Phyrexia Novem Orbis
15-11-2006, 23:29
Of the First Sphere,
A Parody of That Which Is, seemingly lifelike but, beneath its surface, false.
Teeming with millions of living beings, yet devoid of life. Seething with growth, but dead.
This is the First Sphere of Phyrexia
The Second Sphere, the Vault of the World, a million miles of plain broken by the billions of columns that hold the world above it. The weight of the First is held by the Second, few dwell here, the condemned and rejected, doomed to forever maintain the Vaults. It is known to many as the Vaults of the Damned.
This is the Second Sphere of Phyrexia.
The Third Sphere, this is the Heart of the World, where the liquids and gassess of the other Spheres are proccessed, composed of endless pipes and vents, none live there.
This is the Third Sphere of Phyrexia.
The Fourth Sphere, the Burning Sphere, the Great Smelters, covered in the ashes of a thosand years of building, processing and reprocessing. Home to the Gremlins, the lowest of all saved the Damned. This is the home of many Phyrexian warriors, whose life is battle and whose pleasure is pain.
This is the Fourth Sphere of Phyrexia.
The Fifth Sphere, an endless sea of oil, which is the Blood of Phyrexia. Life exists here, creations of the Machine God, the Hidden One, who purify the Oil, and make it ready for use.
This is the Fifth Sphere of Phyrexia.
The Sixth Sphere, home of the Most Holy Servants of the Hidden One, it is they who carry out His will and enforce His Law. This is the place where His servants are Completed, seeking ever the perfection of the Machine. Composed of thosands of cells and rooms, it is the home of the laboratories of Phyrexia.
This is the Sixth Sphere of Phyrexia.
The Seventh Sphere is the Hell of Phyrexia, those who fail or prove unworthy of the Salvation of the Hidden One are placed here for punishment, a millenia or more may be suffered at the hands of Machine God's Will, for here His mind is strong, and those who he wishes to suffer do so. Many know this as the Recycling Sphere, where waste is converted into useful raw material.
This is the Seventh Sphere of Phyrexia.
The Eighth Sphere is a void of energy, the essence of the Hidden one which shines through the walls of the Holy Sphere, destroying that which is imperfect and empowering those who are. Only the mighties of the Phyrexian Lords dare to venture here.
This is the Eighth Sphere of Phyrexia.
The Final Sphere, the Holy Sphere, the Dwelling of the Hidden One, the Mind of Phyrexia, the Center of Phyrexia has many names, for it is the Dwelling of the Hidden One, it is as He wills it to be. No Lord of Phyrexia who has visisted the sphere has witnessed the same thing twice. None will speak of what they saw.
This is the Plane of Phyrexia, the Perfect World, the Machine World, the Nine Spheres.
---
"Open your minds! Listen to me! Only through the Machine may perfection be obtained! Do not let the lies of the False Gods dim your sight, for the Hidden One is more than they, the jealous Gods of the imaginations of your priests, greedy and pathetic. Only the Hidden One offers TRUE immortality, the salvation of the Body and Mind!"
It was standard stree-preaching, straight from the book. Whichever book that might be, there were so many.
Most people ignored this man, or glanced briefly at his artificial arm and eye. One or two, however, spoke with the man and, eventually, accepted his advice in joining the Cult of the Machine as it was known on this plane.
Scenes similar to this replayed themselves on a thosand worlds, only on a very few did many join the Cult, but it was enough. Eventually, a few acompanied the Priests to Phyrexia, and from there made their way to the Sixth Sphere, where they died.
But their deaths did not last long. Soon they found themselves awakened again. They retained their bodies, but they were made stronger, quicker, smarter...perfect. Eventually, they would return to their worlds, at the head of armies, commanding fleets. But that would not come for some time now.
The Priests returned to those worlds, and set about their duties. Converting more to the Cult of Perfection.
It was on one such world that Isaac was recruited. Of course, he was no longer Isaac, he was told his name was Daga'dez, and he was Complete. When he was merely human, his body had been weak and frail. He was wracked by a wasting disease which would, in a matter of years, claim his life. The only memories left to him of his time before Compleation were of his weakness as a human, and of the mockery that others made him endure. His failures, and how none appreciated the great strength of his mind.
On Phyrexia, they had removed his frail bones, his degenerating organs, his pathetically underdeveloped muscles. He now had arms and legs like the strongest steel, his bones would not break, his organs were ten times as effecient as the mightiest humans. Other improvements had been made as well. He was eight feet tall, his teeth were capable of biting through a steel cable, his eyes could see through the thickest smoke or fog, and he was immune to most poisons
Now he was back, at the head of a group of warriors.
The Temple stood before him, a huge stone assembly, painted in bright colours and chock full of gold and other valuables. He and his 'men' ignored it. They were after things more valuable than mere metal.
