Children of the Sky IC

[Raz_Fox]

The morning, as always, is perfect. The sun is high in the brilliantly blue sky. Fel's hand-shaped birds sing gaily in the branches of his twisted trees, their colors all green and red and brown. There's just enough wind to take the edge off the heat, and tousle your hair, and send the leaves a-chittering down the rocks. The unending river runs down the island's slopes, and you can hear its joyous song, a song of world and transformation and living, as easily as you can hear the whispering rhymes of the island-spirits. The island-spirits are fey things, far estranged from those who are rumored to live in the World Below, as pure of purpose today as they were when Fel made them a thousand years ago. They are your assistants this morning, rushing here and there to bring you your carefully-packed bags, to tell you one last riddle or give you one last farewell-kiss, to remind you not to lose your way in the wild lands below, always with a laugh and a smile.

Fel himself sits at the edge of his island, his wrinkled feet dangling in the air, by the side of the ever-falling river. Fel's eyes are clouded, nearly white, and he only knows when his children have come by the sound of their voices. Anchored securely by his side is his ship - it is made of something that is not metal, wood or stone, something that Fel never got around to naming like he did everything else. It is smooth, smooth as glass, and it is cold to the touch, and the reflections in it are all wrong. But it is still a fine vessel, and it has more than enough room for all of his children. All that he chose.

He rises, leaning on his cane. He turns to his children, and his nut-brown face splits with a perfect, shining smile. Beautiful Abigail is there, beloved of the river-spirits, and so too is proud Shiou, and Lossethir who has jade-chip eyes. The troublesome twins, Uluwana and Kilea, stand uneasy beside bright-eyed Cyishan and quiet, patient Eilyan. Kisha and Letta must be held back by aged Torallden, for they wish most of all to be gone, to seek out their destiny. Poor young Neb hangs back, behind tall Valtam and Kurigalzu. Keth arrives last, uncharacteristically tardy, and takes his place by Kalonoth and mischievous Yemaya. So many of his beloved children, all gathered here.

His speech is short. It is time, he says, for you to go out into the world. I have taught you everything that you can know, and now, you must learn who you are. I am Creator, and I am Clay-shaper, and I am Eldest. That is not your nature. He points to you. Your nature is something different, different indeed. And only you can find it. What you care for, more than anything else - yes, this is yours. You are not like the spirits, who can only think of one thing at a time, who have so much power and yet such narrow hearts. And you are not like men, who cannot understand my deep magics, and yet dream so much, so very much. You are of me, and you are of they. Go, now, and find what you have been entrusted with by the deepest magic.

He takes the ship's key out of his pocket, and Valtam steps forth, bowing his head in respect, to receive it. So, too, does Keth accept the map from his father. They are to travel to Gilinguap, a fair land in the west, and from there they are to travel, each taking their own path. Uluwana and Kilea look at each other, silently promising to disobey their father in this matter, and so too Kisha and Letta. As each of the children step forward to board Fel's ship, Fel stops them, one by one, and kisses them on the forehead, and blesses them as only the Creator can.

Lossethir pulls up the anchor, making it look effortless, though his shoulders burn and ache after he sets it down. The ship tilts forward, and runs down with the river-water, and there is a moment in every child's heart where they fear that the ship will fall so far, so far down and then nothing will be left of them. But it does not. Valtam places his hands upon the ship's tablets, and Keth opens the map and begins to direct him. The ship sinks, slowly, and Kalonoth quietly guesses that it shall take them at least a day and a night to reach Gilinguap.

So the children talk. They plot, and they wonder, and as the storm rolls in over them, they erect a covering to keep the rain off their backs. Though they are equal parts frightened, excited and curious, they do not see any reason to begin panicking now, and they pretend that life is normal, for a short time.

The beast came upon them at dusk, as the ship finally met water. Valtam breathed in deeply, laughing at the smell of salt, and Yemaya looks over the side, poking her head out of the covering, not minding the rain sliding down her cheeks. It was her scream that alerts the children to its appearance - too late, far too late.

Leviathan is here.

Its fangs, mountains! Its scales, city walls! The crack of its tail, a tsunami! It strikes, grasping Fel's boat in its teeth, dragging it down beneath the waves. The children have certainly swam before, but never like this, never like this! As it drags the boat down, crushing it into shards and planks, the sea is roiled up all about them, into mad chaos. There is no time to look after your siblings! Quickly, swim, swim, though your eyes are blind in the darkness, though your lungs are fit to burst, though the currents send you sailing off, propelled away, far from your family - oh, swim, children, swim!

And then, in the dark, alone, drift with the sea. The spirits of wave and tide will bear you safely to shore, for they still remember in the deep the commandments that Fel entrusted with them. And then tomorrow the sun will rise, and it will be a new day. You must strive to find your path, to earn the power of your blood, or else you will die.

This is how it begins, child.

[ArlEammon]

Torallden And Keth

Awakening on the shores of a country of briliance, Addleyn, a great city-state, ruled by the Spirit named Lucius, a sagely wise spirit that governs the city in justice, mercy, love and temperance, has made the city-state prosperous, powerful, happy and secure. With the problems of agoraphobia. Few endanger themselves by venturing outside the city-walls, and this has been a problem. Rumors tell of a powerful, mystical and mutable energy, the Source Of All Knowledge, a blessing from Fell himself to the mortals.

A prophecy has foretold of two Wisemen who would seek the Source Of Knowledge and free the people of ignorance of the Spirit World, whether or not this was true was a matter of debate, but the Spirit, Lucius, didn't say anything about this matter. He was only concerned with the here and now. However, one day, an adventurer discovered what appeared to be an old man who had washed up to shore near city-limits.

"Oh, no, an old man has washed up from the shore. . . and it appears that there are is another man with him." The physicians were sent immediately to examine the old wizard and his comrade. As Torallden lay without conciousness, he was dreaming. "What is this?" Torallden asked, in confusion. "What is this that has happened?" He was speaking to what appeared to be a great dragon. "I am the Source Of All Knowledge." The Voice intoned. "I see that you and your companion are fit vessels for one such as I. All I ask when you receive me is that you treat me well. Do not abuse the mortals." And then the dream ended as suddenly as it began.

[Kaiser Omnik]

Neb

The weakest of Fel's children, who many thought would never be able to leave the side of his father, Neb, was now lying alone on a rocky beach. He carefully removes seaweed from his tangled hair with one hand; in the other he grasps tightly his elder wood cane, modeled after Fel's own relic. He is visibly shaken. Flashes of that terrible night still haunt him. He had shouted again and again, of course, but to no avail; all of his siblings had vanished into the stormy seas. Even Eilyan... Oh, Eilyan. Neb had vowed to always stand with her, such was his love for his older sister. But now she is gone like all the others. Neb knows he must be strong. There is no place in this world, and no future, for those who weep for the past. There is only moving forward.

Neb, who'd later be known as the Little Lord, leans on his walking stick even though all the muscles in his body ache. And he looks up in awe at his first challenge. As the only way to get to the heart of the island is to climb the towering cliffsides.
View of a cliffside, Twin Islands of Rengura (http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/c/c3/Cliff_Side-Leshan_Giant_Buddha.jpg)

[Hemnon]

Abigail

A city, a Legend and a Girl.

Amon-kan the great city. their supreme ruler, a renegade spirit in human form named Zanbantanir, the high Thanan (equivelant to a pharaoh) of the Kamman. Zanbantanir is a selfish ruler, taking what he can for himself, leaving the poor close to starvation.

The land has a legend, which Zanbantanir has banned, that a beautiful angel will come from the heavens to save them from evil. The poor of the land pray for this miracle to happen and save them from their unjust ruler and undying Thanan, Zanbantanir.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

The river 'Bankian', 2 kilometers from the outskirts of Amon-Kan..... a small fishing boat is on it's way back from it's trip. on the boad is a middel aged man, with his younger wife, their two 14 year old twin daughters and their 17 year old son. their catch consists mainly of fish, but they where lucky and even cought a nice amount of lobsters. As they are about to pass by what seems to be a big piece of cloth and chunks of wood, one of the girls yells out ''Look, Look there is someone in the water!'', and then points towards the huge cloth-piece. Quickly, the rest of the family spots the shape of a body floating under it, so they quickly steer over to it. The man get's a hold of the cloth with the help of some fishing gear and starts dragging it onboard. The deck of the boat is totally soaked now, and some of the fish where lucky enough to ecape back into the water, but the family had forgotten all about those fish. While being very careful, the man slowly removes the cloth, which could look very much like the part of the canvas from a ships sail. He finally removes it and under it lies..... a young woman.... a VERY beautiful young woman with redish-brown hair, full red lips (though a slight blue color because of being in the water for so long), an elegant but athletic body. She's wearing what must have been very expensive clothes, and underneath her is what looks like a bunch of feathers. Judging by her looks she couldn't be more than 18 years old... and she's still breathing.

[Kensington]

Kurigalzu and the Starless Night in Sargon

Salt. Darkness. Pain.

These are all the words he remembered when he awoke on that dark shore staring up at a starless night. This island cradled him unto it in a loving embrace saving me from the desolation of the sea. With a cough that reminded him he was alive the godling forced himself to his feet and towards the only light he could see. Those lungs of his felt like the stars that had abandoned him, and his mind was foggy and weak.

Step by step he walked toward what seemed to be the only star left. Unfortunately for our star-wart hero it was the city of Sargon nestled on a small island in the southern sea. Most of the island was desert, but the small portion Sargon inhabited was rich with life and resources.

When Kurigalzu awoke the glint of pure marble surrounded him and blinded him. He was bound in a chair by ropes and had no idea where he was or even who he was. Before him lounged a hedonistic bastard that dared call himself King, his legs thrown over one side of his gaudy throne. Beside him knelt a young woman on a leash, mostly naked, and her purpose was obvious. Servants darted about to attend to the needs of this individual.

"So, you're awake." The voice scrapped against the mind like crashing two pieces of stone together. It hurt Kurigalzu inside, it struck at some primal part of him that knew this person wasn't human. "I am Lord Ashaka. You came from the sea, did you not?" His voice was slow and ponderous with many pauses.

"I.. believe so. I can't quite remember." Kurigalzu said back, swishing the words back and forth inside his mouth. It sounded strange to say it like that. Why couldn't he remember? Maybe he was trying to repress some great failure, but he couldn't be sure. The thoughts troubled him.

"Can't remember? How ridiculous." Ashaka mocked, taking a wine glass in one hand and sipping on it idly. The dark-skinned man brushed some of his hair back and continued, "You're so pale my men thought you were dead when you arrived. Tell me- oh, hello Ia." He smirked the smirk of a thousand blowhards as the girl walked toward him with yet another tray of food- and from the sight of some of the others Kurigalzu could tell none of them had ever tasted a meal half as decadent. The chicken sizzled and burned taking Kurigalzu's senses back to barbecues, but with who he couldn't recall. It only served to make his mouth water with anticipation. Ashaka tore off a single bite of the chicken and savored it before knocking the entire tray to the floor. "I've finished, clean this up. Wait a moment." He ordered, but reconsidered, instead grabbing Ia's face with one hand. "Isn't she a pretty bauble in my crown? I had her parents murdered when they dared to stand against me, and now I've made her a servant in my palace. I wonder what mommy and daddy would say about that, hm?" He gloated while she seemed to fight back tears. "Now you can clean it up."

"What a pitiful sight you are." Kurigalzu finally spoke out to him. "All high and mighty. I may not know of my own origins, but I know of yours. Filth."

Lord Ashaka seemed to barely compose himself at this but continued in a strained voice. "How dare you. I am the God-King and Eternal Ruler of this land." Four individuals Kurigalzu couldn't quite make out came to stand behind his throne. "To the people, I am worshiped." He sneered at a hapless stooge in his court who immediately dropped to his knees to worship Ashaka. "To the land, I am in control. I control life and death in the palm of my hand!"

"That isn't right.." Kurigalzu muttered, he knew that wasn't correct somehow, with the order of things.

"Isn't right?" He stood in anger and pointed at another servant who screamed in panic before they were cut down by arrows. "If that isn't controlling life and death I dare you to prove me wrong."

"Death, at least." He continued to mock.

"Fine. I care little for your origins, but I will have you killed and studied for anything you may have to teach me. I'll say you were some dread monster from the sea, and the people will probably love me even more. Take him away."

Kurigalzu gritted his teeth, but bound in chains as he were there was little he thought he could do. When the guard came for him he allowed himself to be dragged along with him and the servant girl, Ia. What she did next surprised him. She swung back with her tray when they were far from the God-King and smacked the guard in his face allowing Kurigalzu the chance he needed to free himself before they both escaped, pursued but alive.

"I couldn't just let them kill you." Ia told him later, at home, when the sun was just cresting in the sky. "He thinks he can do as he likes.. well, consider this a failure, you bas-"

"Ia, you were so reckless." Her Grandmother and Caretaker, Gemeti, said, patting Kurigalzu on the arm. "But I'm glad you managed to save someone from.. him. I'll get you a hot meal and of course you can stay here, young man."

"Thank you, both, very much. Your generosity knows no bounds." The godling responded while studying the two. The girl reminded him of lavender, a scent of spice he'd smelt once long ago. She was beautiful and young but somehow muted underneath the pain of a hard life. The Grandmother was much the same, but older, and reminded him of an old image he'd seen one time of what a Grandmother should be. The God-Child took comfort in that even though their home was far from the trappings of the palace.

All in one night he'd lost his memories and made one terrifying enemy. Trying to remember a past you've forgotten is extremely difficult when you don't even know what to look for. The words Ashaka kept using, 'Sea Beast', made his heart burn in a rage as did the King himself. And there seemed to be something else he was missing, some half-remembered dream of a Father and something important he should remember

[Nefarion Xid]

All around was crushing blackness. His head throbbed and the light from above the waves had at last been choked out. Still, Lossethir held fast on his brother's arm even as they were dragged down by the weight of the anchor and the bulk of the ship, the rigging cruelly caught about Valtam's legs. Fumbling down his brother's body, Lossethir set his hands on the ropes. With all his strength, they would not rend -- being so skillfully woven by the Creator himself. And for all their combined efforts, they could not be shrugged loose. Valtam's knife? No, not at his belt.

His lungs burned. For a moment he imagined he saw light filtering down through the darkness, but the boy had taken enough blows in battle to know it was only a trick on his eyes. He made again to sunder the ropes, but this time he felt Valtam's hand slap against his shoulder, then grab the neck of his tunic. The hand held tight for a second before flinging Lossethir away. Left alone in the void, reason finally overtook him and sent him kicking towards the surface. There he found naught but the broken mast and wearily flung his arm about it as the uncaring sea flung him farther and farther from all he'd ever known.

Later...

Lossethir crawled from the icy waters, clutching handfuls of black gravel as he went. Unbound hair twisted around his face, too tangled to be brushed away before he vomited up the last of the seawater and rolled on to his back gasping. Recovering slowly, he focused on the foggy plumes exiting his mouth, a curious phenomenon and something completely foreign to the paradisaical home of Fel. Watching his own breath condense in the air proved to be an amusing past time while his strength returned over the hours while he lay immobile.

In late morning when the sun peeked over the western mountains, Lossethir struggled to his feet, experimentally flexing his still aching arms. The cold air stung at his exposed skin and, had he been better acquainted with it, he should have known how ill appareled he was for this desolate land. At least his tunic had dried, and his sandals hadn't washed away during the swim. Apprising his surroundings, he saw mountains on virtually all sides spare the narrow path through the fjord that had taken him to this spec of a beach. The whole land seemed a broken bottom jaw jutting up from the sea, each tooth dark grey and capped with white. Due north he could make out the outline of a trail snaking through the spires. It wasn't much, but it was certainly an attractive alternative to heading back into the ocean or foraging among the sparse looking pines on the narrow landing.

[rapter200]

Kalonoth

Part one: The Living Jungle

The harsh roar of a waterfall greeted him on regaining consciousness. Covered in bruises, scrapes and a few gashes he was able to come to the conclusion that he had gone over the very waterfall that was now causing a terrible ringing in his ear. Tropical trees surrounded him on all sides and birds weaved in and out of the thick network of leaves and branches. As he watched the birds dancing through the trees a snake appeared in the corner of his right eye. It was dull colored and huge, but to him that meant nothing. Snakes just meant danger. With very controlled movement he made for a knife that no longer existed. Kalonoth tried to grasp the knife multiple times before giving up in defeat. The snake was making slow and deliberate movement towards him as if judging if it was still hungry.

Kalonoth started to panic, he was alone deep in a seemingly unknown area of the world and confronted with what seemed to be the largest snake of all time. Without a weapon to defend himself. His eyes started to dart around looking for something, anything, that he could use as a weapon but found nothing that could turn this monster away. Was this it, was this the end of his journey.

He braced himself for death but it never came. Looking above the tree line he saw a large bird seemingly impossible in size carrying the snake off to Fel knows where. Dizziness overcame him after such a close brush with death. A minute later Kalonoth regained his composure, and with the immediate danger of a large predator gone noticed that he was covered in all sorts of insects. A quick dip in the nearby river that branched off the pool under the waterfall got rid of them but by this point his clothing was a hopeless cause. The sheer size and wildness of this jungle assured that he would not have need of them, any sane sentient being would stay far far away from this death trap.

[hi-mi-tsu]

Eilyan

She had not wished to go. When their Father had first come and spoken to them of traveling together to find their heritage, of taking his boat to the lands below, of growing into themselves and becoming what they were truly meant to be, she had not wanted to go.

She, who was normally so responsible, had lingered over her packing, fingers moving over the books and scrolls that had so often been her only company; in the halls of her father's house, she could hear the laughing of the other spirits, helping her brothers and sisters to gather their own things, offering kisses and affection and stories and jokes.

Her own spirit-assistant was quiet as she was quiet, quiet and faithful as she had been since the beginning of Eilyan's life. The morning of the departure offered up nothing more than a swift, fierce hug and a murmur of prayer for safety as the demi-goddess's bag (fairly light--she was anticipating reaching an island, after all, and had only packed a few changes of clothes and her most precious books and a small toy she had made with Neb, long ago in their childhood) was passed over and she stood, uncomfortably, with her siblings.

And yet she would not complain. She almost never did, even as a child; when her siblings quarreled or played, Eilyan had stood aside, choosing instead the quiet, private moments of communication and understanding, to learn about her siblings on an individual basis. And she had cultivated her own relationships, then, with Shiou and with Neb, who had shown her faces they did not show the others, not always, and she had trusted that, and loved them for it.

It was beside Neb she had sat, on the boat, as charismatic Valtam and strong, handsome Loss and quiet, intelligent Keth manage the handling and steering and directing of the ship. While the others talked, she sat quiet, occasionally squeezing Neb's hand as the storm came and the cover was erected by those more knowledgeable in such things than she.

Yemaya's scream was a terrible thing. Eilyan had been drifting off to sleep when it came, sending her jerking upright from where her head had come to rest on Neb's shoulder; too late to do anything, as a giant creature unlike anything she had ever seen rose from the water, a bestial giant out of a forbidden nightmare, and her own scream ripped itself from her throat even as the jaws of the thing closed down over the ship. Oh! Did her family die in those teeth? What of Valtam, of Keth, of Loss, at the prow of the boat? Had they disappeared down the thing's gullet? She could not see! Their names were lost in the roar of the wave that crashed down over the shattered planks, the cry of the ship as it is torn stem to stern; she grasps blindly for Neb's arm, and finds it gone, finds herself alone as she is dragged down into the water, alone but for the confusing, maddening thrashing of the thing's body.

For a moment, despair. A desire to simply surrender herself to the waves and the monster within. But...no. Something--perhaps the memory of her father's words, perhaps the honest prayer of her spirit-companion that she be safe, propelled her to the surface of the thrashing water and the managed to clutch a piece of the bench she had been sitting on, just a few minutes before. She was not strong, nor athletic, like so many of her siblings...but she was good enough to kick away from the rest of the wreckage, from the still-turbulent waters of the Leviathan's passing.

Where would she end up...? She had no idea. Everything was water, as far as she could see...she was at the mercy of the currents, and none of her siblings were in sight. Though she had often wished to be alone, this was the first time she had ever been so truly by herself.

[Grim ranger]

Cyishan

As the consicousness of the young godling returned slowly, his mind speeding through the events he could remember leading to his sudden loss of consicousness. The joy and earnerness he had felt while about to leave from the island of Fel into the wider world, the small tinge of sadness that has rushed through him while saying goodbye to his spirit friends and the rush of one last game he had intended to make best of to never forget them. The exitement when they had all boarded the ship, and enjoyment as they travelled towards the world beyond the island.

Then came the events that had been a surprise to them all... And rather nasty surprise at that. The giant Leviathan had attacked the ship, destroying it utterly and pulling the pieces with it into the dark depths. All he could remember after the initial strike of the creature was being immersed in churning water, fighting to reach the surface, expanding every ounce of his power to fight against the enviroment so anathema to him and to stay alive. Eventually, his strenght had failed him and the exhaustion had blanketed his mind and extinguished it like a guttering torch.

As he finished his recollections, Cyishan decided that since he was still capable of thinking, it would be best to get up and about as well. Opening his eyes, he found out that he was indeed no longer in water: instead, the young child of Fel found himself laying face down on the beach, wet sand partially filling his mouth. His body ached, and when he decided to try to take particularly deep breath he spent the next thirty seconds spitting out sand and seawater. His clothes, though no doulbt messy after being fully soaked during the storm and the sinking of the ship, were drying at very good pace: small trails of steam rose from them, Cyishan's inner fire warming the air around him and thus making drying his clothes less of an issue.

Hauling himself up, he did his best to dust the sand and salt out of his hair as he looked at the new place he found himself in. What met his eyes was large beach, small waves hitting it a far cry from the tidal ones that he had had to fight when the ship had been dragged down and crushed. The beach was actually long, gently sloping climb that stopped abruptly some distance away, being replaced by seemingly impenetratable wall of trees and other plants. The sun was shining high above in middle of sapphire sky, and there was not one cloud to be seen to block it's radiance.

To Cyishan such a thing was not much of a deterrent, though. When others would get sweaty and sunburnt, he would never have to worry about such things. He and all kinds of heat got along just fine. Upon even further consideration, he realized that this could be a start of grand adventure, one that he had been yearning for and begged his father for chance to experience. The jungle invited him in to see what wonderous sights he could find from within, the quiet roiling of the sea and small, refreshing wind relaxing his mind and urging him on.

And yet, his joy for adventure to come was shadowed by his concern for his siblings. Where were they now? Were they all alright? Were any of them alright? Would he ever get to meet father again? Those questions and countless others rose to his mind, gnawing at his usually cheery mind and trying to fill him with sadness and concern. He had to admit that he felt lost and worried without his siblings, for he loved each of them very much. All from the beautiful Abigail to unpredictable Valtam had been integral part of his life... And now they were gone, taken by the rage of the storm.

But then, Cyishan's inner flame was fanned into new radiance as another thought struck him. Surely he could find his siblings later? Even this world could not be limitless, and he was bound to run into his family again if he would not give up his search. And while trying to reunite his family, he could just as well enjoy himself, see new sights and have fun!

Spurred into action by successful resolution of his inner turmoil, Cyishan started to make his way towards the treeline and into the jungle, smiling as he remembered the small song sung to him by one of the spirits of his father's island that he loved so much. Who would have known that it's lyrics would become so oddly appropriate?

Because you had a bad day
You're taking one down
You sing a sad song just to turn it around
You say you don't know
You tell you don't lie
You work at a smile and you go for a ride
You had a bad day
You've seen what you like
And how does it feel for one more time
You had a bad day
You had a bad day

[HalfTangible]

Northal
Location Unknown

Seagulls.

That's what his father had named them. Their calls echoed in his ears, and the echo of waves crashed just behind them. He smiled from his position face-down in the sands of home. So it was all just a dream. No Leviathan. He had simply gone to sleep, and now he was awake at home, as he always had been. As he would be for a few more hours, before their journey to the world of mortals truly began. He calmly gave a little whistle for his favorite little spirit, Meia. She would help him prepare, as she always had been with him...

Northal heard no answer from the nymph. And just as he realized this, he also realized...

He couldn't hear the river.

His eyes shot open, and he quickly scanned his surroundings. This was a beach, aye. There was a forest just a bit ahead, aye. And there were seagulls, aye. But the heat here was far beyond what their little island had, and he saw no river.

He groaned and let his face fall back into the sand. So it HAD all been real. His siblings could all be Leviafood right now, and he was father-knew-where on some Fel-fordsaken island. He had none of his belongings, he knew nothing of this land... All he had were wits and fortune.

He pulled himself to his feet, grimacing as he favored his right leg. The Leviathan had not directly touched him, but it seemed he'd still been injured somehow before he'd been able to get away.

He calmly strode into the forest just beyond the beach. Where there were trees, there was water. Northal knew full well that, while he was made of tougher stuff than mere mortals, he would still need food, water and shelter. He knew that, with all these trees, he would find the first and second just fine, and he could probably build the third.

Unbeknownst to him, a vengeful pair of eyes dogged his every step. A mouth beneath a long gray beard grimaced with indignation and rage... and a long mad mind began to plot...

[Nefarion Xid]

I should prefer to say that on Lossethir’s journey through the mountains of Celonechor was an eventful one, that he used his strength or cunning or magic to win fame and glory. There were no monsters for him to face, no women, no riches, no traps, no puzzles… just the cold and the rock. Those came in desolate, wearisome abundance. The sky? Grey. The land? Grey. And all about the biting cold. He trudged (which is to say he had the walk of a man with nothing to return to and nothing ahead) to the north knowing only that the sea lay behind him and that death nipped at his heels. To stand still was to perish. Spare that, only the thought of what might lie over the next peak kept him moving; a fool’s hope that it wasn’t another taller mountain. Lossethir’s path was not one of great adventure and he would have no battles. It was only very lonely.

Snow lay in patches all about, or rather something that looked deceptively like snow. It was only solid ice and nothing new had fallen on this land for some time, an eerie conclusion (the first of two that our hero made) that only added to the stale feeling of the mountains. The second was the discovery that the wind had yet to blow from the north. As a matter of fact, and something which still eluded Lossethir, was that in all the world there was no north wind. South, east-ish, westerly, a few degrees shy of east by northeast maybe, almost, but not quite, northwest, but never due north. It is an insignificant thing to miss and thousands of mortal men had lived their lives ignorant of that fact. And had someone told them there was no true north wind, they would have shrugged their shoulders and gotten back to whatever it was they were doing before someone rudely interrupted them with such worthless trivia.

If Lossethir had told one of his kin what he’d realized, they would have denied it and they would have been right insomuch as their experience should allow. At least, there had been a north wind back home. All the winds in Alu Mar were Fel’s winds! And his children should have supposed that the sun rose and set at his bidding as well, whether true or not.

At the very least it gave poor Lossethir something to ponder as he trudged. Had there never been a north wind? It’s not as if his father would have neglected to make one, wasn’t like him to miss details. No, surely he must be wrong or it must be a coincidence or a delusion brought on by the dreariness. Surely, just as he had convinced himself of his error the winds shifted again and he listened very closely as the song tapered to pianissimo and skipped a note entirely before reaching an easterly crescendo.

The smug assurance that he was right (and really, no one quite enjoyed being right like Lossethir) kept him warm for a few fleeting moments. Rounding the bend he found that the next ridge was, as feared, taller and more sinister looking than the one through which he had just passed. His eyelids suddenly felt a great deal heavier and he pulled his arms tightly about himself. A missed step interrupted his stride and he continued on just a little slower than before.

[Hemnon]

Abigail, Part 2

Brothers and Sisters.

.... She's still breathing.... It's a miracle. The little family let's her lie there to rest, not daring making anything worse. The Canvas she is resting on could properbly be sold for some food and the family is discussing what to do with the VERY beautiful girl as well as the canvas. Her clothes are torn, wet and her shoes are missing, which is causing the family's son to loose is focus and his eyes keep darting back towards her attractive body. after half an hour, Abigail starts moving alittle and the twins are first to see this, since they have been staring at her the whole time. ''Mamma, Pappa... i think she is waking up.''. The woman rushes over to the twins, while the son and father steers the boat and let's the women to their business. Desoriented and slightly cold, her eyes flutters open showing her bright emerald colored eyes. At first, her eyes are just adjusting to the bright light. After a little while, she turns her head.... confused about where she is so ofcourse she asks out loud ''(God speech) Mahle.... Mahle tyoka?'' (translation: What.... What happened?). The two twins are looks cunfused at eachother and at their mother (she looks confused as well) since none of them know the language.

''I'm sorry, we don't understand....'' the woman tells Abigail, who turns her head towards the voice and sees an unknown face. The shock of meeting someone new is so overwhelming that she just stares at the woman, then the children, over to the father and in the end, at the son (who blushes a little and tries to distract himself by scouting the shores). Then the realisation hits her, she is not around her siblings and there are.... people looking at her, wearing strange clothes. Looking scared now, Abigail starts crawling backwards, frightened of what is happening right now and unable to understand why she is there. Thats right.... the ship..... the big horrorfying creature with the huge teeth. Tears wells up in her eyes, what about her siblings... are they alright? The tears begins to flow and she starts sobing while holding around herself (and her wings are covered by the canvas from the sail.

[hi-mi-tsu]

Eilyan, Part Two

Eilyan drifted on the bench piece for four days, half-unconscious and delirious. She had managed to pull herself atop the sturdy piece of wood, but it was only due to the mercy of a passing current that she managed to drift ashore on a small island instead of perishing at sea, to become food for the creatures there.

Her return to consciousness was a gradual one. She slowly became aware of lying on something soft, of something cool being rubbed against her lips; they parted, instinctively, and an approving sound was made as a sweet, refreshing liquid was dripped into her mouth.

"Where..." Her voice was a croak, and she struggled to sit up, to open her eyes; strong, gentle hands pushed her back down again, and an unfamiliar tongue was chittered at her. She did not understand it, though it sounded rather funny and very fast, and the lack of understanding was what finally brought her to open her eyes.

Nut-brown skin, made that way by a lifetime in the sun, was the first feature she noticed on the diminuitive person standing beside her. Barely four feet tall, she at first thought he was a child...but the older woman hovering over her, the one who had tried to speak with her, was only a few inches taller, and was nearly twice the age of the younger one. Again, that chittering tongue; it was swift and confusing, and accompanied by many expressive hand gestures. Eilyan could only shrug, helplessly; she understood that the woman wished to know how she had come to be here, from the gestures she was making, but the young demigoddess had no idea how to respond.

At a quick, sharp gesture from the woman, the young man--clad in little more than a belt made of leaves, she noticed--took off out of the hut they were in at a dead run. Eilyan let her eyes close again, and the woman made a clucking sound, bathing her forehead in cool water once more, and offering up more of the sweet nectar.

"What is this...?" A voice came from the door, not long after the boy had left--though Eilyan was bothered that she did not know exactly how long it had been--and she opened her eyes again, to behold a tall, strapping man with skin the color of the night sky and eyes as golden as the sun. He carried about him an air of otherworldliness, and wore about his waist the pelt of a tawny, spotted creature. But--and this was important--he spoke in a language she recognized, though it was strangely-accented and faster than she was used to.

"Hello...my name is Eilyan. I...I am a daughter, of Fel...our boat was destroyed, by a water monster. Have you...have you, perhaps, seen any of my siblings?" The last was said hopefully; at the slow shake of the man's head, the young demigoddess's face fell.

"...I am sorry for...for invading your hospitality. I am afraid I have no idea where I am..."

The jungle-spirit stepped into the hut and prowled about her, much like the large cat he resembled. He was not stupid; he knew who Fel was, and what he did, and what he wanted, and he grew suspicious of the woman sitting in front of him, watching him with those wide, innocent-seeming eyes.

[Gourtox]

Letta

It Begins

Cold rain, soft sand, salty air, these were the first things noticed as he awoke. A storm brewed overhead, the dark clouds that moved towards him covered the sky and hid the normally blinding sun behind themselves. He rose up and brushed the sand from himself. A few fishing boats still at sea were headed toward the dock a small city, but they didn't make it in time. The storm had arrived. Rain poured from the clouds above, some rains are as if the clouds are crying and the tears are gently falling toward the ground, but this rain was like nothing he had ever experienced before. The rain hurled toward the ground as if the clouds themselves were angrily throwing it.

Something about this storm bothered him, but he couldn't determine what exactly about it brought him the unease he felt. Then he noticed it, there was no lightning. A storm this strong was sure to have lightning and the accomponing thunder, but both were absent. Then he saw a flash of light and hoped it was lightning to bring normalcy to this cursed storm. And lightning it was, yet it lacked the natural grace and awe inspiring beauty found in lightning. It struck one of the fishing vessels lighting it aflame that shone bright like a funeral pyre within the darkness of the storm.

A scaly head broke through the clouds foreshadowing what was to come next. Slithering through the sky like a snake it descended towards the sea grabbing the burning ship with its mouth looking just like a cat picking up a fresh kill. Black lightning jumped among the ridges on its back. This was the cause of the storm, this is why there is no lightning, this thing is a monstrosity. It rose back into the clouds and shortly after the storm moved out to sea, much faster than any normal storm. He didn't know what it was, but he knew he hated it. He hated it more then he had hated anything in his entire exsistence. As the sky cleared he headed toward the city.

[the_druid_droid]

Keth

An Awakening and an Oath


Darkness.

Keth floated in darkness, fragments of memories passing by but failing to resolve themselves into a coherent whole. He remembered he was a child of Fel. He remembered life with his brothers and sisters on the island. He remembered the excitement he felt that day, looking out on the world and thinking of all there was to discover...but then, more darkness. Turbulent and fearful, the shadow of some hideous thought that would not show itself to his mind. Only fragments...a storm, a scream...had his father known? Where was he now? Where was his family?

Unbeknownst to him, Keth lay dreaming on a sick bed in the bright city of Addelyn, tended to by physicians. When the Leviathan had attacked their ship, Keth had only just escaped its jaws by leaping overboard into the churning sea. He had used every bit of strength to keep his head above water, fighting the currents that threatened to drag him down beneath the waves. At last he had spotted a piece of the shattered prow and had grabbed hold next to his brother, Torallden, exhausted. Together they had struggled against the wind and waves, but finally, after days with no food and little rest, Keth passed into delirium and knew no more. The darkness was like death, and the only sign that Keth still lived was an occasional moan escaping his lips. At long last, when he and his brother had washed ashore, he had been carried, limp, to the city’s infirmary.

The healers had been worried at first, but Keth was a child of Fel and with the proper care his recovery was swift. It was the morning of the seventh day from the wreck when Keth first opened his eyes and began to look around him. The two attendants present quickly rushed to his side and began speaking to him in a strange, quick language. As Keth opened his mouth to reply, he realized they could not understand his words, but nevertheless a look of awe and fear passed over their faces and they hurried away, speaking rapidly and gesturing to one another.

As his senses returned fully, Keth searched his memory, trying to recall where he was and how he had gotten there. He remembered the Children's departure clearly now; he had been almost the last to assemble, having spent his final moments on the island trying to fix in his mind all his favorite things and places there, and it had only been his helper Mirith’s gentle reminder that had brought him at last to the shore.

Keth could also recall the Leviathan's attack now that he was fully awake, and as he did so he shuddered. He knew Torallden must have survived; perhaps his brother had helped him to shore in the midst of his delirium. But what about the others? Yemaya had been the first to see the beast, surely she had escaped in time...and what of poor Neb? Had he been able to fight the terrible black currents that day? As Keth continued to piece together all that had happened before his mind had been lost to the blackness, the names and faces of his family haunted him. Each one had been dear to him, and as he sat in the soft morning light of Addelyn’s infirmary, he swore he would discover what had happened to them all.

[ryan4567]

She HAD to have been looking over the side of the ship, and HAD to have seen that beast. How embarrassing, to have screamed like that in front of all her siblings! How they must have laughed inside at her, despite the danger they were in.

The humiliation from the scream fuelled an anger in Yemaya, which was the force which drove her to stay afloat, to tread water for what seemed an age, to finally swim towards land when she finally sighted it. There was no way she would let her siblings think for an instant that she was lesser than them, that she was the only one not strong enough to survive this ordeal.
It was night when Yemaya finally dragged herself up on the beach, cold, wet and bedraggled. She scanned up and down it, searching for any of her family, but hoping to find either Uluwana or Kilea, who she was closest with. But, as she probably should have predicted, no-one was anywhere to be seen.

Trust her to be the unlucky one separated from Uluwana and Kilea! They probably managed to stay together through the shipwreck, and are having a great time right now. Always the way, getting left out. It wasn’t Yemaya’s fault that she was born after them! Collecting herself, Yemaya realised that, for the first time in her life, she was completely alone - and hungry, thirsty and cold.

[TheDarkDM]

Valtam

When the great beast had come upon them and Yemaya's scream shattered the tranquil expectations of Fel's children, Valtam had tried to steer the ship away from its grasp. But despite his efforts, even the greatest of ships could not escape the reach of Leviathan, the monstrous ruler of the seas. It's fangs pierced the magnificent hull of Fel's ship like it was paper. Valtam watched in horror as his siblings were thrown into the oily, roiling surf, frozen at the helm until the icy spray hit his face.

Thrown out of his paralysis by the chill reality of the sea he loved so much, Valtam struggled to find his bearings in the rapidly disintegrating ship. Most of his siblings had disappeared into the dark. Taking a step forwards, he tried to leap into the surf, to escape the nightmare that had taken hold of the ship. But to his horror, Valtam found his foot would not budge, and amid the streaks of lightning he saw the steely cable of Fel's rigging tangled about his ankle. Reaching for his knife, Valtam's hand had just begun to curl around its handle before a sound that was part thunder, part monstrous roar threw him from his feet. Towering above the ship, its head licked by lightning as though it was a part of the storm, Leviathan's burning red eyes glared down like a pair of baleful moons. The movement of its breath struck the remains of the ship like a hurricane, and then it descended like the wrath of Fel himself.

The impact of the beast's head shattered Fel's ship, sending Valtam flying into the water. Struggling to remain afloat, he only managed a single breath before the rope around his leg jerked him under. In the gloom, Valtam could barely distinguish a shard of Fel's ship lodged in one of Leviathan's scales, anchoring him to the swiftly descending monster. Valtam scrambled to untangle his leg, when suddenly Lossethir was beside him. Valtam spared his brother a quick smile of thanks before they went to work on the cable. But despite their efforts, the children of Fel could not break the masterful rope. Valtam's lungs burned, and in the swiftly dying light he could see Lossethir begin to convulse. Yet his brother would not abandon him. Tears dissolving into the uncaring sea, Valtam gripped Lossethir by the collar. He spared one look into his brothers eyes, one look he hoped conveyed the entirety of his gratitude and his love, before he flung Lossethir away with the last of his strength.

The last thing Valtam saw before he passed into depths blacker than the most uncaring night was his brother struggling desperately to the surface. Valtam managed a smile before his muscles began to contort, his air-starved lungs rebelling against a quiet death. Valtam scraped uselessly against the rope, his sightless eyes exploding with phantom light, burning with both salt and shame. A last, shimmering bubble of air escaped in a useless scream as Valtam's flickering life was dragged ever deeper into the abyss.

[Kasanip]

Shiou

When the god children fell from the sky, it is said that there were many omens among people of things to come. The spirits who looked to these things were worried - the father of the sky had his gems descend like falling stars with the great ship.

But these omens were difficult, and none could understand them for some time.
The children were scattered, and of them, Shiou fell the farthest.
This is the story of Shiou, who was most skilled in Ends, and so created a beginning from her own end.


Shiou's boasts

Falling farthest from the ship, Shiou fell into the waters and the darkness beneath it. But she was not capable of swimming like her brothers. A useless skill, she had always thought, and though she enjoyed the baths greatly (unless her more beautiful older sister Abigail was there), she did not appreciate the chaos of the water, though it could be gentle. Here in it's depth, she could not breathe, and could not shout. There was no air, and in these depths, Shiou thought so suddenly it had come, and in her fear she found comfort in resignation and surrender.
But as darkness took her, she was carried away far, into the western lands by the sea. How long she slept as the waves carry, it is not known, but more than 8.

In the west she at last came to a white shore of a land of mist. Here it was always hidden and mysterious, and the humans here as they all did, were afraid of the dead who haunted them, and so worshiped and prayed to great spirits to protect and watch over them. It was a village of humans like this, that looked curiously at Shiou when she came to them, and they pitied her and took her to their lord, the spirit king Tai, who was wise and generous to those he watched over. And he took the girl into his care and worked to revive her. And at last, Shiou came to be revived and thanked the spirit for his aid.

While recovering her energy, she walked among the humans, for this is what Tai assumed her to be, and after enduring her hardship, she was very tired, and so spent 4 months with the humans, learning of them and of the spirits.
But spirit Tai was curious, because Shiou could see the ghosts of the human ancestors clearly, and the ghosts who walked in their own streets were unseen by the humans who remained. Respect for those who had died was common, and yet they were ignored clearly as the ghost ancestors walked freely in the town and in the burial yard. And Shiou, being curious, often asked spirit Tai why this was.

But there was no easy answer for this, but Tai tried to care for this division, and to keep trouble from crossing- for the dead became envious of the living, or stressed by their descendants, and too often eventually they became fell spirits, dissatisfied and tired of their existence.

And Shiou asked if this was how it was in all of the lands, and spirit Tai said "Yes, in all of the lands, here of spirit Tai it is like this, and in north, spirit Nodu tries as I for this, and in the south it is spirit Nema and in the east it is spirit Uri. But our ways are different, and it is troublesome to guard so many. Every generation the problem grows, and when the humans find reasons to dislike each other, so quickly the numbers come. It is too difficult, and now many ghost spirits walk freely across the land causing trouble or becoming troubled."

Hearing of this, Shiou thought of the solution easiest for her.
"Then I will go to all of the lands and gather all of the spirits. And send messages if you can then to the other spirits, and send their ghosts and dead to me. I'll make a home for them all."

It was a big boast, and spirit Tai was dubious of her claim, and stalled with much thought and considering. For Shiou it was a large boast, but she was proud and stubborn, and thinking now to have understood the situation, would have little difficulty with such a task.
Of this, Shiou had not understood the size of the world in her claim, but neither would she surrender to such a task. Maybe in a journey like this, she would meet her family again and prove her worth by her helpful actions. She always appreciated order and harmony, and the mortals who did not have it, she had even more desire to repay with such a reward.

And someday, she would ask her father then, why did he create such a style?

Spirit Tai stalled for some time, but there was a disaster and poor harvest this year, and so many starved and passed away. Shiou had organized the ghosts during this time, and spirit Tai, impressed with her work, agreed to her demands and sent word to the other spirits Nodu, Uri, and Nema.

And at this time then, Shiou also left to go to the north, south, and east, to gather the souls of the dead to fulfill her boast.

[Kensington]

Kurigalzu and The Giant

Kurigalzu didn't even have to think about why he could communicate with these two or why the bond between them forged so quickly, he'd always been able to communicate with the people around him. Beautiful Abigail, Strong Valtam, Wise Torallden, even Little Neb.. these names meant so much to him and yet so little. His soul ached for his brothers and sisters and yet his mind kept that information from him. It was this love he'd directed at his kindly care-taker and her teen ward.

In the weeks that followed his first night in Sargon, he tried to make the best of his new life and put the foggy memories of his past out of mind. Ia was eager to help him explore his past, but the God-Child felt that only pain dwelt there. No longer working in the palace and hunted, Ia had to stay away from guards that knew her face, but she had a penchant for getting into trouble and standing up against them. To the people of the village that knew about him, his origins, and to keep him from the Lord, he was an especially chill person who preferred to relax and let live than conflict. But a rage dwelt there just under the skin that threatened to bubble-over. Ia was the more out-spoken of the two; hot-headed and opinionated she could often be found protecting the weak- even against the Generals. In the days they spent together the godling forged a tight bond that spoke to his spirit.

"Try to catch me, Kuri!" Ia yelled as she ran through the streets, using her little pet name for her friend. With a sigh, he ran after her even though he feared for her safety. Guards were numerous, but she still believed they shouldn't be in hiding at all and Kurigalzu just couldn't resist doing as she said.

"Got you, what do I win?" He mocked when he rounded the next corner and threw his arms around her without even wondering why she'd stopped. It only took him a moment to realize, however, because a dark shadow had been cast over him. The godling had to crane his neck up to stare at his face- which he immediately regretted. This giant of a man wasn't winning any beauty contests.

