseforged
The slag ridden land had remained still for centuries. It would remain still for centuries more. Where there should have been trees and grass, there was only ash. And where there should have been people, there was only bone. It was desolation, every inch of the land incinerated and blackened, every foot of the sky covered in gray clouds of ash.
The mountains stood still in the distance, however.
They showed signs of the destruction; something of that scale not even the bones of the earth could ignore. The cliff faces were covered in soot, and large chunks of the brittle stone crumbled and fell away. Besides the inexorable passage of time that weighed the mountains down, they had changed little since they had been scorched long ago. There was no wind to erode them.
Standing in front of a seemingly innocuous cave were two metal statues. The only sign that they were not inert was the steady glow that pulsated from the center of their metal chests. They were designed after their maker; thick, heavy limbs, rife with pistons and rivets. Each had only a shield and no other weapon. Indeed, the fire in their hearts would have to be enough to protect the Forge.
Deep within the cave, a rhythmic ringing sounded. Through the myriad of tunnels, to smooth and elegant to have not been purposeful, the ringing echoed. The tunnels brightened as the tunnels delved deeper into the mountain, until finally they emerged into the brightness of daylight. Cast into stark relief against his lava-lit surroundings, the Red Primarch worked his craft, his hammer falling in time with the heartbeat of the earth.
He had joined himself with the forge. Thick cords the size of tree trunks socketed into his arms and his shoulders. He was surrounded by the dross of his work, which oozed slowly into the molten pit around him. The forge burned brightly, churning piece after piece of his creations out as he willed it too. But the finishing touches were always his. He raised his hammer, and as it fell, great gouts of steam spewed violently from his release valves. He placed the finished product on a giant slab of obsidian stone. It was a little metal man, not unlike him, if much smaller.
As he worked, the lava cast shadows over his great features. Once he had been a bright, shining silver, like his brethren. But that was an eternity ago. Centuries in the heart of this mountain had bronzed his exterior, and modification of his own design had hardened it. Four great pistons lined his back, moving in rhythm with the hammer, each designed to strengthen the blow. His head was riveted and crested with his favorite modification. It was the metallic likeness of a bearded race long since dead.
In the center of his chest burned a fire that would be compared to the sun, if anyone on this world still alive had ever seen it.
He finished his work, and the forge cooled and relaxed. He tenderly removed the cords from his great, burnished form. Two dozen or so little metal men lay on the obsidian slab, given form and duty, but not yet life. He bent over them, reaching into the cavity in his chest and producing a pure flame in his outstretched palm. One by one, he placed the little fire into the little men, and they awoke. They sat up, gazed around quizzically, but remained quiet. He had instilled them with the patience of stone, after all. They would wait, but they would not have to wait long.
After he had woken the last of his creations, he sat, crossing his great legs with the sound of groaning iron. He gazed at the little people with as much gravity as his nearly immobile face would allow, and then spoke.
“Listen well, little Forgelings, for it is today that you are made. You are built after the pattern of the Hammer, that sacred tool of creation. Fear not and feel it's blows within you; it is part or the Pulse. I am Nechenzeer, your Primarch, and it is through me you shall learn of your purpose for being and your part in the Pulse.” At this, he touched his chest, indicating the pulsating flame within. The Forgelings also inspected their flames. He continued.
“Long ago, there lived beings made of flesh.” There were several quips of confusion, and the Primarch chuckled. The sound echoed in the mountain like thunder.
“What is flesh, you ask?” He showed them his arm. “Flesh is the alloy of the strong! It allowed for such freedom of movement and quickness of life that these beings of the flesh needed not a Forge to multiply.” He gestured to the construct behind him.
“Such was their mastery over creation that they made even me, your Primarch, in that long ago time. I was forged, however, in strife.” He shook his head slowly. “This was the time of the War of the Gods, and I was to play a role in it. Creatures of the flesh who sought to subjugate all others crafted me - the wicked Humans.” He made a fist. “Their hubris was their downfall.” He crushed it into his open palm with a deafening crack. “I believe it was the will of the Pulse making itself manifest, that the very weapon I was part of destroyed the beings of the flesh. The Pulse is powerful, and it manifests in different ways. It chose to eradicate everything, save me and the other four Primarchs. I was bid by the beings of the flesh to return here; and it was here I first became aware of the workings of the Pulse.” His great eye-shutters closed for a moment, remembering the time long gone, the world freshly washed in the will of the Pulse.
“I remembered the first Pulse. The one that destroyed the flesh beings. But I slowly began to feel its steady rhythms. The Pulse may have killed the flesh beings, but I found it here, and it gave me life. As I listened to the Pulse, it whispered to me of an ancient race of people. Flesh beings so mighty and grand they could bend metal to their will with only the most simple of instruments. With the Mighty Hammer, the Stolid Anvil, and the Hungry Flame, they wrought such wonders that the other peoples looked upon them with envy. They were called the Dwarves; and they were the largest and fairest of all beings of the flesh.” He stroked his stiff, metal beard.