He took a step up the temple steps and a crossbow bolt THUNKED into his shoulder. He glanced at it with some annoyance before removing it and throwing it behind him. This was somewhat unnerving to the guards at the top of the steps, who hesitated.
A moment too long.
His mind, already strong, had been upgraded as well. Reaching out he tweaked the matter inside the guards heads, liquifying the fragile organs within. One or two screamed as the wave of force hit some sensitive part of their grey matter. All six fell down with blood and grey goo pouring from their noses and ears.
The Phyrexian and his warriors went on, a similar fate befalling any who opposed them.
Some time later, they found their goal. The vast Library. Gleaned from his mind by the Overlords, this place was a veritable treasure trove of knowledge. Some was heretical, some would be of vast use to the Phyrexian cause.
Daga'dez gestured to the warriors, who set about gathering the valuable books and scrolls, stuffing them into bags. No words were spoken, these warriors were full completed, an elite task force, capable of taking commands directly from the mind of their master.
One or two guards and other humans showed up, and were, naturally, killed. One, however, caught Daga'dez's attention. The master scholar, who had tormented him often during his days as a man, appeared and attempted some kind of spell, which bounced harmlessly off of Daga'dez's fine Phyrexian-made armour. The man knew everything there was to know about this library. His mind would be useful, although his magical abilities were apparently somewhat lacking.
Daga'dez took a step forward, a massive clawed hand reaching out to sieze the old man by the shoulder. The scholar attempted to dodge back, but he was getting towards sixty, and not as fast as he used to be. Daga'dez picked him up with one hand.
A memory surfaced, and he forced his features into a smile, showing his mouth full of razor sharp teeth. He spoke with his human voice, so very different from the language of Phyrexia, so inneffecient and cumbersome.
"Greetings, Master Scholar." Using his vocal chords was unpleasant, he went on anyway though, "Perhaps you recognize me?"
The old man glared, he had drawn a dagger and was vainly stabbing at Daga'dez's arm, covered in a plate of darksteel.
"I see. I am the student who you rejected time and again, you said I was not worth the investment of time and money, and then you made fun of me when I joined the Machine Cult, saying I was insane as well as weak." The scholar stopped the stabbing and dropped the knife.
"Isaac? Isaac Preston?" His eyes were wide. Isaac had been five feet tall when he last saw him.
"Yes, that was my name. No longer. Isaac was a weak name, a name that befitted my pathetic meat-body. I am now Daga'dez, General of the Hidden One. You are going to accompany me to Phyrexia. But first, I want you to watch something."
The soldiers had finished loading what was required, and were loping out of the library door. One remained behind. Daga'dez retreated to the door of the library, then issued a mental command. Silently, the warrior drew a long knife and slit its own throat, very nearly slicing its own head off. Oil spurted in all directions, spreading in a thin veneer over a large section of the floor, coating many nearby books.
"Watch, O Scholar. Watch as your life is burned away, for this will be your last sight of this world."
Daga'Dez reached out with his mind and tipped a lamp off of a table, where it fell into the oil and smashed. Flames quickly spread across the shelves, burning a thosand years of accumulated knowledge. The old man moaned.
"I suggest you rest now. Your trip to Phyrexia will not be pleasant."
With that, Daga'dez struck the old man a calculated blow, being carefull not to harm him permenantly. He went limp in the Phyrexian's arm.
Without a further word, Daga'dez left the temple and returned to the waiting portal.
Looking around with a satisfied air, and having rediscovered the use of his voice, Daga'dez spoke to the warriors.
"Our work is done here." Phyrexian felt much better than any human language, its grace and effeciency a relief after the difficult conversation with the scholar, "We return to Phyrexia."
They stepped through the dark portal, and were greeted by the great furnaces of the Fourth Sphere.
The old man was quickly moved to a special cell in the Sixth Sphere, he would last only ten minutes or so on the Fourth. In moments the High Priests were present in the chamber, setting to work. The old man had to be kept unconcious, the shock and pain of this operation would kill him if he were awake, which was a bitter dissapointment to Daga'dez. But watching as the mans flesh was stripped away layer by layer, exposing the fat, muscle and organs one by one, was some consollation.
Gradually, the body was taken apart and, eventually, only the nervous system remained, sustained by an artificial 'body', leaving it only the ability to speak and to hear. And to feel. Every nerve ending was wired into stimulators, which could replicate the greatest pleasure and the most horrible pain. Daga'dez only planned to use one setting.
"It is aware." A High Priest spoke, a rare event. The Hidden One must have been very pleased with this aquisition, for the High Priest to even descend into the common Phrexian tounge to speak with somebody was the highest compliment.
Daga'dez bowed deeply, "I will conduct the extraction and report to the Hidden One."
The Hidden One, observing through the eyes of the Priests, watched and listened, as the screams of a mind torn from its body and left bare before the Lords of Phyrexia echoed throughout the small room in the Sixth Sphere.