"I am Gantu the Giant, Fourth General of Ashaka and I demand food!" He bellowed before stepping on an idle cart of wares and crushing it flat. "Oops!" The giant teased, "I guess you shouldn't park it under my foot next time? Be glad you didn't go with it!" Gantu leaned against the side of a building and greedily ate everything that was brought to him. A man of his size could easily wipe out this section of the city's food and they didn't have much to begin with.

"Perhaps we should leave.." Kurigalzu advised Ia with a whisper.

"More!" The giant bellowed once more, his massive form occupying the entirety of the alley. The townspeople begged him to leave and assured him they had no more. "Well, then.. guess I'm having dog tonight!" Gantu chuckled before plucking a yapping dog from the side of her young owner. The townspeople could only watch in aghast horror as the beast flicked it into his endless maw.

"Stop this!" Ia shouted, rushing over too late to save the dog. She started to weakly beat at his leg only serving to make Gantu lazily look down at her.

"When a bug that lands on you is more offensive to you than you are to me, you should reconsider those actions." The living mountain said in his bellowing deep voice, a chilling voice from afar, near unbearable from close-by. With a grunt of exertion he started to stand. Grabbing a building for support he collapsed it while also using his giant weapon as he struggled. When he finally stood at his impressive height Kurigalzu could only marvel that a measurement for that high had not yet been invented. "Maybe I'll have a little human girl for desert?"

Scared out of her wits, but still defiant, Ia backed away slowly. "Leave this place or.. or.."

"Or what?" He replied, honestly curious.

"Or you'll be dealing with me." Kurigalzu said, stepping up beside Ia and closer to the monster. The godling didn't know what he was going to do either, but he wasn't going to stand idly by and watch this. The already taller than normal Kurigalzu's head was about even with the knee of the giant who leered down at him, making the God-Child feel smaller than he ever had. The club that the thing lazily held across his back was more like a solid tower of oak and was probably once some great tree Gantu had simply plucked.

"Foolish man, you're trying to stand up to me? You're the biggest guy here and you can barely reach my knee!" Gantu boosted, laughing loudly both Ia and Kuri rushed forward to strike him. Both unarmed, they could only ignore Gantu's laugher as they smacked against his legs with naught but fists. "Maybe you should try biting? I hear that works great for fleas!"

Taking his advice, Ia sunk her teeth into the meaty expose flesh on the back of Gantu's leg causing him to howl in pain and kick her away. Her body went flying before rolling and twisting along the ground.

"Ia!" From afar he could tell she was still alive, but injured, so he had to defeat this giant quickly. Defeat it? Was he insane? "I won't ever give up- if there is a way to save those I care about, if I can find them, protect them.. punish the wicked, punish you, I won't ever give up!" The unarmed and amnesiac Kurigalzu shouted back, causing a twinge of pain at the back of his mind. His family? Had he already given up by settling into this life? What was his purpose? He couldn't remember..

The godling was smacked out of his contemplation by Gantu straight into a building. The sheer force of the blow from that mighty club had broken three ribs and Kurigalzu, somehow amazingly, could only stop the rubble of the building from crushing him. "Stupid entitled brat! Even if you could beat me- one of the strongest men alive- each General after me is even stronger! And we pale in comparison to Lord Ashaka. He is the Spirit of War, the God-King, entire armies have fallen by his blade, he can shatter mountains, and some of the greatest warriors in the world have been murdered personally by him in single combat! And who are you? Just a no name little ant. Wait I recognize you.."

It had taken him a moment but Gantu the Giant remember he was supposed to capture these two if he saw him. Picking Ia up off the ground he placed her in his belt before swinging the club back up over his shoulder. Deciding it was much too hard to try and dig Kurigalzu out, Gantu the Giant simply left him there after a humiliating defeat. After a few hours Kurigalzu managed to dig himself out and was faced with the unpleasant task of telling Gemeti what happened.

"Oh.. my only family left.." Gemeti sobbed and collapsed against the table once told of her Grand-daughters fate. Kurigalzu stood by and placed a hand on her shoulder, but she never blamed him, and the godling always loved her for that.

"I will go there and take her back, Gemeti. If it's the last thing I do I swear that to you."

"It's suicide to challenge Ashaka, don't you know?" She exclaimed in a grief-fueled rage. "Do you think we like having him rule us? Do you think we enjoy having to worship that monstrosity?" Gemeti continued venting her frustrations onto Kurigalzu.

"I know." He said softly after a moment. "But I'm still going to try." He continued with determination. He had great care for his foster family, was always optimistic, and born with a streak of heroism so this conclusion was natural.

"Well." The older woman said while wiping the tears from her eyes. Kurigalzu was reminded of a flower after the rain; dripping with water and battered by circumstance but still standing strong, tall, defiant. The image brought him great warmth in these cold times. "It's true what Gantu and others told you, my boy. Ashaka has killed entire armies and some of the greatest warriors alive. All but one who challenged him. Ever since my only son died I've wanted another.. and these weeks with you have been wonderful. I tell you this not because I want to see you brought to harm but because you're adamant about it. This old friend of mine lives out past the eternal sandstorm. I only see him sometimes when the sandstorm is weak and the guards are lax, but he came close to defeating Ashaka and is the only one to ever survive single-combat with him. The only reason he's still alive is because he's crazy enough to use that blessed sandstorm." She paused only to hug Kurigalzu tight. "If you want to beat Lord Ashaka, seek out Master Enshu. Good luck."

Whether by destiny or good luck, the sandstorm was weak enough to cross today but that didn't mean it was easy. The stinging dust of the storm whipped about and threatened to consume him as he traveled but Kurigalzu knew this was his only chance. He had to learn something about War before it was too late. Weakened and near-dehydrated he finally collapsed from exhaustion- right before a small hut. Having found Master Enshu, even in his solitude, Kurigalzu allowed his eyes to close.

[rapter200]

The Journey

How much time has it been since he first arrived in this place. Days melded into each other and time lost all meaning. Possibly a year, maybe two. His brothers and sister all but a distant memory now, he knew their names and faces but it was if recalling an old and distant friend. Not someone you have been living with your entire life. The past seemed to no longer matter, all that mattered now was today and tomorrow.

As he left his makeshift home built inside a small cave Kalonoth noticed a small monkey in a nearby tree. It has been a while since his last actual meal, surviving off fruit from the trees, berries from the bushes, and ants. The ants were everywhere, put them together in a hollowed out wooden bowl with some berries and water. You won't even notice their taste. But to have a meal like a monkey, that was a rare thing. Slowly he drew the makeshift bow he and notched an obsidian arrow, obsidian could be found all over the place if you looked hard enough.

The arrow flew true and struck the small animal through the heart, it dropped from its branch and hit the ground with a loud thud. Joy flashed quickly through his eyes. This small animal will allow him to actually go through with the trek he has been planning for the last few days. In his year or maybe it was years here Kalonoth has never been more than a days walk away from his “home”. Mentally mapping the area wasn't difficult, it just required him to go further and further away from his shelter. As such he never built up the courage to go farther than a day away.

With monkey skinned, cooked, and eaten he had regathered his strength, being a child of Fell meant that he recovered much more quickly than normal humans. Of course there were none of those around these parts. With bow, obsidian knife (many of them since they are quite brittle as he found out the hard way), and clothes made from the pelts and hides of dead animals, he left the familiar and walked into the unknown.

The Blank Journal

Two weeks he walked, gathering food from trees or animals when needed. His time here taught him what to avoid, snakes and spiders being on the top of that list. Spiders... how could his father have created such terrible and terrifying creatures.

On the first day of the third week he found a break in the trees, and what seemed to be an abandoned house. For hours he stood still, hidden away from prying eyes. Watching the house. No one went in, and there was no movement from the inside. After many hours of disbelieve, and wondering if he was going insane Kalonoth decided to head inside.

The door was difficult to open, as if shut tight by age, but eventually it gave with a loud groan. Dust and mold. Two words that described the inside perfectly. No one has been here for years. Luckily no cobwebs. Damn spiders. Bare and plain were the rooms, nothing useful insight. As he explored he didn't notice the door shut behind him, nor did he notice the stairs leading down to an underground level appear from what seemed like thin air.

When he reached the stairs he thought nothing of it, probably didn't notice them last time. Like a lamb to the slaughter he walked down those stairs and opened the door that led to a large and all but empty chamber. A single pedestal stood in the middle, and on top a small book. Curiosity got the better of Kalonoth and he opened the book, hoping that inside there would be some information about the outside world. Something that would help him find his way out. But as he flipped through the pages he found each one to be blank. Empty. Nothingness. For what seemed like hours he kept flipping through the pages trying to find something, anything, even a single word would be a delight. But still he found nothing, nor did he notice that on the front cover of the book his name was slowly appearing as the title.

The world started to go black, he felt as if he was falling. Falling forever into an endless darkness, nightmarish faces rushed upwards on his way down. But soon the darkness was dispelled by light and he slowed down until he stopped fully in the light. But no longer was he himself, something was wrong. The blades of grass were to tall.

[Hemnon]

Abigail, Part 3

Legend, what legend?


Where are they? Her brothers and sisters. Little Neb, Kisha, Eilyan, and where am I? Who are these strangers. These thoughts jumbled through her head as she sobbed. The woman looked suprised by Abigail's sudden tears and was torn between comforting the crying girl and her own fear of her (Abigail is a stranger after all, as well as oddly dressed and not heavily tanned like them). Mustering her courage, the woman moved a little closer and asks: ''Are... Are you alright.... are you hurt somewhere?''. Abigail slowly lifts her head and looked at the womans face. She looked kind enough, but Abigail had never talked to anyone else than her own family and the spirits living along side them, so she was a little shy. As she looked at the woman with her teary eyes, Abigail just shaked her head and looked back down again.

After a few minutes, Abigail's sobbing halted to a stop. 'They are out there, I can feel it, they must be' she thought to herself, while looking around and finally realizing how small the boat was. Then suddenly, litteraly out of nowhere, the two twins appeared infront of her, carrying something in their hands which was covered with a small bag.
''Hello, What's your name?'' one of them asked, and the other one followed up with a question of her own: ''Why where you out in the water?'', hearing their almost simultanious questions, their mother hurried over to them and told them: ''Now, now you two... Don't just blurt out questions like that.'' she smiled apologeticly to Abigail. ''It's alright... i don't mind...'' Abigail replied. The sound of her unearthly beautiful voice was such a shocker to the wife and the girls that they just stared at her in awe, so did the son and father who also heard her words. Abigail looked suprised about their reaction, and then remembered her father's last words to her. He told her to supress, atleast partially, her god-attributes. In the flash of a second, her face looked strained, and then ir was back to normal. '' I must appologise for that... Anyway, my name is Abigail nice to me all of you.'' Her voice sounded much more human now, but it still contained traces of that unearthly attraction. As she said her name, she got up on her feet and gently bowed her head. Now standing up, her wings where fully visable and the small family where so surprised that the wife almost fainted, the twins just stared at them, the son turned slightly pale along with his father. ''Is something the matter?'' She asked them as she saw their awed faces. ''You have wings!..... are you the angel from the legend?'' the mother asked breathlessly. ''What is an 'angel', and what's this about a Legend?'' Abigail looked totally confused, but the whole family was staring at her with sparkling eyes.

[Nefarion Xid]

Hunger in earnest was beginning to set in. And there probably wasn’t a scrap of food on the whole damned island. If it was an island at all, one would have no way of knowing, not even from the vantage of the top of the mountain at the top of the world. Lossethir prayed his father had placed nothing farther north than this frozen hell.

Nothing lived at this altitude. Normally cautious and reserved, the young man hadn’t bothered to look behind him in days and the shadows no longer concerned him. If there were a monster lurking somewhere in the wastes, at least it would be a companion… or sport. The last thing he’d eaten was a wheat roll crusted with honey as he leaned against the mast, taking a break from filling the sails with summoned wind and laughing with his brothers.


* * *

“It doesn’t matter who slays the first monster,” he teased, “It’s eh… well it’s size that matters.”

“Hardly,” came the not-quite-whispered quip from one of the girls (it sounded like one of them). The guilty party dissolved into the muffled giggling.

“I said ‘slay’ didn’t I? Don’t laugh, it will only encourage them,” feigning a stern look he pointed an accusatory finger to Kurigalzu (who may have been innocent). “Those are easy jokes. Don’t encourage your sisters to be easy.”

Lossethir mouthed the words “Too late,” in unison with the predictable guilty party in the crowd before rolling his eyes and continuing. “We will turn this ship around right now, so help me.”

Valtam nodded in agreement and patted the tiller, standing in mock solidarity against mock insolence.

“So, presuming we actually get to fighting monsters instead of seducing them, the glory of the kill is of course expressed in a simple formula… em…”

“One third height times…” offered someone helpfully.

“No, don’t be silly. It’s tooth length multiplied by number of heads by shoulder height plus stingers times one hundred. And flying ones are worth double. We’re clear on that right? I don’t want you bringing me some lion-scorpion-thing and making a face at me when I tell you it’s only worth half what you thought. And actually if you do encounter flying scorpions, don’t tell me because… well I’ll just have to swim home.”

“And what do we win if we kill the biggest, meanest monster?” someone asked.

“You mean besides the respect and admiration of your peers? Well, I’ll… I guess I’ll make you a sandwich.” Lossethir smiled bashfully at the deck for a moment before finally chuckling and popping the last of the roll into his mouth.


* * *

Lossethir had just begun to imagine how the leviathan would taste breaded, fried and served with a remoulade when a valley emerged into view as he crested the last rocky hill. Trees at last; a wide band of evergreens bordered the cliff edge before the land dropped sharply out of sight. Beyond the canyon lay a virtual island in the sky, perched atop a sheer stone pedestal. More mountains stood, hazy in the distance, the range making an incomplete circle around the canyon. To the east lay the sea.

Nervously laughing, Lossethir broke into a run and darted through the trees to the valley’s edge. Dozens of waterfalls streaked down the canyon walls, glittering white lines ending in icicles the size of towers. They hadn’t always been frozen. This land surely had been beautiful once and the falls had fed the greater river far below and brought life to the now grim looking forest. Though somehow accustomed to making impressive leaps through the air and playing with the end, Lossethir found the heights were dizzying. It was surely half of a mile or more from the ledge to the river below.

While scanning the distance, he flexed his fingers experimentally. They were reluctant to respond and the effort only earned him a throbbing, dull pain. They were growing white. No earthly cold would harm those with Fel’s blood, though none but Lossethir had ventured to the lands of unyielding frost and not even he yet knew that something unnatural and truly baleful was in the air. In truth, this was not quite an earthly place and many of his siblings would have succumbed to the cold, not because they were weak of constitution and not because they lacked Lossethir’s favor with the spirits of air, but simply because they were not Lossethir.

He had a disposition towards the cold, or at least insomuch as Alu Mari was ever truly cold. It wasn’t a real talent. You can hardly call being uncomfortable in the summer a talent. But, he had a real warmth deep in his heart. Perhaps it was by Fel’s design or some gift of his mother’s (something Fel had loved about her) that gave him his hot blood. And perhaps it was his warm heart that caused his compassion and stayed his hand when he should have struck. Within the warrior was the ability to love deeply, more than most are capable. Such a gift was as fragile as it was powerful.

At last his jade eyes settled on a wooden bridge spanning the long gap between the cliffs and the long peak at the valley’s center. Beyond, all but blanketed with ancient ice, were the unmistakable shapes of civilization, log houses tightly arrayed about the last hill crowned with a great hall and a stout palisade. His heart raced until he saw no smoke rising from the chimneys; it should have been stark against the snow. He watched for several minutes but nothing in the village changed. No one ventured outside to take a log from the pile. No one snuck across the way to visit the neighbors. This place was as dead as the rest of the realm.

Jaw clenched and holding his breath, he reached out to brush the pine needles of a low hanging branch. As he feared, they splintered away with the minute sounds of ice snapping. The trees weren’t really evergreen, they’d just been frozen that way.

[hi-mi-tsu]

Eilyan, Part Three

"You think I'll allow you to take over my village?!?"

She didn't know what had happened. How had it come to this? One moment she was lying on the soft cot that the strange, gentle woman had set up for her; the next minute she'd been spilled on the ground, and found herself on hands and knees at the feet of a very angry spirit. Her savior had cried out, then tried to argue, only to be knocked back against the wall; the woman was unconscious, and Eilyan's instinctive reaction was to rush to her. But no sooner had she struggled to just her knees than he was blocking her, and those eyes were no longer the tawny brightness of the sun but red and furious, a fiery rage that she did not understand.

"Already you subvert my people! Already you turn them against me! Treacherous snake!"

"No! Please, I don't want to take over, plea--" What else she would have said will never be known; a large hand that seemed to be shifting, more claw and paw than fingers and palm, struck her across the face. The young demigoddess was worthless at fighting, finding it a bit of a barbaric practice, and being weak from her time in the ocean besides; it was not hard for the jaguar-spirit to send her sprawling across the floor. She cried out, and blood trickled from the corner of her mouth; the kick he aimed at her midsection left her gasping, wishing devoutly for Lossethir's strength or Valtam's experience or Neb's warding or Letta's magic or Kurigalzu's battle prowess. Alas, none of her siblings were there to protect her; it was only through the villagers' vociferous complaining--coupled with their scooping up of her nameless rescuer--that made the jaguar-spirit stop.

"Leave this place! Go!"

And so she went, though she could barely walk; Eilyan staggered out of the village, battered and broken and very near hopeless. And as night fell, so did the demigoddess, collapsing senseless at the base of a great tree.

[TheDarkDM]

Valtam

It was not a sound that woke Valtam from his deathly sleep, but silence. So deep was he that the merest whisper would have carried miles, yet there was nothing around him but eerie stillness. After Leviathan's decent had pummeled his unconscious body into submission, after his burning chest had finally ceased spasming and grown still, Valtam was finally allowed a moment of peace. He almost slipped away then, abandoning the imperfect bonds of his physical form, but the half remembered sound of a sister's scream brought him surging back to consciousness. His eyes flicking open, Valtam instinctively drew breath only for seawater to rush into his dead lungs. But to his surprise, he felt his heart begin to stir as his divine body drew sustenance from the water. Blinking to dispel the last phantom lights of the descent that should have killed him, Valtam finally saw what lay before him.

The chasm spread out for miles in all directions, a great wound in the surface of the world. The fragment of the ship that had snared him had come loose at the rift's edge, and now Valtam floated above a borealis. Clinging to every surface was a strange form of algae, glowing in the total dark of the deep, shedding greenish light like an impossibly thick bank of stars. In the light, Valtam could see innumerable small shapes piled within the chasm, and as he peered closer he realized with a start that they were bones. Thousands upon thousands of bones, both great and small, rotting at the bottom of the world. Confusion and panic threatened to overwhelm Valtam then, but he was snapped back to attention by a dark shape at the edge of sight. Quickly it came, obscuring the light like an impossibly large storm cloud, as as Leviathan passed underneath Valtam finally realized the true scope of the beast, the impossible, terrible vastness of it. One burning eye angled towards the edge of the rift, and it was only Valtam's divine will that kept him from screaming out in terror. But then the beast passed, sinking down further into its charnel lair, and Valtam scrabbled to undo the knot binding his leg. Freed from the turbulence of Leviathan's attack, he managed to undo the tangle in moments, only to cling to the cord when he realized he had nowhere to go. All that awaited above was crushing, hostile darkness, but to remain was to condemn himself to starvation. Frenzied eyes scanned the flickering horizon, and Valtam could not control the shrill spark of laughter that escaped his lips as he sighted another line of weak light in the distance across the chasm.

Tensing his legs against the walls of the canyon, Valtam pushed off will all the strength his weakened legs would afford him. Despite his incongruous affinity for seawater, he scarcely dared breath as he drifted over Leviathan's lair. He had barely reached the halfway point above the pit when the beast's shadowy form stirred again. The serpentine tail flicked against the rock, shearing away the cliff side like butter, and Leviathan began to climb. The turbulence of its passage threw Valtam into an uncontrolled spin, tossing him like a rag doll for what seemed like hours until the monstrosity had disappeared into the black vault above. With a tentative kick, Valtam resumed his journey, passing from the half-light of the lair and into the true dark of the ocean floor. Had there been anything willing to brave Leviathan's wrath, there is no question Valtam would have perished in that hours long swim, but the water was deserted. Many miles from the lair, a terrible screech caused Valtam to double over in pain, and he watched Leviathan return, several whales locked in its barbed tendrils. The dying sounds of the great beasts grated on his sanity as Valtam continued on, and only when the light of his new destination grew bright did silence return to the deep.

[Nefarion Xid]

After tracking a few miles east along the cliff edge, Lossethir came to the bridge spanning the gap. It seemed sturdy enough. It would have to be considering the villagers had been ferrying felled ancient trees across the span, thrice as far as a man could throw a stone (the narrowest part of the whole canyon). Excepting the great hall atop the distant hill, the bridge looked to be the most impressive feat of engineering here. There was magic in it, he was sure, or else Fel had instructed the artisans who built it. While there were no telltale signs of enchantment, the bridge simply felt as if it went on too long with no central supports. Lossethir would have spent more time admiring the architecture if not, of course, for the fact he was slowly freezing to death. And so he lightly sped across the bridge while pondering Fel’s involvement in its creation.

On the far side of the bridge, leaning against the left post was a forgotten spear. The head was caked with green in its age and Lossethir spared a moment to wonder if patina developed faster in the cold or heat. He had no hope for the spear’s owner and there was no sign of him. Deciding to leave the weapon undisturbed, he hurried into the village proper.

At the first door he gave a few cursory bangs with the bottom of his fist before abandoning the delusion that anyone in this hell was left alive to take offense to the intrusion and throwing the door open with his shoulder. No voices objected and he went straight away to the hearth to light a fire. The logs looked half burned, the top one nearly burned through with the ends intact. It looked as if someone had thrown water on the fire. Willing some usefulness into his numb digits, Lossethir set to work trying to relight the fire. Life returned to his fingers, but the fire was as dead as ever. He couldn’t even produce smoke with the awl, let alone get the straw to catch. His teeth gritted and tears welled in the corners of his eyes. His ragged breath echoed across the empty house. Seizing a handful of straw, he ordered it to set alight. And though he pleaded with the spirits of fire and conjectured that the straw didn’t know who it was dealing with and asked if it knew who his father was, it still wouldn’t burn. Even in his studies at home, fire had never obeyed him and he didn’t honestly expect it to start now. Nothing would burn here. The air of this place stole the life from the fire before it was ever born.

Momentarily fueled by rage (or more likely a combination of indignation and frustration as it was Lossethir), he tore through the house, determined to find anything of use. Venison jerky, thawed in his mouth while he ransacked the vanished family’s clothing. Several layers of proper woolen clothing went on and as many pairs of stockings as he could find; the father’s leather boots crumbled when he touched them. Huddled on the straw mattress in the corner, he resolved to wait out the night in this room and explore the rest of the village at first light. He would have, but the whispers on the wind demanded his immediate attention.

[Kensington]

Kurigalzu and the Old Man By The Sea

When Kurigalzu awoke he was in the bed of the old Master, Enshu. With one eye open he took in the crippled warrior who was so wrinkled and familiar. His nut-brown face and the way he seems to be so full of life even at his advanced age gave Kurigalzu warm feelings from his youth but the memories associated with them still eluded him. With a cough the godling altered Enshu to his awakened state.

"You're quite lucky to have made it through the sandstorm, boy. What were you thinking?" Master Enshu said, wagging his finger at the God-Child sternly. The man leaned over him smelling strongly of booze although he didn't appear drunk.

"I came to find you." He coughed in return, lifting himself off the bed. He wasn't going to let a so-called God-King stop him so he certainly wasn't going to let a sandstorm do it. "I need your help, we share a common enemy.."

The old master stared at his crippled arm for a long time seriously before looking back at Kurigalzu. "Ashaka." He spat, "I only barely managed to escape but he took all usefulness from my sword-arm first. Now, I sit here in my hovel in hiding only drinking and waiting to die."

"Train me, and I'll end this." Kurigalzu replied, standing and dusting himself off before graciously taking the water the old man offered. The feeling of it against his throat was spectacular and seemed to invigorate him.

"You? What makes you so special? I was the best and I only managed to cut him. But it was worth it to see him bleed."

"I.. don't remember. But please, teach me all you know and I'll.. try. That's the best I can do." The God-Child took a knee before him. "I can't allow him to have his way. I devote myself to you and I'll do all that you ask."

"To me? Ha! I'm just an old drunk playing at sword-master these days." He collapsed into a chair and looked much older than he had before.

Disappointed, Kurigalzu stood to his feet and walked over to him. "Look, I know you don't know me and I don't know what it's been like for you, but is this what you're happy with? The story of the time you almost beat the God-King? Together, we might be the people that actually bring an end to this. Don't you even want to try.. or are you really just an old drunk."

"You have a bit of a way with words, son. That was something I needed to hear." He said soberly before pouring himself a nice big drink and draining it in a single gulp. "Let's get started- fight me! Let's see if you're worth my time!"

Taken aback by the sudden swift in attitude, Kurigalzu grabbed only of the many blades that decorated Master Enshu's house as the Master himself pulled out a glorious blade. The godling was surprised by the Masters skill with a katana even in his oft-hand. In the months that followed Kurigalzu discovered a surprising skill for combat that troubled him. Joined by common hate, Enshu trained the God-Child better than he had trained any before him. As the only swordsman to ever survive against Arshaka he was uniquely qualified. Only odd flashes of memory and felt weird strength behind his blows kept him from devoting himself fully to it. Still, he picked it up unnaturally fast, as if he'd done this before.

"You have amazing talent, my young friend." Enshu told him with a sad smile after another all-day training session.

"Thank you. That means so much coming from you." Kurigalzu replied, beaming at the praise from his mentor. From his nut-brown face to his drinking and fighting, the godling had always felt so at peace with the old mentor, like he was back home wherever that may be.

"And I fear you'll need it. I've hidden here for a decade from Arshaka but on a certain day every thirty years the sandstorm ends for exactly one hour. Tomorrow is that day, and I fear Ashaka may come for me, to erase his biggest mistake. I want you to leave before that happens. Gantu likely told him you're already dead."

"We'll be ready to defeat whatever he sends." Kurigalzu assured him, placing great emphasis on the we. Master Enshu didn't have to pry about what he meant and only smiled in return, clasping his shoulder before giving him a hug.

"I've taught you what I can. Somehow, you seem like you could have beat me at my prime these days." He chuckled, "But I would likely be no match for him now.. rest now, worry in the morning."

The next morning they each prepared, Kurigalzu with ferocious optimism while Enshu prepared for his death. The Master had long been a thorn in Lord Arshaka's side and that man escaping him had been a personal insult. At the very time of the sandstorm's brief end they heard a slight creaking. As they strained their ears to hear, Gantu the Giant burst through the ceiling landing between them and was soon joined by members of the Imperial Army of Sargon.

"Knock knock!" Gantu shouted obnoxiously as he stared down at both these pitiful ants. "I'm here to kill you and I thought I already killed you." He mused looking between both of them. "Two for the price of one!" He finally decided before ambling towards them. Both Master and student fought against the army of men sent after them, the Master and his wonderful blade shining bright against the enemies. Kurigalzu's gifted katana was also a marvel of craftsmanship and slew many soldiers but the numbers were overwhelming.

Master Enshu himself stood against Gantu after they fought their way towards each other. Gantu knocked his expendable army out of the way by the handful as he charged at the old man. "You die now! I'm so hungry I could use some jerky!"

"You are a disgusting beast, and I only hope I take you with me." Enshu replied, striking back at the beastie and trying his best to dodge every blow. It looked as if Enshu held the upper hand when Gantu missed once again burying his club into the floor of the abode leaving him open to attack- an opportunity which Enshu did not miss. Slashing across his stomach the Giant roared in pain.

"Only a flesh wound." The Giant sneered after recovering before bringing his fist down and crushing the Master beneath it. Kurigalzu's scream of rage was deafening as he rushed over to cradle the Old Man, giving Gantu time to pull his club free. Time seemed to stand still as he watched the life drain from his eyes.

"You're the closest thing I've had to a Father.." Kurigalzu spoke softly, remembering the good times. Mostly just training and drinking, but the God-Child deeply enjoyed those things and the Master was greatly endeared to him.

"Kurigalzu.." He spoke back, his words weak. "Take this." The Master spoke curtly, lifting to give the godling his own sword. "I believe you can defeat him, all of them, I believe you can do anything. For you.. nothing is impossible.." He offered, perhaps in a delirium, before closing his eyes and finally resting. Enshu had lived after his fight for specifically this day and this purpose.

And as Kurigalzu took the hilt of the Master's sword in his hand he too knew his purpose. The glint of light off the blade spoke volumes and reminded him of a loving smile, a stern hand, a Father. He lifted the sword over his head as he stood his eyes narrow and full of rage. This sword was an ancient sword passed down between warriors, and it's legend was extraordinary. This sword had been crafted from the a piece of God after it fell from the heavens. This was Fel's blade.

"I know who I am." Kurigalzu spoke softly, a flood of memories coming back. Most good, and one big ugly one. Rage against that grand creature the Lord of Sargon became one in the same. Gantu, tried of waiting, brought down a mighty fist to crush him beneath it.

"You're nothing but goo!"

"No." The God-Child spoke, by his incredible will holding firm against the mighty fist with his blade. The hand of the giant was in a fist and pressing down against Kurigalzu who only had his sword as a shield. One of his ribs cracked under the strain but it was an incredible moral victory as Gantu's face went from arrogance to fear. "I am Kurigalzu, son of Fel! Fel's hopes and dreams will craft a better world and I will find my purpose in it!" He yelled, pushing back against the hand and actually forcing him back. The Giant stumbled from a blow for the first time in his life and Kurigalzu could almost smell his fear.

"I-Impossible!"

"I will remove each of you from this world. I will slay that vile Spirit Arshaka and restore honor! I am the blade of evil's bane! I am justice!" He continued to yell with his blood pumping, flashes of those that depended on him flashing through his mind. The girl, Ia, awaited him in that castle and even beyond that, his brothers and sisters needed him. Each of them flashed through his mind so vividly now and he knew they were in trouble. Trapped in his quagmire of self-doubt he couldn't remember.. he hadn't been able to protect them once before against Leviathan. But he knew now he couldn't ever just give up like that, he felt them, they needed his strength. "Why would I ever give up?!" He yelled as he looked up at the man that towered before him, club now free. Gantu seemed to move in slow motion attempting to bring the club down like a man swatting with a newspaper but the unmistakable sound of metal striking metal rang through the air. Kurigalzu had knocked away the club and now rushed towards the defenseless giant.

"My power will shake the foundations of the Earth!" Kurigalzu exclaimed before he sunk his blade into flesh for the first time. The feeling was amazing, visceral, and it was the grandest rush he'd ever experienced. So close to him he could smell him he sank his blade deeper watching with glee as Gantu's face went from confusion to fear to pain and finally blank as Kurigalzu unbelievably cut the mountain of a man in twain with a single slice of his God-Sword. An army stood before him including the three other Generals and then Arshaka, and after that the terrible Leviathan and what foes menaced his family.

[Hemnon]

Abigail, part 4

A little bit of paradise, at the city outskirts

After a few hours of explaning back and forth, Abigail looked out into the horizon and saw the slowly setting sun nearing the edge of the world. The small bag that the two teenage girls was holding earlier, contained a set of fresh clothes for Abigail.

Just at the time of twilight, the boat reached shore and the whole family, plus Abigail disembarked at a tiny pier located right next to the family's little house. It would only be a short walk to reach the big city. Other houses could be seen strewn over the outskirts. It looked much like a small village spread out a little too much.

At this little comfy house, Abigail recuperated for a few weeks. While there, she heard stories of the tyran-king living in the city. Still believing Abigail to be the their savior, the little family did whatever they could for Abigail. From food, to housing and even showing her around in the city.

(This part is a bit short i know, but my brain just isn't able to think up something big at the moment.)

[Kasanip]

Shiou and the Ino

Shio traveled far to the north, and to the east, and to the south. And many times she heard rumors of her brothers and sisters in stories and legends, but she was embarrassed and hid herself, for she had not accomplished anything now, and being proud, she desired to show herself only when she completed her task.

And she met spirit kings Nodu, Uri, and Nema, who learning of her skill with the ghosts and their care, were happy to give them to her care, and soon she had a great following of ghosts to care for.

Returning to the west then, she came to a valley and commanded the ghosts to stay here while she went ahead to prepare a place for them in the mists, and this valley is called Shiduka, for there is a hill under which the spirits stayed, and it is said that no living thing comes to this valley for fear of it.

So going ahead, Shiou began to worry, for she was not a great architect, and the number of ghosts behind her waiting were great. And traveling deeper into the mists, she began to despair of finding a good place for them.

It was finally that Shiou saw in the distance of mist there was a tower, tall and proud. It beckoned, and she came to it after many days of travel, and stood in awe before a great bridge that seemed to go on forever. It stood above a river, and then continued far into land, even after the river had ended Surely the mortal humans had not built this, it was the construction of some spirits, who must have been of great power and skill. She thought quietly of this for a minute in respect, and then stepped carefully onto the bridge. It's distance was exact as she measured, and she traveled for quite some time. But at last there were two guardians of gold eyes and haughty and proud looks who looked down on the child of Fel as she approached.

"We have not seen one like this before." They commented, and Shiou stood up as proud as she could. Easily they were 2 times her size, and strong and holding gleaming bronze weapons that glowed with spirit energy.
"And I have not seen ones like yourselves. Who are you, and what is this place? She demanded. The guards laughed in deep voices.
"Lost children should not be here. You are in the lands of the Ino, who serve the queen Ino and who are among all creation the strongest and wisest."

Though Shiou was annoyed at the proud voices and words, she was also a little worried. These Ino spirits were very powerful and strong, and to have built just this bridge was impressive.
"I want to meet this queen." Shiou said. She too had thought recently that she desired to be one, thinking such an order over ghosts was good, and at least to learn here of them, it would be a good meeting.
"Then you must say your name like a good child." The guardians laughed as they stood before her. She said her name but resented their treatment. Soon enough however, they escorted her to the end of the bridge (which was very far). Here there was a great hall, and many more of the Ino looked upon the strange girl who had come, and they laughed when she demanded to see the queen. At last however, they pointed towards two large doors- the largest she had ever seen. On the doors were stories and words in the language of the Ino, and Shiou, who could not read them, forced up her courage and pressed against them with her strength to open. There were laughs and evil words from the Ino who watched her, but Shiou focused all of her strength, and opened the doors to the room within.

Here the rest of the Ino were waiting, and before them was their Queen, who wore dazzling clothes that shimmered with rainbow colors. Around her neck was a great mirror that seemed to reflect every light. And she was beautiful, but the smile on her face was like a snake.

Shiou entered, determined to announce herself as an equal.
"Come closer, Shiou." The queen Ino beckoned. Determined, Shiou approached quickly. The queen stood, and towered over Shiou as well, but now she held the mirror in her hands and faced it at Shiou.
With fear, Shiou saw the reflection of herself in the mirror- and could not look away. And queen Ino smiled revealing sharp teeth, and spoke.
"You are afraid?"
"Yes." Shiou said simply. She could not turn her words away.
"Why have you come?"
"I was looking for something."
"What were you looking for?"
"I don't know. I came to find myself. A way to bring order to this world maybe. A way to achieve my birthright. A home for spirits. But father never said how it could be found."
"Who is your father?"
"Fel, creator of this world."
In Shiou's mind she could understand the dangers around her increased, but staring at herself in the mirror, the reflection seemed to speak, but the words were in her mouth. She could see herself when she was little, still dressed in Ei's too large dress. She had always admired her older sister, and yet the expression on her face wasn't happy. She wanted her own. She had desire and ambition, and Shiou could see that as she grew. Perhaps too proud at times, and hotheaded, she had argued and wronged her sisters and brothers some times. Memories and things she had seen before, up to the fateful journey that brought her here. And she knew that the queen Ino was watching all of this, with that dangerous smile. Shiou in the mirror revealed herself openly to the Queen, so nothing was hidden, and so the Queen learned of Shiou as much as perhaps her father knew of her. And the Ino were hungry with this knowledge, and desired more. And the Queen asked of her brothers and sisters.

No, she had already betrayed herself, and now she was putting her family in danger. These Ino were dangerous. Too dangerous to her family and to her. If they found her brothers and sisters, they too would be trapped, revealing their secrets before...
The queen Ino's grin widened.
"So smart, for such a weak little child. This is all very interesting... Yes, I think I know what the daughter of Fel, and all the children of Fel can become..."
Shiou's frustration and fear reached an end- an end that she could not continue, and which she would not. With a cry, she wrenched her hand up and stabbed her eyes to blackness. Crying out in agony, she fell to her knees, but the mirror did not hold her now, and her heart was free from it's magic. She could feel blood on her face, but could not see the Queen's increasing smile or gesture.
"Take this one away. She is still pretty and youthful. Prepare her. She will by my servant." Shiou felt the hands on her, before she fell into the pain and become unconscious.

[the_druid_droid]

Keth and Torallden

A Reunion and a Message

The early morning light grew brighter around Keth as he sat on what had been his sickbed and pondered the fate of the Children of Fel. When the physicians had left, he had stayed in his room, expecting them to return quickly, but as the sun rose higher in the sky there was still no sign of them. At last, consumed with worry for his lost family, Keth resolved to begin immediately and seek out Torallden; most likely his brother had washed ashore with him, so he too might be somewhere in the infirmary.

His mind made up, Keth rose and began exploring the corridor leading out from his room. To his surprise, he found that the walls were decorated with bright marble pillars and subtle gold designs, and in many places the corridor was open to lovely gardens that gave the whole place a wonderful sensation of green freshness. Passing through the hall, Keth continued his search in adjoining rooms. He found that all were unoccupied, though many were still beautifully adorned and appeared to be living or sleeping chambers.

In such luxurious surroundings, Keth began to suspect he was in no ordinary infirmary, and the suspicion made him oddly nervous. Outside the sun was shining bright and in the gardens a few birds sang happily, but still he could not shake his vague apprehension. As Keth continued searching, he wondered idly what could be troubling him, but his thoughts were soon overshadowed by the desperate hope of finding at least one of his siblings alive and well.

The god-child’s diligence was eventually rewarded when he stumbled across a gray-headed figure in a large and opulent suite. As the figure turned to face him, Keth recognized his brother and his heart soared; if Torallden was alive, perhaps the others had escaped the Leviathan’s wrath as well. Overcome with happiness, Keth rushed forward and embraced his brother warmly. As Keth looked intently at him, trying to convince himself that this was no dream, he noticed Torallden appeared to be in good health and well cared-for, dressed in clean linen robes similar to the ones Keth had been wearing when he had awakened.

After their joyful reunion, the brothers quickly began to discuss their departure and the wreck of their ship; his brother was unsure about the fate of most of the rest of the family, so instead Keth asked about what had happened after he lost consciousness. Torallden explained that they had been found washed ashore and had been brought to a royal mansion in the city of Addelyn in order to recover. Keth would have asked his brother to tell him more of the city and the mysteriously empty mansion, but he was suddenly interrupted by a new arrival.

"It is good to find you both well. The lord Lucius has much desired to speak with you these two days."

Keth turned to look at the speaker; the man had olive skin with dark hair, and from his clothing he appeared to be a servant or messenger of some sort. "Forgive my ignorance, but who is this lord you speak of?"

"Lord Lucius is the ruler of this city, and your benefactor. He is curious to know how you arrived in our lands in such desperate shape and where you hail from. His personal servants will come to escort you to his palace in a few hours’ time so you may become better acquainted."

While he spoke, the messenger’s face was courteous, but Keth felt his unease return all the same. Something about Lucius was wrong; why would the ruler of an entire city treat strangers to such hospitality? As he wondered what the man's motivation might be, the ghosts of old stories rose up in Keth’s mind. He recalled tales of the world beyond his island home and the powers that dwelt there which he had learned as a child sitting at his father’s feet. With those half-remembered stories came doubt and suspicion; not all powers in the world of mortals were friendly, and often the more powerful they were, the less they were inclined to tolerate the Children of Fel. Certainly, Lucius had provided for his care while he was sick, but could he really be trusted if he knew about their past?

[Kensington]

Kurigalzu and The Sandstorm

Covered in blood from both his friend and his enemies the enraged God-Child stood alone in what was left of Enshu's house. As both parts of Gantu finally fell to the ground the last walls of the old master's house went with them revealing to Kurigalzu the army beyond. Sure, he had killed plenty of them inside the house, but he wasn't expecting the army in it's entirety to be awaiting him. Some of them seemed unsure, some angry, some afraid, but they all stood against him rather than face Ashaka's wraith.

"You all want to face me?" Kurigalzu said evenly, stepping down from the ruins of the house towards them. Coming down from the high of his fight with Gantu he felt the wounds of that battle but did his best to ignore them. "I won't hesitate to strike down all those who get in my way."

At his words some ran, but most kept the position they held. Even after his declaration, they were surprised when Kurigalzu actually rushed forward to attack them swinging his blade down to slice a soldier out of his way like it was a shrub. Luckily, shrubs can't fight back but soldiers can so they attacked him in turn. An almost literal one-man killing machine Kurigalzu matched Ashaka's boost by taking on his army.

It was almost claustrophobic as he drove deeper into the horde. Sweaty bodies of men and women around him, grunting, thrusting, gushing, reminded him of a grand orgy especially with all this trade of fluids. The pain of being struck and the pleasure of combat became one. A sword would embed itself in his side and the godling would kill that soldier before blocking another blow allowing an opening to another behind him. It was obvious that Kurigalzu would eventually lose.

That is if the fight against Gantu and the army hadn't taken more than an hour. The sandstorm whipped up furiously sending battle-hardened warriors running and allowing the godling an exit from his untimely death. He rushed across the sand along with those he had fought before trying to beat the sandstorm but found no such luck. The stinging of sand gave way to an even greater pain- a sword to his back.

"I've been watching you, Kurigalzu." A man standing in the storm seemingly unaffected said. "I am the third General, Hunzuu of the Sand."

"Aren't you special." The God-Child grunted back at him in pain.

"Did you mean what you said earlier? Or was it just idle talk?"

"What?"

"Many warriors have faced my Lord before, and most all of them claimed to do so for a higher purpose." He continued before completely disappearing into the storm, invisible to the naked eye. Kurigalzu could only keep track of him by the sound of his voice. "But what justice would it be to kill him? Those people need him. Though he has done terrible things another would simply rise up to do more terrible things in a cycle repeating. Most people like to see themselves as a good guy.. but they're only after glory, or something else, never the abstract concept of 'good' for its own ends."

"I am the blade of justice, and no matter what you say, I will not be deterred in this. I will save Ia and put an end to him!" Kurigalzu gave his reply while searching the storm for him and moving through it closer to the distant city. He could taste only sand and it embedded itself in his wounds. Another slash from the sand gave him a second shot at Hunzuu but he missed the stealthy assassin.

"Ah, petty vengeance is it?" Hunzuu replied, "And saving the girl, how droll. Nothing new ever comes about, we still have the same old types of people doing the same old things for the same old reasons."

"I'm going to put an end to him for ALL the things he's done!"

"But if they didn't affect you or those you knew, would you even care?"

"Yes!"

"You can say that, but I don't but it. Didn't all those faceless soldiers you just killed have wifes and families of their own that they cared about? And not all of them were just evil, as you know, most were fearful and you used them just as Ashaka wanted you to. Like you're the Queen and they were the pawns. Would you accept death if one of the children of one you killed today came after you? Would you?!" Hunzuu yelled in return, once again popping out of his beloved sand to strike at Kurigalzu. But the assassin didn't expect the warrior to use his head and found only bloodied clothing tasting his blade. Leaping from the thin lair of sand behind the trap, that the storm had graciously supplied him with, Kurigalzu gave Hunzuu a straight hammerblow to his back knocking him down as he passed. Retrieving his sword from the make-shift body he crafted (really just sticking his sword in the ground and putting a shirt on it) he pointed it down at the vulnerable Hunzuu.

"They just, well.. got in my way.." He trailed off before going on, "Now you've seen something new, someone who finally beat you. Tried a little stealth of my own, what do you think?" Kurigalzu gloated, the words of the General having struck deeper than he let on.

"You wouldn't kill a defenseless man would you?" Hunzuu rebutted from the ground, making Kurigalzu falter a bit. "Let me live and I give you my word I'll follow you. It's my assassin's vow.. I want to see if you can affect some real change."