“I learned of the Dwarves as I listened to the pulse. I learned of the first of the tools, and the manner after which you are crafted, Forgelings. The Mighty Hammer.” He lifted his hammer, made after the likeness of the sacred tool he had seen in his visons, and showed it to the Forgelings. “The ringing of this instrument could be heard day and night in the halls of the Dwarves. It bent metal to its will. So you must also bend your foes; The Mighty Hammer was unstoppable in its purpose. As are you.”
“The second instrument was the Stolid Anvil.” He pointed to the massive, fire hardened slab he had forged each of the Forgelings on. “It was the only device capable of withstanding the Hammer as it bent the metal. The Anvil conformed the metal to its shape, never moving. So shall the Pulseforged of the Anvil be; immovable in their duty.”
“Lastly was the Hungry Flame.” He gently prodded one of the Forgelings on the chest with his immense finger. “You can hear the whispers of the flame in the Pulse, Forgelings. It is in every Pulseforged, and in the very heart of our Great Forge, Vulcarnus. The Hungry Flame quickened the metal. Moved it with purpose, gave it direction. So is every Pulseforged moved by the Pulse. Purpose is sure, when you are one with the Rhythms.” He nodded sagely, and let the sound of the Pulse echo, almost silently, within the mountain, before continuing.
“Do not forget, little Forgelings, as you go forth into this world.” He warned them slowly. “Strife has come again; stay strong and the Pulse will honor you. Become weak, and the Pulse will shatter you as it does all that is brittle. None have dominion over you, but the Pulse connects you with us all.” He stood, his metal limbs screeching as he did so.
“I am Nenchenzeer. I am your Primarch.” He declared. “You have been crafted by me, and are part of the Will of the Pulse. Go forth, and work wonders on this world.”
The Forgelings stood, and each, in turn, left the place of their birth, to see what they could make of themselves on this dead world. Nenchenzeer turned back to Vulcarnus, and lifted the cords once more.
I can't remember what for the life of me what about it I need to fix. (though I do appreciate the hammer pun, eheh) If you could jog my memory for me I can get it done while I'm in high creative spirits!
The slag ridden land had remained still for centuries. It would remain still for centuries more. Where there should have been trees and grass, there was only ash. And where there should have been people, there was only bone. It was desolation, every inch of the land incinerated and blackened, every foot of the sky covered in gray clouds of ash.
The mountains stood still in the distance, however.
They showed signs of the destruction; something of that scale not even the bones of the earth could ignore. The cliff faces were covered in soot, and large chunks of the brittle stone crumbled and fell away. Besides the inexorable passage of time that weighed the mountains down, they had changed little since they had been scorched long ago. There was no wind to erode them.
Standing in front of a seemingly innocuous cave were two metal statues. The only sign that they were not inert was the steady glow that pulsated from the center of their metal chests. They were designed after their maker; thick, heavy limbs, rife with pistons and rivets. Each had only a shield and no other weapon. Indeed, the fire in their hearts would have to be enough to protect the Forge.
Deep within the cave, a rhythmic ringing sounded. Through the myriad of tunnels, to smooth and elegant to have not been purposeful, the ringing echoed. The tunnels brightened as the tunnels delved deeper into the mountain, until finally they emerged into the brightness of daylight. Cast into stark relief against his lava-lit surroundings, the Red Primarch worked his craft, his hammer falling in time with the heartbeat of the earth.
He had joined himself with the forge. Thick cords the size of tree trunks socketed into his arms and his shoulders. He was surrounded by the dross of his work, which oozed slowly into the molten pit around him. The forge burned brightly, churning piece after piece of his creations out as he willed it too. But the finishing touches were always his. He raised his hammer, and as it fell, great gouts of steam spewed violently from his release valves. He placed the finished product on a giant slab of obsidian stone. It was a little metal man, not unlike him, if much smaller.
As he worked, the lava cast shadows over his great features. Once he had been a bright, shining silver, like his brethren. But that was an eternity ago. Centuries in the heart of this mountain had bronzed his exterior, and modification of his own design had hardened it. Four great pistons lined his back, moving in rhythm with the hammer, each designed to strengthen the blow. His head was riveted and crested with his favorite modification. It was the metallic likeness of a bearded race long since dead.
In the center of his chest burned a fire that would be compared to the sun, if anyone on this world still alive had ever seen it.
He finished his work, and the forge cooled and relaxed. He tenderly removed the cords from his great, burnished form. Two dozen or so little metal men lay on the obsidian slab, given form and duty, but not yet life. He bent over them, reaching into the cavity in his chest and producing a pure flame in his outstretched palm. One by one, he placed the little fire into the little men, and they awoke. They sat up, gazed around quizzically, but remained quiet. He had instilled them with the patience of stone, after all. They would wait, but they would not have to wait long.
After he had woken the last of his creations, he sat, crossing his great legs with the sound of groaning iron. He gazed at the little people with as much gravity as his nearly immobile face would allow, and then spoke.