A Parody of That Which Is, seemingly lifelike but, beneath its surface, false.
Teeming with millions of living beings, yet devoid of life. Seething with growth, but dead.
This is the First Sphere of Phyrexia
The Second Sphere, the Vault of the World, a million miles of plain broken by the billions of columns that hold the world above it. The weight of the First is held by the Second, few dwell here, the condemned and rejected, doomed to forever maintain the Vaults. It is known to many as the Vaults of the Damned.
This is the Second Sphere of Phyrexia.
The Third Sphere, this is the Heart of the World, where the liquids and gassess of the other Spheres are proccessed, composed of endless pipes and vents, none live there.
This is the Third Sphere of Phyrexia.
The Fourth Sphere, the Burning Sphere, the Great Smelters, covered in the ashes of a thosand years of building, processing and reprocessing. Home to the Gremlins, the lowest of all saved the Damned. This is the home of many Phyrexian warriors, whose life is battle and whose pleasure is pain.
This is the Fourth Sphere of Phyrexia.
The Fifth Sphere, an endless sea of oil, which is the Blood of Phyrexia. Life exists here, creations of the Machine God, the Hidden One, who purify the Oil, and make it ready for use.
This is the Fifth Sphere of Phyrexia.
The Sixth Sphere, home of the Most Holy Servants of the Hidden One, it is they who carry out His will and enforce His Law. This is the place where His servants are Completed, seeking ever the perfection of the Machine. Composed of thosands of cells and rooms, it is the home of the laboratories of Phyrexia.
This is the Sixth Sphere of Phyrexia.
The Seventh Sphere is the Hell of Phyrexia, those who fail or prove unworthy of the Salvation of the Hidden One are placed here for punishment, a millenia or more may be suffered at the hands of Machine God's Will, for here His mind is strong, and those who he wishes to suffer do so. Many know this as the Recycling Sphere, where waste is converted into useful raw material.
This is the Seventh Sphere of Phyrexia.
The Eighth Sphere is a void of energy, the essence of the Hidden one which shines through the walls of the Holy Sphere, destroying that which is imperfect and empowering those who are. Only the mighties of the Phyrexian Lords dare to venture here.
This is the Eighth Sphere of Phyrexia.
The Final Sphere, the Holy Sphere, the Dwelling of the Hidden One, the Mind of Phyrexia, the Center of Phyrexia has many names, for it is the Dwelling of the Hidden One, it is as He wills it to be. No Lord of Phyrexia who has visisted the sphere has witnessed the same thing twice. None will speak of what they saw.
This is the Plane of Phyrexia, the Perfect World, the Machine World, the Nine Spheres.
---
"Open your minds! Listen to me! Only through the Machine may perfection be obtained! Do not let the lies of the False Gods dim your sight, for the Hidden One is more than they, the jealous Gods of the imaginations of your priests, greedy and pathetic. Only the Hidden One offers TRUE immortality, the salvation of the Body and Mind!"
It was standard stree-preaching, straight from the book. Whichever book that might be, there were so many.
Most people ignored this man, or glanced briefly at his artificial arm and eye. One or two, however, spoke with the man and, eventually, accepted his advice in joining the Cult of the Machine as it was known on this plane.
Scenes similar to this replayed themselves on a thosand worlds, only on a very few did many join the Cult, but it was enough. Eventually, a few acompanied the Priests to Phyrexia, and from there made their way to the Sixth Sphere, where they died.
But their deaths did not last long. Soon they found themselves awakened again. They retained their bodies, but they were made stronger, quicker, smarter...perfect. Eventually, they would return to their worlds, at the head of armies, commanding fleets. But that would not come for some time now.
The Priests returned to those worlds, and set about their duties. Converting more to the Cult of Perfection.
It was on one such world that Isaac was recruited. Of course, he was no longer Isaac, he was told his name was Daga'dez, and he was Complete. When he was merely human, his body had been weak and frail. He was wracked by a wasting disease which would, in a matter of years, claim his life. The only memories left to him of his time before Compleation were of his weakness as a human, and of the mockery that others made him endure. His failures, and how none appreciated the great strength of his mind.
On Phyrexia, they had removed his frail bones, his degenerating organs, his pathetically underdeveloped muscles. He now had arms and legs like the strongest steel, his bones would not break, his organs were ten times as effecient as the mightiest humans. Other improvements had been made as well. He was eight feet tall, his teeth were capable of biting through a steel cable, his eyes could see through the thickest smoke or fog, and he was immune to most poisons
Now he was back, at the head of a group of warriors.
The Temple stood before him, a huge stone assembly, painted in bright colours and chock full of gold and other valuables. He and his 'men' ignored it. They were after things more valuable than mere metal.