After a moment of hesitation Kurigalzu let him up instead of striking him down. He didn't have a lot of time to think still in this terrible storm. With Hunzuu's help they both managed to escape it coughing and sputtering on the green grass that awaited them.

"So, you follow me now..?" Kurigalzu said suspiciously as they each recovered, the wounds he received from the other man just moments earlier just causing him great pain. But he was facing an entire army. He couldn't afford to be picky.

"I suppose, for now. I'm an opportunist, and I was growing tired of my Lord anyway, always the same.." He shook his head.

"Why didn't Ashaka ever send you after my friend, Enshu?" He asked struggling to stand to his feet and turn around to view the city behind him. Kurigalzu never thought he'd be so happy to see it.

Hunzuu stared at Kurigalzu for a moment before continuing, "I use the sand to my advantage out there and am well known for that.. but I wouldn't want to traverse the entire thing at the best of times anymore than you did."

The God-Child didn't really care, it was just idle curiosity, so he accepted that answer and went forward towards the grand city. Bloodied and beaten as he approached the edge of Sargon, he was none too happy that he now had to watch both his front and back. But it was too late to turn on him now.

"I swear, Hunzuu, if you turn on me I'll make your death ten times worse than it would have been." Kurigalzu threatened one more time.

"Funny, thats just what Ashaka said."

[rapter200]

And so it Begins

Created and bound by the spirits of nature. Woven with a single purpose in mind. To teach those who gaze upon its blank canvas to see through the eyes of the natural world. Word of a mythical book that could grant great power seeped its way through the domain of man. Its resting place is said to be in the deepest and most dangerous portion of a terrible jungle known only as Nimsae. Many have lost their lives looking for the book, falling prey to jungle cats that could rip a man from head to heel in a single swipe of their paw, snakes the length of twenty men that crush two ton boulders with ease, and the legendary Roc that is said to lay claim to the entirety of Nimsae as its domain.

Men go into the forest seeking great power, rarely due they ever come back. The unlucky few who do make it out of Nimsae with their lives lose their sanity. Constantly they mumble about the dark secretes that the Jungle keeps and about the great power that lies inside.

To Kalonoth this was all unknown, for he had lived with Fel and his siblings his entire life. But for reasons unknown to him survival came naturally. With some trial and error Kalonoth quickly picked up what berries to eat, what materials to use as tools, and what creature was easiest to kill. It was as if he was born to be out in this jungle, as if it was his calling.

The discovery of The Journal came as a shock to Kalonoth. It had been such a long time since he had last seen something like it before, such a long time since he had seen his father and siblings. He hoped that the book would contain some sort of information about how the others were doing, all the books back home seemed to always have information. But instead he was greeted by blank pages, and soon the curse took its full toll and Kalonoth found himself in a new body. That of a newly hatched falcon living in a nest built into a tree growing on an open field.

For weeks he was immobile, due to his status as a hatchling. During this period of time one of his brothers died, accidentally falling out of the nest. Truthfully (though he wouldn't tell anyone) Kalonoth pushed him out. It meant more food for him and food was a little scarce at the time. The food was all that mattered.

[Nefarion Xid]

The wind hissed at Lossethir, saying something incomprehensible, but unmistakably scornful. There was pain and anger behind the wordless speech and it beckoned him towards the hilltop, growing in volume and venom as he neared the lonely hall in the dark of night. The great doors rattled on their hinges, freely blowing with the wind as they had for ages, the only sound over the moan of the wind and the unceasing mockery behind it. He spared a moment to look aside, to reconsider, but at last pushed inside the threshold to the baleful blue light beyond, drawn in by the siren’s call.

Upon a dais lay the source of the pale light, blue silver pulsing in the utter dark of the moonless night at the center of the feasting hall. A single round gem laid bare, there for the taking. Lossethir raised his hand on instinct, then slowly, forcefully clenched his fist and drew it to his side. Beyond the pedestal was another grasping hand of a porcelain statue all covered in ice. She bore a sneer of contempt. Only one raised brow and a slight purse of the lips gave the slightest indication that things hadn’t gone according to plan.

Blearily, Lossethir turned his gaze to the eyes of the statue, and though permanently fixed on the gem before her, it felt as if they stared back at him. When next he looked, the eyes had indeed slid in place within their icy coffin to behold him. The single immaculate brow had not moved.

“Ah, my dear boy, you’ve come.”

Lossethir brushed at his ear, no longer so certain the woman’s voice wafted on the wind instead of slithered into his mind. The whispers had, at least, subsided. Instead of meeting the woman’s eyes, he focused on the blue gem that lay between them. Unmistakably, it had a will of its own and it was something dreadful… angry. Lossethir suddenly gasped, raising a hand to his chest as he startled himself. Either he had forgotten to breathe while beholding the gem, or the frigid air was slowly stealing the breath from his lungs.

“Do you like it?” chirped the woman hopefully. “It’s beautiful. My own work of course…”

“Certainly; it’s hard to take your eyes off it.”

Even through Lossethir was mildly delirious from hunger and lack of sleep, the frozen woman’s voice echoing on the wind was still the least disconcerting thing here. Her laughter was lyrical and disarming if sycophantic.

“This gem, it’s the cause of…”

“Yes, everything,” she affirmed before Lossethir could finish his question. “Though he is less furious than before, that is why you still draw breath.”

At last he tore his gaze from the gem and began to encircle the block of ice imprisoning his host.

“And here I thought you were going to tell me I was special.” His tone was dry and haughty. Here at the epicenter, his senses were dulled, but he still had his wits about him. Prudently, he chose to not reveal overmuch in his speech and remain coy.

“You are a Son of Fel,” was the equally dry retort. The truth was not reassuring.

“You said he?” slipping around her side, he gestured to the gem in front of them, declining to discuss his lineage. She could tell he was no spirit. Of course only a Child of Fel could survive in this place.

“The North Wind, of course… what’s left of him.”

[ryan4567]

Stuck on the beach, still cold and wet, Yemaya listened to the soothing sounds of the waves lapping up on the beach and the wind blowing. She heard the natural, subtle harmonic melody, and recognised the latent power present. She began to dance. Always a favourite activity of hers, the one art she could best any of her siblings in, she knew that it would not only heat up her body, but allow her to focus her mind on the situation at hand. She always felt better after she danced.

Far above the Earth, the silver sphere of the Moon orbited. It was a source of inspiration, awe and mystery for peoples all over the world, who worshipped it in one form or another. This generated a large amount of power, which did not go unnoticed by the resident spirits of the world. One in particular had learnt to siphon this power, and take it as his own, through his great sceptre, which was made of moon-rock. Mesic was his name, and while he was a mighty spirit, he was alone. Other spirits were jealous of him, and feared his strength. Mortals he believed, and possibly rightfully so, to be beneath him. This did not bother Mesic, until the evening he met his doom.
Late into the night did Yemaya dance, loosing herself in the rhythm of her own movements. Cold was forgotten, and everything was simple in the soft glow of moonlight, the wind and waves providing the rhythm for her to make her body flow across the sands.

The Spirit Mesic did sense her graceful conduct, and desired this vision for himself. From his palace he came, to claim his first and only love. Beyond reason was he driven, to court and conquer.

Yemaya did not notice the intrusion of the Spirit, until he applauded her. His silver and shining form awakened lust in her. His naked body was masculinity defined, and in his hands was a silver sceptre, shining and brimming with power. Not unfamiliar with the ways of men, she knew the look on his face, and decided to take full advantage of the situation.

And so did the dark haired vision ask Mesic, “Sire, what would you have of a maiden such as I, who would weep to receive the attentions of such a perfect being as yourself?”

Anticipation peaking, the spirit replied “Be my Queen, and you shall share in my power limitless. Be my consort, and I shall teach you the ways of womanhood. Be my companion, and end my loneliness. For you are all I desire, and I all you shall need, until the end of days!”

And Yemaya accepted the silver Spirits offer, seeing an opportunity to advance ahead of her siblings. With this Spirits alliance and union, she would FORCE them to accept her, and make them forget she had ever screamed in fear of the Leviathan. That embarrassing memory still clung to her.

[Grim ranger]

Cyishan

The journey of the young godling had begun from a beach and continued into deep forests, but they did not stop there by a long shot. Cyishan was quite an adventurous soul by his very nature, and had no intention of stopping his wandering anytime soon. Before long he had left the forest behind himself and continued onwards, meeting new people and exploring new places he could have only imagined seeing when he had lived in Fel's island. Tall mountains dotted the horizon, urging him to run to them and climb to the top to truly see the world. Rivers running through plains and forests urged him to follow them just to see where they led, and even the clouds in the sky made him wish to jump up and see what was beyond them. For him, everything was worth noticing, worth being curious about... Even if it did end badly for him at times, what with his curiousity causing rampart destruction at inopportune moments. The spirits of fire occassionally appearing in the lands quickly flocked to him, and he quickly found solace in their company, seeing it as not unlike the company of his spirit friends on Fel's island.

However, even if the young god did not care about the consequences of his actions, there were those who followed his actions vigilantly. The land was being shaken all around by the arrival of the children of Fel, and one as active as this one could upset the balance of power created between the spirits, humans and other creatures of the land so badly that things would never recover to the way they were... And the powerful beings of the land wanted to still keep their power, without the risk of it being reduced by these new arrivals.

One of those powerful beings was great fire spirit living inside an active volcano not far from the area Cyishan had thus far explored. Long it had been the ruler of all things linked to it's own element, but recently the spirit had felt the approach of another holding power over the flames. That power was still dormant, but already it had managed to attract other spirits of fire to itself and was constantly moving, becoming more active and alive by the day. And that troubled the great spirit of the volcano, for if this new arrival would begin to lead the spirits of the area, what would become of it? The rule around this part of the world was often that of the strongest, and the spirit knew that not all enjoyed it's rule over the lands surrounding the volcano and would gladly see it meet it's end at the hands of this ursurper.

Of course, the spirit of the volcano had no idea that that was not Cyishan's nature, so he acted on instinct, trusting it's jugdement to be in the right. As the child of Fel adventured and made friends, the venerable fire spirit gathered it's strenght and allies, plotting how to extinguish the fire inside him. With that done, things would surely return to normal... As they were intended to be.

((Sorry about uninteresting and pretty much useless part, but I cannot come up with anything better at the present moment :smallfrown:))

[Hemnon]

Abigail, Part 5

The love of a goddess

It was peaceful to live with this little family, and her feelings grew for them all. She had finally made them understand (to a certain degree) who and what she was. Something surprised her about living with these humans. It was this strange tingly feeling in her stomach she got whenever looking at the family's son. It could be described as a butterfly flying around in her stomach, or a huge waterfall of emotions running though her every single time their eyes met. Being very curious about what this feeling was, Abigail asked the mother what it could be. Abigail, who had never felt like this before, got confused then the mother just smiled and said ''Oh you'll see in time.'' This was all the woman would say, which agitated Abigail quite abit.

A few weeks after that, Abigail was sitting in a tiny garden she had made herself, finding her gift to make things grow and live work, even in this dry soil. The family's son, who had introduced himself as Toran, was 'observing' Abigail sitting among her flowers and fruits. Toran had overheard his mother and father talking about Abigail. Specificly the feeling she had meantioned to Toran's mother. He was both flattered that she found him interesting but a little bit scared at the same time. She was not of this world, a 'Daughter of Fel' who is the creator of all, or so Abigail had told.

As he stood there in his own thoughts, Abigail looked up and saw him stare at her. Toran quickly hid behind the wall of the house, hoping that she didn't saw him spying on her. Of course she did, and being who she was, Abigail couldn't resist trying to tease him. She sneaked up to the wall and flew up on the roof silently, looking down on Toran, who was standing directly under her. Toran who didn't heard athing, looked around the corner again. Only to find the tiny garden empty, so he started scouting the terrain. Amused by his confused and somewhat glum expression, Abigail leaned out from the roof and yelled: ''Looking for someone?'' Toran, who had no idea she was above him, almost turned airborne and landed on his back. From there he could see Abigail's beautiful, Giggling face. Toran started to blush and mumble exused about why he was there and that he didn't spy on her if what was what she tought.

Abigail stood up and glided down to the ground. Toran still remained prone, he had closed his eyes to just escape the embarrassment. Abigail landed softly beside him, silently enough not to alarm him. A rush of exitement ran through her body. She slowly sat down on her knees and leaned over his face. The exitement grew in her, the closer her face came to his. Ever so slowly, she lowered her face towards his. With half-closed eyes, their lips met.

Toran who was totally ignorant of what she did, suddenly felt this soft yet smooth feeling against his lips. Unbable to figure out what it was, he open his eyes. The first thing he way was Abigails half-closed eyes and her long hair covering the sunlight. Then he realized what was pressing against his lips.... It was hers!? His body frozed and he was completely unable to move from shear surprise. Too soon her lips left his and she looked at him with red cheeks and a shy smile. Toran just remained prone and just kept looking at Abigails face. Shock is still keeping him from moving even an inch. ''Wow, why did i just do that?'' Abigail asked out into the air, as she leaned back and looked at the sky. a confused expession appeared on her face.

[Nefarion Xid]

Lossethir’s eyes again locked on the gem. Pity for the creature mingled with undeniable fascination for how an immortal spirit could be reduced to this.

Slyly, he announced his deduction, “You were trying to harness his power.”

“Yes,” the witch sighed, “His lesser kin were more easily subdued. Even with his physical form slain, his soul went berserk and did this.”

Seventeen pea-sized aquamarine stones he counted on the woman’s silver circlet. Each hummed with muted energy, almost completely overshadowed by the pulsing aura of the thing on the dais. The power of the circlet must be what sustained the witch and saved her from the same fate as the others…

“There were other people in this village.”

“Yes,” she sighed again, with a touch of genuine regret, “Frozen in an instant, broken and scattered to the wind. Painless, I imagine. Gone before you even feel what’s happening.”

Lossethir’s breathing had become labored, the icy air clawing at his throat on the way down. Nearly numb to the ravages of the cold after so many days, he peeled away the layers of woolen clothing to examine his hand – the color was fading fast. Replacing his glove with clumsy fingers, he turned to face the witch, fear brewing behind his soft eyes.

“I’m dying,” he resolved to say aloud knowing now that even if he flew from this place, there was nowhere on the island where he would be safe and warm, and that even if he reached the sea again there would be nothing waiting for him.

“Not even Fel’s blood will save you from this place, my dear. You could run… but it would all be over soon if you just wait here a while more. Oh, perhaps you will end up like me and we can keep each other company forever.” The illusion of a sweet smile swept over the woman’s face, though only her eyes were free to move about within her cocoon of ice. “Oh, I could help you, of course. But that would first require you to free me.”

She had tortured and slain the immortal spirits of this world and her reckless pursuit of power had cost the lives of everyone in this village. Her crimes were against Creation and Lossethir knew his father would have wanted her to remain like this for in eternal penance for the damage she’d done to the world. But, all of that meant very little to a scared, dying boy. Nor could he be sure that any creature, no matter how wicked, deserved such a fate.

“Tell me how.”

The eyes behind the ice beamed. Even with all other expression frozen, she could barely contain her excitement.

“Your name first.”

“Lossethir!” he snapped back, desperation breeding uncharacteristic impatience.

“Oh, an apt name and a strong one. I only wished to know the name of my savior.” Her words were a silky balm. “You need only grasp the Frostheart with your exposed hand.”

“And that will free you?”

“Yes,” she replied truthfully.

“And what will become of me?”

“Oh, I suppose the pain will be excruciating, but you will die if you do nothing. While the North Wind grapples with you, I will be able to free myself and then I can safely finish the binding! Ah, I should love to have you by my side. You would make a fine champion. The power of the frost is indescribable and I should be happy to share it with you, noble Lossethir.” Every word was true.

He took one last look to the flapping great doors of the hall and the night sky beyond. Had his brothers and sisters survived? Even if they were all together waiting for him at this very moment, he would never see them again unless he consented to the witch’s plan. Swiftly he stripped his left hand bare and held it over the crystal. The last bit of color drained from his skin, leaving his naked arm snow white, useless and dying before his eyes. The witch’s words of encouragement were lost over the howling blizzard within his mind. He hesitated a moment longer, then shut his eyes tight and brought his palm down against the Frostheart.

His screams died in his throat as it turned to glass. The tears froze on his eyes before they could escape. The gem crawled through his broken skin and down his arm, slithering through his blood, seeking his heart and leaving a pale blue glow in its wake. He grasped feebly at his arm, attempting first to disallow the thing further passage by squeezing and failing that, shatter the frozen flesh. In moments the writhing ceased and Lossethir lay still, accepting death with sad eyes locked on the rafters. At last the gem slipped inside his heart. A final wash of pain flooded over him as the last of his blood was replaced with the perverse arcane amalgamation.

Days passed and Lossethir lay unmoving in his tortured pose, suspended in the moment before death. He would have passed from this world gladly, but the choice was not his to make. His heart flickered and hours later it beat once in earnest. Slowly, surely, his heart pulsed again, if painfully slow in its rhythm and genuine warmth returned to his body and mind. Now hazily aware, he felt the strength return to his muscles. Propping himself up, he watched with morbid fascination as his skin thawed to a lively, if not healthy, complexion. Wearily drawing himself to his feet, the witch finally broke the silence from her prison of ice, still very much intact.

“Oh! Oh my dear Lossethir! My love… you’ve come back to me! I’ve…”

She was silenced with a flash of his fierce eyes. No longer fearful, they burned with hatred. It was the look of a man when betrayal dawns on him, yet revenge is not out of his grasp. The Frostheart lay within his chest still. The two souls joined in a symbiosis, the power and experience of the North Wind was his to command.

Lossethir spoke with a voice not quite his own, “You meant to kill me. With the Frostheart subdued, attached to a dead soul you would have had your freedom in time. Then you could cut it from my chest and bind the spirit again at your leisure!”

“No, no, my love. I never meant... I misjudged his power, his wrath. I…”

“My wrath,” Lossethir corrected. “I remember that night one hundred years ago, my love.” The words strained, and then snapped as ice sheering away from rock. Though the memories of the North Wind were with him, they were hazy and muddled as if distant dreams. One, though, was vivid enough.

The witch's frantic pleas fell on deaf ears as Lossethir turned and strode towards the door. “I go now to find my family. Let us see if you thaw before I return to this place. If you do, I would not linger long.”

The screamed curses of the witch echoed through the realm long after Lossethir had cast off the useless winter garb and fled the place as quickly as his wind kissed feet would carry him. The curses were not for naught and unbeknownst to him, something awoke in the mountains and he would not be able to outpace it for long.

[Kasanip]

Endings, Death, and Shiou

In blindness, Shiou could not see the sights that maybe would have caused her fear. Now that she had freed herself of the mirror, she had a small victory in the pain. She was alive. She had been pulled and carried up many stairs, and the air smelled sweet from the window somewhere. The feeling of cool mist also was in the room. The Ino had left her on a bed now- they had poured something into her eyes that had burned. She had cried in pain, but could not move. It would not be appropriate for the queen's servant to be blind, the Ino had said with laughs. Now she was numb, and there was no pain in her eyes. Then they had tattooed on her head and cheeks in gold some symbols, the marking of a servant of the Ino, who had long enslaved ghosts and spirits to them in this fashion. And now they had left her to recover, or suffer, in this darkness. And Shiou felt at first guilt and grief that her pride and foolishness had led to this place. In the darkness and time then, she thought about her family, who she missed very much.

If Torallden or Keth was here, they would think of a plan. But they never would have become trapped so easily. If Kurigalzu was here, he would rescue her. Even if she would be embarrassed, she would be happy. She could hear Lossethir making annoying jokes about her situation, but even his jokes were better than the silence. Even Neb, who probably couldn't help at all- he would be welcome.

But she was alone. Maybe the others were gone forever. But of this Shiou thought again and decided it was not true. Because she had gathered as many ghosts as she could, and they waited at Shiduka. And when she was finished, she would be certain to guide all of the souls here, and then even if her family was all dead, they would be together.

She had resolve. And now with these thoughts began to make the plan.
Before that future could happen, she had to be free. The Ino could not be left as a threat. Someone had to punish them, and to bring justice. And she would do it herself.

In these dark moments, Shiou made a vow then, that she would stop them, even if it meant dying. To give up her own self in this way, so that she could destroy them- to sacrifice herself so to end their future. If her family was dead, then she would die too and be together with them. And with this, she made a determination and courage,and now a plan began to come.
Her eyes had not healed completely, and how many days had passed she didn't know, but she was not a normal mortal. She could hear, and she could feel the air move. And of the things she had learned to hear, the beating heart sound was one like a drum- like the instrument she had loved when she was at home. When the Ino came, she could hear them by the drum sounds of the heart. And now, she tried to stop her own drum sound, and with the air of her soul, she gathered it and made the drum silent.

Shiou took a deep breath, and blew her own spirit from her body, so she stood next to herself as if looking as a ghost at the corpse.

So now, she stood behind the door to the room, waiting for the Ino who brought her food. And when it opened, she whispered words. They were words of conviction, and wrapped around the necks of the Ino who entered. And the Ino, who looked and saw the body on the bed, were surprised by Shiou, who stood behind them, and so the magic of Shiou captured them. As the Ino gasped for breath, she pulled the words tight like rope, until there were bad sounds, and the Ino stopped moving. The spirits there in the bodies, she pulled from their mouths like a dog leash, and from the room, she pulled these two spirits, who could not scream because of the words around their necks.

She had killed them- Shiou realized this. But she was not surprised, and she was not ashamed. It was necessary. Everything to come was necessary.
Down the stairs. Carefully, blindly, she went, with the leash of words. Here, there was another Ino, and she followed it's drumming heart, and stopped it and the leash grew. Another, and another.
Until at last, she came to the great doors again, and now passed freely through them in her own ghost body. There was silence here for once, not laughter or maliciousness. But in that silence, there were beating hearts like drums. It was an orchestra for her. How long the beats were, and yet now they would soon become silent. It was a finale symphony for the Ino. And now Shiou was smiling, though she couldn't see.

"Oh Queen Ino! Death has come for you and your people!" She called out in a voice sweet and insane. Fear - she could feel it here. The drums were fast and chaotic. But she would end this problem. The ghosts of the Ino tied behind by her words before, she now released a little, and their voices were screams of death and horror. And fear filled the room.
The queen Ino snarled and sent her guards forward, but they did not dare come close to the girl, who could not see their magics had burned marks of gold on her head and cheeks, and the eyes that could not see in her head were gold and cold. But more, they saw the ghosts of their brothers and sisters, and were both enraged and afraid. The unknowable power of death- was it in this child?

And uncertainty is like chaos - it has no end. No end, so it eats and eats until it has eaten everything with fear.
So reflected like a mirror, is death so different? It also eats and eats until it has eaten everything. So the magics of Shiou were consuming them as she spoke, as they consumed themselves.

The end was the same. The end of a drum song was not so different than end of a life. Or end of a meal- even to eat oneself in fear. It was Shiou who was most skilled at Ends.

And the Ino began to fall to the ground, or tried to run. Choking on Shiou's words which were like hands that squeezed them, or in the shapes of angry faces that swallowed them. And the Ino tried to run, but the door was shut behind Shiou. There was no escape but to run to Shiou, who greeted them with words on a leash, and death came to them. The screams of the ghosts echoed in the room. The orchestra of drums became quiet in the song of the ghosts, and Shiou's words, which guided and directed the songs, and made the drums quiet.

Only the queen, who had not been consumed stood before Shiou. Only one more drum beat it's willful song.

"Y-you, who has murdered all of my clan. There is nothing for you here!" Queen Ino said, and held the mirror up as a weapon. Or maybe like a shield. But Shiou just laughed. And the queen read in the heart of Shiou, as Shiou spoke.

"In this nothing there is something, and that is potential. I was afraid that your kind would become a danger to my family! But it's strange. In my fear I found strength, and in my strength I found pain, and then death. And in this limitless potential, I can see everything, and nothing." She stepped forward, and the queen backwards. Backwards towards the wall.

"I already realize what I am doing will not be remembered like it is. No one else will ever meet you now that you will be dead. And some may hold ideal thoughts of who you were when they see your remained achievements. They may respect you for your power or skill. My own family maybe will not understand how I can take your life so freely as death like this. And now there is no way I can go back to before.
But that's ok. Death is an ending. It is the ending of the evil and dangerous Ino, and it is the ending of the childhood of Shiou too. Its an end that everything living comes to. And yet how chaotic it seems. It needs to be ordered as well, and so I will do this...after the Ino are gone. Your work will serve me to give a home to all those who are dead. And they will be ordered and divided here suitably to their actions and rewards. But not the Ino, who are most foul of all I have met! No, I will especially care for you."

Shiou spread her arms was the ghosts of the Ino in the room howled like an orchestra.
"Come with me! I'll be your faithful servant, Death! I'll take care of you, and dress you and feed you, from now until the end. So don't be worried queen Ino! Don't be afraid!"

Shiou's words were sweet and loving, but wild and insane in the sounds of the ghosts. And she had stepped forward in blindness, again and again, as the queen's fear grew.
It consumed her with this last image- the blind servant girl leading her people's wailing spirits. And with the mirror, she saw Shiou, who had given up her body to do this, and who desired at this moment not only the death of queen Ino, but her punishment as well.

In her terror, queen Ino backed away and out of the window. Crying out, high up, the colossal palace temple of the Ino, and down to the ground below she fell. Her legs did not support her now. They became broken when she had fallen. And queen Ino tried to pull herself away, slowly and slowly across that long bridge towards the white tower. She trembled and pulled, but there was Shiou now beside her, but standing and looking down.
"A real queen should never crawl. Here, I'll support you, so please go easily." Shiou said with a gentle smile. And the queen Ino screamed in agony and terror and anger, and she pulled herself up.
"Never!" She cried out. Shiou put her hand out and touched the queen's face. And her other one she touched the mirror that hung around the queen's neck.

"Oh, I see." Shiou said as she felt the queen's face. "You were once a servant, too." she said simply, softly, and earnestly.
And seen through now by a blind girl named Death, the queen had been eaten entirely, and she turned and fell from the bridge into the river below, leaving Shiou with the mirror in her hand.
Shiou was silent, and then put the mirror around her neck. She took a deep breath, and then went down to the river.
And by the river, she pulled the leash down into the water, pulling the chained ghosts of the Ino together. And her words were simple and heavy that she said to the ghosts of the Ino behind her. And the words as the heaviest curse Shiou knew (and she has never told anyone again), became the anchor to pull the ghosts under.
So it was, that all of the Ino were taken by death, and trapped forever in the river, they will pull in any who try to cross it foolishly. So it was given the name Shishiremon, the river of the dead, and so it guards the realm of the dead over which there is one great bridge.
Death eats everything.


What about Shiou?
She paused to drink from the river and splash it's water on her face. And it burned and hurt, but slowly her eyesight returned. And as she looked into the water, she saw how she had changed, now bearing gold eyes, and marked forever as the servant of the Ino. She had given up her mortal body to carry out this punishment, and so she was such a divide, of a ghost and a god child, and so also a servant and queen to the dead. This was her own judgment of the mirror, which now she wore and felt it's burden. Seeing all of this, Shiou cried. Not because she felt guilty of her actions, but because she knew that this was just a beginning, not an end, and even god children can become overcome by emotion. And in crying now, Shiou promised that she would not cry again.

[Kaiser Omnik]

Neb's Tale, part two

A Song for Rengura

Neb took a deep breath as he caught a glimpse of the beach dozens of feet below. He quickly turned to look away, sweat dripping down his forehead. Because of his shaky leg, he did not use to compete up the slopes of Alu Mari like Lossethir and Kurigalzu did. However, he remembered dearly the few afternoons he along with his brother Kalonoth sat back, away from all that action, prefering to study the finer details of Fel's wondrous stonework. Together they experienced the life flowing in the earth, for the stones, too, have veins, if one knows how to look for them. And they speak the history of the world, bearing the mark of patience and wisdom like no other creation of the Clay-shaper. In those years little Neb learned to appreciate the spirits of earth and the slow dance of the elements. Now, as he climbed the cliffside, the sandstone beneath his frail, chapped hands smoothed and shifted accordng to his will. It was nowhere near as spectacular a display one would expect from a son of Fel, but Neb was simply relieved to have solid grips. He was just thinking how he'd need to stop and rest for a bit when he reached one of the numerous alcoves he had spotted in the cliff wall earlier.

The young demigod dragged himself inside and sat with his legs dangling above the precipice. He wiped the sweat from his brow and took a minute to enjoy the sight: the shimmering sea, the seagulls nesting high in the almost horizontal trees, the giant, moss-covered feet of stone, the - wait, feet? Neb looked again to make sure it was not an illusion. No, there really was a pair of feet several times his size carved into the cliff, the rest of the statue having been lost a long time ago, if he had to guess. And something about this monument was truly unsettling, almost intrusive; as if all of a sudden, everything around it, including him - especially him -felt incredibly tiny and unimportant, fragile and ephemeral. As if the broken feet still supported an invisible weight - a presence which weighted over the whole island, truth be told. Not really equipped to face such an overwhelming and confusing sentiment, as opposed to Keth or Torallden who always seemed so much more insightful than he, Neb pulled back. Doing so he hit his back on a pedestal in the middle of the niche, and the short-lived pain instantly broke the spell of the statue.

The son of Fel detached the cane strapped to his back and with its help got back on his feet. The reliefs covering all the walls and the ceiling depicted scenes of everyday life including men in the fields and women tending to pigs, but also odd ritual practices and offerings which seemed to turn into surrealist and even abstract pictures as they went on. Puzzled, Neb approached the pedestal and gently touched the fragments of pottery laid on it. He didn't remember breaking it, nor did he hear a cracking sound.

"What are you doing in Spirithome?"

The irritated voice came from the far entrance of the room. Neb gasped and turned around to find a bald man with reddish-brown skin, wearing only a light fringed shawl.

"Oh, I, hmm... A thousand excuses! If I did...if I did something wrong! Washed up here, had nowhere to go... I lost my brothers and sisters. Our ship was going down. They were RIGHT there, and then the sea monster appeared and the great wave followed his wake...and... They were gone from my sight. Even tall Valtam, who is a very good swimmer. Even Northal, who always finds a way to go around obstacles..."

The man relaxed a bit, although he lifted an eyebrow at the mention of the sea monster. He put his arm on Neb's shoulder.

"I see you did not mean harm by entering this sacred space. I do not know what distant land you come from, or how you managed to escape this terrible beast in that condition. But if it is really the will of the spirits that brought you here - and I do not know of any other boy who washed up on our shore - then you are as much a creature of Rengura as I am and are thus welcome to stay with us."

"Rengura, it's the land on which we walk?", asked Neb now much more lively and energic than before. "Tell me more about Rengura, please!"

And the man, whose name was Eriel, did tell the tales of the Twin Islands, of Ur-Rengura and the smaller Rengura-na, whom in their myths was the little sister of the former. As they followed the stone halls to the dwellings of the island's inhabitants, modest houses carved in the face of nearby hills, Neb heard all about the old days of glory of Spirithome. At the time the sanctuary was first used by common Men, the forests of Rengura were lush and the soil fertile. There, in the alcoves facing the sea, laid the Thousand and One Idols which all had names, each embodying an aspect of the earth or the ancient science which allowed mortals to shape it. However some tragic events in those days tested the faith of the Men of Rengura. None know even to this day if some malevolent spirits had caused them, or if it was rather the fault of those First Men. Whatever the true cause, they stopped caring properly for the Idols and grew arrogant. It was then that the spirits of the land stopped answering the Men's demands and entered a long slumber, taking with them all the gifts of the earth. Following that, the fields of the First Men turned desolate, black and cracked. The trees shrunk and the animals fled. It is said that the desolation never reached Rengura-na, but the twin of Ur-Rengura is not suited for humans, being extremely hard to reach and ruled by a tribe of great wild boars.

"I'm pretty good with stones, or so they say. I have a way of listening to them. They could let me know their secret...maybe. If I go to that other island, then I could ask them how to cure the land here!"

"Perhaps", replied Eriel, pensive.

Finally, the son of Fel and the red man arrived at the village. Many caves were left empty. The remaining inhabitants appeared malnourished, and although the harsh sun of Rengura had toughened their skin as well as their resolve over centuries, there was an air of frailty to them. Still, the dark eyes of the tribe's elders glimmered with pride. The coming of a stranger was a very rare thing in this place. For such an occasion, the Men of Rengura brought out the drums. In the evening of festivities that followed, Neb was amazed by the ancient, spiritually rich culture of the people. There was a sort of stoic harmony to their music. Eventually he himself joined in, trying out the flute he had gotten in Fel's home before departing. He knew only of the songs of the island-spirits, so full of joy and lightness. Those songs were not really appropriate here, as Neb felt the incredible distance which separated the kingdom in the sky from the harsh world below. Yet, the tranquil and divine melody of Alu Mari touched the heart of the distressed Men and soon the sounds of the flute and of the drums joined together in a mystical experience, in which the Men's bond to the earth and Neb's memories of heaven came in balance. Such is the foundation of hope.

"It's decided. Tomorrow, I'll go seek the slumbering spirits of earth."

Theme of the Ancestral Memorial (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0Vk2BHxY-Eg)

[rapter200]

The Thousand Years

The Journal's cycle of reincarnation would be enough to drive any normal man mad. Kalonoth experienced more death and rebirth than he deemed possible. But it seemed that the journal had a method to its method, whenever he died Kalonoth would always be reincarnated into the same exact creature as he was before. That is of course until he died of old age instead of other more violent deaths. The journal wanted perfection, and perfection meant living to die in your sleep. Many lives as a Falcon it took to pass on into a new body. Flight was a dangerous but thrilling thing. His first flight ended with bird meeting ground. Took until the third life as a falcon to truly master it. During his fifth flight he was shot down by a group of hunters, arrow sticking through his chest. Death became like a dear friend to him, as he passed on from one life to the next.

From bird to bug to fish to beast and then finally to tree. These were to be the cycles within the cycle, and so it was. No mortal man since the dawn of The Journal was capable to make it past the first cycle going insane from the natural cycles of life and death. But Kalonoth having the very will of nature born within his soul never lost his way. Death became life and life became death, it was the way of the world. It was the way of Nature

During his thousand years trapped within the cycle of reincarnation Kalonoth lived many lives. Hundreds of lives as a bug, for theirs is short lived and dangerous. One moment you are admiring the web you created, the next some frog has the audacity to grab and eat you. But that was life. In your death something else gets to live.

The journal's lesson was a difficult one, no mortal man could ever hope to accept it. For they are to short sighted, they only think of themselves, and as they should for that is also the way of nature. Nature is selfish, it has but one motto and that is Survival of the Fittest. It doesn't care about the weak, tossing them aside as trash. But it is also in this way it creates strength within those who do not have it.

In the last five hundred years of the cycle he learned what it meant to be a tree. Five Hundred long years sitting in one place, struggling against all those around him to reach the sun. He grew to be the tallest, largest, and strongest tree for miles around. Couples from miles around would come to him and eat under him. Many whom wished to commune with nature would come and gather around his trunk offering up what little they had for his blessing. Thinking him to be different from any other tree. But he couldn't do anything, for he was just a tree. A monstrous tree that dwarfed all the others around him, thick barked, and covered in birds of all shapes and sizes. But that did not give him supernatural properties. In fact all his splendor and might didn't save him on his last day, when a man with an ax came and chopped him down. Each hit as if death itself was knocking on his door. But even in this act there was also purpose. His dead wood becoming shelter for others.

When the final blow came the curse of the journal was finally broken. A thousand years had passed, but yet the basement room he reappeared in looked as if untouched the time. The Journal was still on the pedestal, but this time when he approached it the name Kalonoth on the cover for it was the title of the Journal. The pages inside were an exact retelling of everything he went threw, from the time he was caught by a fisherman while trying to swim upstream to the time he killed a man for intruding on his sleep as a bear. But it didn't stop there, there was no end to the journal for the pages kept coming. It wrote down his thoughts and actions as they happened. With this tome anyone could keep tabs on him, knowing his very thoughts. As such he decided to keep the Journal on him at all times, bound to his clothing. With that done he left the cabin, and decided to leave Nimsae to look for those he had lost so many years ago.

[hi-mi-tsu]

Eilyan, Part Four

She was growing weary of waking up in strange places, with a strange face hovering over her. Then again, all of the faces here were strange; she had never been away from Alu Mari before. She supposed she should be more open to the experience, but...considering what had happened to her the last time, she beheld the old woman looking down at her with a reserved suspicion.

"Ah, good, you're awake. Sorry about the accomodations...I didn't have much time to get things set up. Building a shelter next to a tree that still looks like a tree is hard work, you know. My brother taught me a lot about the ways of nature, but I am still nowhere near as gifted as he when it comes down to it; my skills lie elsewhere."

Eilyan sat up, warily; the last time she'd been awake she'd been in a rather large amount of pain, after all, and the "bed" she was on was not so much a bed as it was a large cloth strung between two supporting branches--that were also holding up the dyed and camouflaged cloth that made up the bulk of the shelter--padded with a few layers of blankets. Though the hammock's swaying made her feel a bit disoriented, she was a little startled to find that there was no pain whatsoever in her body; when she felt her face, the cuts left on her cheek by the jaguar-spirit's claws did not sting. In fact, she could not feel them at all, and her eyes jerked up to stare at the woman, alarmed.

"How...how long have I been here? I feel no pain...as though I was not just beaten beyond my power to endure, as though I had not just dragged myself out of a village and into this jungle!"

"Relax..." The older woman's voice was gentle, and she patted Eilyan on the shoulder. "I've been taking care of you. I told you, yes, that my gifts lie in other places...it's only been a day, outside."

"So...you're a healer...?"

"Well...not exactly." A quiet laugh, and the older woman settled down on a small log. "I am a manipulator of time. Though outside only a day has passed--which is not enough time for that loathesome spirit to decide he wishes to hunt you down--in here, it has been over a month. You were quite injured, my dear, and you're lucky I was here to save you; you wouldn't have lasted long, not with the beasties in this place."

"So...you can bend time to your will...?" Eilyan stood, experimentally, and flexed her fingers. "That's an impressive feat. But why waste it on me? ...And how did you know that I was attacked by a spirit?"

"Let's answer your last question first. You may call me Leyna, by the way." The woman--Leyna--offered over a glass; it held the same sweet nectar as her first rescuer had given her, and Eilyan sipped at it slowly as she waited.

"It was fairly obvious that he was the one who attacked you; he's killed any others that would have such distinctive claw marks. Besides, his bellows of anger could be heard all 'round the forest. They scared the animals. As to the first question...I am growing old. You...I have seen your thread, my girl. You are a daughter of Fel, you are a special creature. Not quite human, but not entirely divine. And I intended to offer you an apprenticeship, when you arrived at your intended destination. Unfortunately, when your thread was diverted by that horrible creature, it took me quite some time to get here. That is why I was not available to help you sooner."

"So...you wish to teach me your gift? That of the manipulation of time, and the knowledge of fate...?" Eilyan's voice was contemplative, and her eyes faraway; in her father's home, she'd always been fascinated with such things. She had enjoyed watching the stars, mapping their paths, cataloguing exactly when the sun rose and set by the light or shadow casted, coming up with better ways to track the passage of their lives besides days or weeks or moons...she nodded, as though coming to a personal decision, and her eyes met Leyna's again.

"Teach me. Please."

[ryan4567]

The palace of Mesic the Spirit was somewhat isolated – he approved of mortals fearing him, and had built it some distance from their civilizations on this island, known as Lomaris. There were three populations of humans on the island, each with unique aspects – the Dians, the Artimers, and the Hectans. Early on, Mesic had subjugated these tribes and governed over them, using the power he acquired from the moon. His rule was not overly harsh, but was not always to the benefit of the people – Mesic truly cared most for his self-comfort.

Mesic had enlisted a few dozen of each tribe into his service. They maintained his palace, and farmed the arable lands around it. They also mined white marble from the nearby quarry, the original source of the building material of the palace, and the many statues of Mesic in the gardens. Currently, the wall surrounding the palace was being expanded, more as a boost to Mesic’s ego than for any real defensive need of higher walls.

Yemaya was fighting to hold back some rather snide remarks. Mesic had already said to her, repeatedly on the way, in how excellent a lover he was, and how much power he had amassed from the Moon. She did not want someone who thought he was already king of the world to assist her! The more he talked, the less she thought an alliance favourable, or even tolerable. But to make the most of the situation was important, because, while not as impressive as he boasted, Mesic was still a powerful spirit, and she wanted that power.

Through the gleaming white hallways she followed him, to his bedroom. Let us not forget that Yemaya is expert at all dances, even those of a more depraved or sensual nature. She had often practiced with the attendant spirits of her homeland, and usually had followed through to the inevitable conclusion. She applauded Mesic’s efforts out loud, while resisting the desire to yawn.

It came to Yemaya that she could endure the company and attentions of Mesic for long enough to discover the secret of his power, but no more. Weeks had passed since she had first crawled ashore, and she was not learning anything. It was time to speed things up.

“Dear lover, oh mighty one. I see that you grow weary and stretch yourself thin with the worries of leadership of the island. Let me learn some of the techniques you utilise to keep the mortals in line, to spare you from this task, and allow you to spend more time at ease.”

Mesic had a mind completely focused on self-indulgence. He did not look beyond the edges of this proposition, and assumed that Yemaya was as entirely in love with him as she seemed. He taught her how to use the power of the moon, to draw it through him and twist reality with it. There were many aspects to the power, but Mesic only taught Yemaya what he perceived as the weakest, illusions. How to make visions inside other’s minds, visions outside it. Mesic did not understand that this was the true strength of the moon, and generally used the power inefficiently, in displays of brute force. This worked to intimidate the tribes, and could be a powerful offensive weapon, and stayed Mesics knowledge alone.

Over the months, Yemaya. Her powers were fairly weak, easily seen through by one with strong willpower and not able to cover a large area. Mesic could deceive multitudes, even though he was undisciplined in the application of the magic. Always on his person, however, was his majestic sceptre, shining a more pure silver than Mesic himself. He had never revealed to her exactly how he could tap into the worship power of the moon, instead guiding her to draw it through him. Perhaps the sceptre was how it was done, and explained why she could barely access the power? If so, it made her plans much, much simpler.

And so Yemaya began practicing with her limited power at illusion to enhance her not inconsiderable natural charms. She already had Mesic besotted with her, but to realise her goals, she had to be better. It never failed to please her that none of the other children of Fel would have been able to exploit the situation she was in as well as she was.

It quickly became second nature for her to maintain a constant minor glamour over herself, small enough that no one could detect it. The only times she didn’t have it on was when she was in the presence of Mesic. In this manner, she improved her glamour to the point that a mortal seeing her for the first time would fall on his knees in lust for her, and be incapable of resisting her wishes. The servants at the palace had grown adjusted to her appearance over the time it developed, and thus were affected far less.

After over a year of residing in the palace of Mesic, Yemaya was finally ready to strike. Now would she be rewarded for the time spent in the bedroom, the bragging, dealing with the limited intelligence of the spirit. Soon, the other children of Fel would be forced to accept her as their equal, including her once-close friends Uluwana and Kilea. In all honesty, Yemaya was truly starting to forget her siblings, her life had almost become the ritual of the palace and the ceremonies the people associated with the worship of the Moon. But that initial drive, that need to prove herself, still remained.

[Hemnon]

Abigail, part 6

Lurking eyes and explanations

A week later. Amon-kan, in the great castle of the undying Thanan

''A girl with wings you say? That's very interesting indeed'' The almighty Zanbantanir muttered as he heard the news of this extremely beautiful girl with wings. ''tell me my good man, where can i find her?'' Zanbantanir asked the imformant, a young man with a long scar running vertical over the left eyelid, from above the eyebrow to the edge of his upper lip. ''Of course my'lord, you will find her in the outskirts at a small house near 'Bankian''' The young man said with a sly smile. ''Now, how about this payment you promised. ''He continued and got a hungry look in his eyes. Zanbantanir's eyes narrowed and a wicked smile appeared. He waved his arm once and a guard stepped towards the young informant, who was still expection his pay. The sound of metal dragged out of a scabbard echoed through the halls. The young mans eyes opened wide in shock, but that was all. With the blink of an eye, the young mans head was severed from his shoulders and his body collapsed.

