Llewell's manse is a 3x3 grove. The middle room (fulcrux) had a hidden inwards exit into a tree trunk that leads upwards to his bedroom on the branch of a tree
Everiine said: The reason population is low isn't because there are too many orgs. It's because so many facets of the game are outright broken and protected by those who benefit from it being that way. An overabundance of gimmicks (including game-breaking ones), artifacts that destroy any concept of balance, blatant pay-to-win features, and an obsession with convenience that makes few things actually worthwhile all contribute to the game's sad decline.
This room is a circular amphitheater enclosed by high, featureless
walls of antiseptic white. High above, the cylindrical walls gently
curve towards a suggestive dome-like ceiling who's features are visually
ablated by a sterile blinding luminescence emanating from an unseen
more exalted point. A railing of the same bland white circumscribes the
room, separating the floor of the amphitheater from a raised walkway of
the edge. The floor of the amphitheater slopes to a depression in the
exact center of the room, presumably for a speaker to stand to command
the of the acoustics of the perfect architecture, but oddly demarked by a
small metal drain of dull steel. Two chairs hover about the center
depression, each mirrors of the other, carved as if into a bisected
eggshell; one of almost reflective white the other of matte black. A
lectern or pulpit rises at one point along the railing, looming over the
center chairs as if in clinical observation or judgment. Just barely
visible among the blinding haze at the farthest point of the ceiling
hangs a peculiar apparatus of pregnant black tubing and mirror bright
steel edges in silent watchfulness of the events unfolding below. The
scent of sterilized air interrupted by a pungent burst of ozone fills
the room at every point. A barely audible hum emanates from every
surface, breaking into a brief crackling cacophony as a previously
featureless white surface slides aside to reveal a strange integrated
surface of metal, electronics and multicolored dancing arabesques of
pure energy. Quietly the surface will slide shut and another part of the
room will expose itself after a time, all to the harmony of an
inscrutable occult rhythm.
Other manse
The Architect's Chapterhouse.
Two
flickering gaslamps cast indigo-hued pools of light across black marble
of this vaulted entryway, illuminating a series of recessed reliefs
depicting luminaries of Magnagoran history. Broad, shallow stairs ascend
towards a pair of wrought iron gates into the manse proper; a pentagram
of blue fire flames burns above the pointed entryway. Occasionally the
atmosphere burbles and crackles with pungent ozone as the blue fire
reconfigures the itself into a hypercube, a Mobius form or a manifold
with impossible geometry before a static snap renders the burning image
back into the previously perfect pentagram. Soft violin music eddies
through the air, shifting from minor refrains into sorrowful dirge. Thin
grates of filigreed platinum line stairs and floor, covered with
obsidian trap doors sparkling with indecipherable runes that fade from
bare legibility to blackness upon intense focus; clearly a more recent
renovation. A granite fireplace carved in a yawning arch illuminates the
room in a bright counterpoint to the indigo gaslamps with colours of
warm yellow and twirling orange; warming the three seats close to the
fire and carving the shadows of any of those seated in stark relief upon
the floor. A polished marble mantle hangs over the cyclopean blocks of
the fireplace; home to a long smooth bore double barreled crystalline
wand, and an exquisite sculpture of a Maltese falcon with golden eyes.
The soft burbling as of some underground stream precedes the clang of an
onyx trap door snapping open as an elongated tentacle of some rugose
matter stretches impossibly up to the shadows of the celling...and
vigorously scours some surface with an elegant feather duster held in
its suckers before recoiling with alacrity and vanishing below the
mysterious onyx slabs with a muffled thump. An iron statue of a wyvern
crouches here, bookshelves stretching between its half-furled wings.
There are 2 leather chairs here. A short steel chair rests upon a thick,
helical stand. A beautifully carved chess board is attached firmly to a heavy stand here. You see a sign here instructing you to use the PORTAL command to enter the aetherplex system.
A serene meditative space.
Cherry
blossoms litter the grey stone slabs of this rectangular open-air
courtyard, scraping against the earth softly when teased by the wind.
The perimeter of the square is shaded by eaves of ebony wood, some half
carved into organic curves and leering fanged faces. A gentle musky
aroma emanates from the wood, traveling to the near passerby, as paper
red lanterns bob at the end of every eaves' overhang, illuminating the
shadows. The interior of the courtyard is a massive garden of fine white
sand, warmed by midday sun's rays. Precise straight lines have been
raked into the soft pristine sand, harmoniously merging with the
undulating curves of waves and less identifiable geometric patterns.
Uneven blocks of black marble twist in peculiar spirals from the
garden's edge to its very center, where a granite disk lies, an oasis in
the heart of the chamber. Inlayed into the granite is a small circle of
worked iron, large enough for a person to sit upon, depicting a crane
in flight among the celestial clouds. A tarnished copper bowl, and a
strange glass candle burning with a sapphire flame are the only
ornaments that rest there. Crystalline chimes tinkle and resonate from
unseen spaces when the wind whispers.
Viravain, Lady of the Thorns shouts, "And You would seize Me? Fool! I am the Glomdoring! I am the Wyrd, and beneath the cloak of Night, the shadows of the Silent stir!"