“Listen well, little Forgelings, for it is today that you are made. You are built after the pattern of the Hammer, that sacred tool of creation. Fear not and feel it's blows within you; it is part or the Pulse. I am Nechenzeer, your Primarch, and it is through me you shall learn of your purpose for being and your part in the Pulse.” At this, he touched his chest, indicating the pulsating flame within. The Forgelings also inspected their flames. He continued.
“Long ago, there lived beings made of flesh.” There were several quips of confusion, and the Primarch chuckled. The sound echoed in the mountain like thunder.
“What is flesh, you ask?” He showed them his arm. “Flesh is the alloy of the strong! It allowed for such freedom of movement and quickness of life that these beings of the flesh needed not a Forge to multiply.” He gestured to the construct behind him.
“Such was their mastery over creation that they made even me, your Primarch, in that long ago time. I was forged, however, in strife.” He shook his head slowly. “This was the time of the War of the Gods, and I was to play a role in it. Creatures of the flesh who sought to subjugate all others crafted me - the wicked Humans.” He made a fist. “Their hubris was their downfall.” He crushed it into his open palm with a deafening crack. “I believe it was the will of the Pulse making itself manifest, that the very weapon I was part of destroyed the beings of the flesh. The Pulse is powerful, and it manifests in different ways. It chose to eradicate everything, save me and the other four Primarchs. I was bid by the beings of the flesh to return here; and it was here I first became aware of the workings of the Pulse.” His great eye-shutters closed for a moment, remembering the time long gone, the world freshly washed in the will of the Pulse.
“I remembered the first Pulse. The one that destroyed the flesh beings. But I slowly began to feel its steady rhythms. The Pulse may have killed the flesh beings, but I found it here, and it gave me life. As I listened to the Pulse, it whispered to me of an ancient race of people. Flesh beings so mighty and grand they could bend metal to their will with only the most simple of instruments. With the Mighty Hammer, the Stolid Anvil, and the Hungry Flame, they wrought such wonders that the other peoples looked upon them with envy. They were called the Dwarves; and they were the largest and fairest of all beings of the flesh.” He stroked his stiff, metal beard.
“I learned of the Dwarves as I listened to the pulse. I learned of the first of the tools, and the manner after which you are crafted, Forgelings. The Mighty Hammer.” He lifted his hammer, made after the likeness of the sacred tool he had seen in his visons, and showed it to the Forgelings. “The ringing of this instrument could be heard day and night in the halls of the Dwarves. It bent metal to its will. So you must also bend your foes; The Mighty Hammer was unstoppable in its purpose. As are you.”
“The second instrument was the Stolid Anvil.” He pointed to the massive, fire hardened slab he had forged each of the Forgelings on. “It was the only device capable of withstanding the Hammer as it bent the metal. The Anvil conformed the metal to its shape, never moving. So shall the Pulseforged of the Anvil be; immovable in their duty.”
“Lastly was the Hungry Flame.” He gently prodded one of the Forgelings on the chest with his immense finger. “You can hear the whispers of the flame in the Pulse, Forgelings. It is in every Pulseforged, and in the very heart of our Great Forge, Vulcarnus. The Hungry Flame quickened the metal. Moved it with purpose, gave it direction. So is every Pulseforged moved by the Pulse. Purpose is sure, when you are one with the Rhythms.” He nodded sagely, and let the sound of the Pulse echo, almost silently, within the mountain, before continuing.
“Do not forget, little Forgelings, as you go forth into this world.” He warned them slowly. “Strife has come again; stay strong and the Pulse will honor you. Become weak, and the Pulse will shatter you as it does all that is brittle. None have dominion over you, but the Pulse connects you with us all.” He stood, his metal limbs screeching as he did so.
“I am Nenchenzeer. I am your Primarch.” He declared. “You have been crafted by me, and are part of the Will of the Pulse. Go forth, and work wonders on this world.”
The Forgelings stood, and each, in turn, left the place of their birth, to see what they could make of themselves on this dead world. Nenchenzeer turned back to Vulcarnus, and lifted the cords once more.
I can't remember what for the life of me what about it I need to fix. (though I do appreciate the hammer pun, eheh) If you could jog my memory for me I can get it done while I'm in high creative spirits!
Well, there were a few places where the imagery was a little redundant and more importantly the identity and naming really needed to be smoothed out since... well, the Primarchs don't really HAVE names. None of them really have names. They don't understand the concept, so places are mostly called by their title rather than a "name".
Very minor stuff really.
_________________
At twilight's end, the shadow's crossed / a new world birthed, the elder lost. Yet on the morn we wake to find / that mem'ry left so far behind. To deafened ears we ask, unseen / "Which is life and which the dream?"
Sweet. So is that getting the full Anthology treatment, design and all?
Probably not. I'm not sure how much interest there could possibly be for Siraus, particularly as these were all basically a retelling of the origin myth with little bits added on after the fact.
_________________
At twilight's end, the shadow's crossed / a new world birthed, the elder lost. Yet on the morn we wake to find / that mem'ry left so far behind. To deafened ears we ask, unseen / "Which is life and which the dream?"
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Milov Lask: Philomancer 
Tsuchigo: Orochi Jade Mage 