A few hours later. The outskirts

''Come on, please tell me what this strange feeling is!'' Since she kissed toran, Abigail had continued to beg his mother for an explanation. She knew not why she kissed him, since she didn't know what the feeling behind it was. But all the woman said was, ''Ask Toran, I'm sure he will be delighted to answer.'' having an amused expression each and every time Abigail asked.

A few days later, Abigail and Toran was sitting by themselves in Abigails little garden. She had finally asked him what the feeling could be. Of course he blushed and bashfully tried to answer her question. She was unintentionally spot-on about what his own feelings where, since they where the same as her own. It was affection, admiration and last but not least, attraction. Combined they would give what was closest to the expression of love, that you could get with two inexperienced persons. Or atleast that's what Toran told her.

Little did they both know, that they where being watched.

[HalfTangible]

Northal, Part 2

-=Territory=-

?????
Spirit Temple
5 months after shipwreck

Northal peeled the banana and bit into it, grimacing at the taste. He'd always hated the plant - it was just too soft without the peel, and just too nasty with it. He could recall his siblings, and even father Fel, finding his complaints that of a spoiled brat. And they'd been right, of course. Northal had always pressed until something broke. It was just who he was - risks were all he ever really found excitement in.

He huddled closer to his makeshift fire and looked around the stone building. The temple he made his home in on this island was old and worn, but it was well built and shielded against the rain. That was more than he could say for his last few months upon this miserable island.

After finding a river and some food, he had tried to find a mainland to which he could swim. He had seen nothing of the mainland, another island, or even a tribe of locals, though he had discovered this temple, at the very highest point of the island.

He sighed and laid down to sleep.

-----

The old spirit clenched his ethereal, rotting teeth, and his eyes blazed with anger. This child, this... thing had not only had the gall to wash up onto HIS island - it had not begged his forgiveness when it had discovered his temple, or even made a proper sacrifice. Five years*, and not even an attempt to call him before it...

No, this was long enough. The spirit had only delayed this long because he could sense the power within this child of Fel, and he knew Fel's wrath well. But he could no longer tolerate the rude, encroaching beast.

The spirit shut it's eyes and let out a call to the creatures of his island. This human would pay for encroaching on his territory.

*Yes, he thinks it's been five years.

[hi-mi-tsu]

Eilyan, Part Five

"...So why can't I just go back in time and hit that jaguar-spirit over the head? It would serve him right." Eilyan twisted the strange hourglass between her fingers; made of a material harder than anything she'd ever seen, and yet completely transparent, it was filled with a strange liquid. The normal status was green; whenever she--or Leyna--focused on what they desired to do, the color changed. It was blue, when they chose to go back (though so far they'd only done very small jumps) and red for going forward again. And when they'd slowed or sped time, it was white, or black, with the shade changing depending on how wide the effect was or how far forward or back they were going...

They'd spent months in this shelter, now, Leyna patiently instructing Eilyan in the use of the hourglass. At first, it had been exceptionally difficult; focusing her will on the tool, giving her blinding headaches. And Leyna had needed to remove the sped-up effect on their shelter, so that Eilyan could learn how to manipulate the fields. She still was not very gifted; going back more than a day or two, or speeding or slowing time by more than a few hours, still gave her a headache. It frustrated her, though Leyna had been as encouraging as possible.

"Well..." Leyna paused, in her cooking, and glanced up at her young student. "Think of it this way. If you were to go back, now, to when you had washed up on the beach, and either saved yourself before you were rescued by the natives or took out the jaguar-spirit before he confronted you, would you have ever come to me?"

"Well...no." Eilyan sat down on the edge of the hammock, watching her teacher. "No, because I never would have come into the forest, and you never would have saved me."

"Exactly. And if you had never met me, how would you have learned the skills to go back in time in the first place...?"

Eilyan nodded, slightly, then more emphatically. "Of course, it makes sense! If I'd never met you in the first place, then I would never have learned how to go back, and never been able to do the thing I'd done...but...then, how do you go back at all? Wouldn't everything you do change the future?"

"Ah, well..." For the first time, Leyna looked a little uncomfortable. "For me, of course, there is not much I can do, neither in the past nor the future. The most potent part of that skill is being able to--with practice--view and trace the strands of fate for those you wish to watch. I can only focus on one person at a time...but you, as a demigoddess...your power is potentially limitless."

Eilyan nodded, a little, eyes faraway once more; Leyna turned and went back to their dinner, her own eyes dark and conflicted.

Years passed, with Eilyan and Leyna eventually moving out of their makeshift shelter and to a neighboring island where they could have a normal home. For a while, Eilyan's education was slower than she'd have liked; Leyna grew older, and the demigoddess grew disappointed. Then, one day, three years into her training, it was as though a switch turned in her mind; suddenly, the slow learning, the headaches, all of it paid off. Eilyan found herself able to manipulate the strange liquid inside the hourglass. To propel herself backward, or bring herself forward; to slow down the time around them, so that outside a month could pass while inside was a minute, or to speed it up so that outside was a minute and inside was a month. And she gripped the hourglass, and sent herself back to that fateful moment, and stared at the back of the jaguar-spirit. She'd hidden herself, so that no one else could see her; eyes that shifted color with the liquid in the vial--not that she noticed--were currently a deep blue, and flickering with indecision.

After a few moments, she sighed, and sent herself forward again, to Leyna's bedside; the older woman smiled, at the look in her face, and nodded.

"You chose correctly. Just as I did."

Eilyan looked at the older woman, confusion marring her face. "You mean...in training me...?"

"I mean in being you." Leyna's smile faded, and her eyes grew serious. "Remember this. You must go back again. You will know when, in your future. But you are your own teacher. It is important that you remember, Eilyan! Because of what we are, we are immune to paradox, to falling into the pitfalls. But that does not mean you should just play with time as you will! Take care for the mortals that you can see, and remember!"

Between one blink and the next, "Leyna" was gone; Eilyan was left to stare, dumbfounded, at the space where the woman had been.

The woman that was her.

She sat down, abruptly, on the edge of the bed. She had taught herself her own skills? She had taught herself how to manipulate these fields? Which meant she had come back in time to show herself these things...

It was all too much for her to process, now.

[the_druid_droid]

Keth

A Dream and a Spirit

Between the departure of the messenger and the arrival of Lucius’ escort, Keth was able to learn a great deal about the city from his brother. Hearing of its lovely architecture and relative peace, he almost forgot his earlier concerns about Lucius’ interest in them. However, when Torallden recalled his dream on the night of their arrival, Keth felt worry creep back into his mind. What was the Source, really? Just how powerful was it? Most importantly, did Lucius know about it?

Though all these thoughts and a thousand other terrible ones passed through his mind, Keth knew they had little choice but to appear before the ruler; they had no money and no place to stay in the city, and Lucius had sent his personal servant to summon them. Quietly, Keth hoped he was simply overreacting.

At last, their escort arrived, and the brothers began to make their way to Lucius’ palace; as they walked, Keth thought carefully about what he should say to the ruler. The safest plan seemed to be to keep Lucius as much in the dark as possible. As far as Keth was concerned, he and Torallden were unlucky travelers who had nearly been lost in a shipwreck, nothing more.

******

The royal palace was, if possible, even more impressive than the grand mansion Keth had awakened in earlier that day. In every hallway, marble and gold leaf abounded, and sculptures of every imaginable size and theme peered out from alcoves. Lucius had clearly spared no expense in the construction of his royal home. The breathtaking walk through the palace ended when the brothers finally arrived at Lucius’ private chambers. There they found the ruler of Addelyn reclining at a small table of exotic wood, set with wine and fruit. He motioned for Torallden and Keth to approach as their escort departed, and they obeyed, sitting across from their unlikely rescuer.

“It is good to see you both looking well.”

Keth started as he realized Lucius’ greeting had been offered in the tongue of Alu Mari; on closer inspection, the god-child noticed the fluid grace and unusually bright eyes which marked out Lucius as one of his father’s servant spirits.

“It is good to be dry and well fed, my lord. We are indebted to your kindness.” Keth’s voice was controlled, even as he studied the spirit’s features carefully.

“Of course. It is my duty to care for all those who come to bright Addelyn. However, I must confess that I am curious as to how you arrived in such a state; my men found you washed ashore and half-drowned.” Lucius’ brow furrowed slightly and he refilled his wine glass.

“My brother and I were traveling, when a powerful storm destroyed our ship. We barely escaped with our lives, and I fear the others on board may not have been so lucky.” Keth continued to watch the spirit closely; he surely knew more than he was letting on, but still Keth was hesitant to mention the island, or his father.

“I see...and where do travelers such as yourselves hail from, may I ask?” The spirit’s face was unreadable, but he paused in his drinking, as though awaiting an answer of great importance.

“We come from an island far away, and have been traveling the world, seeking to learn more of its places and peoples.”

“And what would be the name of this mysterious island?” Lucius’ eyes flickered and turned cold as he regarded the brothers.

“It would seem that you yourself know the answer.” At Keth’s words, Lucius’ face hardened to match his eyes.

“I do indeed. I know many things...not the least of which being that you are one of Fel’s bastards,” the spirit sneered. “I provided for you in memory of a worn-out oath to a worn-out god, despite the whispers of my people at your strange arrival. Some even dared think you had come, bedraggled and half-drowned, to displace me; to usher in a new era!” Lucius’ eyes glittered mockingly as he spoke. “And now you come to my palace and treat me like a fool, thinking I can’t see through your little half-lies? Perhaps my people were right; perhaps you do think yourselves great enough to challenge me... I suppose only time will tell.”

The sudden change in the spirit’s manner shocked Keth; although he had guessed from Lucius’ expression that they were headed for danger, he hadn’t anticipated the depth of the spirit’s paranoia. Keth was just about to respond and explain they were no threat when rough hands pulled him to his feet. At some hidden signal from Lucius, the palace guard had appeared, and now several worked to restrain the brothers while others stood by with their weapons drawn.

“Take them away,” Lucius ordered grimly, before turning back to his meal.

[Lix Lorn]

Kisha, Part 1

When Kisha awoke after the accident, she was rocking gently. The sound of waves was outside, lashing against… something. She opened her eyes, seeing herself in a simple bed, not exactly uncomfortable, but not even near as good as she was used to. Around her were wooden walls, and a doorway through which she could see.
She sat up, adjusting her eyes to the new situation. She seemed to be on a mid-sized ship, somewhere in the ocean. She rolled her legs from the bed, standing on her feet with the grace she always displayed-and then stumbling.
These primitive sea-ships took a little getting used to. That was her excuse and she would stick to it.

“Oh! You’re up!” came a strong, female voice, surprised. “Should she be up yet?”
The speaker was a brown haired woman, pretty, by mortal standards, with a large, hardened, wooden hammer at her side. She was addressing a rather severe man with no hair, and a neatly trimmed grey beard.
“I told you when she arrived. No living man can judge the health of something like her.” he said, exasperated, as if he’d said it several times already. “If she can stand, she can stand.”

He turned to look at Kisha.
“Now, who are you? And what exactly are you? Why are you here and what are you doing?”
“Wait, don’t bother.” said the woman. “Wait until the captain’s here. He’ll want to hear as well.”
“Want to hear what? About the girl you dredged up from the sea? Damn straight I do.”

[the_druid_droid]

Keth

A Plan and an Escape

At Lucius’ orders, the guards quickly marched the god-children out of the spirit’s chambers, and shortly thereafter, out of the palace’s walls as well.

As the guard forced them onward, Keth plotted furiously, looking for a way out of the dismal situation in which the brothers suddenly found themselves. At last, after what seemed like an age of desperation, an idea struck him, and he called out a few short words in a particularly ancient dialect of Alu Mari; just enough to be sure Torallden understood his plan. As the guard at the head of the procession turned, likely to order silence from his captives, Keth gave the signal to take action.

Together, the brothers lunged to strike the guards nearest them with their shoulders, throwing their full weight into the blows, and swinging bound wrists up to connect with helmeted heads. Although neither of the two would ever be mistaken for the strongest of Fel’s children, their heritage was not without its physical benefits, and Lucius’ guards crumpled under the assault.

In the confusion following the attack, the brothers bolted, and as he ran, Keth smiled at Lucius’ error in judgement; the Children of Fel would not be taken so easily. His smile faded, however, when a cry of pain sounded behind him. Turning, Keth saw that an arrow had pierced his brother’s knee; although he tried to return and aid Torallden, the older god-child shouted for him to flee and seek out the Source alone. Keth would rather have stayed and faced imprisonment with his brother than risk losing him, but the look in Torallden’s eyes brooked no argument, and the rapidly approaching guards gave him little time to think.

“I’ll come back for you, brother!” Keth shouted as he turned and ran, praying Fel would watch over Torallden while he searched for the power to return and free him.

As Keth continued his flight from Lucius’ guards, he searched for any sign of an exit from the walled city, but began to despair as most of his twists and turns were chosen blindly and in haste. Just as he was considering trying to lose his pursuers until he could think of a better escape plan, the gates of Addelyn loomed huge and open before him. His stroke of luck was worthy of Northal, and Keth smirked as he sped out through the open city gates; surely Fel had heard his prayers after all.

*****

Once he escaped the city, Keth continued running for hours, trying to shake his pursuers. As the chase continued, all but the most dedicated of Lucius’ servants began to fall back, but even so there were a few guards still following, and from time to time Keth had to take care to avoid errant bowshots. The land around Addelyn was mostly open, with a few gently rolling hills and Keth silently cursed the lack of cover as he ran onward.

At last, as even the god-child was beginning to feel fatigue creep over him, he spotted the tops of a few trees over the next hill. Soon, Keth could see that a whole forest lay ahead of him, and he breathed a sigh of relief, confident he could lose his pursuers quickly in the undergrowth.

Once he was safely under the sheltering trees, Keth looked back to check on his pursuers, but he was surprised to see them halt at the edge of the forest, panting and looking nervously at the great oaks towering up in front of them; they seemed almost afraid to set foot beneath the forest canopy. Even so, Keth refused to trust to luck, so he ran deeper into the woods, putting more cover between himself and the remaining soldiers; and yet, with every step, the godling wondered if he would ultimately find that their fear of this place had been justified.

[The_Snark]

Part 1: A Beginning

She wakes to the sound of waves crashing on the shore; like the sound of the endless river falling from Alu Mari, but also not, because the sound rises and fades rather than stay constant. It's a fickle sound, not at all like their steady river back home. She decides she likes it. Less welcome is the feel of salt and sand on her bare skin, itching where her clothes rub against her, and the sun beating down hot on her back. A bath would be just the thing, she thinks muzzily. Is there water nearby?

Oh.

Of course there is. Now she remembers the ship gliding down the river to the place where the sky meets the sea, and the monstrous beast that had risen from the ocean to greet them. She remembers running across the deck and leaping into the storm-tossed waters to escape, her sister's hand clasped tightly in her own...

Sister!

Kilea-the-younger leaps up from where she lies on the beach and looks around with wild eyes. It is a beach, of course, a place where all manner of flotsam washes up: smooth sun-bleached wood, dead fish, sea-grasses torn from their dark abyssal roots to wither on the sand, and the occasional shipwrecked girl. Luckily for Kilea - for she has never been alone before - there are two of those on this beach. She runs to her sister.

"Uluwana! Uluwana, wake up!"

Uluwana-the-elder stirs. She is a brown-skinned girl on the cusp of womanhood, long-legged and small-breasted. She is two minutes older than her sister, and never lets her forget it. "What... oh!" The two clasp one another tightly for a minute before looking around.

"Is this Gillinguap, do you think?"

"I don't know. I suppose it could be, since we were sailing in that direction. Do you remember if Father ever mentioned other lands?"

Kilea shrugs. "Keth would know." They nod in unison, and then grin at one another. What does it matter what this place's name is? It is new and beautiful: the water is warm and green in the sun, the gulls sing their screeching songs overhead, and the salt-and-decay of rotting fish and kelp-wrack fills their noses, not sweet but nonetheless invigorating. Gillinguap, if indeed it is some other place, can wait for a while.

Soon the twins grow hungry and thirsty. Sea-water is not good for drinking, or so Valtam told them, so they wander down along the beach until they come to a lagoon that does not taste too strongly of salt. There they drink, and bathe, and compete to see who can catch the most fish. In the end they both lose; the fish are too swift to catch and too slippery to hold. But Kilea finds a dead crab near the edge of the water, and though its taste is foul and its shell scrapes their hands when they crack it open, they are too hungry not to eat it. They splash water at one another, and follow the stream that feeds the lagoon inland into the lush green jungle, and that evening dine on a fruit so sweet it nearly makes them sick afterwards.

So ends the first day.

[Nefarion Xid]

Lossethir paused atop the scant peak, balanced on one bare foot clutching pinpoint apex with his toes. Though the sea to the south was too hazy, he could be sure it was there; at least, it was there that the land ran out of mountains. He didn’t have a plan, not exactly. For now, he’d go back to the beginning and worry how he was going to find land on the vast ocean, let alone his family. No matter, he had time. Funnily, the thought of actually crossing the ocean no longer concerned him.

Rarefied air filled his lungs. He found strength in it rather than enervation now. It would sustain him for now, here, in this place where no other good thing could live. Still, his thoughts to something more substantial: potato soup. For all he knew, he could survive indefinitely on air alone, but he certainly didn’t want to find out if that were true. His muscled tensed and he prepared to fly from his perch when the sound stopped him cold. He spun, pivoting on the slight rock, mouth hanging dumbly agape.

The land to the north moved. A white sheet tore itself away from the grey mountains and thundered towards him. An avalanche, he thought at first. But avalanches don’t move uphill. The low rumbled had drowned under the howling wind before, but now the sound of the thing moving towards him was all he could hear. Frozen with shere awe, Lossethir could not move from the spot as the thing devoured the landscape moving nearer and nearer until it occupied the whole of the valley before him and began to rise up. The snow and the ice and the rock climbed into the air, solidifying into a face and hunched shoulders and finally an arm and hand that shot towards Lossethir.

His wide eyes narrowed and his lips curled into a sneer. If this is what godhood meant, he liked it.

“Who do you think I am?” He roared in challenge to the monster.

Undeterred, the arm continued soaring through the air. Lossethir lunged forward, digging the ball of his foot into the rock and prying it loose with a kick. The boulder size slab floated gently upwards until violently launched forward off the backs of his toes. It splintered through the outstretched palm, tore its way up the arm and tumbled out the other side. The monster screamed, or rather a sound came from the elemental fury, not in pain, just in surprise that something had done damage to it.

The smug expression washed away from Lossethir’s face as he saw the ice rejoin around the creature’s arm. He’d succeeded in slowing it only; the monster wasn’t even inconvenienced by the attack. In a blur of snow, Lossethir was gone. His father hadn’t raised a fool. If he couldn’t outrun the monster, he’d at least face it in the sea. With all possible speed, he raced down the mountain and glided through the air towards the distant beach. The living glacier followed, racing through its element quicker than its prey. As the sea appeared, the land beneath his feet gave way and the monster’s hand emerged to send Lossethir sailing towards the water. Bobbing towards the surface, he gasped and blinked his eyes to clear the blurring lights. A rictus formed on the glacier’s face before it moved in to finish its work.

[the_druid_droid]

Keth

A Forest Meeting


Twilight came early to the forest, and in the green darkness hidden creatures began to stir and cry out. Keth moved slowly through the undergrowth, picking his way forward in the absence of a path. By now he was certain that Lucius’ soldiers were no longer following him, and his thoughts turned instead toward finding shelter for the night.

As the god-child stumbled over yet another root thrust up from the forest floor, he began to wonder if traveling so deep into the woods had been wise; when he’d first run in under cover of the trees, he’d simply been glad to lose his pursuers. However, now that he had some time to think, Keth realized he might very well be lost. With a sigh, he leaned against a nearby tree and closed his eyes, finally feeling the day’s exertion wash over him, mingling with the worry that had gripped the pit of his stomach since leaving Torallden behind.

Keth must have slept, because he awoke to the sound of someone singing. At first he thought it might have been the continuation of whatever dream he’d been having, but the music persisted, moving away through the trees.

“Hello? Is someone there?” Keth called out, anxious not to let the opportunity of a meeting slip by him. At the sound of his voice, the shuffling in the undergrowth ceased, and the god-child strained his eyes in hopes of seeing whoever might approach.

“Only myself, young one.” As the voice reached him, Keth could make out a wrinkled old man hobbling toward him through the gloom.

“Hello grandfather. What brings you out so deep into these woods?” Keth inclined his head slightly to the older man, hoping respect would win him a much-needed friend.

“This place is my home, and has been for some time. The better question might be why you are here.” Although the man peered intently at Keth, a trace of a smile lay in his voice.

“I’m afraid that story is a very long one. Permit me to be brief and say only that I have been driven here by a twist of fate and a traitorous spirit.” Suddenly Keth wondered what mortals thought of beings like Lucius. If all the spirits together had turned from their ancient oaths to his father and led the race of men with them, he might never find rest in this world.

“Lucius.” The name was loaded with venom, and it hadn’t been a question. “Come with me child; I think your story needs to be told in full.” With that, the man turned and began walking back into the shadows.

Having nowhere else to go, Keth followed, his heart much lighter now at the promise of a sympathetic ear and a hot meal.

[The_Snark]

Part 2: An Island

Sunsets on the island are warm and drowsy. The days are long and hot so far to the south, and at the end of each one the sun settles down for a well-deserved rest, like a tiger stretching out to nap after a meal. Before he vanishes beneath the horizon to sleep, he wraps himself in a blanket of vivid pinks and oranges, gaudy and tasteless and undeniably beautiful. It has become the sisters' custom each evening to climb a tree and watch.

"It's going to be dark soon," one says at last. The other rolls her eyes.

"So?"

"So we should be getting back."

"We can walk home in the dark. There's plenty of light as long as we stay out of the trees, and I like seeing the beach by starlight."

"Yes, but what about dinner? He'll be getting hungry." The other sister snorts to show what she thinks of this, and the speaker adds, "He might decide to go ahead and cook without us."

"Please. You know he'll have the fire going all night."

"Oh, I do." This with a wicked laugh. Kilea-the-younger rolls her eyes; she cannot imagine why the beachcomber captures her sister's attention so. She's been like this for days. He's kind enough, she supposes; he lets them stay in his hut at night, he shows them which things are best to eat on the island and how to find them, he cooks the meat they bring back on his fire so that it tastes good and will not make them sick. But he speaks some nonsense tongue that neither Uluwana nor Kilea can understand, and moreover he's old. He's probably seen thirty summers, maybe forty; he even has a beard! Kilea misses her sister's warmth at night.

"Well, fine," she grumbles. The show is nearly over anyway; the sun has gone to bed, and the brilliant sky is fading rapidly; in a minute it will be black. She shimmies down the tree, her hands sore but toughened from several days of climbing and scrounging along the beach. At the foot of the tree lies a wooden pole about the height of a man, hung with tortoiseshells. Inside these shells are a feast: crab-meat plucked from its shell, sweet brown kelp, sour grasses with thick white roots, a yellow palupna-fruit. This is how they carry the day's prizes.

A minute later her sister follows, chagrined at being the slow one when she suggested it. Tortoiseshells dangle and clunk unmelodically against one another as they shoulder the carrying-poles and begin the slow trek towards what is becoming home.

[TheDarkDM]

Valtam

As he passed back into light from the crushing black around him, Valtam saw the luminescence stretched across a field of ruins that reminded him of nothing so much as Leviathan's nest. Scattered along the powdery ocean floor were the scattered ruins of a great city, its white marble columns and collapsed roofs reaching like desperate fingers towards the vault of darkness above. Everywhere, the luminous green algae has infested the stone, burrowing into cracks and crevices until every shattered building seemed to have its own latticework of iridescent veins. Valtam swam cautiously past the first sentinels of the place, two plinths that may once have been statues, before the tangle of stone and sand and cold surrounded him. Paddling along, he marveled at the construction of the long-fallen buildings, their workmanship and beauty apparent even after untold years of slow decay. Whatever race had dwelt there had been a great people, yet no sign of them remained, and as he progressed further into the city the silence of the place seemed to close in around Valtam. When the whales had ceased screaming, he had counted it a blessing, but now he found himself wishing for one more great bellow of pain, one whisper of dying breath, anything to break the silence.

Following what must have been a great thoroughfare, Valtam eventually came to a vast empty space in the city, a oval plaza with a shining obelisk at its center. Stopping for a moment to ponder his direction, Valtam spotted a break in the languid whorls of sand that spread below him. It seemed to be a hooked instrument of some kind, polished to a fine sheen, and Valtam's heart jumped at the possibility of salvage within the ruins. Thoughts of the surface filling his head, he dived back to the ocean floor and inspected the mysterious tool. It was a broad, curved thing, too blunt to be a weapon, and as he wrapped his hand about it Valtam could not help but wonder if the white stone about him had been carved by such things. Then he lifted it out of the sand, only for a humanoid spine to follow, trailing by some few scraps of sinew. It took a moment for Valtam to realize what he held, but once the horror of the thing had pierced his unwilling eyes even the sea could not swallow his scream. He kicked off violently as he abandoned his prize, and as he did so the thin layer of sand that had encroached on the city flew into a storm. Below it, Valtam saw more bones, bones beyond number, a great carpet of them covering the entirety of the city floor. Unthinking, Valtam kicked harder, climbing higher, ever higher, past the comforting glow of the algae and into the tenebrous waters above. He had just escaped the last of the flickering light when the world trembled.

At first, Valtam took it for a sudden windstorm, before conscious thought overtook instinct and her realized that only one such thing could muster such currents. Spinning around as best he could, he saw the ghostly light of Leviathan's lair blotted out as something long and sinuous and impossibly vast emerged from the chasm. Even over the many miles of black ocean, Leviathan's burning eyes glowed like miniature suns, filled with rage and hunger. Another flick of its tail, and the current struck Valtam like an iron fist, driving him upwards but blessedly not into the light. The path that had taken Valtam hours to swim delayed Leviathan by scant minutes, and as he clutched shut his mouth Valtam could do nothing as the beast passed scant feet from him. Every jagged scale cast dancing shadows in the pale light, and as it circled Leviathan blotted out everything in Valtam's sight, until his entire world was the endless black above and the roiling armor of the ocean's king. Yet even a beast as large as Leviathan left gaps when it moved, and in brief flashes Valtam saw it lower its ship-sized head down to where the sand was still settling about Valtam's discovery. The creature's eyes narrowed, surveying the great white waste, and at once Valtam somehow knew that it was Leviathan that had shattered the city and slain its inhabitants. With a final flick of its tail that sent Valtam tumbling through the water, Leviathan departed back to its lair, disappearing as quickly as it had come.

His heart sending tremors down his entire body, Valtam did not take his eyes from Leviathan until it had disappeared back into the splintered wound of stone it called home. Only then did he resume his swim back towards the ocean floor and the comfort of the light. From so far above the ruins, he could see them spread out for miles, a crumbling latticework of avenues and alleys and tumbledown roofs, all wending their way towards the city's heart. There, to Valtam's astonishment, he saw what appeared to be a building untouched by the ravages of time, and so he swam towards it with increasingly sure strokes as his courage returned to him. It took him the better part of an hour to cover the distance, and by the time he had the ghostly edifice had become a gargantuan domed palace, it's raised doors made of some strange glossy metal, fused shut forever by centuries of algae. Their material did not fascinate Valtam near as much as their decoration, however, an elaborate engraving that spanned both doors and the walls to either side. Flanking the door were figures he could only assume were the erstwhile inhabitants of the city, strange things with the bodies of men whose legs seemed to have fused into the sinuous tails of fish. They lined the walls, silently bowed in supplication towards the figure on the door. And there, writ small in intricate detail, was Leviathan, its body curled about itself, gazing down with an expression that Valtam could only assume was benevolence. Greatly confused, Valtam swam about the rest of the structure, only to discover more engravings of Leviathan being served by these strange folk, its bulk and rage noticeably lesser as the dead things mended its scales, sang it songs, and laid great sacrifices of meat before it. There were even a few murals depicting the great dome, Leviathan's body curving sinuously out of it to twine about its worshippers. Struck by sudden inspiration, Valtam swam upwards, and sure enough the roof of the dome ended in a great worked hole that looked down on a circular sanctum.

Diving, Valtam found himself in a room that looked half temple, half stable. Scattered about were wide troughs stained red even in the freezing water, overlooking a bowl shaped depression more than a hundred feet wide. The sand had not encroached into the sanctuary, and Valtam saw deep scratches where something had lain dormant upon the stone, rough patches where barbed scales had rubbed against smooth marble. at one end of the room were the sealed metal doors that had stymied him earlier, but opposite them was a mural that put all those Valtam had seen on the outside of the temple to shame. Valtam took in the vast wall of intricate carving, tracing every delicate line with his flickering eyes, until he spied a figure that brought warmth to his heart even in that cold hell. At one end of the mural, carved so as to dwarf even the thing that had once laired here, was Fel, Valtam's sovereign and his sire. Valtam knew he had a beginning from which to decipher the engraving, and so he traced the bold motion of his father's hand towards the first scene.

In the early days of the world, when Fel shaped the untamed face of the earth into a more pleasing form, his every step created life, every brush of his hand giving birth to an explosion of light and sound and consciousness. So it was as he crossed the vast gulfs of water between his sculpted islands, every step mingling with the churning vast to give birth to the multitudes that called the sea their own. Among them were the strange creatures of the broken city, and they alone had wits enough to follow Fel on his long treks, delighting the great maker with their songs and their adulation. But eventually, Fel's work was done, and he returned to the isle from whence he'd come to watch his world flourish. The children of the sea did not understand the reason for his parting, for they were still a young race, and as Fel withdrew into the sky their cries and sand pleading songs so touched Fel that a single great tear fell from the heavens to land amid the children. Yet this tear did not dissolve, but rather sank ever deeper, past where light dared travel, to the very limits of Fel's creation. Taking the water from Fel's body as some kind of blessing, the children of the sea followed, gathering reverently around the perfect sphere as sand and silt gathered within it to eventually form a great pearl. Around this pearl the children had raised the first buildings of what would become their great city, raising pure white stone from the sea floor by some secret craft and cultivating the algae that grew rampant along the sea bed. And for a time, the children flourished, their faith sustained by the great pearl, their numbers and great works protecting them from the dark things that called the black waters home. Eventually though, the water and sand around the pearl became queer, sluggish, and over a hundred years Leviathan took from. Not as vast and menacing as it was now, but instead scarcely larger than one of the children, a living reminder of their departed god. The children regarded it as Fel's avatar, and for a time there was peace. But with every passing year Leviathan grew larger, and more wild, for the burning star of Fel's divinity at its heart was tinged with grief, and the bitter reproach that all grief harbors. Eventually, it had grown so large that the children had seen fit to raise the great temple, hoping their supplication and devotion would please their monstrous god. From there the carvings grew simpler, less intricate, and the tale grew darker. Leviathan's appetites soon scoured the game from the surrounding area, and while the children could live on algae and kelp Leviathan required bloodier fare. So began the long decline of the children, sacrifices that began as monthly, but all too quickly became weekly, and then daily. As it grew hungry, Leviathan's reproach turned to rage, and eventually it had burst from the great dome in a wave of blood and fury. The city had been scoured in a day, the children unwilling to stand against their angry god. Only one had survived.

At this, Valtam glanced down sharply, and sure enough there was a single untouched skeleton sprawled along the floor, so white and still it blended almost seamlessly into the floor. The nameless creature had left one last image along the mural, a great vision of Leviathan that was far closer to the reality, a great star of power shining from its heart. Valtam stared long and hard at that graven star, at the beautiful dead temple that rose around him, and suddenly knew what he must do.

[Mono Vertigo]

Vagwyrr

The Start


Right before the blackout, the vivid image of an absolutely gigantic serpent strongly engraved in her mind. A huge, barely organic thing, that probably ate small islands for breakfast. And inexperienced gods.
Right after she opened her eyes again, the very same picture filled her mind with awe and horror.
The young woman jerked violently as her senses awoke once again, and her lungs rejected the last remnants of seawater. Her first real experience of the mortal world were, appropriately enough, disturbingly close to mortality. While she appreciated death in the same distant way one admires the innate order of ants, she very honestly felt she deserved more time.

Vagwyrr stood up slowly and carefully, still twitching occasionally from the moist coldness and the lingering primal terror. Before taking an extended look at the place, she rubbed her eyes softly, as if to remove a thin layer of salt and grime.
The beach upon which she'd awoken was little more than what is reasonably expected from a beach. An unpleasing mix of stones and sand made up the boundary between the sea and the land. A few large rocks disturbed the flatness of the location. Around her, broken washed-up planks and branches, all wooden. Which meant they weren't part of their divine ship. At a second glance, there clearly was algae eating away at the wood, which meant they predated the Leviathan's attack on Fel's children. Farther from the water, grass, soil and herbs disputed their rights over the land.
Bright and pure lights danced behind her. It was the sun, hiding shyly beyond the waves. Judging from the cold, it must be morning. Maybe. There was no way to be sure at this instant, she had to wait a little.
Briefly taking off her gloves and boots to empty them from the stingy salted water, she pondered the most recent developments. She had accepted, along with her siblings, to leave Fel's blessed realm, the only place they had known, to follow their duty and mature into divinities. Fel the Father had made the ship, and sent them away without accompanying them. And then, what happened happened.
Vagwyrr couldn't possibly be alone. Most of her family was older and stronger than she was, and if she made it without too much effort, surely they must have survived as well. It wasn't her biggest concern (though the distinct possibility her weaker siblings may not have been so lucky was gut-wrenching; she put the feeling aside pragmatically to focus on the immediate issues).
Did Fel know something had happened to them? Sure he did. He'd created everything, and could create much more if he ever wanted so. Next question.
Did he care? Did he make that monster too? Had he predicted the shipwreck? Had he planned the shipwreck? As the memories rush back in, several uncomfortable questions followed. A few tears ran down her cheeks. No, these weren't the right questions to ask at this point, and she favored shoving them in a corner of her mind rather than pointlessly attempt to answer them right away, even if it felt wrong denying them. There were real emergencies there, like finding a weapon, a safe place, food, potable water, and possibly, civilization.


Civilization was there, about one hour away by foot. Pabbe, a village made out of fishermen, peasants, and herbalists. A tranquil place, mostly free from the influences of the city, the king, and powerful spirits. However, like all tightly-knit communities, this village was also plagued by facades and secrets. There certainly were worse ways to start a new life.

[Lither]

Veldimus

Defiance

Darkness... Darkness everywhere. Veldimus existed in darkness. Every move unencumbered by any force, drifting soundlessly in a titanic abyss. The terror of Leviathan has been burned forever inside his skull. His personal bronze sword was swallowed by the waves, lost forever.

Crunching noises grew louder, reverberating straight through him, bringing him back to reality. He slowly opened his eyes. Above him, black clouds poured, the lulling sound of rainfall nearly sending him back to sleep. A head appeared in his view, the eyes wide and questioning.

"Are you all right?"

Veldimus tried to respond, but all that came out was an inarticulate groan drowned out by a clap of thunder.

"You need to get off the beach. Thunderstorms are a bad time to lay in seawater."

A hand grabbed his shoulder and slowly lifted him up. Pain flooded into Veldimus, but he took it with a stoic expression. Veldimus shook off the man's grasp as he felt more confident standing.

"I'm fine. I can walk."

"Not many people can stand after being washed ashore a rocky beach."

Veldimus affixed the man with his hardest stare.

"I'm not like most people."

The man quailed under his gaze, but Veldimus smiled to try and avoid making a bad impression.

"Thankyou for helping me, anyway. My ship was wreckedd and I seem to have washed up ashore. Have you seen anyone else like me?"

"No, you're the only one who I've found."

Veldimus realised that even if his siblings survived, they could be anywhere. He took the pause to study the man. He was short, bearded and looked fairly young. He was wearing several layers of animal hides as his own armour, and he held a fishing spear. Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled again, bringing him back to reality.

"I'm sorry to ask this, but do you have anywhere to stay out this storm?"

"My house, in our local village... what's left of it at any rate."

[The_Snark]

Part 3: A Spirit

Out of the west flies a frigate-bird, soaring aloft on great black wings. Fish shy from its bent-winged shadow as it passes overhead, not knowing that the bird has eaten its fill today already. The lure of hunger does not stir it from its course, nor the call of the hatching-place where it goes to mate. Something stronger draws the bird onwards.

Soon it reaches an island of white sands and verdant green jungle. Gulls screech indignantly at its approach, but with a broad sweep of its wings it sweeps past the beaches, leaving the protesting birds behind. It flies over trees, skimming low over ululating monkeys and ch.

Soon it reaches Aikilari. This is the name of the little village near the center of the island, and of the people who live in the village, and also of the island itself. The people of Aikilari do not need very many names; they don't know of anything outside Aikilari, so they don't feel the need to make boundaries between themselves and the rest of the world. Why bother? they ask. Most likely there's nothing out there; the ocean is flat, so if there is something on the other side we ought to see it. Such is their reasoning, when they bother to think of it at all, which is rare. After all, Aikilari is rich and green; warm sun and balmy breezes bathe the island on calm days, and the storms give them fresh water and sweep away filth. They spend their days swimming, and hunting, and harvesting the sweet palupna-fruit, and when they aren't doing that they laze about in the sun. When children come they are raised by their mothers; the people of Aikilari do not know what a father is. Why women swell with child is another thing nobody bothers to think about; it simply is.

In the village of Aikilari a child points up at the bird, shouting for someone to throw a net so they can have bird-meat for supper. But someone hushes him, and soon the bird has left the village behind. Onward it flies, to the butchering-ground; this is where the people of Aikilari come to kill and cut up the beasts they catch, for they believe that blood should not be spilled just anywhere. They never come here unless they must.

Onward the bird flies, to the dying-ground; here the Aikilari have lashed wooden platforms to the trees. When one of their own dies they place his body on one of these platforms, facing upwards so that he can look at the sky. Sometimes his body is still there when they return with the next, wind-withered and sun-parched but untouched (for even the birds and beasts know not to come here). Sometimes it is gone. The Aikilari don't know where they go, and don't ask. One day they will find out.

Onward the bird flies, to the killing-ground. The Aikilari are innocent of many things, but even they know that sometimes one of their own goes wrong and cannot be fixed. When exile is not enough, they take their lost one here and cut his throat with a sharpened stone and pour his life's blood out into the earth. The soil here sees less blood than the butchering-ground, but the stain is greater.

Onward the bird flies, to a place where an old tree grows up from the middle of a small river, dividing it in two. On the tree's bark is carved a face: two gaping holes for eyes and a deep gash for a mouth. This is the face of Aikilari. Not Aikilari-the-village, not Aikilari-the-people, not even Aikilari-the-island; this is the face of Aikilari-the-spirit, Aikilari-who-rules. The bird perches on a nearby tree and settles in to wait. The sun slides down the sky, nestles into a blanket of golden orange, and vanishes. As it sinks below the horizon, the frigate bird takes wing again and flies to the bare top of Aikilari's tree just in time to catch the last ray of light from the setting sun.

Aikilari wakes from his slumber, and leaps from tree to bird!

Now the bird takes flight again. No; say rather that Akilikari takes flight, Aikilari-the-island, Aikilari-the-bird. He flies back over the killing-grounds, and sees that no blood has been spilled there this day. This is good. The blood of men displeases him. He flies back over the dying-ground, and sees that no new bodies have been placed. This is good. He flies back over the butchering-ground, and sees the ground stained black with drying blood. This is good. The people have eaten well. Aikilari-the-bird flies over Aikilari-the-village, and sees that they have left the best part of the day's hunt in the fire. He flies through the smoke, and smells the spirit of the wild pig they killed, and drinks it in through his nostrils. This is good.

Onward Aikilari wings, listening to the monkeys howling their farewell to the sun. He comes to the house of the old beachcomber, who has long been parted from his people but not from his spirit. His crime did not merit the killing-ground, and so Aikilari does not spurn him. Atop a rickety pole he leaves three crab's claws each day, the best morsels from his meager meals. This is good.

But— no! Terror and calamity! There are no claws atop the offering-pole, nothing at all. The beachcomber lies dead in his hut, and the two brown-skinned trollops he sheltered now feast on - yes, on crab claws. Why, they ask another, should they leave the best parts out there for the birds to eat? Aikilari gazes down at the intruders with a jealous eye. Those are mine, he says to himself! Mine by right! Mine, mine, mine! All night he stares balefully at them, screeching when they try to sleep, working himself into a fury.

As dawn approaches he tears himself from the object of his fury and flies back to his tree. Aikilari-the-bird perches on top of the old dead tree, and the first light of dawn strikes him, and he leaps back into his tree. A bird that is not Aikilari flies away to do ordinary bird-ish things, not the god-things that it attended to in the night. But Aikilari does not sleep. Steal his crab claws, will they? No gifts?

Aikilari opens his mouth - not the mouth carved in the tree, which is made of wood and cannot move, but his spirit mouth - and breathes in. He breathes in, and inhales the life from the stream that flows around him, and it grows sluggish and still. No water comes from the spring, and foul green muck begins to grow. He breathes in, and inhales the life from the palupna-trees. Their fruits fall to the ground and burst in sticky black showers, and their leaves droop and turn yellow. Wasps come to feast on the rotted palupna-fruits; nothing else will eat them, ripe and rotten as they are.

Aikilari breathes in. He inhales the water from the sour-grass that grows by the shore, and from the sea-grass that grows in the waves, and from the fat white roots that feed the island's pigs. Clams die and rot inside their shells, and bird-eggs crack open, and all the kelp on the beaches becomes cracked and brittle and too dry to eat. The people of Aikilari-the-village wail as they rise to find that the roots they gathered for their breakfast has all gone bad, and a pregnant women shrieks as her unborn child withers.

Aikilari breathes in, and takes back the bounty he gave to the island.

[Madwand]

When the lost prince is found

They said that he came straight from the North Sea waves and that he was bred by its icy, raging abyss.
They said that he came out of the darkness, born of murdered Queen's vengeful soul, different than other spirits. Different, because in all things like a man.
They said they came straight out of the night, riding a horse big like a dragon, with a hawk sitting on his arm and a wolf running alongside.
They said that stars spit him out.
They said various nonsense.
The truth is that he was found on the shore and there were no signs of terror he will bring.


First came to him the sense of taste, salt on the tongue, then touch of sun on skin. And then voice, in language such different from Alu Mari's dialect, but familiar.. oh, so familiar.

"He is dead. Take the sword and let's go before someone sees us".

"No, no. He is alive. See, he moves and groans. He try to say something!" second, more childish voice exclaim.

Consciousness returned to him in an instant. Brandon brushed sand from face, sit and opene eyes. Around him stretched a beach, tidal waves hit the shore, the forest obscured inland, no more than a few dozen feet away. Two boys stared at him, speechless.

"Where I'm, and why you tried to rob me?" - Brandon got up on his feet. Quick inspection. No broken bones, wounds. Sword, short blade in the shoe and the other, ritual dagger attached under shirt. Everything in its place. Few scratches and bruises were a small price for such a catastrophe. He try not to think about his siblings.

"Have you lost your tongue, kid?" - he say in low, commanding voice "Answer."

"I.. I, m'lord. I was thinking that you are dead, and good queen allow us to collect everything that sea trows ashore. It is know."

And the name of that generous queen is?"

"Nefertari, m'lord."

Tell me how far is the city Avaris? I should pay my respect to mother."

[Snacs]

Parting and new beginnings

The preparation had been a bustle of energy and excitement mixed with the deep ache and sorrow of parting for Alahm. He had spent nearly half the morning sitting in the middle of the place he had lived since his birth, and thought on that duality of ache and joy. The island spirits as always try to make him laugh, or shift from his calm, meditative state. And as always he smiles at them, though this time he does not join in their playful antics, merely spending a moment with each of his more favored ones in lingering goodbyes. They are sad and sorrowful then, though he know that with their fickle nature they shall be happy soon enough when he is gone from their sight. This does not hurt him, as he knows that is as they are, as he is how he is. He will miss them and their pleasant company, as he will miss his home. The half-deity is somewhat jealous of their fickle hearts.

He arrives on time, only a few possessions with him. Mostly clothes and a few baubles given to him by the spirits to cherish. The gentle half-god has taken Fel's advice and will find his own way, without the weight of his former home. The soft blessing of his Father brings that sharp ache of parting into focus, but he smiles through it and steps aboard with the others. How will he ever survive without his Father's guidance?Without his brothers and sisters about him?