A glass-walled conservatory. The air is warm and humid in this conservatory. Bright sunlight shines through the glass panelled walls, increasing the temperature and illuminating the abundance of plants within. Long benches bear many ceramic and wooden planters, each overflowing with a different plant, from rich green foliage, to vibrant flowers, to mysterious, fragrant hybrids. A work table has been pushed against one wall, littered with soil, tools and a few cracked pots. A beautiful, lush garden grows here.
A barren field. The corrosiveness of the taint sickens the land. Cracked earth littered in place with straggly, yellowed weeds stretches out from the manor walls. Ramshackle fences separate the expanse into paddocks, each as desolate as the last, the only sign that life ever dwelled here being a dented feed trough and a rusted iron tank. The wind blows hot and dry, the sky above roiling with angry red clouds. The occasional flash of lightning crackles overhead, an endless storm that never releases its torrent nor passes on. Built close to the manor wall is a red barn, surprisingly surrounded by a narrow strip of lush green grass, its doors sealed firmly shut. A cow barn stands to one side, its sides painted bright red.
A shadowed climb. A narrow staircase spirals up through the room from the trapdoor below, the steps wrought from now rusted iron. Cobwebs and dust are visible by the light from the single iron sconce on the wall, casting just enough illumination to navigate the rickety and creaky stairs. Dainty footprints disturb the dust on the steps, they and the lit sconce being the only signs that this room has been accessed for many years. Frigid air blows down from above and a faint, haunting moan can be heard.
Atop the bitter tower. A bitter wind howls throughout the tower-top, flecks of frost swirling in a chaotic dance as they slip through the unguarded windows. Haunting moans are carried on the breeze, filling the space with an eerie presence. Iron wrought sconces bear the evidence of decay, save the thick tallow candles that gutter wildly in the wind, the orange of the flames a vivid contrast upon the cold stone walls and floor. A torn tapestry flaps against one wall, colours faded and ends ragged. A rough circle has been chalked on the floor, with crude arcane symbols within its limits. Candles of black wax have burned to low, uneven stumps, completely surrounding the ritual circle. A blood-stained wooden bowl sits in the centre, an empty golden chalice engraved with writhing serpents tipped over beside it.
My manse doubles as an aethership named Starlight and is close to being completed. I'm just sharing this because it's kind of my hobby and maybe if someone takes an interest it won't feel like such a waste of time that no one will ever see.
Here's a few of the rooms (subject to some revision - I haven't actually visited the descriptions in a while):
A quiet, pristine dedication chamber
Silvery white porcelain tiling has been placed on the floor here, faintly reflecting the blue of the walls. On the northern wall two criss-crossing interlocked swords have been mounted, below them on a plaque with the script "And Her bloodstained warriors stood victorious as the tainted lie dead at their feet, justice served." In the centre of the room is a singular white pillar, carved into it the names of all whom had served Lady Terentia over the centuries.
Beneath a starry sky.
Trees surround the small clearing here, reaching up to the bright, starry sky. The moon wavers in and out of visibility as clouds pass by, ever changing the appearance of the night. To one side is a small pool with both crystalline flowers of varying types as well as lightly fragrant roses surrounding it. Periodically some small fish splash along the surface of the dark water, though the species is indiscernible.
The Command Chamber of Wisdom.
A stern, authoritative air makes the air in this room feel heavy, as though each and every person passing through is judged by unseen eyes for all their successes and failures. The floor is a pure alabaster white, stark against the pale blue of the walls. Stretching from corner to corner on the floor is the emblem of two interlocked, crossed swords, forming the greater image of scales of justice. Lanterns at each exit cast a faint light over the room, though the symbol on the floor glows, illuminating the area.
Comments
Imaging and Visualization Center.
Room 101. Banks of clouds roil about here.
This room is a circular amphitheater enclosed by high, featureless walls of antiseptic white. High above, the cylindrical walls gently curve towards a suggestive dome-like ceiling who's features are visually ablated by a sterile blinding luminescence emanating from an unseen more exalted point. A railing of the same bland white circumscribes the room, separating the floor of the amphitheater from a raised walkway of the edge. The floor of the amphitheater slopes to a depression in the exact center of the room, presumably for a speaker to stand to command the of the acoustics of the perfect architecture, but oddly demarked by a small metal drain of dull steel. Two chairs hover about the center depression, each mirrors of the other, carved as if into a bisected eggshell; one of almost reflective white the other of matte black. A lectern or pulpit rises at one point along the railing, looming over the center chairs as if in clinical observation or judgment. Just barely visible among the blinding haze at the farthest point of the ceiling hangs a peculiar apparatus of pregnant black tubing and mirror bright steel edges in silent watchfulness of the events unfolding below. The scent of sterilized air interrupted by a pungent burst of ozone fills the room at every point. A barely audible hum emanates from every surface, breaking into a brief crackling cacophony as a previously featureless white surface slides aside to reveal a strange integrated surface of metal, electronics and multicolored dancing arabesques of pure energy. Quietly the surface will slide shut and another part of the room will expose itself after a time, all to the harmony of an inscrutable occult rhythm.