He took a step up the temple steps and a crossbow bolt THUNKED into his shoulder. He glanced at it with some annoyance before removing it and throwing it behind him. This was somewhat unnerving to the guards at the top of the steps, who hesitated.
A moment too long.
His mind, already strong, had been upgraded as well. Reaching out he tweaked the matter inside the guards heads, liquifying the fragile organs within. One or two screamed as the wave of force hit some sensitive part of their grey matter. All six fell down with blood and grey goo pouring from their noses and ears.
The Phyrexian and his warriors went on, a similar fate befalling any who opposed them.
Some time later, they found their goal. The vast Library. Gleaned from his mind by the Overlords, this place was a veritable treasure trove of knowledge. Some was heretical, some would be of vast use to the Phyrexian cause.
Daga'dez gestured to the warriors, who set about gathering the valuable books and scrolls, stuffing them into bags. No words were spoken, these warriors were full completed, an elite task force, capable of taking commands directly from the mind of their master.
One or two guards and other humans showed up, and were, naturally, killed. One, however, caught Daga'dez's attention. The master scholar, who had tormented him often during his days as a man, appeared and attempted some kind of spell, which bounced harmlessly off of Daga'dez's fine Phyrexian-made armour. The man knew everything there was to know about this library. His mind would be useful, although his magical abilities were apparently somewhat lacking.
Daga'dez took a step forward, a massive clawed hand reaching out to sieze the old man by the shoulder. The scholar attempted to dodge back, but he was getting towards sixty, and not as fast as he used to be. Daga'dez picked him up with one hand.
A memory surfaced, and he forced his features into a smile, showing his mouth full of razor sharp teeth. He spoke with his human voice, so very different from the language of Phyrexia, so inneffecient and cumbersome.
"Greetings, Master Scholar." Using his vocal chords was unpleasant, he went on anyway though, "Perhaps you recognize me?"
The old man glared, he had drawn a dagger and was vainly stabbing at Daga'dez's arm, covered in a plate of darksteel.
"I see. I am the student who you rejected time and again, you said I was not worth the investment of time and money, and then you made fun of me when I joined the Machine Cult, saying I was insane as well as weak." The scholar stopped the stabbing and dropped the knife.
"Isaac? Isaac Preston?" His eyes were wide. Isaac had been five feet tall when he last saw him.
"Yes, that was my name. No longer. Isaac was a weak name, a name that befitted my pathetic meat-body. I am now Daga'dez, General of the Hidden One. You are going to accompany me to Phyrexia. But first, I want you to watch something."
The soldiers had finished loading what was required, and were loping out of the library door. One remained behind. Daga'dez retreated to the door of the library, then issued a mental command. Silently, the warrior drew a long knife and slit its own throat, very nearly slicing its own head off. Oil spurted in all directions, spreading in a thin veneer over a large section of the floor, coating many nearby books.
"Watch, O Scholar. Watch as your life is burned away, for this will be your last sight of this world."
Daga'Dez reached out with his mind and tipped a lamp off of a table, where it fell into the oil and smashed. Flames quickly spread across the shelves, burning a thosand years of accumulated knowledge. The old man moaned.
"I suggest you rest now. Your trip to Phyrexia will not be pleasant."
With that, Daga'dez struck the old man a calculated blow, being carefull not to harm him permenantly. He went limp in the Phyrexian's arm.
Without a further word, Daga'dez left the temple and returned to the waiting portal.
Looking around with a satisfied air, and having rediscovered the use of his voice, Daga'dez spoke to the warriors.
"Our work is done here." Phyrexian felt much better than any human language, its grace and effeciency a relief after the difficult conversation with the scholar, "We return to Phyrexia."
They stepped through the dark portal, and were greeted by the great furnaces of the Fourth Sphere.
The old man was quickly moved to a special cell in the Sixth Sphere, he would last only ten minutes or so on the Fourth. In moments the High Priests were present in the chamber, setting to work. The old man had to be kept unconcious, the shock and pain of this operation would kill him if he were awake, which was a bitter dissapointment to Daga'dez. But watching as the mans flesh was stripped away layer by layer, exposing the fat, muscle and organs one by one, was some consollation.
Gradually, the body was taken apart and, eventually, only the nervous system remained, sustained by an artificial 'body', leaving it only the ability to speak and to hear. And to feel. Every nerve ending was wired into stimulators, which could replicate the greatest pleasure and the most horrible pain. Daga'dez only planned to use one setting.
"It is aware." A High Priest spoke, a rare event. The Hidden One must have been very pleased with this aquisition, for the High Priest to even descend into the common Phrexian tounge to speak with somebody was the highest compliment.
Daga'dez bowed deeply, "I will conduct the extraction and report to the Hidden One."
The Hidden One, observing through the eyes of the Priests, watched and listened, as the screams of a mind torn from its body and left bare before the Lords of Phyrexia echoed throughout the small room in the Sixth Sphere.