Ensconced within his father's ship Alahm closes his eyes, and lets himself drift along his sibling's quiet murmurs and excited chatter as one might float leisurely in a bath. It is familiar and comforting, as only family can be. He helps to lift the covering to keep the rain away, enjoying the descent to the physical need of the moment. He laughs with Valtam, finding the air of the Mortal World sharp and new, bringing with it the smell of sea salt and promise. The scales shift and he rises on a tide of joy at the new experience.

And then the screams. The ship(His Father's beautiful vessel!) disappearing under the thrashing waves in the teeth of a monster. Something sharp and malevolent slides across his side and there is blood in the water, staining his suddenly sodden clothes. He manages a gasp of pain that probably saves his life, a gulp of air that becomes a lifeline as existence is reduced to water and teeth and scales and flailing figures.

Alahm is thrown aside as the ship shatters, somehow managing to keep from expelling the precious air when the leviathan's scaled hide bumps into the large cut down his left side, spinning and tumbling him end over end in a confusion of bubbles and debris from the ship. He kicks, awkwardly dragging himself away from the doomed ship and the massive sea-serpent with one arm.

Slowly the water settles, but he is so deep! Already his lungs burn, for he is not the strongest or best swimmer of Fel's children, and he has never been so deep in dark, unfriendly waters before. He grows weak in the water's embrace and slows, clouded in his own blood. The spirits find him there, and delight in their finding. They are diluted by their time in the Mortal World, but their fickle minds still remember the presence of Fel and can tell that this is one that he blesses.

This child will survive to reach the air and sun.

[Mono Vertigo]

Vagwyrr

The Relativity of Truth




“Nice cabin you got there.”
The brunette turned her head toward the voice. The man in his 50's had strong tanned arms and a beard bleached by sunlight, white like pure salt with speckles of black.
“Do you mean it?”
A short silence. The sound of the waves crashing against the eroded rocks and the small but steady boat was the only music accompanying the faint, distant song of seagulls.
“I was off to catch a few octopuses, seeing how it's that time of the year their colony get closest to land and all, and when I glanced at the beach, whaddayanow, I saw a little fragile brown-ish thing that wasn't there two days ago.”
The cabin made of planks washed ashore, or its builder?
“I'm certain it is a little more resistant than you think.”
“Who are you?”
“A traveler. I was supposed to go to Gillinguap with my family, but we got shipwrecked, and I have no idea where they could be now.” From a certain point of view, it was true. “I don't believe you've seen anyone else like me?”
“Nope, sorry. But you're not the first one to get lost like that”, admitted the old man, “last year alone, two other ships sank like stones. Some parts are just tricky, what with the whirlpools and the currents and the stones sharp like spears. When you're experienced like me though, you just know where everything is, and when it pops up.” He promptly readjusted his straw hat, visibly old. It was bleached by the sun as well, and it had one or two holes, but the craftsmanship was incontestably good, and the weaving thick enough to protect from rain and heat. “You're aware our village is close from here?”
“Actually”, replied the woman as she tightened a makeshift rope made of dry plants, “I saw it when I was looking for water, but I didn't want to disturb the locals. It's not like you would have otherwise noticed me.”
“Bah, come with me. You're in a bit of a tight spot, what with the things lurking around and the rocky cliffs, but there's room on my boat for two, so instead of walking, we'll just sail. Look at you, a seagull's wing flap could snap you in two like a twig.”
He smiled.
“By the way, I'm Lars.”



“Nora dear, Lon, here's the first poor little thing of the year the ocean's spit out this year, Vagwyrr.”
Lars' wife stare scrutinized the girl, vaguely disapproving of that presence, from bottom to top. Dark boots fit for walking but not for swimming, or drying, or anything related to water. Brown pants, very humble and practical, but not fit for a lady, nonono. A tight belt, with some tiny dried seaweed stuck to it that had escaped the wearer's notice. A brown shirt that didn't betray the curves underneath; one more thing that would have fit better some farm boy, but at least, it probably meant she wasn't a prostitute. A ripped-off cloak that had more use as an improvised hood today. Skin not as tanned as her husband's, but not as pale as that weird foreigner she saw once; actually the same shade as hers when she thought about it. Jaded pale brown eyes stared back, nor warm nor cold. Chin-length hair that had seen better days, but still were quite un-ladylike, who raised that girl so pitifully? And black leather gloves that, quite oddly, fit the slender hands tightly enough, and had been cleaned with more care than the rest.
Verdict: not a prostitute, but certainly not a lady either. Those silly foreigners and their adventuring urges.

Nora's mouth contorted into a hypocritically warm smile.
“Dear, dear, you should have come to us instead of staying away like a small wounded animal. We're more civilized than that, honestly, you shouldn't be afraid.”
The son, who was 17 and aloof in the very peculiar way some teenagers could be, rolled his eyes, but didn't show animosity. “Ask me or my mother if you need anything.”
“I don't intend to bother you for long, don't worry, I'll reach my destination as soon as I can...”
Suddenly, she felt her shoulder being shoved in a strong, but friendly push. “You aren't going anywhere until your clothes are clean and you get some nice rosy color on your cheeks! What are people going to think if they see some beggar like you and learn you've left Pabbe in this state? No, don't move, sit down and drink the infusion my wife made just for you.”
Vagwyrr obeyed. She felt like protesting, but the hot, dark orange beverage was very invigorating indeed. Beats the juice of berries and the occasional puddle.
The house was old and small but nice, with walls the color of clay. Every other house in the village was the similar to the model of the picturesque familial hearth.



And yet, after eating the first clam soup in her life, and her first night of deep, restful sleep, Vagwyrr just had to ask the way back to the beach with the eroded rocks and the lone cabin. There were many wrong things going on in that human community that were barely perceptible. Lesser spirits wandering on the shore made better listeners than the very members of said community.

[Orosboru]

Xerxes, Part 1

I came to holding on to a piece of wreckage, a long, thick, piece of wood that used to be part of the mast. I think I had a family - was I on a trip? I had a father, yes. He sent me on a journey. To where, and what purpose? I have forgotten. The sea breeze was chilling my wet shirt, and I shivered. I remember a scream, and a great maw of gnashing teeth and fangs that looked like it could devour the world. That was my past. Where was I?

There was a island in the distance, and the warm water was slowly drifting me towards it. I started to kick, propelling myself and my driftwood along the top of the ocean. The salty spray of the crest of the wave irritated my eyes and made me thirsty. Hopefully, the land would provide me with some sort of sustenance. The water was clear - I could see for some distance into the water. It was getting shallower and shallower.

My feet touched the bottom, and I began to walk, dragging the mast with me. The sand floor was soft and welcoming. It was a relief to stand after - days? weeks? I don't know - at sea. My legs ached from the effort, and I stumbled in the water. Eventually, my ankles emerged from the water and the wood that buoyed me felt incredibly heavy. I fell to the ground in a fugue, and I went to sleep.

I woke up, and it was night - the stars were as bright here as back home. But where was home? I need to remember. My stomach protested tremendously at my lack of attention to its needs. I looked around. In the darkness of night, I could see the tops of trees. Everything was a vague shadow, flitting things in the dark that eluded me. It was cold, and my sunburns throbbed in pain. The log had rolled next to me, the tide had not taken it back in. I curled up next to it, and I fell asleep hungry.

I remember celebrating my twelfth birthday shortly before leaving - but how long ago was that? I stood up, and immediately regretted it. I gritted my teeth and looked for something to eat. The sun was barely cresting the horizon, but the wind was becalmed. I stank of the sea and sweat. I am forgetting something right now, but I can remember later. I need to eat.

Contrary to the tales I was told as a child, desert islands are not cornucopias of refreshment. The island itself was small, with several rocky protrusions and a grove of trees with a small water pool in the centre. I eagerly drank with my cupped hands, my dry mouth cracking at the first sign of water. For a while, I idled under the shade of a tree - my stomach content with water for now. The palm grove had several species of fern hiding in the shade, a small assortment of plants that manage the journey around the world.

I found a coconut seed near where I sat, and for a moment I was tempted to eat it. I cautioned myself. When would I see another coconut again? Better to plant it so that more could grow later. With my hands, I parted the soft earth and placed the huge seed in the middle. Again, I was reminded of the enormity of my physical exertion and my entire arm tensed up. I stared at my efforts. Perfect. But where else was there food?

I expected a banana tree, or some other edible plant but at that time there was no such thing that I knew of that was here on this island. It took me almost no time at all to realize that this island was barren, in many respects. I sat down on the mast and I contemplated my situation. And then I saw it. A small, saltwater pool had formed in a small cove in the island. A bunch of small fish were trapped here by the tides, unfortunately for them. I swept my hand in the pool, missing many but catching one, and I ate it raw.

It was not to my liking.

Fire. I needed it, not only for warmth, but for cooking the fish. I touched my flint necklace, a gift from my mother. Who was she? I keep having these memories of people I know nothing at all. I should remember - in fact, I should - but they remain tantalizingly out of reach. I grabbed the mast, inspecting it if it was suitable for firewood. I read a word fragment.

..el'…
A whole list of names. Perhaps they were the passengers on the ship. Did I write this? I don't remember It was incomplete, but I knew somehow that this was not to be burnt. I rolled it to the center of the grove, and fell asleep in the ferns.

[DoomHat]

Prologue

Alu Mari
months before the voyage

Rao was running hard. He was sure he’d make it this time. The path was clear toward the little peninsula that stretched out into empty air. Over his shoulder, he carried a picnic basket that hid a net. He’d painstakingly crafted it from feathers, dropped by the island’s population of song birds. He just had to make it a little further.
He picked up his pace. He double checked the plan once more in his mind. Once he’d jumped off the edge of Alu Mari, he’d put all his diving practice to use, and steer toward a thick crop of clouds. Then he’d tear open the basket, and catch one with his net. The cloud would slow his fall and he’d be free!
Just a couple more yards to go, free and clear. He collided head first with a wall of iron bars. His momentum caused him to ricochet backward, knocking him into the iron bars that were suddenly behind him as well. Rao’s head swam as he felt out the dimensions of his cage. Not yet beaten, he quickly set about testing the bars two by two, looking for a weakness.
“Rao, please, stop it…” said aged Fel, as he came into view and carefully sat down next to the cage. His weary bones creaked.
Fel gently opened the picnic basket and examined its contents, shaking his head in disapproval. Besides being foolish in principle, the workmanship was pitiful. The net came to pieces with a single tug.
“How’d you find me out?” Rao asked bitterly as he continued to rattle the bars, looking for which set would be the easiest to bend, or maybe pop loose.
Fel looked down at his son with incredulity, saying, “You were running around all morning telling your siblings,”.
Rao snorted. “Well yeah! I was hoping some would come with me. And anyway, I was gonna miss them when I got to the World Below… Wait… You mean one of them tattled on me?!” Rao said, aghast.
“They hardly needed to. You told a few spirits as well,” replied Fel with exasperation.
“They asked what I was up to! What could I do? Lie?” said Rao as he turned away in disgust, going back to the work of freeing himself.
Fel opened his mouth as though to say something, before thinking better of it. For a while he just sat quietly, observing his son.
Finally he asked a question, “Rao… why must you always resist me?”.
Rao seemed to ignore his father. He’d apparently decided on a set of bars and began straining against them. The metal creaked ever so slightly.
“Rao,” the old man said, this time more firmly.
“Because you’re in my way!” Rao shouted.
Fel was startled, he demanded, “How? This place is a paradise, your caretakers will grant you anything you ask for, you’re free from disease, starvation, and war… ”
“This is a prison” Rao corrected, “we‘ve no uncertainty, responsibility, or challenge,”.
“When you are ready,” Fel insisted, “I will allow you, all of you, to go down into the World and learn your destiny to rule and shape it,”.
“And what if I don’t care…” Rao said, his voice strained as he pulled at the bars of his cage with all his might, “what if I don't want to rule anything. I just want to be Great!”
There was a long pause. Fel stood up, painfully, and started walking away.
“Dinner will be ready by the time you’ve pried yourself loose…” he said over his shoulder…

[Mono Vertigo]

Vagwyrr

The Strangeness of Truth



The subtle taste of dryness and crystallized salt slithered down the dense stone protrusions. It grew stronger in Vagwyrr's mouth as the ancient spirit of desiccated dead fish came closer to the hut. The instant its hollow face rose and its beady eyes opened, half a dozen more entities appeared behind it, living flames of flickering scum.
“I've been waiting for you for hours”, said Vagwyrr.
The oldest entity spoke first, with a voice as soft as if it came out of a child's sore throat: “Few call us here. Cannot eat adults, too big, too strong. Us not too strong, us just eat fish and seaweed and lost children. Children not got lost too often, but they do sometimes.” Another chimed in, “Yes, them who were us, they left long ago. Them got stable physical bodies, so them left to be even stronger spirits in sea and lands, not on border. Not much here, but us happy.”
She prodded the makeshift bed made of leaves and an old net. Such potential inside her, and she didn't even have the powers necessary to produce what must humans took for granted. It wasn't as nice as she'd expected, and she feared she's have to rely longer on the generosity of Lars' family to survive. “So, I called you because the humans I have to deal with can't help, as they're the cause of my problem.” Her voice was deep and clear to her listeners, much more so than what her helpers have heard. It was, all in all, a small detail, something you just don't notice if you don't pay attention the first time, but once you were aware of it, you couldn't un-hear it ever. “Looks like I will be stuck here for a while, and... I don't trust them. Maybe it's just their nature, but I think I shouldn't trust them. And it's not like I could ask them to tell me more about them, because they don't trust me either, and I can't even blame them for that. Therefore, I figured you spirits would be different enough from humans to help me figure out a way to work it all out.”
“Alright. Can we eat you?”
“No”, boomed the young woman, before adding as an afterthought: “I mean, you certainly can try, but if you do, I will eat you first, and I swear nobody will enjoy the result, so don't even think about it.”
“That's a shame”, remarked the spirit of stones eaten away by the winds.

As the sun set, all the way down the cliff, there was an area warded from darkness and illuminated by the shy firefly-like cores of the spirits surrounding Vagwyrr. They negotiated.
“You need see humans differently”, whispered the creature that somehow tasted like dried fish even when it clearly stood outside your mouth, “You too like them, still too much effort for you, right, yes?” and with a pouty face, the young girl replied, “That makes sense, but how are you going to give me the ability to?”
And negotiated.
“I won't replace my eyes with anything. It would really be nice if you didn't do anything permanent to my eyes. I know you find that silly, but as you said yourselves, I'm still very human, and I like my eyes where they are.” The youngest one, a little girl shaped with oysters, replied: “That, can do, can do. More costly than just eating eyes and putting shiny shiny pearls in their place. But can do, yep, yep.”
And negotiated.
“We are not asking for much”, explained once again the spirit of granite eroded by the winds, who had a much better grasp of this language by virtue of having heard many more, “Those who dwell beyond the corals and the boats would order a lot more, but again, that's because they could give you a lot more than just what you want from us.” She shook her head, silently acknowledging it was right, while expressing her concern: “That's still a lot of things. The villagers may get suspicious if I get all this too quickly.” “Not worry, us not hurry. Time of yours also counts in price.” “Yep yep, lose that time here, here, and we might consider taking less blood than we agreed, agreed.”
And negotiated.
“... is that all you want?” she asked with a sigh, having said the whole list without a break. “Ah, yes, but remember, the time you're wasting here must be here. Village and beach and immediate outskirts. That's a guarantee. That way, if we see you do anything that'll hurt us, we'll hurt you back.” “It's understandable. By the way, the dolls, do they have to be stuffed with straw?”
And contracted.

The next two months, Vagwyrr spent them in Lars' house, cleaning up the most foul and mundane mess to make up for her presence. That was an important lesson in humility.
The next six months, Lars begrudgingly let her go work in the fields instead of being her apprentice like he'd intended. Officially, it was due to a non-existent fear of the ocean she'd developed in the shipwreck; officiously, working at the wheat fields was a lot more convenient for her to get ingredients.
The next five months, she stopped living at the village and relied for the majority on her own skills to survive. She'd told the villagers she found her amnesiac brother in the nearest city, when in fact, she was living as a hermit one hour away from them. And when she came back from time to time to check on her “saviors”, more often than she'd have liked, she would find nasty surprises, like passive-aggressive remarks, or a suspicious aftertaste in the herbal medication she bought to help her stay awake, or an insisting glare. On the outside though, they were all smiles and shoulder pats. She stopped believing she'd fooled them with her excuses, though she could not figure out why they kept pretending they were.
During these thirteen months, Vagwyrr gathered octopus ink, plain cloth, a large pile of dried fish, the skull of a shark, 3 toddler-sized dolls made with discarded clothes and straw, the headless skeleton of a dog, 10 candles, and one lock of hair of a virgin. Several of these items required the trust of some villagers in order to get; the rest, cunning and stealth.
She also unknowingly gained valuable things, such as clues concerning well-kept secrets, the fear growing with every lie that she was no different from the villagers, and Lon's fragile and naive friendship.
And the very last ingredient she had to bring was the one she had on her at all time: her blood, the delicious blood of Fel.

[rapter200]

Kalonoth

The Desolate Land

After weeks of traveling through the wilds Kalonoth reached a rocky and seemingly lifeless expanse. For days he walked through these forsaken lands without need for food or water, noticing not a single living thing. But all was not right for he was being unknowingly watched. Thousands of eyes watching his every move since he had entered the Great Expanse, going unnoticed. It had been years since any living thing had knowingly and willingly entered the Nest of the Mother.

It all happened without warning, legs without number suddenly appeared all around him. Spiders ranging in size from that of a dog to that of a large man. They appeared rattled and seemed to not know what to do with him for they knew that he was different than any other who had come this way. He had survived for weeks without water or food, not collapsing from thirst or hunger. He seemed to be as capable now as he seemed the first day he had entered The Great Nest.

“Who are you and what do you want with me” Kalonoth spoke in a loud and commanding voice. Though he was far from his element this far into the desolate wasteland, he would not fear anyone that would dare confront him. Unlike his brothers Kurigalzu and Valtam he wasn't skilled at battle with weapons, and as such wouldn't last long against such a hoard. But he saw a spark in the eyes of these spiders, intelligence. These creatures were not mindless, they just had no idea of what to make of him. He must have disturbed their home.

After a while of what seemed like deliberation between the spiders one of them stepped forward. This one was larger than any of others. A commander among soldiers. “Who are you that you are capable of surviving the great waste without need for food or water.” she hissed and to anyone else would have been unrecognizable, but to Kalonoth it was surprisingly familiar as if he had known it in the past.

Since his rise to divinity Kalonoth had noticed this very thing, he just had no need for such things anymore. “Watch your tongues for you speak to a son of Fel the creator of all thing.” Kalonoth spoke this time in the same hissing language they spoke in.

At this claim the Spiders began to all speak in unison creating a cacophony of hissing. When they calmed down the large one spoke directly to Kalonoth. “We know of this Fel that you speak of, you must come with us for The Great Mother will want to speak with you.”

The Great Mother, a shiver went down his spine at the mention of the name, even though he had never heard of the name before. What could she want with him. His thoughts got cut off when he was pushed forward by many of the spiders behind him. Right now it seemed like he would have to go with them, if only to avoid mass bloodshed, though he was unskilled with sword and shield he could easily shift into the form of a great beast.

Marching to where The Mother lived took an entire day. This far deep into the desolate landscape all he could see where spiders. Hiding in holes, and clinging to great webs suspended from large stones. The hall of The Mother was far underground, the entrance hidden inside the side of a mountain. Bones littered the path the entire way down, obviously previous victims.

Massive, that was the only way to describe her. Easily the size of multiple houses she rested in the center of the large underground structure. She dwarfed almost anything he had seen before, only the leviathan was larger. When he entered her chamber she gave him her full attention. All eight eyes on him. “Hello son of Fel, welcome to my domain.” The sound she made was almost deafening. “Weeks ago you entered my territory. At that time we had no idea who you were so we waited, but your proved to be different from all the others who have come this way. Those who come this way reach death's doorway in three maybe four days, but you lasted for weeks. As you have seen my children are many, but except for the foolish mortals that venture this way food is very scarce. Birds may find themselves trapped within our webs and mindless beasts may find themselves in a trap hole but it is not enough. My children have fallen into cannibalism to survive, most have given up all loyalty to me and travel in small packs. You are lucky it was those closest to me who found you”

Kalonoth stood patiently and calmly, he had no idea how this would end but he would have to find a way to survive. “Yes thank you, but I must ask you why did you want to speak to me personally. “

At this she came closer to Kalonoth “ You are a son of Fel the Great Creator if anyone could help with this situation it would be you”

“I am sorry but I do not know what I can do for you. This desolate wasteland has weakened me greatly. Not a single plant grows in this soil” He replied to the Mother.

This was of course a lie, but Kalonoth was not about help for nothing. He would need to get something out of this, if worse came to worse he would fight and make his escape. For what seemed like hours no one said anything but suddenly Kalonoth spoke up again.

“Actually maybe there is something I can do. In fact I know exactly what I can do to help. This desolate wasteland will no longer be, when my work is finished it will be a lush hunting ground for your children. Your kind will spread. Nature will be their domain. From the forests to the mountains they will spread. But for this to occur a sacrifice must be made. For your kind to thrive you must sacrifice yourself.”

With this said Kalonoth concentrated his divine will into the palm of his hand. A small seed was born. “For what you want to come true you must sacrifice yourself by swallowing this seed. It will take root inside of you and grow quickly. You will die from this but the seed will grow to become the lush hunting ground that you wanted for your people. From there they will be able to expand and become great.”

After ordering her guards out of the chamber and much contemplation The Mother with heavy heart agreed. She took the seed with saying a word and immediately it took root and sprouted. Death came quickly, trying to kill such a large and powerful creature from the outside would have been impossible but from the inside it was almost to easy. Soon that plant will turn this desolate wasteland into a Great Forest. Kalonoth quickly made his way out of the tunnel system shifting into the form of a great eagle. This time he would fly, far above the spiders where they could never reach him.

[Orosboru]

Xerxes, Part 2

It has been a couple of years since I have arrived at this island - the notches on the tree are testament to the weather's change. The coconut tree has finally sprouted, I have spent many days watching the subtle changes in its growth. The sea is plentiful and at last, I believe, that this island can support me. Driftwood from distant trees on distant shores dry in the constant sun and are carefully burnt in the rare occasions of cooked food. A crude lean-to has been erected to protect me from the elements in the case of bad weather. All in all, I am in much better condition, if a bit leaner, then I was previously.

Finally, with some free time on my hands, I was faced at a loss as to what to do. I could try building a raft - which was almost impossible. I had the mast, which had a curious property of not succumbing to the ravages of time. The wood that came to the island were small, not the great timbers which I needed. And if a miracle happened and I got all of the wood, where would I go?

I have not seen another ship ever since I came to this island. I sometimes spent my nights, the fire crackling in the background staring into the distance for strange shapes. Alas, this effort has never born fruit. The mysterious names on the wood that bore me here perplex me. Perhaps they were part of the doomed crew that was lost to the whale that swallowed the ship whole.

One day I found a piece of driftwood that looked like a human head. Intrigued, I examined it. Although it was certainly a product of my imagination, the contours of the water-shaped wood did look like the shape of a face. I propped it up on the side of the coconut tree. I painted a smile on its face with some mud. I am not crazy. I just haven't seen anyone else, or talked to anyone else, for a long time.

"I wish you were real, friend. Then I could have someone to talk to." I rolled his head between my hands. I picked up a old fishbone, and idly bored a hole to make eye sockets. Then it hit me. What if I could? Sure, it would take months of effort, and some luck, but I could make a companion! At least, I thought, it would be something to do.

I stood in the waters with my fishing spear made out of bone, looking for some stray squid for their ink sacs. Nature has been kind enough to send me long, limblike branches that were soft to handle and shape. Fingers out of fishbone, eyes out of slate. Driftwood I collected occasionally had a couple nails in them. I fashioned hinges and joints out of the material that I had.

After many months of effort, it was ready. "A perfect machine could be made from imperfect parts!" I exclaimed, as I admired my handiwork. It had all the recognizable parts of anatomy - at least, it looked somewhat like me. It sitting eerily there, it looked like a dead human corpse. The only thing that I neglected to put in was the heart. It seemed… incomplete.

I looked at the mast, the only piece of my past that I had left. I took a awl to it and started to carve out a fist-shaped lump around the names. It was excruciatingly hard to make the wood yield to my tool, but eventually I worked out a heart. I've read lots of books, I remember, but I have no idea what a heart actually looks like. A representation would have to do. I placed it inside the chest of my creation. Nothing happened. My heart shuddered, and I felt like all my effort was for nothing. Was I really going mad? Then I heard a voice:

"WHO PLACES THE NAMES OF THE GODS IN MY HEART?"

[Madwand]

When the lost prince is found, part 2

Although the village was only three days from the capital, there was no demarcated roads. People rarely traveled there, so when he asked the guide in the village square, no one wanted to go. Only when Brandon
promised his bronze dagger he was able to convince the young men called Stigmar. He was not much older than two, who brought him to the village. They took supplies for three days and left the same day.

Through the forest covering the mountains. They travel by the narrow paths, sometimes apparently used by the animals, from mountain streams, where one can wander the banks of gravel or jump over the stones.Stigmar sometimes guide them through the forest.

In the evening they sit by the fire. He listened to the legends of the lost prince. According to tale Queen was defeat in game of riddles by an evil spirit from the flying island. Who later took her first-born, surely there to cook and eat him. And the tale of the wizard, who had sealed all the spirits in the underground catacombs of the keep, so that no one had to suffer as a good queen had. then the wedding of the Queen and the Mage where feast was seven days long.

It is a foggy day, the air is scorches by squeaky trill of hunting falcon. Brandon and Stigmar entered into more civilized lands. Kingdom's heart as he remembered it. But it has grown, where the village formerly consisted of several huts, now were dozens. Where the forest spread, now land is planted to the horizon. Everything was more .. cultivated.

On the third day they reached the capital. The city was visible from the hill. Large grouping of houses scattered randomly on both sides of the fjord and the surrounding hills. The buildings were similar to each other. Wooden,long houses with carved pillars, built in squares. But the settlement had embankments, topped with blackened palisade, girdling the whole area from shore to shore, and between farms have put up a street lined with wooden beams. In the center stood the fortress, coarse structure built of stone. Since Brandon left the city, keep has grown considerably. The most noticeable was the addition tower. High stone building seemed to defy the laws of gravity, but it was stable and it cast a long shadow over the market and the buildings around.

The gate was open and no one watched. The city was overcrowded.

It's end of summer, sailors returned home from their trade and plundering expeditions. Most stop at that port, and in a few days now will be difficult to find a place in the anchorage. Ships with oars folded along the sides will be even on the beach on that and the other side of the fjord like a whale washed up on shore. A great market will start. Booty, goods, slaves, weapons, silver, spices, furs, will pass from hand to hand.

The merchants came here with their chariots from the hinterland. They will do great interests and earn even more than sailors, and not at the risk of sea expeditions.Locals sell all the meat, beer, bread and fish that are in the area,when greedier one even sold out their own winter supplies and will be later with a handful of silver, but without the flour,cod liver oil and fishes.

After then the council will be held.They will settle disputes, manage, alliances, and relieve family feuds, and the Queen will be their supreme arbiter .

All this Brandon learned on the way to fortress. And there he encountered an unexpected obstinacy, in form of four guards. They did not let him into his castle. Leather armor and short bronze swords are clean and Brandon could see that the guards were accustomed to them.

"Who are you and what you want, ragamuffin?". Said the sergeant, Brandon recognized the insignia sewn on the mantle.

"Brandon son of Nefertari".

First Sergeant, then soldiers led by example burst out laughing. A loud, hearty laugh .

"The Lost Prince came back?"

Brandon stared at guardian. Long after the merriment died that gaze lingered, sergeant met Brandon’s eyes, then try to say

"Listen, boy.."

"No. You listen to me. If you try to hold me back, you'll be whiped, then striped of yours rank, then cast out from duty.

Guards went in silent shock. Maybe because of royal mannerism or steel gaze of unflinching eyes the sergeant give up..

"Fine, fine. We will see who's skin will be whip after queen met you, mummer."

[Lix Lorn]

Kisha, Part 2

“Want to hear what? About the girl you dredged up from the sea? Damn straight I do.” said the captain, entering the small room. He was tall, with jet black hair and intelligent green eyes. A mace, with a heavy stone head, was at his side.
“Captain Johnson!” exclaims the woman. “Oh. She uh, just got up, and-“
“I heard. You’re not in any trouble. Not unless she does some damage to me and mine.” he says. “But I DO want to know who you are.” he adds, turning to look at Kisha.

The gazes of the other two-the woman, and the bald man who is presumably a doctor. There is silence, save for the swishing of the waves, for several moments as Kisha considers her answer.
“…my name is Kisha. I am one of the children.” she begins awkwardly, and the doctor blanches with shock, taking an involuntary step backwards.

“The children…” he repeats, as if in wonder. “…like the woman said!”
The captain nods thoughtfully. “’When the child comes, question not. When the child comes, trust to fate and question not. When the child comes, give her aid, trust to fate, and question not. When the child comes, your quest will be made right.’”

Throughout his words, spoken with reverence, as if by rote, he stared directly at Kisha, curious, but guarded. She stared back in utter confusion.
“…what in Fel’s name..?” she murmurs, mystified. The Doctor’s eyes go wide, and he rapidly makes a holy symbol with his hands, mumbling something that could be a prayer. The captain explains.
“It seems that you’re going to be helping us.” he says, looking her up and down. She continues to look confused, and he explains.

“Last time we made port, we saw a diviner, a soothsayer. She told us that we would meet a child of a being stronger than we knew, that she would call herself one of the children. She said that you’d help us with our quest, and in doing so, we’d help you achieve everything you seek to do.” he says, watching for her reaction.

He sees very little, as she narrows her forehead and her eyes, staring at him dubiously. “And what is your quest?” she asks, watching him just as carefully.
“My fiancé.” says the woman, interrupting them. “His father refuses to let him come with me, and I asked the captain here to take me there to speak with him… or fight him, if we have to.”
“…is your fiancé not old enough to decide for himself?” asks Kisha.
“Most would say so. But his father happens to be a sorcerer, and the last person to fall for his son ended up being struck by lightning.”
“…that’s unfortunate…”
“Thirteen times.”

[the_druid_droid]

Keth

A Safe Haven

After journeying for a short while, Keth and the old man arrived at a small hut in the woods. Once they had entered and made themselves at home, his host offered Keth hot stew and coarse bread. As the god-child ate and massaged wrists still aching from the bonds he’d worn that day, he began to relate the story of his awakening in Addelyn. While he talked, the old man nodded from time to time, as if the god-child’s story were a familiar one. At last, when Keth had finished, the man turned and stared into the hut’s small cooking fire without speaking. Weary from his flight over the leagues between city and forest, Keth was content to preserve the silence.

After a long moment, the old man produced a simple wooden pipe from his robes and lit it, turning again to face his guest. “Now that I’ve heard your story, it’s only right for you to hear my own. My name is Marius, and when I still lived in Addelyn, men considered me an oracle,” at that title, the old man smirked slightly before continuing, “The truth is, I’m not much of a mystic. I merely see the things others miss; that is why Lucius hated me and drove me here. You see, many who live on this island see only a beautiful city and a noble leader when they look toward Addelyn, but I saw a usurped throne and a jealous spirit who could barely contain his bitterness.”

As Marius’ words sank in, Keth thought back to his meeting with the lord of Addelyn and recalled how quickly hatred had sprung up in Lucius’ eyes. After a long pull from his pipe, the old man continued, “In truth, the city is not even his. When our people first came to this island following Lucius, Addelyn was already as it is now; they found it lying deserted under a summer sky. There are rumors of another race of men, ancient and wise; the original builders, who inhabited it before falling into decadence and vanishing. In their absence, Lucius would pretend that the bright city is his handiwork and rightful domain, but that is merely one of his numerous lies.”

A dark look passed over Marius’ face as he finished speaking, and silence grew up around the two men in the hut again, punctuated by small puffs of smoke from the old man’s pipe. In the darkness of the hut, Keth pondered the old seer’s words and his own strange time in the white city, until at last he ventured a question.

“I see that you are a man who remembers the old stories, Marius, and I would ask your help. Can you tell me anything about the Source of Knowledge?”

“I’m afraid I know little about the Source. You may be in danger if you search for it, for no man has ever returned alive from seeking it. But then, unless I miss my guess, you are not just any man.” Here the old man peered at Keth intently before continuing. “It is whispered secretly now and then in Addelyn that one day, a wanderer from the land of the gods will take up the Source and change everything on this island. Lucius would have it believed that those whispers are drunken follies, but these days I am not so certain.” Still examining his guest, Marius smiled.

“Beyond that, I can only tell you that there are stories of a map which records the location of the Source somewhere in the North; perhaps there you will find what you seek.” As he finished speaking, Marius stood up stiffly and hobbled over to his bed, leaving Keth to watch the flames dance in the hearth as he turned over in his mind all he had been told. Tomorrow, another journey would begin.

[Snacs]

Alahm knew little of his journey after Leviathan's attack. The dark waters around him were cold and a world apart from the waters of his father's home. As he drifted underneath the spirits of wave and tide that bore him towards the sunlight, who did so out of faded dreams of Fel Clay-shaper, when he walked the Mortal World and everything was bright and new. And while they labored to bear him to the surface the injured half-god dreamt of a conversation he had once had with his Father.

As always the weather had been warm and pleasant, and the river had whispered and crooned beneath the two as they sat side by side by its edge. The young Alahm had asked then of Fel; why were some as whole and healthy of body as Kurigalzu, while young Neb was as he was? And Fel had smiled at him with that Gentle, wise warmth that filled Alahm with such peace. He wished someday he could learn the secret of his father's warm smile, even as he leaned in eagerly to listen to his Father's wisdom.

"Such things are as they are Alahm. Your nature is not to be as I am. You, and Kurigalzu, and even young Neb, are shaped and shape yourselves by such things. To be as you are is neither a blessing nor a curse. " The words of Fel had been soft, but reverberated deeply with truth. And he had gone away from Fel Clay-shaper with much to think of, as his Father's words so often did.

And Alahm had thought deeply that evening, and from then on he no longer looked at young Neb with the pity his other caring siblings gave, nor with the feeling of unmeaning contempt of the more active of his brethren. He saw that Neb was simply Neb, with his own strengths and weaknesses to be cherished and consoled. He realized the weight of his father's words, and found them humbling in their simplicity, as they so often were.

The dream slowly faded as the young godling burst from the waves, to sputter and tumble up into the air.The strange, muddled spirits tittered excitedly at having finished their mission and departed, fickle minds already bored of the injured godling. Sand was underneath his feet, and the instinct for survival in all things brought energy to chilled limbs and aching muscles. Finally the frothy waves fetched him up against the broad, blissfully solid expanse of a stone pillar.

For a long, long time he simply stood there in waist-deep water, drawing in great lungfuls of air and wincing at the pain in his side while his uninjured arm hugged at the water-smoothed stone gratefully. Above him footsteps stamped and thumped amid shouts and the clash of metal. Alahm finally pulled from the stone pillar, groping with his right arm for the next, and slowly, so slowly he dragged himself foot by foot from the clinging waves. The soft sand shifted and sucked at his feet, treacherous as quicksand to the injured god, until he came to a set of stone steps.

The Mortal World's sky was grey with unseasonable, intermittent rain, which splattered in large, uncomfortable drops across the godling's head and shoulders, and to his weary eyes the steps seemed a mountain. It took him a long time to ascend, frequently swaying and stopping to rest, his heart pumping and his side slick with blood from his wound.

Halfway up those rain-slicked, open stairs was the loneliest, most pitiful state Alahm had ever been in, and it left his knees trembling and his breath coming in shallow drafts. He wished desperately for any of his brethren's help, but he was still unsure any others were even alive.

But rather than give into the cold, numb pain in his side Alahm pushed on. A hard-headed stubborn streak was not something most of his brethren would attribute to him, but the gentle Godling was the brother of the likes of Rao and Kurigalzu and kalanoth. His father was Fel clay-shaper, and he drew that knowledge about him like a warm cloak. He could be as haughty and strong of will as his sister Shiou, and as persevering as his brother Neb. He would not die on some rain-soaked stone steps!

The top of the stairs left him light-headed with victory and swaying fit to tumble back over the edge into the sand again. The Godling lifted his head and looked upon the place he had been deposited.

The city spread out to either side of the curved harbor, in curving, sleepy rows of charming little stone houses with colored terra-cotta tops. A large house close to the water burned despite the stuttering rain, and along the pier behind him men shouted and stabbed at eachother before a large trader's ship rocking on the stormy waves. Behind the press of men servants and slaved hurried up and down the ramps, bearing crates and boxes on to it, casting fearful glances at the swirling combat that reached ever closer.

Alahm could only watch as men died and were trampled in the press, and wonder what drove them to such things. His siblings could argue and fight, but even that never resulted in any more than a temporary sullen moment between the injured parties, nothing else. The sight of the fighting sickened him, and as more men ran towards the brawl he could only flee, blindly weaving in crooked zig-zags up a broad thoroughfare, passing through open, massive wooden and leaving the melee behind him. He could do nothing for them, though whenever a man fell he felt it as an ache in his chest and mind.

The buildings around him were dark and silent, doors and windows barred. Others had clearly been broken into, their colorfully painted wooden doors torn open by axe or fire, windows smashed and interiors darkened. He knew nothing of how many he passed, mind numb as occasionally men, similar in form and features with beaten metal breastplates, rushed past him towards the water's edge.

Finally he stopped at an open doorway, that pounding ache in his head now stronger than the throbbing of the wound that still dripped at his side. By all accounts he should have been dead, and if he had been truly a mortal he would be.

But the blood fo Fel Clay-Shaper was within him, not diluted by his Mortal-born mother but strengthened by it. Alahm looked at the building before him, draped in silks and a wooden sign painted delicately with a pair of seductive women's eyes upon its varnished surface.

Without knowing why he stepped over the threshold, dizzied by the dim interior's thick, perfumed air. A Man, obviously the guard, was still perched in his stool in the corner watching the door, though the arrow that pierced his throat had killed him long before Alahm had arrived. He shut the man's empty, staring eyes before heeding the ache in his mind, following grunting, animalistic sounds to his right.

He walked as if in a dream through diaphanous streamers of silk that brushed against his arms and face, bumping occasionally into walls, as many of the windows were shuttered.

Inside one of the rooms a man was forcing himself upon a woman on a large, silk-sheeted bed. The man was a soldier, his sword standing against a chair nearby. That strange pain throbbed between Alahm's ears yet again, and he lifted his arm to croak out a protest.

Before he could, however, the man made an odd, keening, whimpering sound and toppled backwards off the woman. A small cutting knife was buried to the hilt in his chest, and he cursed and gasped in a tongue foreign to the demi-god's ears even as he thrashed weakly on the floor.

Alahm stepped over the man and managed to steady himself on the massive, ostentatious bed. The sheets beneath him were a mess, as was the woman that lay there. The soldier had not been gentle, nor kind.

Something filled Alahm then, a knowledge that this was not right. This went against his Father, shaper of the Mortal World, directly. He must do something. He Would do something. Without a thought he reached out and laid his hand gently upon the woman's forehead. And Power came to him. Beneath his touch shattered bones reknit themselves, cuts and wounds closed. A shattered nose straightened itself with a painless snap, and a fluttering heart steadied. Even the memories of the leering, violent soldier and his dark appetites dimmed, their import not removed(for as his Father had said, such things shape, but do not control ourselves) but made distant and painless.

And in that moment Alahm knew the secret to his Father's gentle smile, as he turned it on the now whole, healed woman who stared up at him with wide, dark eyes, then slumped into blissful stupor, her body catching up with the Godling's touch upon it.

Behind him the soldier coughed, and spoke in a thickly accented voice a tongue Alahm knew

"Heal me too, Child of Fel."The voice said weakly. Alahm turned slowly, woozy from the Healing he had just performed. The Man stared at him with hunger in his eyes, and the faint glint of Spirit. This Mortal was many times removed an ancestor of a spirit, which explained how he yet lived with a blade jammed deep into a lung.

"I see what you are Fel-Child. Heal me. You must."The Man said with a dead man's rattle to his breath and a knowing grin. And Alahm felt again that pull to fix what was wrong in the soldier. He was drawn towards it like a moth to flame.

But this time a strange cold, hard, dense part of himself he had not knew even existed intervened. He stared calmly at the man as he slowly slid to a sitting position at the foot of the bed, his normally soft, gentle eyes of gold as frigid and unforgiving as the blade that pierced the man's chest.


"No."

The single word was strong with a Divine Will, and Alahm watched with deep, trembling breaths as the Man slowly died before him, cursing, and he did nothing but sit and watch.

"Such things are as they are." Alahm spoke quietly to the corpse, and finally gave himself up to blissful oblivion, his wounded side cradled in one arm.

[Nefarion Xid]

Alu Mari
A little over a year ago

Lossethir's bare feet glided backwards over the manicured lawn, toes brushing over the blades of grass as he went skating on the invisible cushion of air. His staff cut through the wind with a scream, angrily dissuading his brother's pursuit. Lossethir's eyes flickered towards his opponent's bare calves; they tensed as his weight shifted, signaling Rao was about to continue the assault. A piece of sod drifted airborne as Lossethir kicked off with a sudden gust of wind at his back. He struck low and wild, catching Rao between stances and forcing him (unarmed) to jump to avoid the staff smashing across his shins. Drifting to the left, Lossethir dug his foot into the earth and lurched his body and weapon in the opposite direction.

Eilyan looked up from her reading to glance out her window and across the courtyard. She mouthed, "ow," silently, a moment before the thunderclap hit, rustling the scroll between her hands.

The splinters from Lossethir's staff were still raining down as he began his modest celebration: a toothy smile and a pump of his clenched fist. It was a curious victory, given that his weapon was now in far worse shape than his target. But, it wasn't every day he beat his brother, much less gave him a bruise. He hoped it would bruise. He wanted to show it off to Kurigalzu.

Between the chuckles he managed to say, "I know I'm not getting any better; you must be distracted. What's on your mind, kid?"

[DoomHat]

On the training fields of Alu Mari
so long ago

Lossethir’s strike sent a shockwave through Rao’s ribcage. He tumbled with the blow and landed in a sprawl. While Kurigalzu always offered the most challenge in a point match, Rao loved Lossethir for his ability to actually hit hard enough to hurt. While his brother laughed, Rao staggered to his feet, coughing and laughing.
Between chuckles, Lossethir said, "I know I'm not getting any better; you must be distracted. What's on your mind, kid?".
Rao stopped laughing. Reviewing the fight in his mind, Loss was right, his heart just wasn’t in it. He bit his lip and looked away. This was embarrassing. Over the last week Rao had begun losing his edge in just about everything. It felt like the fire in his heart was being smothered by something, but he couldn’t place what.
He used to race the wind spirits until his legs gave out. He used to climb the cliff faces that would move perpetually, undoing his progress, until his fingers numbed and his muscles burned. He would beat rocks with his hands and feet until the rocks or his bones shattered. And in between those things, lying broken and beaten in bed, waiting patiently for the ever distraught Alahm’s cures to do their work, he’d still find ways to test himself. Keth gave him tongue twisters to master, and he’d challenge Cyishan, Valtam, and Northal to joke and insult telling contests.
For a while he’d managed to distract himself by searching the island, top to bottom. Not for anything in particular, just… seeing if there was anything new. He climbed every tree, crawled down every hole, and even dug. He’d dug until he nearly fell through the bottom of the island.
“I dough‘know…” Rao mumbled.
He turned away from Lossethir and rubbed his scalp.
“I don't know,” he said a little louder, “its just…”.
He looked back toward his brother, “I guess, its just… It doesn't matter does it? Like, I know you’re not going to kill me. There’s nothing here we can fight over that can't be easily replaced either. We‘re just… kinda going through the motions... I think...”.
Rao stared into his brothers eyes. He was never a talker like Abigail or Vagwyrr, but he wanted someone to understand. He felt like he was being straggled.