Other manse
The Architect's Chapterhouse.
Two flickering gaslamps cast indigo-hued pools of light across black marble of this vaulted entryway, illuminating a series of recessed reliefs depicting luminaries of Magnagoran history. Broad, shallow stairs ascend towards a pair of wrought iron gates into the manse proper; a pentagram of blue fire flames burns above the pointed entryway. Occasionally the atmosphere burbles and crackles with pungent ozone as the blue fire reconfigures the itself into a hypercube, a Mobius form or a manifold with impossible geometry before a static snap renders the burning image back into the previously perfect pentagram. Soft violin music eddies through the air, shifting from minor refrains into sorrowful dirge. Thin grates of filigreed platinum line stairs and floor, covered with obsidian trap doors sparkling with indecipherable runes that fade from bare legibility to blackness upon intense focus; clearly a more recent renovation. A granite fireplace carved in a yawning arch illuminates the room in a bright counterpoint to the indigo gaslamps with colours of warm yellow and twirling orange; warming the three seats close to the fire and carving the shadows of any of those seated in stark relief upon the floor. A polished marble mantle hangs over the cyclopean blocks of the fireplace; home to a long smooth bore double barreled crystalline wand, and an exquisite sculpture of a Maltese falcon with golden eyes. The soft burbling as of some underground stream precedes the clang of an onyx trap door snapping open as an elongated tentacle of some rugose matter stretches impossibly up to the shadows of the celling...and vigorously scours some surface with an elegant feather duster held in its suckers before recoiling with alacrity and vanishing below the mysterious onyx slabs with a muffled thump. An iron statue of a wyvern crouches here, bookshelves stretching between its half-furled wings. There are 2 leather chairs here. A short steel chair rests upon a thick, helical stand. A beautifully carved chess board is attached firmly to a heavy stand here. You see a sign here instructing you to use the PORTAL command to enter the aetherplex system.
A serene meditative space.
Cherry blossoms litter the grey stone slabs of this rectangular open-air courtyard, scraping against the earth softly when teased by the wind. The perimeter of the square is shaded by eaves of ebony wood, some half carved into organic curves and leering fanged faces. A gentle musky aroma emanates from the wood, traveling to the near passerby, as paper red lanterns bob at the end of every eaves' overhang, illuminating the shadows. The interior of the courtyard is a massive garden of fine white sand, warmed by midday sun's rays. Precise straight lines have been raked into the soft pristine sand, harmoniously merging with the undulating curves of waves and less identifiable geometric patterns. Uneven blocks of black marble twist in peculiar spirals from the garden's edge to its very center, where a granite disk lies, an oasis in the heart of the chamber. Inlayed into the granite is a small circle of worked iron, large enough for a person to sit upon, depicting a crane in flight among the celestial clouds. A tarnished copper bowl, and a strange glass candle burning with a sapphire flame are the only ornaments that rest there. Crystalline chimes tinkle and resonate from unseen spaces when the wind whispers.
A glass-walled conservatory.
The air is warm and humid in this conservatory. Bright sunlight shines through the glass panelled walls, increasing the temperature and illuminating the abundance of plants within. Long benches bear many ceramic and wooden planters, each overflowing with a different plant, from rich green foliage, to vibrant flowers, to mysterious, fragrant hybrids. A work table has been pushed against one wall, littered with soil, tools and a few cracked pots. A beautiful, lush garden grows here.
A barren field.
The corrosiveness of the taint sickens the land. Cracked earth littered in place with straggly, yellowed weeds stretches out from the manor walls. Ramshackle fences separate the expanse into paddocks, each as desolate as the last, the only sign that life ever dwelled here being a dented feed trough and a rusted iron tank. The wind blows hot and dry, the sky above roiling with angry red clouds. The occasional flash of lightning crackles overhead, an endless storm that never releases its torrent nor passes on. Built close to the manor wall is a red barn, surprisingly surrounded by a narrow strip of lush green grass, its doors sealed firmly shut. A cow barn stands to one side, its sides painted bright red.
A shadowed climb.
A narrow staircase spirals up through the room from the trapdoor below, the steps wrought from now rusted iron. Cobwebs and dust are visible by the light from the single iron sconce on the wall, casting just enough illumination to navigate the rickety and creaky stairs. Dainty footprints disturb the dust on the steps, they and the lit sconce being the only signs that this room has been accessed for many years. Frigid air blows down from above and a faint, haunting moan can be heard.
Atop the bitter tower.
A bitter wind howls throughout the tower-top, flecks of frost swirling in a chaotic dance as they slip through the unguarded windows. Haunting moans are carried on the breeze, filling the space with an eerie presence. Iron wrought sconces bear the evidence of decay, save the thick tallow candles that gutter wildly in the wind, the orange of the flames a vivid contrast upon the cold stone walls and floor. A torn tapestry flaps against one wall, colours faded and ends ragged. A rough circle has been chalked on the floor, with crude arcane symbols within its limits. Candles of black wax have burned to low, uneven stumps, completely surrounding the ritual circle. A blood-stained wooden bowl sits in the centre, an empty golden chalice engraved with writhing serpents tipped over beside it.