[TheDarkDM]

Valtam

Valtam floated at the edge of Leviathan's pit, staring down at the slumbering mountain of flesh that awaited him. In his hand he clenched a sharpened shard of bone, a pitiable tool for any mortal, let alone a child of Fel, but it was all he had. Watching the great beast's languorous coiling, Valtam's mind drifted, away from the darkness and stillness, to the shining glades of Fel's paradise. How innocent he had been, those scant days or weeks or months ago, before he knew the true meaning of terror, before he had been humbled by his father's unintended creation. The memory of sunlight brought a smile to Valtam's face, and for a moment he envisioned one perfect meadow of peach trees where he and his siblings had lounged when not at their play or their studies. Travelling through that misty rememberance, he took a lazy bite out of a peach the size of his fist, chuckling as cool juice ran down his chin, throwing the pit into the trees to annoy Kalonoth. As his brother's imagined cry of indignation split the silence, Valtam almost lost himself, but the sudden cramping of his stomach catapulted him back to reality. He did not know how long it had been since he'd eaten, but it seemed that even his divine body could not sustain himself much longer. Smiling ruefully at the bitter comedy of his situation, Valtam set his foot against the remains of Fel's ship and pushed.

The slight force was enough to displace the once-magnificent vessel from its tenuous mooring, sending it spiraling toward's Leviathan. Valtam felt the impact more than he heard it, as the prow rammed into Leviathan's stony scales. The beast's flaming eyes blazed open, it's head snapping around to examine what had disturbed its slumber. As it's gaze settled on the ruined ship, Valtam raised his makeshift dagger over his head and bellowed a wordless challenge. When Leviathan saw the frail godling trespassing in its lair, it seemed almost stunned for a moment, its malign intelligence straining against the impossibility of Valtam's presence, until it returned the challenge with a screeching roar. Sheets of rock cracked away from the chasm at Leviathan's rage, and the thrashing of its tail reduced its skeletal bedding to dust. It came forward faster than anything Valtam had ever imagined, but he was in motion as well, kicking desperately towards the monster. Leviathan's great maw loomed before him, opening onto a bloody abyss, and with another scream Valtam dived inside.

Dodging between Leviathan's mountainous fangs, Valtam was nearly impaled as a second row endeavored to crush him. Struggling desperately in the frothing tide, he kicked off a third row of teeth before sighting Leviathan's gullet. There, thrashing like a pair of demented serpents, were the beast's ampullae - gnarled, blade tipped tendrils that streaked towards Valtam. His blade managed to deflect one, but only a change shift in the current saved his leg from the second. Then, he was past the mouth, and staring down into the cavernous gullet, its quivering sides lined with curving lances of cartilage. Kicking off the stony palette, Valtam dived into darkness, bordered on all sides by razored waterfalls. All about him was the thundering noise of raging water, the stinking miasma of thousands of dead rising from below. Then, the void below him parted, revealing the roiling red cauldron of Leviathan's stomach.

The burst of brimstone turned the waters around Valtam into billowing steam, scalding flesh and searing lungs, but slowing his fall just enough for him to slam his dagger into the walls of Leviathan's stomach before falling into its bubbling soup. Black blood erupted from the ragged gash, soaking Valtam's arm as he thrust it within and began to hack away at the wall before him. A shudder went through Leviathan's body as the wound in its stomach grew ever larger, and Valtam narrowly avoided a geyser of acid as the pool below him grew ever more agitated. Finally, the bloody portal was complete, and Valtam pressed through even as Leviathan's muscles pressed in to seal the breach.

Hugging his body desperately to the slick outer surface of the stomach, Valtam scanned the innards of the beast, seeking his target. All about him was darkness, punctuated by the thunderous beating of Leviathan's great heart, but there was a single point of light, far above, that reflected a strange madness in Valtam's eyes. Clutching the bloody flesh tighter, he began to climb, leaving a multitude of new wounds in Leviathan's hide. So intent was he on his goal that Valtam did not hear the screeching at first, but as he reached the summit where thundering waterfall met crucible, he suddenly became aware of the flitting shadows passing between the titanic organs and skeleton of Leviathan. Valtam blinked to clear his eyes, but even if he didn't trust his sight he could not deny the steadily approaching buzz of wings.

Turning with a renewed sense of hasted, Valtam began to climb the exterior of the gullet. The going was far easier thanks to the bony protrusions of the interior barbs, and Valtam was almost within sight of the heart when the first abomination struck. It came of membranous flapping wings, some unholy combination of ray and mosquito and octopus, its entire body consisting of an elongated serpentine tail ending in grasping tendrils, a single spearlike proboscis jutting from its core. Valtam could do little to dodge, and the creatures spike raked across his back, leaving a shallow wound that nevertheless gushed blood. As he continued to climb, more and more of the flying things appeared, striking quickly, fearfully, as though they were unsure what thing this was that dared intrude on their tenebrous lair. Finally, Valtam reached the level of the heart, his red blood mixing with Leviathan's black in a thing rivulet. There, hanging above the heart like a fleshy diadem, was the pearl, opalescent and shining even among the corruption it had created. And yet, a great gulf separated Valtam from the heart, and injured as he was he knew he could not make the jump.

Then, the sound of another oncoming attack, and Valtam acted without thinking. Leaping from his perch, he grabbed the damned proboscis of the thing in his hands, snapping it off as he heaved atop the creature. Grasping its suety sides, he wrenched it towards the heart. The blind, panicked thing could do nothing but fly forwards, colliding with the beating organ in a sickening splat. Valtam was thrown by the impact, upwards, upwards, and then - just enough! He caught at the upper edge of the heart and pulled himself up, his arms trembling. Before his hung Fel's pearl, the size of his head, pulsing with a familiar warmth. It was almost as though that smallest fragment of his father recognized Valtam, and he realized in that moment that his attackers would not dare come near the pear. Bringing his knife around in a single blurred slash, Valtam severed the tendons holding aloft, catching it in his hands. The ragged ropes of flesh withdrew into darkness, almost as though they had expected to be cut, and Valtam had a moment to ponder that before the glow of the pearl exploded into an inferno.

In that moment, somewhere between mortality and divinity, between life and death, Valtam saw all. He saw his father, sitting mournfully at the edge of his island. He saw his tempestuous sister, surrounded by strangers in a castle of timber and cloth. His small, serious sister, standing on a lake of grasping hands, a golden sword in her hand and mirrors for eyes. His small, twisted brother, walking alongside a giant of stone and a smaller giantess. Then more images, one for every sibling, until he saw Lossethir upon a storm-tossed sea, helpless beneath an oncoming mountain. Moreover, he could feel his fleet brother far above. He reached out to aid him, and suddenly Valtam was not seeing through his own eyes, but the burning eyes of Leviathan. Without resistance, it turned towards a particular point in the black, and sped forward. Leviathan's passed like a tempest, sending countless sea creatures scattering for cover, yet it had eyes only for its destination. Swiftly, black turned to murky green, and eventually Valtam saw the flickering light of the sun above him, overshadowed by a great peak that he somehow knew should not be there. And there, flickering below the shadow, was Lossethir. Valtam cried out, and as he did Leviathan unleashed a roar that parted the seas. Hurled with all the pain and rage of Valtam's long isolation, Leviathan's forward tentacles streaked into the Glacial, piercing it's icy hide and coiling around the living mountain. Then Leviathan itself lifted from the water, it's head mountainous and craggy, its serpentine body arching up to obscure the sky. Holding the glacial level with its eyes, Leviathan let out another roar that splintered the monsters icy skin and sent tremors over the island. Then came a great grinding crack, and the Glacial was rent in twain and thrown into the aether.

Leviathan's head slowly swiveled down to examine the godling so far beneath it, and with a rasping hiss it slowly opened its jaws and extended a sinuous tongue. There stood a tall man, pale and wan beneath black blood, face obscured by a mane of grey hair, a great glowing pearl in his hands. But then, as by magic, the blood began to harden and flake off, and beneath it the man's body was vital and strong. He shook his head, and it seemed years were dispelled, and against all reason Lossethir recognized Valtam. Valtam raised the great pearl above his head, and shouted into the winds.

"Lo, it is I, Valtam, child of Fel, who has passed through death and darkness to claim my birthright. I come to you now, with the wisdom of the untapped depths!"

As Valtam spoke, Leviathan sank back beneath the waves, until it had disappeared entirely and Valtam was standing atop the waters as though they were a stone floor. Lowering the pearl, he reached out a hand to Lossethir, and it seemed the pearl began to shrink. Pulling his brother from the sea, Valtam stared at him with flat, grey eyes.

"Stop picking fights with mountains."

Then, a flash of green across the eyes, and Valtam's solemn face split into a broad smile as he embraced Lossethir in a bear hug.

[Madwand]

When the lost prince is found, part 3

After talking with the guard Brandon began to doubt. What if the queen did not recognize him? He didn't know exactly how many years have passed since his appearance on the Alu Mari, ten, fifteen, Brandon never counted.

The queen waited in the garden. Brandon remembered that this place was smaller. Flowers have been replaced by other plants. They were everywhere. They grew out of beds hewn into the bedrock and filled with peat, in enormous chests, troughs and flowerpots. They climbed up rocks, up wooden trellises and stakes. Brandon examined them with interest, recognising some rare specimens – those which made up the ingredients of a witch’s medicines and elixirs, magical philtres and a sorcerer’s decoctions, and others, even rarer, whose qualities he could only guess at. Some he didn’t know at all, or hadn’t even heard of.

Queen Nefertari sat on a bench between trees.
It was warm. Very warm.When Brandon look at his mother's face, he know. She recognise him. If the first expression had been a surprise, the second had been a shock. He could see it, still; And he know, he would remember that hours in Avaris' garden forever.

Then, here he is. Home.

Several hours later, everyone in city was talking about only one thing. The Lost Prince is back. At the town market was held a feast which has not seen since the wedding of the queen.

Wizard Velerad was slim and had a pretty – too pretty – face. He was under forty, Brandon thought. The wizard-king was sitting on a dwarf-armchair carved from black wood. Next to him sat an older, powerfully-built man with a beard Behind the king stood young man, no more than fiften years old, richly dressed and with a proud look on his face.
Brandon's half-brother. Brandon feel odd. He was accustomed, that his family were the children of Fel.Now he had four new brothers and two sisters.

"Brandon." said the king after the moment’s silence which fell after introduction.

"Yes, your Majesty, that my name." Prince didn’t bow, didn’t make the slightest gesture.

"My beloved wife is quite sure of that, but I'm must admity to little doubt." aswered king."Tell my, how do you esceped that dreadful spirit."

"Fel Clay-Shaper is not a dreadful spirit! He create the world." Brandon voice was sharp.

"He's not? But everyone knows that he had kiddnaped you. And if rumors are true lots of other children too."

Brandon didn't know how to answer to that.
"He is our father. He had right to rise us wherever pleased him."

The atmosphere at the table was growing more and more lively as the beer diminished.
To the health of the Brandon of Avaris!’ someone shouted.
‘The health! And glory!’ The guests roared, emptying their goblets and clay cups.

"Your health, young Prince" wizard poured wine into silver cup and hand it to the Brandon. Fel's son could not help but smile. He was home. He could send loyal man into search of his siblings. His thought wonderer when he drank sweet wine.He could not get rid of the feeling that when he feasted, sefe with his mortal family, they face the dangers, the spirit and monsters. It was not supposed to be like that, he thought, at all.

[Mono Vertigo]

Vagwyrr

The Ugly Truth


One had buttons for eyes, one hastily-drawn asymmetric spots, and the third nothing at all. All made with pants ruined by many falls on rocks and sand... except the third one's head, sewn with a long cotton skirt, thrown out for being the host to hordes of food stains that won't go; its frayed length made for a whimsical mimicry of long hair.
And they were sitting all around Vagwyrr, and that odd little group was surrounded by candles lit in the dawn. No need to shout to call the spirits, they had good hearing; beside, she'd gotten too much attention from the villagers. “It's me, your ally, Fel's daughter. I have everything you need.”
“We're already here”, whispered a voice right into her ear. She jumped.
“Us thanking you for offerings, thank thank!”
“Now, bodies for us!”
“But first, gift of blood.”
The most humanoid-looking one was already taking off the woman's gloves with what little materiality it possessed. “Need for incarnation, need need need need need~”
And before she could fully process what was going on and react, they were already draining her blood through her fingertips. She barely repressed a scream.

Thanks to her long dedication to the cause, she only lost one liter of blood in the process. Tormented by a terrible vertigo, she turned her head in every direction, trying to discern the cause of the inhuman sounds nearby. Soon, she distinguished the dolls, now living and animated by the primal spirits possessing them.
“Look! Eyes!”
“Mine are better, they're different!”
“Need no eyes, no eyes, nice hair better!”
“Soon, we'll be able to seek the children where they live, and eat them, and take their place, and be taken care of by their parents!”
She had never seen such a thing before, and it made her slightly nauseous. Or was it the blood loss? Quickly, she put her gloves back on. Another voice, the one that seemed out of breath, reached to her ears. “Wait, have no body yet.”
“I thought you spirits had only asked for 3 bodies of your own?”
“Yes, us did, but me old, me oldest. Me deserve better body. Me get bones.” With its head, it pointed at the skeleton.
The half-goddess figured out its intention, and awkwardly placed the mismatched skull near the exposed spine. Nothing happened.
“Silly silly you, no working if no knot with hair.”
And so she tied the one to the other with the black hair, even though there was absolutely no way it could stand the weight...
She was pushed aside by an unseen force, and when she looked up again, the skeletal being was being animated on the inside by blood, and an eerie glow. Well, this one seemed to be going for the “monster” route instead.
“What about me?” panicked Vagwyrr, fearing a betrayal, “You're going to give me what I asked for, right? You promised!”
“Impatient you. Not forgotten. Stay still, us do. Close eyes, open not before us order you.”




“What happened to you, miss?” asked Lars, preoccupied by the sight of the young lady whose eyes were covered by a blindfold. Ancient signs decorated it, and their meaning was unknown to the old man.
“I-it's temporary”, replied Vagwyrr, holding a stick for the sake of credibility, and disturbed by the sight of a man dressed in black, holding chains in his hands. Only the sound of his voice helped identify the man. Well, she certainly did see something now, but what was that?
He took her hand against her will. “You don't just show up like that and not tell me anything. Did someone do that to you? Just say the ruffian's name and I'll beat the hell out of him! He will regret even being born!”
“I-I...” She hadn't prepared an answer. The easy way out was just to say something blinded her, a strong light, some substance she'd clumsily fallen face first into, but as she opened her mouth, the idea she was doing the very same thing that bugged her in the first place became tenacious. It was pretty bad already they had no idea she was a daughter of Fell, she ought not push it. So, she lied by omission.
“... I found out I have a problem with my eyesight, and I need to be careful so it doesn't get worse. A specialist made me a remedy. I must wear that as much as possible for therapy.”
Red piercing eyes stared at her through the darkness of the hood. “That's an odd therapy. Oh, well, those doctors in the city, I've heard strange things about them. I heard some of them even bleed you in order to cure you.”
“Yes, I've heard about that”, cringed Vagwyrr.
“How long do you have to wear that thing?”
“Well, I was told I'd know when I can see properly. It may take days, or weeks. Maybe more. I hope not.” Fortunately, her disturbed glare was well-hidden by the opaque cloth.
“You were right to come back here. We'll take care of you until you get better. Lon, please take her back home while I go get more water.”
Lon? Where was he? She heard “Yes, father” before something touched her arm. Surprised, she almost screamed. He didn't mind; it was an expected behaviour from someone who lost their sight so recently. “It's okay, it's me, Lon. Don't worry, everything will be okay. Chill out.”
Although she felt his hand and heard his voice clearly, she didn't see him at all. He was invisible.



During the following days, many stranger things were seen at Pabbe. For starters, the village itself now included chains and a cloudy weather as its new features in her eyes. There was a small puddle of blood mixed with an unknown green substance next to the main herbalist's home. People were barely recognizable. Some were oversized children, some barely human things that stared at everything with supernumerary ocular organs. It vastly depended on the circumstances, too; Nora took off the blindfold without asking to check on her eyes (before claiming “Yep, see how red the whites are? My cousin had that too when he was 10” and putting back on); before taking it off she was the very image of a matron, and afterward, she'd magically turned into an obese ogre of sort with a stupid dress. Sometimes, Lon was invisible, sometimes, he appeared as a shining form locked in an undersized cage, and sometimes, he was like a knight wrapped in chains.
Vagwyrr stipulated things looked different randomly, either at a specific time, either every time she took the thing off, as if it reset itself somehow. There were a few constants though: several people held chains in at least one of their alternate forms. And she couldn't look at herself for unknown reasons. Mirrors and reflective surfaces always were pitch black, and her hands were too blurry to make out anything other than vague colours.
Also, there was that bloody stain near the self-proclaimed apothecary, the one she had bought funny-tasting remedies before. Right where she had dug out the headless dog skeleton. She had stumbled on it one night, when a mutt had started digging parts of it out, but she hadn't thought about all the implications of its presence there.
Vagwyrr had just wanted to buy something to help her sleep the day she stepped in her shop since she had gotten the blindfold, and it had taken a lot of self-control to politely plead honest mistake (“Sorry, I only wanted bread”) instead of running away. It took a lot of willpower simply because the walls, bottles, and woman's hands were horribly stained with blood and other suspicious substances.

Enough passivity. Time to investigate proper.

[HalfTangible]

Northal, Part 3

Northal broke the coconut open and lapped up the substance inside (he'd forgotten what his father named it), licking his lips with glee. It was extremely sweet - something he hadn't tasted in a long time without something bitter in the way first. As he finished up the coconut, he tried to count how long he'd been there, in that temple, scavenging for food and water. After a few minutes, he gave up - it was like trying to count how many meals he'd eaten or jokes he'd told in his life. All he knew was that he couldn't see the mainland, and that there was no way off this Fel-forsaken spit of land anyway, short of swimming carelessly in a random direction and hoping it worked.

As he brooded further on what to do with himself, he heard something crack loudly throughout the chamber. He froze for a few seconds, listening. A second crack, much louder, came. He slowly turned his head, looking for the source of the sound. Though he heard nothing, he saw a massive crack in the floor.

Suddenly, another loud crack resounded, and he saw a new impact crater appear in the floor. His eyes widened in shock - something massive was here. Worse - it was invisible to even his eyes!

As if the creature heard his thoughts, the cracks suddenly sped up, going from every few seconds to two every second. Fortunately for him, it appeared that the rapidity of the impacts seemed to be due to the fact it had four legs. That meant there was a chance for him to outrun it. Northal quickly drew himself up and ran in the opposite direction, his coconut forgotten as he fled deeper into the temple. It clattered against the ground behind him for a second, then shattered as another impact crater appeared around it.

Northal was one of the more agile of his siblings - his movements were quick and graceful, with barely even a twitch wasted. But all the same, the creature was massive, and it appeared it was built to give chase. As he passed through a doorway, however, he heard the... thing intake a deep breath. After a short pause, the wall he had just gone through suddenly burst as a schreech filled the hall.

Northal's eyes widened in shock. This thing was a banshee! He couldn't tell what creature it had been in life, but this wasn't the time to dwell on it. He dodged and rolled through the falling rocks as he made his way deeper into the temple, heading straight for the nearest doorway.

Suddenly Northal stopped. The room was filled with pews, all facing towards the opposite end of the chamber, and he knew now he was trapped. This room was a dead end, with no way out save the one he had come in through. The Banshee was running around in the chamber, unsure of his location. But he knew it was just a matter of time before it tried this chamber, and at that point he was dead. He gulped and chuckled darkly.

"Killed by the dead." He gave another laugh as he approached the altar. "Bet Shiou would laugh hard at that... I would too, if it weren't so real..." Homesickness (Weird thing to feel near your death he thought) welled in his chest as he felt liquid creep into his cheeks. "What i wouldn't give to wake up to her or someone else at home yellin' at me..."

He walked forward, taking a good, hard look at the altar. Most of it's color had faded, but he could tell that the moss and stone of the previous chambers had been abandoned here. In fact, now that he had time to look around, he found that the designer of the main worship hall appeared to be obsessed with red. There was red banners, the pews were painted red, even the altar was red and inlaid with rubies.

The Banshee howled in the other chamber.

Northal knelt to the altar and clasped his hands.

"... Hello father." He whispered in the quiet chamber. "It's been too long. Far, far too long. But I thought you'd like to catch up on how we all are doing."

"We were attacked, father. A leviathan struck our ship as we descended and we were separated. I don't know who all survived. For all I know, I'm the only one of your children still alive. Though if the others are, they probably talked to you already."

"I'm about to die. There's a feral banshee here - worse, it's formed from a massive, four legged creature. It's trapped me in a temple." He smirked. "About to go to my death at the hands of the dead. I'd appreciate the irony if I weren't about to snuff it. Do me a favor and tell Shiou if you see her. She won't care that i died but I bet she'd appreciate the laugh."

He looked up to the red banisters at the top of the chamber. It occured to him that his position was probably where the priest of this place had given speeches to his followers. Sermons, lectures, life lessons... He smiled. Some primitives had blood sacrafices, he'd been told. Guess now this altar would be for one of those gods. The banshee wouldn't leave much else behind, after all.

"If you can hear me - or more to the point, if you can respond - i only have one question."

Northal heard a massive boom as something crashed right outside the door. He spared it a glance before turning back to his prayer. "Was this what I was meant to be? Just bloodstains on some forgotten altar to a long forgotten spirit?" He gritted his teeth, sorrow now aching in his bones. "Was this it? Is this all I could conjure?"

A massive schreech echoed through the temple, and he heard more stone crack.

He let a tear fall from his face. "Good-bye, Father."

A massive section of the wall at the door's end of the chamber was smashed open, and rocks began to tumble.

[DoomHat]

The day they set sail.

For most of the journey, Rao was uncharacteristically quiet and cheerless. He couldn’t help but stew with resentment. After all this time, he was finally going to the World Below, but it wouldn’t be under his own power. He sulked alone in the ship’s hold, listening to the sounds of the storm outside. Until Yemaya screamed.
Rao rushed to the top deck and smiled broadly at what he saw. The Leviathan was truly awesome. It was everything Rao had ever dreamed it would be and remarkably fast for a thing that could swallow a civilization whole. Rao looked around to see if his siblings shared this glee. They did not.
Rao shivered with the realization that it was too soon. None of them could handle this thing, alone or as a whole. Little Neb and Shiou would never make it away at this rate. Rao searched for Kurigalzu, and mercifully, found him. He stood there, staring at the thing, gripping his boken with white knuckles, looking paralyzed. Rao could sense instantly that the wheels of Kurigalzu’s mind where spinning, but taking him nowhere.
Rao cried out to him, “Kuri! Good generals don’t win battles…”
Kurigalzu shook his head as if awaking from a dream, and called back, finishing the quotation, “…they achieve their objectives!”
Cyishan was there as well, steam hissing off of his brazened skin with every raindrop. The three brothers nodded to each other wordlessly. They knew what had to be done. The Leviathan could not be stopped. The best they could hope for was to buy precious time. They would sell their lives for it.
The three worked together. They used every trick and expended every ounce of strength, but in the end they were ants on a mammoth. Rao lost track of his brothers in the chaos of battling against a hurricane made flesh. ‘Three seconds, just three more seconds and they’ll survive’, Rao’s instinct screamed to him.
He found himself clinging desperately to some part of the vast expanse that accounted for the thing’s upper lip. He looked down and saw that the ship nearly in range of those horrible teeth. There was no more time, all was lost.
It’s impossible cavernous maw began to open and Rao lost his grip. As he fell he glared at the endless wall of enamel that zoomed by him. He wondered if his forgotten skeleton would get lodged between any two of these mountains, or if he would be ground too finely between them for it to matter.
“I’ll die before I let you kill me!”, he shrieked as he wound back one fist…

[HalfTangible]

Northal, Part 4

Northal turned and looked at the hole. The Banshee had been massive in life, and now it was unstoppable in death. He heard it shiver with excitement as it found him at last.

Northal had always been one to try the odds even when they didn't seem likely - his tears still fell, but now they were just because he knew how unlikely what he was about to try was. He had to wait for the beast to advance on him and then use his athletic ability to get past the banshee and through the wall.

Just before he moved, however, he heard another massive crack, this time from above. He blinked and looked up, and he gasped. The ceiling had become unstable when the banshee broke through, and it had begun to crack at the opposite end of the room, the one the beast had just came from. In a split second, he made his decision and rushed forward, just as he heard the banshee charge him.

The beast, though he could not see it, suddenly stopped, as if surprised. After another split second, however, it made it's decision and inhaled.

Northal slid down between it's 'legs' as it began to scream (he supposed so - it was where the most recent impacts had landed) and stood up quickly. He then made his way further into the chamber.

Suddenly, he heard two screams now - one was the massive, damaging scream of the banshee, the other was what he thought was a second banshee, crying out in pain. Soon, however, both were screams of pain. He didn't have time to consider it just yet - he ran for the hole the creature had created. Rocks began to fall, and Northal ran as fast as he could.

He felt the rush of wind as a rock fell right behind him, sealing off the chamber from the rest of the temple. He could still hear the banshee screams... Eventually, he heard something pop, and the screams of the first one stopped. Eventually the screams of the other banshee also faded entirely...

It took a few minutes of thinking, but he laughed from his position on the ground when it finally clicked - the beast had been in a worship chamber. The room was specifically designed so that the sound of the preacher would carry throughout the room. When it had attempted to kill him with it's scream, the sound had simply reverberated into it's body. The beast had then screamed in pain, as anything with the ability to feel pain would when a banshee screamed at it, and that fueled the rest of it's demise. There had only ever been one banshee - but he'd killed it with acoustics.

"A banshee killed by it's own scream..." He laughed even harder at that. "Oh, they're gonna LOVE that one... HAHAHAHAHA~..." He shook his head and stood up, moving slowly and aching. "Live another day."

-----

His nearly translucent viewer gritted it's few remaining rotten teeth as he stared at the spatters of ethereal blood coating the walls. "WORTHLESS MONSTROSITY..." The visage of the old man sneered, looking through the collapsed wall. "BUT... PERHAPS THIS IS BETTER... A CHILD OF FEL... NOW THAT IS INTERESTING INDEED..."

[Nefarion Xid]

Alu Mari
Some time ago

"Going through the motions? It's called training." Lossethir's words weren't unkind as he mopped his face with his tunic and ruffled the sweat free from his short sandy hair.

He gestured with the broken remainder of his staff. "If this were a sword, you'd be dead. You don't get a second chance out there. I know you want to go, and you'll get to... but when you're stronger, wiser... older. We all will, and we'll go together. Not all of them are fighters like us; they'll need us to keep them safe."

Lossethir always thought he knew best. There was authority in the way he spoke, though arrogance was there too. Still, he had a way of locking his deep green eyes on you, especially one on one. He spoke seldom in a crowd, only leaning aside to make a pithy or witty comment. A good orator? No, not like many of his siblings who commanded or demanded attention (or adoration) when they opened their lips. Prudent, he was that. And his few words were carefully chosen. He wrote volumes in his head and when he got his turn to speak in earnest, they spilled out.

"Next year. Beat your knuckles bloody against a stone or take up reading, if you dare. No matter what you do, you'll be smarter, better prepared than you are now. Perhaps even taller," he added with a smirk.

The North Sea
A week after the shipwreck

Lossethir limply hugged his brother back. His heart still raced (if the Glacial hadn't put the fear of death in him, the sudden reappearance of the Leviathan had) and his eyes darted nervously around, still dazed. Long white tendrils of hair clung about his face, matted and dried in salt a week before and only recently wet again. Tears welled in the corners of his eyes, the trials of the past week now a memory, safe with at least one of his brothers. He hung his arm wearily about Valtam's shoulder and turned away, brushing the tears away with his wrist.

"He started it," he choked out at length.

[the_druid_droid]

Keth

A Realization and a Map

The next day, after a hot breakfast shared with Marius and a kind farewell, Keth departed, following a scarcely-visible trail his host had pointed out to him. As he wandered through the deep forest, Keth felt an awe of the great trees, some dozens of spans wide, settle over him. Homesickness and a twinge of despair struck him then, as he found himself wishing Kalonoth were there, to tell him more of the secret lives of the behemoths, but the god-child forced himself onward in spite of the growing sense of loss, still hoping the Source might give him some clue as to his siblings’ fates.

When he made camp at night, Keth could hear the chirps and chitters of things that lurked in the undergrowth, and he began to understand why the city guard had shunned the forest so. All the same, the creatures in the dark kept their distance, and although he started awake from time to time, each morning he awoke safe and undisturbed in his makeshift camps.

Early on the third day after his departure from Marius’ little hut, the trees began to thin and the undergrowth grew tamer, until at last Keth saw before him the rolling hills and wide plains that formed the majority of the island’s terrain. Turning north, the brown-cloaked wanderer pressed on, moving faster now that he was free of the dense confines of the wood. While he walked, Keth replayed his host’s directions in his mind; although his information about the map’s location had been vague, Marius had promised that the god-child would recognize its resting place when he saw it.

As Keth continued on, the hills became more frequent, and great stones appeared, their moss-covered surfaces breaching the grass like strange earth-bound whales. At last, the land sloped sharply upward, toward a huge gray wall of cliffs in the distance. Drawing closer, Keth could see the titanic stone outcrop extended for leagues in each direction, save for a low arch which yawned in the cliff face to his east. Seeing the opening, Keth smirked; he certainly had an idea where the map might be hidden now.

********

When the demigod passed through the stone arch, he paused in surprise. He had been expecting the door in the rock wall to lead to a tunnel, or some other underground chamber where he would find a map to the Source writ large in runes, or rolled up in a hidden scroll. Instead, he found himself staring at a great circular opening in the cliffs. The ground there was covered in hearty gray-green grass, and here and there within the open space, small scrub bushes grew up. At irregular intervals, stones peeked from the ground, some rising to tower above the godling, but there was no sign of any man-made structure that might mark his goal.

Slowly, Keth began to explore the ring of stone, searching the walls and titanic boulders for some indication of how to proceed, but no writing showed itself, nor were there any symbols to guide him. The only unusual feature was a great white stone near the far wall; its color contrasted strongly with the dark gray of the cliffs and surrounding stones, but after nearly an hour of fruitless investigation, Keth began to think that it was merely a fluke.
Unwilling to give up, the god-child made another round of the ring, moving even slower and examining every crack while wracking his brain to try and make out a pattern, a hidden door, anything that would provide him some sort of direction. He searched for hours, but despite his best efforts, nothing occurred to him; and the gray cliffs seemed to glare down mockingly at his failure. At last, weary from traveling and bleary-eyed from scrutinizing blank rock for so long, Keth sat down against one of the large stones, leaning his head against it with a dejected sigh.

For a moment, the demigod wanted to blame Marius for his situation. Perhaps if the old man had known more about the Source, he wouldn’t be in this predicament; indeed, another thought ventured, how could he be sure Marius hadn’t intentionally steered him wrong? However, even as the doubts appeared in his mind, Keth knew they were lies. The god-child could feel that he was in the right place; a subtle power coursed through that circle of rock, and he was certain the map was nearby. That certainty both reassured and condemned Keth; any failure now would be entirely his own.

Closing his eyes, the weary traveler chucked sourly at himself; he had expected his search for the Source to be challenging, but somehow he hadn’t expected to find himself so puzzled by it all. Then, like lightning, realization dawned, and Keth’s eyes shot open; suddenly he saw that being puzzled was precisely the problem. With new eyes, the cloaked figure looked at the stones and bushes surrounding him, and he understood at last that the whole point of the place was to confound those who might stumble upon it by accident. With renewed energy, Keth began exploring the grassy opening in the cliffs, and gradually an idea took shape in his mind.

Scanning the surrounding cliffs once more, Keth found a section of rough outcroppings, not smooth or flat enough to be steps, but still more than handholds. Slowly, carefully, he began to ascend, until at last he dragged himself over the ledge and onto the cliff that had previously towered over him. From his new vantage point, Keth could see the little clearing yawning up like a green maw, and with the change in perspective, the last piece fell into place.

There was a cluster of flat gray stones he suddenly recognized as Addelyn; farther over, a clump of bushes was the forest he had journeyed in for days. A small stream cut through the clearing; the symbol of a great river he would have to cross in on the next leg of his journey...and there at last was the great white monolith; a finger of stone marking the resting place of the Source of Knowledge. At long last, a genuine grin broke out over Keth’s tanned face; all this time he had been walking over the map he had been searching for so anxiously.

Taking a moment, Keth studied the clearing below him intently, cementing every feature of the map firmly in his mind before pulling out a small spyglass from his cloak and orienting himself against the landmarks he could see in the distance. In the rush of his newfound excitement, Keth climbed down from his perch almost carelessly; at last, he knew exactly what he had to do.

[Madwand]

When the lost prince is found, part 4

Blood. Bones like broken white sticks. Tendons like whitish cords exploding from beneath cracking skin cut by enormous paws bristling with thorns, and sharp teeth. The hideous sound of torn flesh, and shouting – horrifying in its shamelessness. The shamelessness of the end. Of death. Blood and shouting.

Blood.

Brandon waked up. It was painful, even to open his eyes. He was tormented with fever by two days.. The same nightmare second night, but this time something was different. He realize after few second, someone shouted outside his quarters. He tried to get up when the wooden door opened with a terrifying bang.

"Ha! Here you are, you murderer!" Man, in full armour, without a helmet and with the crimson coat of the Guard's officer flung over his shoulder, stood in doors. He wielded unsheathed sword. "Take him!"

Reflex of Fel's child was blunted, but he manage to draw sword. There were more men with oak clubs. He had no chance against trained soldiers. They disarm him, beaten him. Then he was pulled out of the room, and dragged to castle's tower.

The king was waiting for him. His face expressed nothing but self-satisfaction, when he ordered soldiers out of the room.
"You probably wondering, why you was brought here in such.. a rush. Let me explain. You, bastard of most feared spirit, by means of dark magic steal the face of lamented prince Brandon. When when the queen unmasked you, then you murdered her and try to claim the throne.. hopefully we were able to restrain you. In a moment you'll be judged in fron of all free folks of Avaris. "

"You.. you are insane! " Brandon shouted "No one will belive that!"

"Oh, I assure you, they will. After all, you will admit to that hideous crime."

All this seemed more absurd. Quite surreal, as if still in a fever dream. Brandon laughed out loud.

"We don't have time for frivolity." wizard make small gesture toward armored man. He pulled out a knife and stepped on Brandon's hand, crushing it.Man leaned over and bend back index finger. He cut off it and the little finger, then he incised middle finger..

"Enough. Will you admit? - king asked when Brandon stopped screaming; fingers rolled over a bloody wood.

Son of Fel spat at him.

"Did you see, how arrogant he is? We don't have time for this. Let's me do it my way." wizard put a hand on Bran's head.

"Why?" voice was no more than a a weak whisper.

"Why? You ask why? She had handed Averis to you. All I done for my children, to you! For next immortal tyran like Lucius."

Brandon wanted to say that he has no idea who the Lucius was, then he felt like someone stabbed him between the eyes with hot iron. He screamed once more,but mercifully, he passed out moment after.

----------

They brought forth the Lost Prince with his hands bound by hempen rope. He wore only a thin tunic that left his limbs naked to the morning cold. The chill in the air had put color in his cheeks. King-wizard stood on a wooden platform, a cloak of cloth-of-gold flowing from his broad shoulders, crowned with a simple circlet of dark bronze, he looked perfectly regal. One and true king. He cried:

"People of the realm! Here stands prince of lies! That serpent, who deceives us all! Murderer of my wife, yours Queen! Abomination, half-human and half-spirit, we shall cast him out to the Pit, with rest of his kin. But first, good men.. hear his confession. "

Brandon wanted to answer him, really wanted, but suddenly he ran out of words, he did not know which syllables to articulate, he was stopped in the middle of a sentence, which he had in his head almost laid; He figured out that he did not know his name, words, language..

Then his lips and tongue began to move against his will, to formulate the words that he did not want speak. Such horror, when he spoke:

"I confess."

The Averis went mad. Every man began to shout at once. Soldiers dragged Brandon the rest of the way. Brandon was bloody when the wizard’s men half-shoved, half-carried him to the old crypt. A two men-at-arms casted him into the open pit.

Brandon fell into the darkness.

[DoomHat]

Welcome to Knjor

The vast island of Knjor possesses many note worthy geographic features, but perhaps the most important for newcomers to learn is, never approach it from the Northwest side, ever. The northwestern coast of Knjor is known well among the sea fairing peoples of the world. The call it, ‘The Fangs of Evil’. It is a maze of whirlpools, coral, and stone spikes.
The mighty cliff face of Mount Xunhi blocks the entire shoreline, seeming to catch and keep only the most ill tempered winds, forming a near unending storm. Sirens infest these waters, their beguiling song and otherworldly beauty lure countless ships to destruction. There is much debate among scholars as to whether it is cursed or perhaps simply the result of Fel the Shaper indulging his curiosity as to just how deadly he could make any single place.
Once upon a time, Rao Godson sat languidly on a makeshift throne of rock and shattered ship hulls that had been tossed together by violent waves and happenstance, deep within The Fangs of Evil. He dozed there, remembering through dream. He relived one of the most important moments in his life.

A year ago, he had stood silently, taking in his brother Lossethir’s lecture and nodding in mock comprehension.
“…out.. there?”, he murmured in response.
He stood for a while more, his mouth slightly agape, arms hanging limply at his sides, and his gaze fixed on some invisible thing in the far distance. He often did this when he had too many difficult concepts bouncing around the empty space between his ears. Finally, something seemed to click, and he beamed with excitement.
“Out there!”, Rao exclaimed, “There’s a whole other WORLD out there isn’t there? And they’ve got real swords and real monsters! Its so big you could never see all of it even if you poked around for ever and ever and you have to work for your food and even the weather can kill you! Loss! You’re a genius!”.
In his excitement he’d grabbed and was shaking Lossethir by the shoulders. He abruptly let go, freeing his arms to flail around in a display of lunatic enthusiasm. He was laughing again! It felt great.
He said, “You’re right! You’re so right! Its so tough down there even our soft siblings’ll have to get strong! Can you imagine how much stronger we’ll get? I know I can’t!”.
Rao settled down a little. He skewed his face into something approaching seriousness.
He dropped his fist in his palm for emphasis and said, “But we’ll need a little more training, and some planning. There has got to be some way safely off the island,”.
His face broke into a manic grin as he said, “OOH! I bet Xerxes could make us some spring heeled boots or something! Come on! We’ll be wrestling dragons by month’s end!”.
He bounded into an all out run, giddily oblivious to logic. Then Lossethir tried to tackle him for some reason.

The days passed quickly after that. Rao trained harder then ever once he felt there was something opposing him.

Alahm, fearing his mad brother might succeed, taught Rao as much as he could impart. Rao took a surprising interest in the study of acupressure. He memorized the chakras, and learned to direct the flow of life energy, called chi, through his own body. When he learned to direct and disrupt the flow of energy in others though, Alahm was distraught.
He confronted Rao for having used the technique to temporarily paralyze Valtam’s shoulder in a brawl. He demanded to know how long it would be before he used it as a Touch of Death.
Rao simply said, “Never.”.
Alahm was startled, but appeased. He knew Rao’s strange ways, he did not need to force an oath from him. Rao treated every word he spoke as an unbreakable vow.

“Momma! No! I don’t want to go with him!”, said a very small, very young Rao between sobs.
His mother pinched the back of his neck and scolded him. She stared defiantly at the God who stood before her. Though he sired her child, she bore him no good will.
She hissed into her son’s ear as she gently pushed him forward, “Stop that crying, damn you. Crying won’t get you anything in this world. If you really want something, be willing to die for it,”.
Rao looked up. He couldn’t remember her face… except for the tears in her eyes.

Rao awoke with a start. Around him lay only the grim vista of a sailor’s idea of hell. Every fiber of him ached, save his right arm. He closed his eyes and choked back on the pain. He focused his mind on trying to remember what had happened.
He’d been falling. The Leviathan, in all its preposterous hugeness, was barring down on his family’s ship. He’d punched the bastard thing! He’d punched it with the very weight of his soul. He’d purposefully channeled far too much vital chi into his right arm. He knew that once that energy was expended, his heart would slow to a permanent stop.
His fist met it’s mark like a lightning bolt. The Beast jerked back its head like like a major landmass pretending to be a serpent. Its keen eyes spotted the insect that had stung it. Rao was swiftly rebuked by one of the thing’s mile long tendrils. He was sent hurtling across the surface of the ocean like a skipping stone on a pond. In spite of all that, he’d managed to smile before blacking out. He’d bought his family four whole seconds.
But here he was, somehow alive. Why didn’t his arm hurt when all else did? He raised it up to his face. He screamed in horror.

[Orosboru]

Xerxes, part 3

"I don't understand. What are you?" The thing turned, its body turning with a energy that went unseen.

I AM HERE, CREATOR-OF-THINGS. I HAVE NOT BEEN BLESSED WITH A NAME.

"I still don't understand. What is your name?"
YOU DO NOT REMEMBER, LITTLE GODLING. BUT I REMEMBER, FOR IT IS MY PURPOSE.
"A golem named Remember?"
THAT IS APPROPRIATE.
"What should I do now?"
I GO TO FIND YOUR MEMORIES. THE HEART IS EMPTY, BUT IT WILL BE FILLED. ON MY RETURN, MY HEART WILL SPILL WITH THE THOUGHTS OF ANCIENTS AND DREAMS OF THE INNOCENT. AND YOU WILL BE MADE, MAKER, CHILDE-OF-FEL.
"Then what should I do?"
MAKE, MAKER OF THINGS. INSPIRE, FOR THAT IS YOUR NATURE. YOU MUST LEAVE THIS PLACE.
"But how?"

For moment, I thought that the golem blinked. But it couldn't. It didn't have eyes.
YOU WILL FIND A WAY, XERXES, SON OF FEL. He started to turn away from me.
"Wait! Who is Fel? I know that I am Xerxes, but who is Fel?"
I SEARCH FOR YOUR SIBLINGS. I WILL ASK THEM OF YOU, AND THEIR MEMORIES WILL FILL ME. ON MY RETURN, YOU WILL BE WHOLE.
"Wait-"
But like mist, he was gone.

[Swordslinger]

Ashem
Chapter one: Awakenings

Ashem awoke to the sound of waves and gulls, he could feel the soft thuds of the waves hitting his feet. He thought he ought to feel cold, but all he could feel was numbness. He clutched his hand and it dug into sand, opening his eyes however he could not manage. Trough the numbness he could feel something toughing him gulls? No, he could hear talking, he should be able to understand what was said, he knew the words, but somehow the meaning simply eluded him. Maybe he would feel better after a bit of sleep and he let himself fall back into blackness.

Again Ashem awoke, upon regaining consciousness he spend a long time orienting himself just staring up into the roof, which he noted was made of wood, as he lay there he slowly begun to regain his bearings. It was warm and he found that he was rolled into blankets and from close by he could hear the crackling of fire. He did not hurt but he felt so very weak, he gathered what little strength he still had at his disposal and tried to get up. The only think he managed was a making a groaning nice and a moving about a little.

“Ah, awake are you” He heard a voice coming from close by. From the direction of the voice he heard a book snap shut and a chair moving about. “Let me help you with that” he was grabbed by the shoulder and lifted up into sitting position with his back resting toward a wall. He was laying in a bed at the corner of a small room, at the other wall there was a fireplace with a pot over the fire, there was a simple wooden table with a chair next to it. On the table there he saw a candle and a book on it. In another corner there was a stair leading upwards toward a second floor. He studied the man who was standing next to him, he was old and had little hair, but a grayish beard, his skin was touched by the sun hinting at someone who had spend much time outside. “Can you speak?” Ashem tried to speak, but all he got was some rasping sounding noise, he Coughed and cleared his throat. “Yes” he answered voice heavy. “I found you at the beach three days ago, you have been asleep the entire time” Three days Ashem thought with surprise. The man walked over to the fire and scoffed something up from the pot into bowl. “You must be hungry” Ashem found that he was very hungry and accepted the bowl gratefully, and begun to eat. “Don’t eat too fast, or it will all come up again” He moved his chair next the bed and sat down. “You are lucky to have survived that shipwreck, kid, you where pretty far gone when I found you” The ship, the Leviathan! Somehow the resent events clicked into place and he remembered just what it entailed. “My siblings, they were on the boat” he coughed a few times. “I do not know their fate, I am sorry. I have walked a mile up and down the shoreline everyday since I found you and dead, or alive I found only you and wreckage” he choke his head a few times “You should sleep now” and Ashem found himself put back into sleeping position, he was indeed very tired. He fell into an uneasy sleep with nightmares of the sea monster and his siblings.

Weeks later
The old man’s name was Vertai, he had been a farmer most of his life and owned a small house with a good piece of land. When he had grown older he had moved into the nearby city and lived there with his son. But sometime during the last few years he given his son most of his money and sent him off to the capital while he moved to his old farm house and gotten it up to working condition and growing enough food to live for. This area was a part of the country Syelddyn, the nearby city Urncer was the major city in the eastern parts of the country with many smaller villages around it. “I know you are eager to move on kid, but trust an old man in this, you will want to move directly toward to capital, do not go by Urncer”. Having regained his strength Ashem was helping outside in the garden “And why is that old man?” The man stopped for a while, supporting himself on the shaft of his tool. “That place is changed, the people are not the same as they used to, a few was more resistant to its influence, but it was nothing to be done and I fled here. Let’s not speak more of this, you must go directly to the capital and you won’t make it there before winter. You had better stay here, there is room and food enough for you kid" Ashem was itching to get moving, find his path an maybe his siblings, yet he saw the wisdom in the man’s word, better to avoid this…it whatever it was. “Very well old man, I thank you for your hospitality”, the man went back to working the garden.

Late Autumn
Ashem was sitting at the table eating with Vertai, the days had grown shorter and shorter and yesterday had been the first snow fall. Suddenly Vertai’s eyes grew big and he fell backwards screaming, “Old man” Ashem quickly got to his side “What is wrong, are you alright”. Vertai eyes were wild looking into something in the distance. Suddenly he focused at Ashem “It knows” he grabbed Ashem by the shoulder.

“It knows, it knows what you are child of Fel, your coming was dreamed of by people everywhere. And it sees their dreams, it searches, searches trough all the minds it is connected to, it will not let you go”

“What searches for me? Old man, I don’t understand”

“It fears you, its search will never end, never end until it finds and end your dream”

“Why would it fear me, I mean no harm to anyone “

“It fears you, it fears what you might become, your very steps upon this earth heralds it’s doom. It see you, it know you are here”

The old man was on the floor shaking, speaking as if in a trance. Ashem looked into his eyes and somehow it felt wrong, as if there was something else in there with Vertai staring at him.

“Always remember, remember that for all its power it fears you, it fears you, remember”

Vertai choke violently and then lay still,
“Old man, old man, Vertai!”
Vertai, did not move again, eyes empty.

That night
There was a light snow fall, but that did nothing to quench the pyre burning. Ashem stood watching the pyre, someone or something had caused Vertai’s death in its search for him. His anger burned alongside the pyre, he would find this thing and see its end. He had packed food from the house and while he did that he also found a black cloak in one of the closets, it was of fine make and had probably not seen use for many years. As dawn broke, the pyre had burned itself out and he sat out toward Urncer, in the city he would find the truth about this nameless creature.

End chapter one

[Raz_Fox]

There are ten thousand islands on the back of the world. Perhaps. Not even Iaseten, the Thousand-Eyed Scribe who sits upon Mount Shifer's peak and catalogs the events of the world in his precise, swift script with eight thousand pens, knows exactly how many there are. Not that he would care. Iaseten cares for nothing but that the events of the world be recorded. One day, everything will come to an end, and Iaseten will gather his records, that were woven from his own silk, and he will wrap them tight in his web, and lie down and die. Then – maybe, just maybe – the next world will know of what came before them.

Iaseten saw the ship of Fel, his creator and master, descend from the heavens, and he saw the mighty Leviathan, he who is of the depths, rise up from the sea and destroy it, scattering the godlings far and wide. He did not lift a finger to help them, and he would not even if it were in his power, for Iaseten only watches. After all, all things must continue as purposed.

He saw those who failed, and he recorded their fates: Torallden, ageless and eternal, imprisoned within the Rock of Addelyn at the behest of Lucius the Wise. Abigail, the winged maiden, who gave up her birthright for the love of a mortal man, and was thus spared both glory and sorrow.

He saw, too, those who succeeded. Lossethir, the man who gave up his heart and placed winter within his hollow chest. Shiou, who had overcome death and thus mastered it. Kalonoth, who lived a thousand lives within but a day and gained understanding from them all. Eilyan, who taught herself the secrets of time itself. Valtam, who mastered the Leviathan, who was born of the Clay-shaper's grief.

They are mighty. They are the new rulers of the earth. When one of them turns their will to a thing, it is done! Fel's blood burns in them, giving them the right to say to a thing – be, or be otherwise, or be not. And so shall it be. This is the gift of Fel.


But even gods may die. Even a god cannot be everywhere and be one with everything, and there are always more monsters waiting, just beyond the edge of the firelight. Some call themselves monsters – they are terrible things, misshapen and horrid, the mistakes that Fel made in the ancient days (or, perhaps, the shame of a magician in days long gone). Some call themselves spirits, or kings, and they say that they bring prosperity, and safety, and they drive the fools that follow them to war. Prosperity comes to their followers, but to their slaves they give nothing. Some have power enough to challenge Fel's children.

Look! Iaseten sees, far to the East, Ira-Bekana, who was the consort of Lord Ashaka in days gone by. She rules a hundred islands, and those who bear her mark are named the Serpentfolk. Some wear a snake's skin, and some – those blessed by their queen – are more snake than man. Iaseten sees her holy festivals, her rites and her sacrifices, and the deaths that are given up in her name. The smell of burnt bones and charred flesh rises to her, on her throne of a hundred snakes, and she smiles, and her eyes burn golden. Her spear flashes like lightning in the storm, and her sword is sharper than a serpent's tooth, and more deadly besides. Woe to all who stand in the way of her chosen, her beloved children.

Look! Iaseten sees, in the sands of every desert, a shadow of Erukesta. Erukesta is the lord of all deserts, and his body is like that of the dragon, and his head is that of a lion, and his mane is like that of the proudest horse of the world. His horns are those of the mightiest antelope who ever lived, and his claws are those of an eagle, and where his spittle drips nothing will ever grow again. There is brutal cunning within the beast's eyes, and it speaks to those it devours of a world where there is nothing but everlasting summer, sand above the dry stones, and serpents basking in the dead sun.

Look! Iaseten sees, far in the South, a man who cannot abide sin. He has no name, and if he ever had one, he lost it before Leviathan stirred within the depths. His sword is always shining and clean, his clothes have no stain on them, and his skin – which is the color of a lion's coat – is unblemished and pure. His teeth are brilliantly white, and his smile is wicked. Behind him there is a trail of men, who were told of their transgressions before they died. He has not yet found another righteous man, but until the day he does, he will continue to perform his sacred duty.

Look! Iaseten sees, across the world, the Laughing Folk. They are people of wood and flower, and where two trees stand, there is their doorway. They know the secrets of growth and of beasts, and they know nothing of mercy, of kindness, of honesty. No man living knows where their city is, but every man who has listened to their mother's warnings well knows what to do when the Laughing Folk come out of the forests.

Look! Iaseten sees, far in the North, a woman who carries twelve knives. There is no one, man or king or spirit, who can avoid her. She carries death with her, and they say that a man can meet with her by writing down a name and burning it in a fire made from ash-wood. She will come to this man and tell him her price for slaying the one whose name was burned, and if the price can be met, they will die. But her prices are always extravagant, and if you cannot pay her price, she will slay you in their place. And she says to herself, as she walks through the cities of man unseen, I wish that I would slay a god.

Look! Iaseten sees, far in the West, a man who is lord of every cat who ever lived. He has two tails of his own, and is beautiful beyond the reckoning of man, and nothing that he says can ever be trusted. His subjects whisper the secrets of the world into his ears, and he smiles, and laughs, and sometimes goes traveling. Where he goes, there is chaos, for there is nothing so much that this man detests as boredom. The Prince of Cats sometimes looks up, and winks at Iaseten, and then slips away into shadows, just as his subjects do, and for a time he is hidden from even the sight of Iaseten. What he does – no man can say.


But enough of this! To recount the sorrows of the world is a poor thing indeed. And among the ten thousand islands, Iaseten sees that there is hope, and that there is joy in places where joy had fled long ago. Fel has left, with his wisdom and his power, but his children have come to take his place, and the world may be made right.

Perhaps.

Turn 2 Begins
All Gods gain 4 MA, 4 ma, and 1 Ceremony

Domains Gained:
Lossethir – Winter.
Shiou - Death.
Kalonoth – Nature.
Eilyan – Time.
Valtam – The Ocean.

[hi-mi-tsu]

Eilyan, the Far North

It was cold, in the North. It was cold, and she was a far different person than the untested girl that had set out, so naive, with her family. She had learned much, from herself, from others...she had lost much, of herself. Of others.

How long had it been since she had gained her power over time, her ability to see past the mortal veil into the pasts and futures of those she turned her mind to? How long, since she had last seen any of her family but--no, her mind shied from it. It was too hard to think about, the wound too raw. They had been thirty years and more, in her time...she was a bit grown, now. Too much a woman to joke about being a girl, were she the type...with hair the color of blood and skin as pale as the snow she strode over, there would be no mistaking her for the quiet, tanned child who enjoyed sitting in the sun to peruse her father's scrolls of knowledge.

There had been a thread. Faint, but a hope. She had been trying so hard, so very hard to find someone, anyone from her family, but had been looking hardest for those she had been closest to: strong, sarcastic Loss, her stubborn, precious sister Shiou, her knowledge-seeking brother Keth, and Neb...she had found only one.

It had not gone as well as she might have hoped.

But...no. Better not to dwell on that. Better to dwell on this thin, faint thread, a hint of a fate that was sealed ages ago and yet...had been recently touched again. By something with a hint of the divine in it...and she allowed herself the faintest glimmer of hope.

By the gods, it was so cold. It seemed as though this frozen wasteland would go on forever; had she been who she was when the journey had first started, she would have turned back long before now. She would have surrendered to the cold and the discomfort, the way the air made her lungs burn and ache. But now? No. There was the chance that her family--or at least one of them--was here. Or had been here.

The abandoned city was so...strange. So many threads of time had stopped here, ended without anything, cut off abruptly. But one was not, and Eilyan came to a stop before the woman ensconced in a block of ice, a woman who railed in fury at the world outside without ever verbally speaking a word.

"Aella." Her voice was level, but weary; she had to brace herself, against the assault on her mind. Impotent fury, hatred, rage...

"You! A child of Fel! Leave me, or have you come to mock me?!?"

"No." Eilyan's eyes sparked; hope, faint but burgeoning. So she had seen one of her siblings, interacted with them, been around them...it meant she was one step closer.

"You sound as though you have seen one like me before."

"I have, he stole the most important thing, he left me here!"

"You are a murderess and a destroyer of an entire city of people." Eilyan's voice dropped, a little, grew harder. "I care not about your plight. Where is my brother?"

"He's dead." The laugh that echoed in Eilyan's head was cruel and half-mad, and the goddess staggered back, clenching her hands. "I sent a pet for him. A pet the size of a mountain. Your precious brother is nothing more than a smear on a rock. Or was. You're a few decades late."

"You lie." Eilyan's voice went taut, and she gripped the necklace around her throat; the color blazed red, a thousand years passing in a blink inside her bubble. Enough for Aella to melt, halfway, to gain a bit of freedom...and then the color changed again, so white it hurt, slowing the time inside the bubble so that a thousand years again could pass without a second going by outside. Quicker than thought, the goddess's hand reached out, gripping Aella around the throat.

"You will tell me the truth." Her voice was low, and vicious, and the woman could only choke out that "He left, he was going to the ocean, my pet went there!"

"Good." And then the pendant blazed blue; before the witch could protest, the time reversed as swiftly as it had sped up, ice re-forming and entrapping the woman once more.

Eilyan could be vindictive, at times, and she ignored the scream of rage that echoed once more as she resolutely set a path to the ocean. It was unlikely he would still be there--unless he truly is dead, whispered a tiny voice that she ignored--but it would be the next step.

Which "he" she was going for, she did not know. She did not care, any longer...she simply wished to find someone.

[the_druid_droid]

Keth

A Spirit and an Heir

With his destination fixed firmly in mind, Keth set out at once to find the Source. He moved like a man possessed, taking as little food and rest as possible to speed his journey, though from time to time he would pause to check his bearings by the sun or stars before pressing on with renewed vigor. As he neared his goal, the land changed again, and the hills grew taller, until he found himself wandering in a maze-like tangle of valleys and little dells between them. Still the god-child continued on, guided through the labyrinth by his memory of the ancient map and the navigator’s tools he’d managed to save from the Leviathan’s wrack.

At last, weary from travel and the effort of pathfinding, Keth saw before him one final hill, a little taller than the others, with a door wrought from marble and jet set into its base. The demigod’s heart leapt within him as he saw it, for he knew then beyond all doubt that he had finally found the resting place of the Source. Heedless of his legs’ protest, Keth sprinted over the last stretch of grass separating him from the entrance.

Just when he drew near however, the god-child skidded to a stop, as a sound like thunder echoed in his ears and a great confusion of wind kicked the dust up into his eyes. When he could see again, Keth found himself confronting a winged spirit, towering over him with a curved scimitar in her grasp. Her gaze was piercing, and when she spoke, her voice was melodic, but profound.

“I am Ivanna, guardian of this place and weigher of hearts. What has brought you here?”

“My name is Keth, son of Fel Clayshaper, and I have come seeking the Source of Knowledge.” Drawing himself to full height, Keth let fall the hood of his cloak, and regarded the spirit with impassive gray eyes. He had not come so far to turn back quietly at the end of his labor.

“I am bound by oath to sift all who would pass through this doorway. To this day, no man has been found worthy to enter.”

“Then may it be as Fel has willed.”

“So may it be. Tell me, Son of Fel, the sea is a cruel mistress, and the elements care not for men, but what is most fickle under the sun?”

Here, Keth paused in thought, but soon he spoke again, “A man’s heart is more restless than the sea, and changes by the moment.”

“You speak truly; Wisdom’s first lesson is a steadfast heart.” Here the spirit’s expression softened slightly, as if in approval. “What does your heart desire?”

“I cannot lie to you, weigher of hearts; I greatly desire knowledge, or I would not have come, but in this moment what I would hold most dear is word of my siblings and their safety.”

“May Fel grant what you seek. Now answer me, god-child, what can bring low the mightiest warrior, and ruin even a fortified city?”

Again, Keth paused to weigh his answer before responding. “Time brings an end to all things; as much those things that were as things that are, and so too things which are yet to be.”

“Truly, men fear the passage of time, for it heralds their death. Yet even those with gods’ blood may die; do you fear death, Son of Fel?”

“When I was a child, I was afraid of death, afraid of going into the dark. Now I have learned that there are things worse than death, so I do not fear it any longer.” Keth’s reply was calm and even, but the look in his eyes was far-off.

“Better to die than to live in torment. You have answered well, but one thing remains: tell me, what is Wisdom’s greatest lesson?”

At the question, Keth smiled; his father had taught him the answer long ago, when he had first come to Alu Mari. “To know oneself.”

“For we can know nothing else without that ground to center ourselves.” At last, Ivanna’s face softened completely, and a weight seemed to lift from the spirit’s shoulders. “Truly you are the rightful heir to the Source of Knowledge, and I have fulfilled my trust in keeping watch until your arrival. Enter, Keth Knowledge-seeker, and claim your inheritance; I go now to my rest as a faithful servant of your father.”

As the god-child watched, the spirit faded from view and the door in the hillside opened slowly, to reveal a long corridor stretching deep into the earth. Walking down through the cold marble passageway, Keth felt hope rise in his heart; now that he was almost at the Source, he dared to think that it might reveal his family to be safe, although scattered. That hope died as a chill wind blew past him, carrying familiar laughter in its wake.

[The_Snark]

Part 4: Hunger

The morning sun finds Fel's twin daughters feeling cleansed and new; Uluwana because a night of sleep has eased her grief for the beachcomber's death, and Kilea because she is secretly relieved to be alone with her sister again. It is as if they went to sleep in one world and woke up in a new one, bright and open and waiting for them to make their mark on it.

The day sours slightly when they discover that the clams they'd collected yesterday for their breakfast have spoiled during the night. It only gets worse from there.

The little stream that has watered and fed them for weeks runs sluggish and low in its banks, and the water is murky with silt. Thet find no fish no matter how hard they look, trawling the waters with woven-grass nets and even diving into the water in hopes of catching them by hand. They dig for clams, but they find few and all of those are dead, their shells filled with slimy black rot. Midafternoon they happen across a crab on the beach, and pounce, chasing away the gulls picking at it. It's been dead a little while, but the sisters are hungry and you cannot complain much about the taste when your stomach is empty. They take it back to the fire and roast it and eat it.

That crab seems like a feast in the days to come. The sour grasses that had grown in such abundance are withered, their roots moldering in the ground. The fruit of the palupna-trees lies rotting on the ground, buzzing with wasps. On the second day hunger drives the sisters to brave the wasp-stings, paying in for each overripe prize, but soon the fallen fruit is too black rotten to even think about eating. There are birds, and on the third day one of the sisters kills one with a thrown rock - they eat it raw, for they are ranging far from the beachcomber's hut and fire and they're too hungry to wait - but the birds are fleeing the barren island, fleeing Aikilari's wrath. After a few days they are gone.

Wisdom comes at a harsh price! The sisters remember turning up their noses at dead crabs and fallen fruit in better days, and curse themselves for their ingratitude. They no longer laugh and dream of frivolities and idle pleasure, but of the humble prize of not being weak from hunger. They carry sharp rocks to throw in case they see a bird, or a lizard, or even (they hope) a pig. Once they find a dead one, hardly rotten at all, and that day they feast on pork. They are sick afterwards, their bellies rebelling at the rich meal, but they hope to find another all the same. It is better to be sick but alive than dead from hunger.

Uluwana and Kilea grow leaner by the day. Their bellies cling to their spine, their skin is taut on their ribs. They shake with hunger until they grow used to it, the weakness becoming as familiar as their hands and their feet. On the other side of weakness they find a kind of strength, hard and leathery and desperate. Lizards are a precious delicacy now; they are small and fast and hard to catch, mostly scales and bone, barely large enough to be a meal for one and hardly a mouthful when split between two, but they're meat. When there are no lizards, the sisters turn over logs and eat the squirming things they find there, or pluck tiny morsels from ant nests. Even these are becoming harder to find.

Soon a day comes when they can find nothing. The sun is hot and their mouths are dry; all the streams they know are choked with mud, all the still pools strangled with brilliant green scum. It seems unfair that they should starve while surrounded by so much green, but they are. Most of the leaves make them sick. They eat them anyway, and are sick, and day by day they grow weaker and hungrier. And they know they are going to die. The sisters have become strong in the past weeks, but strength can only carry you so far. Theirs is at its end.

For the fiftieth time that day she turns over a rock and finds nothing but dust and rotting wood, and snarls at it, because she does not want to die and she is hungry, so very hungry. Hungry, and there are only two things left to eat on this entire accursed island, and her sister bends over to scratch at a hole in the ground and impulsively she springs and deals her sister a glancing blow to the head with a rock, and then they are rolling on the ground and clawing at one another until at last she manages to crack open her sister's skull on a sharp stone. She crouches like a beast over fallen prey, and for the first time in weeks there is enough to ease her hunger. She eats the flesh, and opens the veins to drink the blood, and cracks open the bones to suck out the insides.

A small part of her weeps. A sister's marrow should not taste so sweet.

[Imperial Psycho]

Kay
It was his chance. A clean slate. A chance to meld that slate to his will. Kay tried to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all, but all that came out was a wet splutter.

He was the first to abandon the ship when the monster came. One of his siblings might have called him a coward, it was difficult to remember. But he was right. The ship was doomed. His quick action did not do him any favours though. He was carried out on the currents, far, far out, away from his brothers and sisters.

He floated on the currents, unable to control his fate, simply being carried along. Occasionally, in his moments of consciousness, that made him angry, and he struggled against the tide, forcing his numb limbs to swim. It didn't seem to make any difference though, and he soon gave into despair. Unconsciousness followed swiftly.

When he next awoke, all he saw was black. For a moment he feared he was gone from the world, that he had failed so soon, but he quickly realised what he saw was sand. Shaking, he managed to raise himself up a little, coughing up water and sand. And...a little blood? That was worrying. Slowly, carefully, he managed to turn himself onto his back, and considered the situation. He couldn't go back his siblings or father like this. Shaking, wet, weak as he had ever been. He needed to come to them from a position of power. Raising his head with some difficulty, he looked at the area around him.

He quickly spotted his target. Some kind of massive fortress, the size of a city. He did not know what beings lived there, he did not know what ruled there, he didn't care. It would be his. Slowly, rubbing the numbness from his limbs, he forced himself to his feet, and trudged in the direction of the great fortress.

[Mono Vertigo]

Vagwyrr

The Blind Truth





Mrs Kheevee, the herbalist, was once married. He died years ago. She also had a dog, once, a very placid companion named Whitey, but he vanished a few years ago, too. Everyone suspects he has been taken away by spirits; his owner was so good she would feed him with whatever scraps available, and thus, was well-nourished. Despite these tragedies, she had always been a quiet but friendly woman who gladly watched over the elders and the needy.


Her plan was not perfect, but that was all she had for the time being. This phase was risky, but it was also necessary. And it required serenity, and thankfully, the disturbing visions she'd had for the past few weeks lost their impact over time.
“Hello, miss. You're not trying to buy bread this time, are you?” joked the thin woman with angelic features and hands drenched in blood.
“No, I'm not. Say, do you have anything that can help with blindness?”
“Ah, yes I do! Let me check in the back... I have a nice balm there. See, I knew you'd grow tired of those frauds! I don't know what they gave you, but I can already tell you it's useless, and you shouldn't take it any more. Here is it. Completely natural, made with arame and ginseng. Very efficient. It burns, but it's a good burn, it eats the diseases away and makes you as good as new!” Delicately, she took her customer's hand, put the vial inside it, and closed her fingers on it. She waited a few seconds before releasing it. “Careful, though, I have to warn you this is no panacea. If the disease is too advanced, it won't help. It would be nice if it did, but it doesn't.”
The younger woman smiled. “Have you ever tested any of your remedies?”
Eyes rolled. “I can't test everything, I haven't caught all diseases in existence. And since my eyesight has always been perfect, it's useless trying it on my eyes. But I do test as much as possible, darling, yes.”
“It would be nice if you did try in front of me though, because I am what some may call a slightly paranoid person. Nothing personal, I'm like that with everybody. You will be a real friend if you do.”
“I'd rather not, this is going to hurt and be useless, and I had intended on using them today.”
“Oh, are you sure?”
“Pretty damn sure.”
Vagwyrr leaned on the wooden counter with an evil grin. “Sorry, I need to ask. Since I'm not supposed to be able to see you, you could have pretended to put that balm on your eyes just to appease me, and I wouldn't have bothered with you anymore. Why are you acting like I can see?”
Awkward silence.
“How can you tell I can see? You're the first one who's not focusing on the blindfold and stick. Nobody else here hesitated to do anything knowing I was the sole witness. Besides, I remember the funny taste in these potions you sold me, and nobody else felt it, so I suppose I got a special recipe for some reason.”
“You should go away now. You give that thing back to me, and we both pretend nothing ever happened, and we never see each other again. Deal?”
“I know you know I know. I know your balm doesn't look like herbal preparations to me, more like eyeless snake heads, so I presume it's actually venom, and it is supposed to make me blind for good. I also know you're an angel of death. Probably not a real angel, though, more like someone who deals with pain and death and pretends to cure them.” The stick was immediately placed as to block the wooden door. “We need to talk.”
When Mrs. Kheevee threw a small bottle at the half-goddess, she lowered the cloth above her mouth and nose to filter the noxious fumes, and held her breath. Oh, a crafty one, thought the older woman who no longer looked like an angel, but she couldn't move closer for a few minutes in fear of being intoxicated herself, so she attempted to run away, to no avail. Soon, she was tied in a corner, and when the last fumes dissipated, Vagwyrr put the blindfold back in its proper place.
Kheevee had become a parody of a human, whose skin was stained by varied poisons.

The uninterrupted interrogation that followed was fruitful; Kheevee was too afraid to shut up, though that fear diminushed with each reveal. She turned out to be some sort of witch, prolonging her lifespan with potions, and periodically marrying a different man only to kill him afterward and inherit his belongings. The rest of the time, to entertain herself, she gave poisons to elders and strangers; elders so she could pretend to be looking very hard for a cure, and get rewarded for her efforts post-mortem without raising any suspicions; as for the strangers, she simply tested new products when she was out of disposable test subjects. Vagwyrr had been given a special poison that left no trace of its presence, although it had to be given in small amounts, and only killed suddenly after enough of it had been accumulated in one's organism. Vagwyrr escaped Whitey's fate, who had been fed a spoonful of the poison; and whose head had rotted and fallen off in a matter of minutes, prompting his owner to bury the body at night.
Mrs. Kheevee's other power was telepathy. With a touch, even through clothes, she could momentarily share one's surface thoughts and perception, a very useful talent for choosing new patients and test subjects.

Vagwyrr shook her head. “You haven't told me everything. I like to hear my stories in full. With the important details. For example, your true name.”
The woman grimaced. “Don't play the fool. I'm a witch, darling. My power lies in my name. If I tell it to you, it will go away. Everybody knows that.” Well, the girl didn't, but she shut up and nodded. “It's going to take you a lot before convincing me to reveal anything like that. And that's too bad for you, kiddo, because you want information more than you want the death of me, and I can wait until Phineas runs out of potion. If my calculations are right, he'll need a refill tomorrow.”
“I wonder what this thing does”, asked innocently the brunette while taking a random bottle off a shelf. It contained sparkly green flowers.
“Half of these are normal medicine, harmless except for the disease. Quite a few would kill me outright. The rest generally has funny effects that won't help you much, and if you give me a higher dose, it would kill me, too.” Uncertain of the verity of these statements, but aware it would take her too long to have a vague idea of what the contents are, let alone what they do, she put it back. “Unless you have torture in mind. I'll take a gamble, and say you are not the kind to stab someone for something as minor as a single word, right?” A cackle followed that affirmation.
Vagwyrr knelt down, removed the blindfold, and put it instead on the witch' eyes. “You mustn't enjoy human contact, do you? Well, I'm not quite human either, so you're in luck. Let me tell you everything, the story, in the full glory of its terrifying details, of what brought me here...”
The gloves were also taken off, and the hands underneath, pressed against the woman's forehead. The half-goddess started visualizing the memories of the travel, the boat unlike any other boat down here, and the Leviathan, the terrible, cruel Leviathan. The witch started rocking back and forth, to escape whatever sight she was seeing, and the vivid memories. Soon, the intensity of the visions led her to give up and say her name, but Vagwyrr didn't stop, and she also remembered the strange ritual of the primitive spirits, and the twisted appearances of the villagers. She also prodded every part of her mind with sharp, piercing words, deconstructing the reason behind everything she had done. No, Vagwyrr wasn't one to stab people with an iron dagger. She was more into dissecting one's mind, whether they liked it or not.

[Swordslinger]

Ashem
Chapter two: Jail and the puppet show

Village of Nysek, in the outskirts of Urncer.

”Harharhar ,The Leviathan is myth, a tale told by mothers to scare misbehaving children”

Ashem was sitting at a table in the village tavern and had just told a very abridged story about the shipwreck, he did not mind the laughter around the table; he just lifted his mug from the table and took a sip from the ale. It had a horrible taste compared to the fine wine he was used at from Alu Mari, he had found a bit of coin in a drawer at Vertai’s cabin, he did feel a little bad for taking them, but now he needed them more than the old man. And if he was going to sit in the tavern and listen to other peoples stories and news he needed to buy something, and for that he needed to spend coins on something or he would draw attention. Now that he had shared a story with the people at the table their attention drifted from him and to someone else that had begun to speak in his place. He sat back and listened to the man at his table and from around the tavern. Talk about crops, weather and such, little about news from outside. “So any news from the capital” he slipped in at an opportune moment. Someone looked at him, “The…capital eh?” the person twitched and after a brief pause went back to talking with someone else. That was not the response Ashem had expected, was this guy a bit odd, or was this linked to what Vertai said about people being changed? He pressed his question, someone else spoke to him this time “hmmm, you are not around from here are you? ” he twitched and for a moment looked uncertain “hmmm, better take you to see the mayor” someone grabbed him at the shoulder.

Ashem felt it was best to follow along; maybe he could get some answers or a clue from the mayor, he felt confident he could break free and escape these people. His might not compare to siblings in most areas and but these where mortals, much weaker than him. They were weaker than him right? A small feeling of doubt set in, he tried pushed it away to the back of his mind, but it was still there whispering to him. He was lost in thoughts when he was led into a jail cell, this was a pretty neat cell for a town this small… wait a cell?! The men behind him turned to leave “You said you where taking me to the mayor” the man he had spoke to earlier turned around “And so I am” he said, to which Ashem responded “This is a jail cell” in voice that said he knew how obvious his comment was. To his surprise the man looked around and frowned as if surprised “That is weird” he twitched a few times and seemed to lose interest. The door closed.

Go see the mayor, excellent plan Ashem an excellent plan indeed. Maybe the mad people will be back be back to let you out, not that they seem to be able to remember anything for more than a minute of the time. Ashem studied the cell for a while, it was made of bricks, had an iron door and a small, very small window on the opposite wall from the door. From the outside the window would be at ground level the thought. There was nothing else in the room but the cold hard floor, obviously this cell was not meant to hold someone for long. If someone returned for him he meant to be gone when they got here. He wished his brothers and sisters were here, they would have found a way out of here with ease.

Alright, what would Kay do here, he’d make up a clever scheme to get out, thinking outside the box. This is an awfully small box, I sure wish I was outside it. Ok thinking like Kay is not working. I don’t think even one of Abigail’s smiles would get her past this door, cold and hard as iron it is. Ok then, what would Lossethir do then, hmm umm, ah he would not think this much about it... that don’t help me at all. He’d just look at the door with contempt in his face not even acknowledge the door as a challenge and kick it straight down… kick it straight down.

Ashem stood there for a moment thoughtfully looking at the door. He raised his right leg and kicked it into the door. The door flew straight clear of the hinges and crashed into the hallway wall making cracks in the wall before it fell to the floor in a twisted heap. A mortal build door meant to block mortals, not godlings. “Well that was incredibly easy” he walked out into the hallway.

[hi-mi-tsu]

Eilyan, the Far North

She hated mountains. They were terrible, arduous to cross, and cold. She had never been the most physically fit or strong of Fel's children, and the slow, never-ending walk in the direction the witch had indicated felt nearly impossible. And it was still so cold, cold enough to chill the marrow in her very bones, and she very nearly gave up.

But she could not.

There was a strange, mountain-shaped emptiness in the range she was trying to cross, and her mind whirled with the possibilities; could it be that the woman had summoned a mountain to attack her brother? Could that have been what she meant by a "pet"?

Eilyan gripped her necklace and willed the sands blue again, though not as blazingly bright as when she had dealt with the witch. She wished to go back, but not nearly as far, and not nearly so swift...she wanted to see what was happening. Years flashed past, and then suddenly there was a mountain where the emptiness was...no, not a mountain, and she stopped the flow as it dislodged itself from its fellows. A monster...a giant! A creature of ice and rock and fury.

What was that...?

It was chasing something, and she could not see. She clambered down the mountainside, running after the living glacier, the giant creature...and then ducked, as a boulder came flying over it, nearly striking her.

"Loss!" Her cry was lost on the wind, as the figure finally came into view; he was alive! In this time, at least, for now...but the figure was giant, and they raced to the sea, her brother bounding and very nearly flying through the air. She was not fast enough...and what did she think she could do, even if she could reach them? She was not a warrior, and had no skill in such matters...and she reached the next plateau just in time to see Loss flying through the air, to land in the ocean.

"No! Loss!" Another climb down; she was red-faced and panting, but she was so close! She could not lose another sibling, not another...!

And then the monster that had haunted her very nightmares crested from the waves, all slicked scales and gnashing teeth, and this time her cry was wordless. She was so far away, too far away, he was going to die before her eyes....! The goddess wept, even as she half-climbed, half-slid down the last part of the cliff. She could do nothing but watch, but she was going to try to help him...!

Father, look to your children! The cry was sent to the heavens. Look to your son!

There was no answer. But...what? The Leviathan was...was fighting the monster! Instead of eating Lossethir like a snack, he tore the creature in twain, flinging it into the air; it sailed over her head, somewhere back in the icy wastes, and she no longer gave it thought. It was her brother she cared about...and she screamed again as the creature looked down at her brother. Surely he was done for, now; surely it was over. But...no. Instead, it opened its mouth, extended its tongue, and a man appeared. A man who...was...impossible! And yet--

"Lo, it is I, Valtam, child of Fel"--

Eilyan scrambled across the rocks as Val lifted Lossethir out of the water and they embraced; she did not even notice when her feet hit the water, for she did not sink. Tears streaked pale skin, even now frozen against her face, and she threw her arms around Lossethir and Valtam both in a rare display of emotion.

"You're alive, thank Fel, she said you were dead, Loss, I'm so happy to see that you're alive...!" And then she could say no more, overcome by her own emotion; she could only cling to them both, and weep.

[Madwand]

The Witchking, part 5

Brandon landed on a pile of bones. Old and new, incomplete skeletons, skulls and shreds of dried meat. The pile on the floor stank of urine and blood. The smell of fear and despair. He had seen them, briefly, a quick
glimpse as they threw him inside. Once the pit had slammed shut, he had seen no more. The dark was absolute. He had as well been blind.

Or dead. Buried with his mother. He blamed himself. “Fool, “ he cried to the darkness, “blind fool.” Brandon had returned, assuming that he just reclaim his birthright. And his mother had paid the price of his folly with her life’s blood.

When he kept very still, his hand and his wounds did not hurt so much, so he did his best to lie unmoving. For how long he could not say. There was no sun and no moon. Brandon closed his eyes and opened them; it made no difference. He slept and woke and slept again.
When he slept, he dreamed: dark disturbing dreams of blood and war.

Darkness.
And in the darkness of the mountain valley, drums were played. Deaf, rhythmically, in slow, nerve shattering pace.He hear the clatter of iron and scrape of thousands pairs of heavy shoes. From the valleys surrounded by mountain peaks army was approaching. Curving like a snake, bristling with a thousands gleaming stings. At the head goes huge, barbed car, a veritable fortress on wheels, painted in a naive images of writhing snakes swallowing the sun and moon.

Darkness.
And in the darkness face seemed to float before him. Face of man he know long time ago, his father and teacher before he went to Alu Mari, to learn from Fel . "Father" he said, and he know not which of them he address in whisper. "I failed you."

"So all hope is lost." Gerlon, general of Averis muttered "when the king surrender himself. Did you not remember what I taught you?" ghost said " you are the son of the ruler.You have been shaped for rule since before you could walk. You have been taught how to govern. You have been taught to fight. Thousand things you were taught about which I do not even know.To be King, the first among equals. Who will always be a ruler and leader, wherever he goes. Even bound and beaten will always be the one who does what dictates his duty, and who never gives up. Him who knows. Him who leads. What I have thought you about defeat?

"Who live to see next battle is not defeated." answered Brandon.He opened his eyes. His sight became accustomed to the darkness, he was no more blind. And in his heart there were no more grief and despair. There is something new to him, yet he know it's name. Hatred wrapped around his beating heart like serpent. It was not a defeat, not wholly. Only fool could say such a thing while he yet lived. His mortal family murdered, his Fel-born siblings scattered far and wide, maybe slain too. His kingdom usurped by mighty wizard. And he imprisoned within spells of his foe, deep beneath world's surface. He rise and stood still.

He was king without kingdom, swordsman with mutilated hand, general without army. Yet he was Son of Fel, far from being powerless.

Out of the deep and dire knowledge gained from pursuit of black arts and secrets of life itself he rise his new army germ.Bones taking the the human figure, bones were connected with the bones. Skulls placed on spines, fingers' bones connected to the bones of hand, by his will brought to parody of life. To serve. To fight. To kill.

Dungeons were deeper than he dared imagine. Few adventurers wanted to venture there, much less had returned. Now it was turned into trap twice deadlier. Brandon traveled corridors, raising every body, human and inhuman alike. Each spirit, whom he met fled from their number. Nature spirits were pale, cut off from the source of their power. Imprisoned, starved, angry, but no one dared to attack Brandon and his undead. He find another entrance to cavern, it was unguarded. There was only the spell.

The ward was simple and frighteningly effective. It not prevent anyone or anything to enter. Nor physically prevented exit, rocks thrown flew freely through the barrier. However, no soul of human, animal, spirit or undead could pass through. sorcerer was cunning. If someone was trapped inside there is no chance he would left alive.
"I see it now, I understand what must be done. " Brandon examined the ward. And then he laughed at his own
thought. "I will be dead, yet not defeated. So be it."

He took the sword from one of nameless wight and start his own incantation. He placed into it his anguish at wizard betrayal, shaded with profound sorrow and honed keen with rage—for they had all betrayed him, all of them, folks of Avaris. He gave Shape to his own self-loathing, to the memory of futile defiance, to that moment, that terrible moment, when he knew himself defeated and alone. He turn the rusted sword in hands and
put his blunt point to his chest. Gathering all of will and hatred he pierced his own heart. Stream of blood flooded his hands. Spell sealed by the most valuable, precious blood of Fel.

It had hurt, a hurt second only to one, as he tore himself loose, a gaffed fish fighting the hook. he done it. Then lay as dead and his sword was beneath him.When he awoken once more, he put his hand to chest. It left a scar that shone with a pale light.

His heart did not beat anymore, his soul was no more in his body.

[Orosboru]

Xerxes, Part 4

Nothing could stem the relentless advance of the ocean of Lethe, of the forgetting and the remembering. Many days past when I was delirious with the effort of recalling yesterday, and yearning for the knowledge of tommorow. Uncounted years past by in this fashion, eating, sleeping, growing, and waiting for Remember to return.

There is a large X on the island - for what purpose, I do not remember - but things have deteriorated to the point where I have forgotten my own name. My thoughts, my memories have all swept out with the tide. There is a shape of a boat on the other side of the island, surrounded by tens of false starts and compromises to the material.

I sit on the log, its heart empty of the names which I have not remembered, and it rings hollow. Rot has settled in, even it eroding in the face of the salty water and wind. I remember that this was important to me, once. But why? Each day I wake up with less, but the unseen pain and agony that you are less complete tears at my soul. Little by little, I grow more lethargic. More and more I wake up and I struggle to retain what identity I had.

There are many efforts on the tree of the island. Symbols, hastily drawn scripts and pictorials have lost all meaning to me. Perhaps, in my desperation, I thought that these would have universal meaning to me - regardless of my condition. Alas, every day I awake to the newest dawn, and I remember nothing of yesterday.

It seems that time is my enemy.

But today was different. I feel different. Today is a day of rising. Today is the hopeful day of renewal. Today is a good day to remember things once lost. I knew that I had little time before the forgetting took me once more.

It seems so clear to me now - I must have a crucible where my memories will return to me, a bowl to capture the persistance of memory. The last of the log was stripped of the rot and the mold and lathed on the rock. It was perfect for my purpose. It was simple, and it had many flaws but it was mine. I had made it. I bonded my boats into a single raft, and it was night. I slept caressing the bowl, hoping to remember my efforts that day.

I awoke, and at first I was terrified. Something had happened yesterday, with astonishing clarity. I turned, and I was at sea - looking in all directions, nothing but the deep blue. I looked down, and the bowl was filled with slivers of silver - which I could see the depths of yesterday. I cried. I cheered. And I looked forward to the next sunrise.

...

Rydel, the prentice blacksmith was idly sitting by the shore of his village, hoping to dodge the latest punishment for skiving. He never wanted to be a prentice, anyway. He wanted to go to the city and sing songs to pretty princesses. His dam said that he had a nice singing voice, but even she didn't understand.

He was about to return home for something to eat when he spotted something shining in the water. It was silver, and it might be worth something. He picked it up. It melded into his skin. For a second, he panicked and he flailed around like a headless chicken. Then he saw it.

It was a perfect memory. It was the idea of iron, the hardness of steel. He could percieve the nature of the metal - it had its voice, and he could sing to it too.

When he went back to the blacksmith, he accepted his beatings with a smile on his face. He had a idea. He was inspired.

[Swordslinger]

Ashem
Chapter three: Flight

Village of Nysek, in the outskirts of Urncer.

His was the last cell in the hallway, there were several other cell doors at regular intervals along the wall, at the end of the hallway there was another iron door he presumed lead out. He checked the barred windows of the doors as he passed, they where all empty. As he was halfway down the hall he heard the door at the end unlock, he tried the closest cell door and it was open. He slipped into the cell and gently closed the door behind him. “Is there anyone here” he heard someone yell, footstep came close. “What is going on here” he heard a man mutter to himself. As the man passed his door he slipped out again and hit him gently on the neck with the side of his hand, the guard fell to the floor unconscious. He entered the door and carefully walked up a set of stairs, in the room above he found no other guards; they probably did not need much people guarding empty cells, he walked out the front doors unopposed. It was getting dark, days where short now, he gathered his cloak about him and made his way through the partly snow covered streets. He ought to find a place to spend the night and he sought out a tavern, a different one from the one he had been at before, it ought to be ok as long as he did not draw attention to himself. It was warm inside, and there was quite a bit of people sitting here and there. The innkeeper was standing by a desk cleaning mugs, some barmaids was walking around serving the customers, a man was sleeping by a table next to the innkeepers desk he noted. As he stood up to the desk and was about to address him he heard something rattle close by, he turned and saw the sleeping man shake as he lay with his face on the table. Suddenly it stopped and he sat up, sat up and stares right at Ashem, the tavern grew very silent, everyone had stopped moving and was staring at him. This can’t be good

Ashem ran toward the door at the opposite side of the room, people moved to stop him, none of them uttered a word to him or each other, they just moved. He jumped up to a table and used them as stepping stones. He jumped off the last table and landed straight before two people blocking the door, he placed a hand at each of their shoulders and pushed them to the side, he quickly opened the door and dashed outside even as he heard people catching up to him from behind. In front of him stood a man wielding a club, which he swung at Ashem. Ashem tried to get away but the club hit him at the edge of the shoulder, it hurt a bit but did not slow him down Meh, Lossethir hits harder. The inhabitants of the town seemed to converge on him, more and more streamed into the street. Looks like I won’t be walking out that way, well I just need to find another way. He looked around him and spotted some small poles which people used to tie horses too. He jumped up on one and stood on it with one foot, then he gathered his strength and jumped upwards toward the roof, he grabbed the edge of the roof and pullet himself up. He stood for a moment looking on the gathering crowds they kept staring at him, their eyes looked empty. A rock flew past his head and he decided to get moving, he jumped from roof to roof, out of reach of the people below most of them was around the tavern and the streets where nearly empty, the few down there kept staring at him and threw rocks at him, none of them got close to hitting. At the edge of the town he jumped down to the streets and ran down the road out of the town. Enough fooling around here, he needed to get to Urncer and somehow stop whatever was controlling these people.

The sun was rising in the horizon; he had walked all night trough frost and snow, but finally as he came to a downward slope and he could see the city in the distance, it was large with walls surrounding it. And a crowd of people walking up toward him, somehow he was not surprised; whatever controlled them would know he was coming this way. He turned and ran back; maybe he could turn from the road and into the forest, circle around the crowd and sneak into the city. It was then he nearly ran into the crowd that had formed behind him. Someone thought about hiding in the forest before me. The other crowed hat caught up with him and now the was being surrounded. “Hear me people of Urncer I am Ashem, Son of Fel the Clay-shaper. You cannot hope to bar my way” he shouted at them, maybe he could intimidate them into letting him past, he thought he could break his way past if he wanted. ”HAHAHAHAHa” a load cruel laughter came from all of them, the same voice emitting from everyone in the crowd. Of course, no use intimidating a puppet “What are you?” All the people gathered raised a hand toward him, somehow the world around him seemed to twist, What? He did not know what was happening, but he knew he had to get away from here, he readied himself to break straight trough the encirclement. But his feet would not move, or rather they moved but he did not get anywhere, was he really running? The world grew dark, things became unclear and he felt his mind drifting, the world was gone, replaced by empty blackness.

[DoomHat]

And So I Must Rend It From Me

Rao has never known fear. As a child, he was always confused by stories of about heroes. The stories often said that the hero was the only one willing to take action, but Rao did not understand. Why only them? Wasn’t everyone eager for the opportunity to challenge a dragon? Sometimes the stories would mention that the hero was anxious, and considered turning back. But why? The kingdom would burn if the dragon wasn’t stopped! Did they suddenly want that now?
In time he learned what the mortal world, below Alu Mari, was like. Every single cut a mortal suffers carries the risk of infection. There is no guaranty of recovering from a cold. Things lurk in the shadows that are stronger then you, and they hunger for your flesh. One slip and you are gone forever.
All these things weigh so heavily on the hearts and minds of mortal kind that many spend their short existences cowering from the world around them. They never reach their full potential, preferring the apparent safety of inaction. This idea ached at something deep within Rao. He wanted to understand their pain. Maybe if he could find and defeat this thing called fear, with little more then the powers available to a mortal, maybe he could teach them to do it as well.

Rao’s right arm had been transfigured into an insult against his dream. It was unblemished, barring no callus nor scar. It appeared to made of something that was at once gold and flesh. A faint aura of power drifted from it like smoke. This was not the arm of one who stood beside mortal kind, but that one who stood far above them. This was the arm of a god...

[TheDarkDM]

Valtam

Valtam hadn't recognized the young woman that had come flying down the mountain after Leviathan had receded. Indeed, crating a solid path through the water had been more instinct that conscious decision, something deep inside assuring him that whoever else was alive in that barren wasteland meant them no harm. But then Eilyan spoke, and Valtam had just a moment to feel a profound sense of relief before her hug drove the wind from his lungs. Returning the embrace, he realized that her impact was the first breath he remembered taking in a long while, and he breathed in deeply. In an instant, his lungs were awash in a golden fire, a purifying burn that affirmed that he was alive, no matter what had happened beneath the waves. Then, the hug ended, and the three children of Fel stepped apart to regard each other.

"Eilyan! You don't know how good it is to see you. The both of you. But before we start swapping stories, might I suggest we make for a more temperate clime?"

Beneath their feet, a gentle wave rose up, carrying the three godlings - no, the three Gods - away from the arctic wasteland. The smell of salt and sunlight filled the breeze as they moved steadily southward, until they reached an extensive island chain surrounded by vicious looking rocks. Despite this grim perimeter, the island closest to them appeared to be a riot of life, pines and aspens competing in a vast forest beyond a broad, sandy beach. The wave carrying the gods crested against the sand, and they suddenly found their feet once again upon solid ground. Or rather, Lossethir and Eilyan did, as Valtam immediately fell backwards to lounge in the warm sand.

"So, who wants to go first?"

[The_Snark]

Part 5: A Beast

Come sundown, a frigate-bird flies out of the west, answering Aikilari's call. It flies over empty shallow seas. No fish flee from its passing shadow. It flies over a dry barren beach, picked clean of bones weeks ago. No gulls rise screeching to challenge it. It flies over the trees, waving gently in the afternoon breeze. There is no birdsong rising from the jungle, no monkeys howling farewell to the sun.

From beneath the canopy a beast watches the bird's eastward flight. This is not an ordinary thing. There are no birds on the island anymore. Something that size would be a rich catch. The beast's fingers wrap around a jagged-edged rock, judging the distance against the stone's weight. A rock is never far from the beast's hand these days, though it finds it's more useful in rooting for grubs than as a weapon. There simply isn't anything left to hunt... except that bird. In the space of a moment it passes overhead, vanishes beyond the trees. The beast fingers its weapon regretfully, and decides that even if it had reacted in time it would have been a long throw. But perhaps it has a nest somewhere inland. This place is thoroughly barren now, and it needs to move soon anyway.

For most of the next day the beast lopes upstream, wading through a sluggish ankle-deep stream that used to come up to her waist. It hopes to find leeches along the way - what a surprise that had been to her and her sister when they first swam here and discovered the pulsing black things attached to them! - but no. Even the leeches are gone now. Pity; they would not have made pleasant eating, but the beast has learned not to be picky. Instead it prowls the fruit-stained ground beneath a stand of palupna-trees; the fruit is long fallen and withered, but there are still enough traces to attract the occasional. The beast has gotten very good at plucking them from the air and crushing them before they can sting. Wasps are mostly air with unpleasant dry crunchy bits, but they're slightly better than nothing, and they are the one creature on the island that seems to be thriving.

In the early light before dawn the beast finds a snare set in one of the bushes and baited with rotting meat. It has come to the edges of Aikilari-the-village. The people wail and pray to their island-god for mercy, but it does not come. The pigs they hunted are all but gone, the fat white tubers they grew all moldered in the ground, the fruits and berries they collected fallen from the trees. So instead they gather grubs and beetles, and use their spoiled supplies. They know how to stew the leaves of the oba-tree so that it can be eaten without making one deathly ill, and how to grind the bark of the palupna into an edible paste; these things keep them alive. But their river is slowly drying up, and all the nearby oba-trees are beginning to look like skeletons, stripped of leaves.

The beast watches these things with bright eyes. Not for their food; it doesn't know how to make a fire and boil oba-leaves and they have surely stripped the nearby forest clean of crawling things. No, these are prey. The beast has come too far to let herself falter and die out of some belated twinge of conscience. For the space of a week it prowls the forest near the village, taking a young one sent to root for grubs, an elderly man fetching water at dawn. After this the Aikilari know something is out there hunting them. They set foot-snares and spear traps (not baited, sadly) and never leave except in groups. Sometimes a party will go out hunting for it armed with spears. Sometimes the beast wonders whether they would eat her, if they caught her. It would be only fair - not that the beast has any intention of letting them catch it. It draws back and lets them search. The Aikilari hunt by snares and traps as a rule, not spears and trackers, and the beast's cleverness is more than a match for their hunters.

One day the beast sees a strange thing happen. The people in the village shuffle out of their village in a line two or three abreast, singing and keening in dismay. At their head march two women carrying a body aloft on a lashed-together wooden frame. Curious, the beast follows them at a distance, keeping to the trees so they will not see it. The procession winds its way east, past the butchering-ground stained black with old blood. They do not stop there. Nobody has needed to go there for some time. They walk onward til they reach a place where the trees are tall and thinly spaced, and then they climb to an empty wooden platform nestled in the branches and reverently place the body there with its face up so that it is looking at the sky. After a short while they depart, no longer singing or making any noise.

The beast waits a while to make sure they're gone, then climbs the tree to inspect the dead one. This is a stroke of luck. She won't need to hunt wasps for a while now, nor risk stirring up the village into another hunt. The corpse is skinny and sickly-looking, but meat is meat, and hunger is the sweetest seasoning one could ask for.

That evening she sees the bird again, winging its way east. She is not so desperate as she was when she saw it the first time, but she isn't about to let it go after coming this far either. She slides down from the high corpse-platform she'd been planning to spend the light on and runs after it into the darkening gloom. The trees here are less thick, and she does not lose sight of it; so it is that she is just in time to see the bird alight on a tree, and then take flight again as Aikilari. He passes overhead, and being in a rush to go about his night-business he does not see her.

But the beast sees him. She feels something during that last flash of light from the setting sun, and feels it again when Aikilari passes over her. The great twisted tree that had loomed so forbiddingly a moment ago now looks merely dead. The beast studies it, circling it in the wary manner of a tiger stalking something that might be either prey or rival. She notes the crude face carved into the wood. She sees how the tree grows in the middle of the village's stream, its roots choking the flow. There is something there; or rather there was. Nobody is home right now. The beast settles in to wait.

Hours pass. The stars slowly wheel by overhead. Breezes whisper through the trees, but here in this dead glade there are no leaves to rustle. There are no birds, or crickets, only the tiny sound of the river trickling through the tree's roots. At last light creeps into the sky, and with it comes Aikilari-the-bird, returning to his tree-home. The beast has hidden herself. He does not see her. He perches on his tree and returns to it as the first light of dawn strikes the island, and the bird flies off to attend to its own life.

Then the beast creeps out of her hiding-hole, and Aikilari sees her. The presence she felt yesterday is here now, and powerfully so. He remembers her: one of the beachcomber's trollops, an intruder of the worst sort on his island. The tree's lipless gash of a mouth seems a rictus snarl. She has no way of knowing, but she feels that this is the center of the island. Just as the tree is choking out the river, it's also withering the fruit and plants, driving away the birds and fish, killing the leeches and clams. It's that kind of presence, smothering and dry.

Yet he makes no move to smite or rebuke her. Gradually the beast grows bolder, prowling around the tree and poking into its eyes and mouth a couple of times. Those gaping black eye-holes stare balefully at her, but no other reaction is forthcoming, and soon the beast realizes the truth: Aikilari-the-tree cannot move, any more than Aikilari-the-bird could set down roots.

The beast smiles. It is not a nice smile; if you have ever seen a tiger or a crocodile you know the sort. Then it scales Aikilari-the-tree (taking care to use both the mouth and eyes as footholds) and settles in to wait near the top. Hours pass. The sun gently floats through the sky overhead. Breezes barely stir the air elsewhere, and not at all in Aikilari's glade. The midday heat is fierce. There are no birds, only the tiny sound of the river trickling through the tree's roots, and the glowering presence of the spirit within the tree. It seems a very long time, but at last the sun grows tired and starts slipping down the horizon, and a frigate-bird comes flying out of the west to answer Aikilari's call. The beast tenses. Beneath her, Aikilari gathers himself, preparing to drive the invader triumphantly from his sacred place. The bird lands on the tree just as the sun sets, and Aikilari leaps into the bird with a screech of triumph, and the beast leaps upon the bird and wrings its neck in a single swift motion; crack!

The bird lies still. Beneath her, the tree is dead and inert.

[BladeofOblivion]

Canticum Dolor, Part 1: Unbound

Death. It seemed omnipresent here, in the forest. There was life here as well, but Dolorum, as she was often nicknamed, could only focus on death. Why did things have to die? She had pondered this question for a long time, and only today had she produced an answer that felt correct.

Things had to die to cleanse the world of imperfection. That beetle over there had been eaten because it had not been able to escape the predator chasing it.

If that Beetle didn't have imperfect wings, it could have escaped the frog. The frog would never have caught it were it not so flawed.

But the Beetle was flawed, and the Frog recieved its meal. However, the frog had its own flaws. Its imperfect eyes failed to notice the snake waiting in the bushes, and the Snake's flawed camoflage allowed a Hawk to swoop down and kill it too. The Hawk soon died of a sickness from its imperfect immune system, and its body was consumed by hungry beetles.

This circle of life bound all things, in the belief of Canticum Dolor. Except one: Fel himself. But it occurred to her, on this fine morning in the Sylvan Reaches of the land, that this meant she was bound in the cycle of life as well.

This worried her. How can one's mind rest when all it can think of is its own death? But then another spark of inspiration took place within her troubled mind: There must be an escape.

Dolor's thoughts soon became a maelstrom of panic and inspiration in the following days. She raced with what books she could find for the answers she sought. Whatever her final evidence was is irrelevant: She could escape the inevitability of Death through Perfection. Godhood was the only way out.

Why her? Why did she deserve to live forever? Why did Dolorum even stand the slightest chance at what she sought? Because her father was Fel himself.

She had to reach Godhood. She had to reject death as an inevitability. She had to escape the cycle of life by purging her imperfections.

She needed to become unbound.

[Imperial Psycho]

Kay
Fool. Kay thought to himself. Fool, Fool, Fool. He had been walking for more than an hour now, and the fort he had seen barely seemed any closer. His limbs felt like lead, and it was only Kay's determination that kept him going, and that too was starting to flag. No. He thought. To stop is to die, and I will not die here. I am a son of Fel, and the world is my birthright. Won't die here. These thoughts swirled about in Kays head, as he continued to plod along, the motion becoming less and less. He was getting close, though.

He could just about make out something atop the wooden walls. Kays vision began to blur, but his feet kept moving, stepping heavily through the tall grass. When Kay's vision cleared, he saw a person clad in simple clothes in the treeline."Hey!" He called out to them, but they just ran away. Not that he blamed them, he must look a fright after being in the sea so long. Throwing off his shirt, which was weighing him down, he managed to run after them a little. That was a mistake. He tripped after a handful of steps, his head striking a stone. Everything went black once more.

[Swordslinger]

Ashem
Chapter four: Self loathing

Alu Mari?

The sun was high in the sky as he stood in the courtyard, around him on three sides where sand colored buildings, on the two floors the building a hallway went around the courtyard with big arching windows with no glass in. On the first floor there was archway doors leading into the courtyard, and at the corners there was stairs leading to the second floor, vines grew from ground floor and upwards toward the roof. On the fourth side there where railings and two stairs leading down into a garden. For a moment he wondered what he had been doing earlier, the thought vanished as something hit him, luckily his blade blocked the blow, although the pure force of the blow pushed him back half a meter and it felt like his arm was going to be torn off. “You lost focus” Valtam stood in front of him tall and imposing, he wore simple unobtrusive clothes in dark blue, and wielded a wooden training sword. “Again” Valtam yelled, he swung his blade in a downward cut, Ashem interrupted blow with the side of his sword as he moved to the right and pushed away the incoming sword avoiding the greater part of its force. Valtam’s sword stopped before it hit the ground and turned to a vertical slash toward him, Ashem dove backwards barely avoiding the strike, as soon as the sword passed he ran forward swinging his sword in an upward streak, Valtam spun, brought the sword up behind him and swung downward pushing away Ashem’s sword and continued on to hit him in the shoulder. Ashem fell to the ground.

“You are not applying yourself"
“But I am”
“No, you are fighting as if you are already accepted your lose”
“I cannot win against you”
“That is right, you cannot, why do you even bother trying, you keep following me and Lossethir around, trying to be one of the big guys? Trying to master weapons like a man? What, did even Neb and Kay tire of playing with you? You are pest and a bother, you might as well disappear."

Ashem looked up toward Valtam while striving to hold back tears, he barely saw the blade streaking straight down at him, a killing blow, he rolled to the side mostly by instinct avoiding the blade. The blade sunk into the ground making cracks around it, the sword glimmered in the sun somehow it was now made of steel with sharp dangerously looking edges. Ashem quickly wiped his eyes on his sleeve and brought up his sword. Already Valtam had pulled his sword from the ground and looked at him in distain; he brought his sword up in a defensive stance. Something is wrong Ashem thought, that is right he was going to Urncer, people had blocked his way and did something to him. There was no time to think, he needed to get away from Valtam but running would be suicide, he needed to wound or incapacitate him before he could find out what was going on. He took Valtam’s invitation and attacked, a flurry of blows ensued, for a moment he locked sword with Valtam and managed to push it away, he stepped forward. He was right inside Valtam’s guard, his hand with the sword was on the other side of his body and his other side wide open This is going very well now I can wound him without killing him and get away, maybe he was right, things are going better now that I just apply myself in the corner of his eye he saw Valtam smile Then again, he could be toying with me Valtam’s off hand shoot out before he could strike and knocked straight trough the railings and down into the gardens below.

Such a lovely song. His mind felt clouded, had he just woken up? Odd images and vision floated at around in his mind. He was sitting in grass with his back to a tree, someone was sitting next to him. It really was such a lovely song. “Dolorum” his mind cleared a bit, he was sitting in the garden with his sister. “Dolorum, I dreamt something weird, we were on a boat and a monster showed up and wracked the ship, I was running, people following me while yelling at me and I think Valtam tried to kill me” the song came to a stop and was followed by a gentle melodic laugh “You dream such silly things Ash, the nightmare is over now, relax” her hand ruffled trough his hair and the song continued, while he listen to the song he felt more and more drowsy, her hand feel down to his shoulder. He was just about to fall asleep when he no longer could breath, suddenly he was wide awake, Canticum’s hand was suffocating him. He struggled and tried to get away but she held him down with a single hand crushing his throat. He kicked his foot upwards hitting her, she relaxed her grip for a moment and he got up. Cantium was covering her nose with her hand, he could see blood gushing out and she stared at him with eyes of pure hate. “I…I…I am sorry” Ashem stammered before he turned and ran.

His mind had cleared up, for while back there he had thought that everything that had happened the past months was a dream and this the reality. He needed to keep his mind focused and get out of here. This was not his home, this was not his siblings. Whatever created this had to be really powerful, he wondered if it was all made up illusions or of it was part reality, maybe this was how is siblings really thought about him. He left the garden and ran into a building, for the first time he noticed how empty the place was, he had only seen some of his siblings so far and no servant spirits. He reached the library, stopping by the door he peaked inside. Row upon row with books, the floor was arched with holes letting in streams of sun light. He could see no movement inside he was not sure exactly where it was he was going, only that he should keep going. Halfway through the library he saw many tables and chairs, the reading hall. At one of the tables sat Eilyan reading a book in the sunlight, Ah Ei, I was meaning to talk more to her about... Ashem choke his head, no no somehow he had started to accept this place as reality again, he had to focus he was sure if he walked up to her she would smile and talk for awhile and then she would jam her pencil into his eye or something. He ran on and out of the library and up some stairs, his mind was racing as well, there had to be a way out. He came to a hallway with doors on one side and arching windows on the other. Coming toward him from the other end of the hallway was Torallden and Keth. He did not want an encounter with them and he jumped out of the window, he fell down a floor and landed hard on the ground, while looking backward after Torallden and Keth he ran across the courtyard and crashed into Valtem.
“Back again are you?” Ashem panicked and turned to run away, but there stood Lossethir with sword in hand. “Looks like Valtem has the right idea, it would be better if you just disappeared” They hate me so much The grief of the thought nearly consumed him, no, no, no they where his siblings, none of them where perfect, everyone had faults , even so he loved them all and he knew, he knew they loved him too. “You are a loser, what are you doing now on your own hunting down a monster trying to save people in a futile attempt to gain our respect, no one likes you, they are just to kind to say so, I always wished you’d just be gone” Ah, so that is it
“NO, I know you do not think that”
Loathing coverd Lossethir’s face.
His siblings had gathered around him, standing above looking down upon him with distain. “I know you do not think that, I might now always believe it but I do know” a crack appeared. It did not seem real anymore, he looked around and knew this was not real, no he had known for a long time but now he truly understood. “There is only one who hate me this much” he said with a sad smile. More cracks appeared. Both Valtem and Lossethir raised their swords and stroke, Valtem made a sweep from behind him and Lossetheir cut down vertically, there was no way he could dodge or block it, nor did he try to. Both the sword passed straight trough him without causing any harm. He was ignoring them, the world around him seemed pale, cracks spread out across everything, the things themselves where not cracking more like he was looking through a window that was slowly cracking. He looked up upon all his siblings “I miss you all” The world shattered like glass, pieces scattered everywhere and disappeared.

And the dream came to an end.

[Mono Vertigo]

Vagwyrr

The Harsh Truth



There was a new spark of magic lying inside, like a string she could now connect to anyone's head, a string that could whisper secret voices and long-dead pictures from the past. Perhaps because of her own divinr nature, that gift had different means for a same end. Instinctively, she knew she didn't need to make physical contact with someone in order to think what they think, but what she gained in range, she had to compensate with preparation or concentration.
Vagwyrr just knew these rules, because she was the rightful owner of that power, now. And she wasn't a mere mortal just like any witch, such a power did not rely on her name. After all, she wasn't afraid to speak her true name, and it would go against her philosophy.
The point was, that night, under a starless sky, Vagwyrr had stolen what made Antabagh into Mrs. Kheevee, and she was forcing the gagged and tied witch back where she had last met the spirits.

Only Srakshar was present. The spirit of desiccated fish named himself after the sound dried scales made when you stepped on them, or so he said. Srakshar had had time to shape its new body with much ease, as he didn't need to create the bones and the blood himself. Standing there was a fearsome beast, a white quadrupedal predator with dry, razor-sharp fins, soulless beady eyes, and an absurdly large jaw filled with fangs; a thin layer of salt, falling at time in patches like the finest powder, covered his skin.
The maw turned away from its last meal, a big tuna. “Long time no see. What bring you to me here?”
Antabagh, better known as Mrs. Kheevee, was pushed down on the sand with no ceremony. “This witch right here has fooled way too many people in her life, I wanted you to do whatever you want with that scum. Well, I expected your smaller friends to be here as well. Does that mean their mischievous plan was serious?” asked Vagwyrr sternly. She thought they were joking about their desire to pretend they were the child of innocent humans, but their absence indicated otherwise.
“Ha, them serious, and them done very very good job on shape shaping, difficult remember them no children”, growled the beast. His monstrous face made the witch shiver. “But them no time. Them get find and get take by human. More old than you. See not them since. Two moons away.”
“Did he have a white beard? Strong and tanned? Maybe a straw hat?”
“Yes, and hat too.”
“Lars didn't bring children back to the village, though?”
“No problem of me, but lonely sometimes. Me make shark friends soon instead. What you want again?”
“Well, I was just going to propose you to dispose of that evil woman as a gift, but it appears that instead, I just traded her for more useful information. The result is the same for you, though.” She frowned. “Do whatever you want with her. Eat her, make her your slave, I don't care, I just don't want to ever deal with her again.” With these words, she turned to the sorry pile of planks that could be called a cabin if you squinted. “With the latest developments, I'll need to change my plans. Aww, and I didn't want to spend one more night here...”
She turned one last time towards Srakshar. Holding on the rope with his powerful fangs, he was dragging the woman in direction of the sea. Who knew what he intended to do? Vagwyrr stared at him intensely, humming, and clearing her mind of her own thoughts, but she didn't perceive anything coming from the monster. How could you read what was going on in his head when you weren't even sure he had a soul? However, she didn't bother reading Antabagh's mental cursing.

The day after, Mrs. Kheevee's customer deplored her absence. By a strange coincidence, Lars' family also noticed Vagwyrr had vanished at some point after their last supper.
And yet the next day, at dawn, Pabbe's early birds saw an astonishing amount of runes drawn in ink, on the walls, the ground, the stones, the boats, everywhere.

[hi-mi-tsu]

Eilyan, Loss, and (eventually) Val

Still weak in the knees from the sudden appearance of the Leviathan, Lossethir nearly swooned from the impossible appearance of his sister. He braced himself readily against Eilyan who had nearly tackled him and his brother, but then held her close when her strength faltered and the tears started. Taking her up in his arms, he cradled her and nodded absently to Valtam as he piloted them to shore using his magic. He said nothing, too tired from his ordeal and simply too glad to have some small part of his family back when he hadn’t dared hope to see anyone again.

Eilyan's face was pressed into Loss's chest, muscles trembling with exhaustion and overexertion. She was so glad...so glad to find not only one, but two of her brothers. And ones that she had been semi-close to--closer to Loss than Val, but both brothers that she got along with--as well. It was just...so much; she'd not even noticed she was on the water, until they began moving again...away from the frozen wasteland of the North, and to an island that was more hospitable.

"...I am...so glad that you are all right. Both of you. After...after the monster..." Her voice faltered, a little. "I thought...for a long time, that I was...alone."

Lossethir was not unchanged by the symbiosis with the North Wind. His hair, formerly earthen, was now snow white and a dim blue light shone through his skin along his veins; the light pulsed with each heartbeat. Having regained his senses, he summoned the wind and formed a cushion of air between his feet and the sea, allowing Valtam to tow them along with his wave.

“You must have washed up farther north than I did, Eilyan. I don’t know how I missed you… you were just on the heels of that monster.”

"...No, actually..." For a moment, a haunted look flickered across the goddess's face. "I...was further away. It took...many days to get to the North. I only came because...I felt..."

A pause, while she gathered her thoughts. "It...was strange. I felt the brush of one of us against someone who was once mortal. I have been...looking...for others. So I...I came."

"Easy... you don't have to explain now. I think we all need some food and a rest. Gah, I haven't slept since..." He grimaced, not because he was fatigued, but because he suddenly feared if he need sleep ever again. His mind wondered to the thing resting in his chest.

"...You look...so different." Eilyan's eyes lifted to her brother's face, then glanced over at Valtam. "Him as well. Both of you...Loss, you were practically flying! And Valtam controls the sea, and that beast..."

When they were set upon the beach, she staggered a bit, then sat down abruptly in the sand. "This is just...I am so glad to find you both..."

Lossethir clutched at a lock of hair and pulled it around to his face for inspection. “... am… am I old!? That witch! Take me back right now!”

That startled a laugh out of Eilyan, and she looked up at her taller brother. "The white is a good look for you. You look...quite good, considering that I found you in the worst place ever. It was so cold..."

He still eyed his hair suspiciously, replying, “You get used to it…” before falling into the sand and closing his eyes wearily.

[ryan4567]

Yemaya

The night was warm, the Moon was full. In its glow, Yemaya danced for her lover. This was no ordinary dance, however. Initially, she begun it as she normally would, but gradually, as Mesic became more and more distracted by it, she began to build her glamour, piece by piece, a careful balancing act between enough to trap Mesics attention and prevent him from seeing what she was doing, but not enough for him to notice the power she was using.

Her careful balance, the dance between excess and dearth, was upheld. Mesic noticed not a thing but his desire to have her, again and again, more ferocious than ever before. His already limited mental guards were disabled, leaving his mind open to exploitation.

Yemaya was reaching the climax of her dance, lightly brushing the seated body of Mesic, raising his desire to a peak - a loud shout came from a group of armed men who rushed to the dancer and stabbed her with swords and Mesic bellowed and raised his scepter and it flashed and the men fell and Yemaya screamed in agony and Mesic held her and swore to punish the mortals of the island and prepared to leave but she told him she didn’t feel safe she needed his power or others might kill her so he, bereft of all senses now, gave her his scepter then left the palace and killed any mortal on the island who he saw out of their house then he returned to his beloved and she was alive but weak and he made love to her and then –

“Foolish spirit”, thought Yemaya. “To be so easily tricked by the very weapons he gave me.”

For of course, the attack had been entirely illusionary, designed to send Mesic into a rage which, when coupled with the lust she had aroused in him, completely eroded willpower and rational thought. While he had been slaughtering the mortals of Lomaris - the Dians, the Artimers, and the Hectans – she had made a quick study of his scepter, and, while only brushing the surface, had seen straight away how much Mesic relied on it, and how it would be his downfall. All she needed to do was bed him, which was no difficulty, and in the ultimate moment of passion, he could be sealed away into it, stuck as a vessel for the power which was once his, for the rest of eternity.

And with what was left of the night, Yemaya consoled the palace servants, the tribes of the Dian, the Artimer and the Hectan, and told all how she had freed them from the savagery and tyranny of the evil Mesic, he who comes in the night and kills wantonly. To keep him trapped away, they should offer her thanks, sacrifice, and praise, she who is Yemaya, Goddess of the Moon.

It was easy, her illusions and natural charm being boosted immensely from the power of what she named Chandra, the Scepter of Mesic. It was made out of moonstone, hard and strong, capable of powerful blows. She didn't have the knowledge to perform the feats Mesic had been capable of - yet. She certainly could tell that eventually, she would, however.

And finally Yemaya was satisfied. Her new power, from Mesic and from her worshippers and the Moon itself, would allow her to face her siblings - not as a lowly Godling as they were, but as a Goddess, full of power and worthy of their respect!

[the_druid_droid]

Keth

An Artifact and a Birthright

Suddenly, Keth ran; he used every ounce of strength to propel himself toward the chamber at the end of the hall where the Source waited, but he arrived too late. There was the Source, a palm-sized globe of quartz; and there was Lucius, laughing. Then, as the spirit reached out to claim the artifact, it dissolved into a cloak of shimmering power around him.

“You are clever, little godling, none of my servants have ever bested Ivanna; but I am cleverer still. All unknowing, you have been my faithful hunting hound, pointing me toward the Source ever since I let you out of Addelyn. In return, you shall be the first to experience its full power.”

As Lucius spoke, a tendril of energy snaked out from the aura surrounding him, catching Keth in the chest and flinging him like a rag doll, until he slammed into the chamber wall. The impact was accompanied by a dull crack, and through a haze of pain, the demigod wondered which of his ribs had broken. When he was finally able to move, Keth struggled to stand, but Lucius was at his side in a flash, kicking him hard and laughing at his gasp for air. The god-child tried again to stand and fight, but the Source gave Lucius uncanny speed and power; over and over, the spirit pummeled him, using the magical energy of the artifact as much as his own hands and feet, until finally every fiber of Keth’s being ached.

At last, as the burning energies of the Source continued to assault him, the demigod’s mind began to drift away. As his body’s torment faded, Keth almost had to laugh; he’d been so pleased at his escape from the city and his success in deciphering the map and answering Ivanna, but all the while Lucius had tracked him effortlessly. All along, he’d been a fool, a puppet, and he deserved a fool’s end. At least his family wasn’t there to watch him die.

As the thought of his siblings flashed through his mind, Keth’s heart ached. He missed Alu Mari and the happy days he’d spent there, walking and talking with Torallden and Eilyan or sitting and reading books in the great library. He particularly missed the games of chess he would play with his father, some lasting long into the night as the two silently pondered their strategy; he’d never won a single game, but he learned something new each time.

The final match between father and son had taken place only days before the voyage to the world below. Keth remembered it clearly; at the end of the game his father had praised him for learning well, and offered him one final lesson. Fel had explained that life was, in many ways, also like a game with rules and rewards, gambits and consequences. He had gone on to say that the important difference between games and real life was that out in the world, the rules weren’t fixed, and a masterful player could triumph by changing the game entirely. As he lay on the floor half-dead, Keth thought of that lesson, and at last its real purpose dawned on him; as it did, a strange giddiness tugged at his heart, but with it was mingled desperation.

Feeling a little strength return, the demigod opened swollen eyes to see Lucius strolling toward him, the energies of the Source having coalesced and materialized again, now as a wickedly sharp sword, capable of slaying even a deity. The sight brought a wry grin to Keth’s face, and with the grim determination of a creature at bay, he rose on shaky legs and hobbled toward the spirit. Lucius met him mid-stride, and a sickening tearing noise sounded in the chamber as the sword found its mark, running the god-child through. The triumph in Lucius’ eyes faded though as Keth used the last of his strength to grab the hilt and wrench his body away.

Tearing the weapon from Lucius’ grip, Keth felt a new burning fill him as the sword dissolved and surrounded him with the same glimmering aura that had previously enveloped to the spirit. As the chaotic energies of the Source melded to his will, Keth felt shattered bones knit and wounds begin to close. The sensations of healing were blotted out however, when suddenly Keth heard a scream of anguish resound, thousand-fold, in his mind. The god-child was confused at first, and terrified, until with a burst of images, the artifact began to tell its story.

Keth saw a tall ship, riding over the waves to the harbor outside Addelyn; but there was no city yet. From the tall ship strode tall men, and though their cares lay heavy on creased brows, they brought with them a gift. In those days the Source was young, forged by Fel and given to these favored men that their minds might be opened and drawn closer to his divine ways. With the power of the Source, the tall men built a white city, shining beneath the sun, and for a time they prospered. But the hearts of men are fickle, and as their might grew, so too their lust for power. At last, after exhausting all other paths, their sages took up the study of black arts and found that the power of the artifact could be increased through unhallowed rites of blood.

In hideous pantomime, Keth saw then the slaughter of numberless victims whose blood had fueled the Source when its power-hungry masters had yearned to be as gods. For a time they reigned as such, but the magnitude of their crimes could not be hidden, and in the winter of the year, vengeance came on silent wings. The Source was locked away, but its rumor lingered, and from time to time, men set out to reclaim it.

The vision passed as quickly as it had come, leaving Keth to face Lucius, who stood silent, a mask of terror frozen on his face. When the god-child spoke, his voice was icy.

“Lucius Spirit-born, I know your heart. You seek the power of the Source, and you would follow the ancient men of Addelyn in their wicked sacrifices if you could. You have fallen, spirit, and you have betrayed your oath to my father, keeping your people shut away in ignorance while you seek power and wisdom to challenge the gods. You shall no longer be remembered as Lucius the Wise, but rather the Faithless and the Usurper! Now, return to the Void from which Fel shaped you, and be unmade!” Just as the words left his lips, Keth felt power stream out from the Source, and gray-white fire began to lick up Lucius’ sides, burning brighter and brighter as he screamed, until at last there was nothing left to burn.

In the silence that followed, Keth felt a thousand eyes watching him, as the souls of long-dead victims waited for a sign. The power coursing through his veins was dizzying, and a part of him wanted to claim the blood-fueled Source as his own, but deeper in his heart, Keth remembered his true purpose; he had returned to the world of men to learn and to teach, not to hand out judgement or overturn kingdoms. So it was that the god-child returned the Source to its pedestal, and taking blood from his robe, he drew the glyph of release on the surface of the stone.

With a sound like a great sigh, the spirits of the dead left him to seek out their final rest, leaving the quartz sphere broken and nearly powerless. Even so, Keth smiled as he regarded it, for he realized that his inheritance was not the artifact itself, but rather its purpose: to enlighten men and remind them of their Creator. Keth swore that he would uphold that birthright faithfully as long as he drew breath.

[DoomHat]

Finger Trap

Pain crashed down on Rao like a tidal wave. He was a mess of broken bones and sprained ligaments. He didn’t even have the strength to stand. Trying to amputate his own arm was out of the question. Ironically, that same arm was the only part of himself he could move freely.
He took another look at it. This right hand and forearm were completely consumed by divinity. The exaltation effect seemed to be slowly spreading up his bicep like a strange parody of gangrene. He meditated, searched inside himself, and understood what was happening. He had attempted to expend the entirety of his life force on striking the Leviathan, but doing so had brought his divine spark to the surface.
His godhood was flourishing as his mortal self faded. He had to do something to reverse or at least stop the process, but of all Fel’s children, Rao was perhaps the most simple minded. He was driven almost solely by memory and raw instinct. He would always turned to his siblings when a situation called for any degree of reason or critical thinking. But he was alone now… so he’d have to resort to his memory.
He searched his mind. He recalled that one time he’d punched Kay for being a jackass. Then that other time he’d had to punch Kay, and also that other time. He’d punched Kay a lot. He shivered as he recalled the time he’d nearly beaten Kay to death. He never wanted to be that angry again, but that snotty beanpole had tricked him into hurting poor Neb. Rao loved his siblings unconditionally, but one of these days Kay was going to go too far…
Rao shook his head to jostle the thought away. He recalled instead, a puzzle that Keth had given him. It was a strange woven tube called a ‘finger trap’. You put your index fingers into either side and when you tried to yank them back out, the trap kept them locked in. Somehow it got tighter the harder you pulled at it. Rao tugged for a long time before Keth gave him a hint.
“Sometimes you have to embrace something to be free of it…”, said Keth with uncharacteristic mischief.
For a quarter hour, Rao sat immobile as a statue. Finally, he tried pushing his fingers inward rather then pulling outward. Miraculously, the trap unwound itself! Rao was in awe.
“Keth… you’re a genious,” Rao had said then, and said again as his senses returned to the present.
His voice rasped and blood trickled from one corner of his half hearted smile. He used his right arm to strike at an array of pressure points in his chest and abdomen. The god arm began throbbing with pain and dimming to normal flesh as mortal blood pulsed into it. At the same time bruises began to fade from his organs and bones started setting themselves as godly energy rushed through them. He gritted his teeth as he focused on diverting it all into his heart.
Rao accepted that he could never truly discard his godly heritage, but he could master and contain it. He would keep the power locked in his heart, where the outside world could not see it. It wasn't a perfect solution. Any flare of emotion threatened to throw open the floodgates, and it would only get harder to contain again each time.
It would take a couple more days for him to achieve an ideal inner balance and restore his broken form. When that was done, he could finally walk the world in mortal guise, and learn what it truly means to be Great. Meanwhile, he dreamt of that day with Keth…

Keth smiled at the complement and said, “Thank you. Now Rao, tell me, do you see any similarity between this puzzle and your current problem?”
Rao thought a moment, and then replied excitedly, “My quest to get off the island?”
Keth only nodded.
Rao paused for another moment, “So, you’re saying, that the harder I try to jump off the side of Alu Mari, the more resistance I’ll get, and that I’m wasting my energy?”
Keth nodded happily.
Rao scratched his chin and got a distant look in his eyes. He suddenly grinned widely.
“So… instead of pulling away from my problem, I should push into it! I don’t need to jump off Alu Mari to get to the World Below! I just need to find a way to make Alu Mari fall from the sky! Haha! That’s brilliant! I think first I‘ll borrow a hammer from Xerxes and try to bash the island down from the tallest peak! You wanna come with Keth? I‘m sure I could use the extra set of arms!”.

[Nefarion Xid]

Lounging on the sand, Lossethir turned his head towards Valtam and raised his hand lazily. “Oh, I’ll go first, I suppose. It’s a short story.”

He hadn’t quite had the time to process everything himself. It certainly didn’t help that, in the silence, he heard the whispers of the great spirit of the north wind absently narrating a thousand years of history. And when he closed his eyes, sights that were not his were in his mind. Apprehension gripped him, though he had begun to repeat to himself that the thing in his heart wasn’t alive; it wouldn’t control him and it wouldn’t make demands. Still, it made its dead memories known. Lossethir was still Lossethir, though now that and the incarnation of a once great spirit.

The witch’s betrayal was still fresh on his mind and so was the shame of having believed her words. So, instead of the truth, Lossethir quickly spun a story about how he had stolen an icy elixir of immortality from the elemental titan they had seen pursuing him.

“Distilled by the spirits of the wind, I’d guess. After drinking, I could no longer feel the cold and I felt lighter, faster. Of course, I didn’t make it far before the Glacial (em, that’s what I’ll call the monster) realized I’d tricked him and… well, that’s where you two came in.”

[BladeofOblivion]

Canticum Dolor, Part 2: Corruption

All the tales and songs she had heard led her here. A yawning cave mouth stretched before her, at the edge of her sylvan home. The smell of rot was prevalent here, as the refuse and carcasses of thousands of dead animals littered the ground. The very earth seemed to swallow her up as she descended unto the pits deep below the earth, where horrible creatures were said to roost.

Indeed, she thought she saw an occasional flash of motion, like an eye blinking, in the shadows, but when she reached out to pacify it her hands met only empty air. There were moaning sounds echoing throughout the cavern, but her song of silence only increased their intensity. This was a tainted place, one corrupted beyond all measure. It was clear that some misguided soul was trapped here, haunting and disturbing the land itself. Worse, there was a distinct feeling, a sense of emptiness, that implied worse things. Blood magic. Necromancy. Even Soul Consumption.

This place was a nightmare waiting to happen. The very air seemed acrid to the tongue, and the enveloping shadows seemed to suppress all attempts at creating light or even lighting a torch. They seemed as an oppressive weight on one's shoulders, compelling one to lie down and give up. This cave was a roost of darkness itself, a festering wound on the face of a beautiful world. But she knew what she sought.

Despite the outward corruption, there was something supposedly hidden here that could solve Canticum Dolor's problems forever: An ancient song. No, not just any ancient song: THE song. The Song of Creation. The melody that could reshape vast swathes of landscape and make entire races spring from the ground.

It was simply there, a melody that could allow her to achieve true perfection, simply waiting for her in the depths of the most horrible place she ever could have imagined.

But something was coming in the cave. Three lights: one purple, one red, and one green. They each had an inscription above them, in an old language that only the children of Fel would ever understand.

Over the red, the inscription said: "This unlimited power leads to unlimited victory, but at the cost of morality." The green's inscription said: "Wisdom eternal allows one to avoid all of their potential mistakes, but at the cost of one's peace of mind."

Finally, the Purple light's inscription said: "Pure inspiration can allow one to do great things with one's power, but the truly inspired can never settle for any less than perfection."

Dolorum then saw the pattern under the inscriptions, reading in common: "Only one must be taken, no more and no less. Failure to do so will result in distress."

Without even thinking, she touched the Purple light. All three faded, and she found a purple key in her hand when she looked down. A purple door appeared in front of her as well, beckoning.

Of course it had to be a trap of some sort, but what else could she do? She inserted the key and began to open the tumblers as a sharp pain lanced through her fingers. The sheer intensity, combined with the shock, found her upon the stone floor writhing in pain. The feeling was not unlike that of having hundreds of angry hornets in one's arteries.

After the pain faded away, after what felt like days, she examined the pinprick on her finger. It was oozing blackened blood, which had flowed along the tiled floor and unlocked the true lock on the door. It swung open, revealing a frigid but equally beshadowed room ahead. Still, there was some faint sign of light in the distance.

But she knew she had little time. Whatever that key had contained, it was a part of her now. One more flaw.

[Madwand]

Witchking, part 6

Brandon handed sword, his soul and death to silent wight.
"Guard this as my death is trapped in that sword. I will be back." he promised more to himself than to servant. Then he crossed the Ward into darkness of night.


He spent that first night carefully thinking out his position, and trying to decide what he should do. The weight of his situation pressed down on his head like a Xerxes's anvil. Then he remembered one simple truth: he knew he hadn't killed his mother, even if everyone else in the Kingdom thought he had.
What was he to do? Simply accept? No, he wouldn't do that. Never. Escape? He couldn't do that. His know his birthright and he will fight for it. He was son of Fel.

He began to feel cleaner, husked out, empty . . . like a glass waiting to be filled.He was painfully aware of his lost. Without his soul, what he had become? Something less or something more?

Torn apart. Sundered.

He look at the wounds. First, loss of his fingers.He will not be able anymore wield weapon with this hand. It was pointless cruelty of human. His kin, who should have to defend his true king.

Brandon will remember that.

The second wound was different, for it had been dealt by a weapon Shaped by his will. He could see it, still; the rusted sword, its blade covered with blood. It extended in a straight line from the place where agony flared, where the leaf-pointed blade was buried in his chest. And at the other end, both hands locked fast on the haft. He was forced. Dire necessity to escape deadly trap. He had scar, eternal memento of the loss.

It was done, and he was bitter.

Not all wounds could be healed.

"War." Brandon said into dim light of morning. He changed, he could tell. He did not comprehend everything, what he had become. He know that he had gained power. "SO IT'S WAR, THEN."

[The_Snark]

Part 6: Who Not To Follow

When she has eaten her fill of the frigate bird she hangs its corpse around her neck, like a heavy scarf made from skin and feather and bone. It feels right. The bird was important; even dead, it shouldn't be tossed aside. Besides, there's still meat to be had inside the bones.

The beast pads to the river to wash her face and hands. She half-expects the tree to release its grip on the stream and let it flow once more - but no; that sort of thing is for children's tales. You cannot heal a wound by killing the one who dealt it. The island does not look dead; there are green and growing things everywhere, even if none of them are good to eat. But it isn't really alive, either. The spirit Aikilari took too many things, and now he is dead and can never give them back.

The beast leaves the empty glade and returns to the dying-grounds. She curls up on one of the platforms where the villagers lay their dead, and she sleeps for a day and a night, exhausted by her long hunt. When she wakes it is evening, and her stomach is beginning to feel empty again. The village is a short walk away, and this is the perfect time to snatch somebody away: just dark enough that she can hide, not so dark as to make her prey nervous. Evening and dawn are the hunter's hours for just these reasons.

She hears no prayers or singing as she approaches, nor the sound of voices chattering around the village fire; she does not even hear the footsteps of the Aikilari going about their daily business. Are they all out hunting her? She slinks around the village, trying to see where they all are without getting too close. But the village is deserted, or looks like it. The beast is wary; she suspects a trap. She slips away.

Time passes. She finishes the bird's meat, picking its insides clean until nothing but skin and feathers remain around her neck. Then she eats beetles, and wasps, and tree bark. Four days after Aikilari's death she finds and kills a wily old pig, the last of the island. When she is done eating him she cuts his skin from his bones with a sharp stone and hangs the hide around her neck beneath the birdskin. It feels right.

Some time after that, she discovers where the Aikilari have gone. In a clearing not too far from the village she stumbles across a big man with a spear, crouched over the still form of another villager. The corpse is pathetically thin, but that doesn't deter the man, who is carving the flesh into strips for cooking. Or maybe not for cooking; his mouth is already red.

She springs before she thinks. He is bigger than she is but not stronger, and she bears him to the ground easily, screaming at him in a language he does not understand: wrong, wrong, wrong! She seizes his shoulders and batters his head against the ground over and over and over, until finally she sees the limp angle of his neck and realizes that he is broken. Escaped. She bares her teeth at the corpse; this one did not suffer nearly enough.

She leaves the two bodies untouched.

For days afterwards she stalks the island with manic intensity, searching for the tracks of the Aikilari, listening for hunting-calls or screams or the sounds of struggle. When she comes on them she kills without mercy, and leaves her prey to rot in the sun... till hunger tightens its grip on her again, and she slinks back furtively to eat her fill from the corpses. Yet they leave her unfulfilled, wanting. After a short while she relents and becomes a silent stalking-beast again, watching and listening and waiting.

But she has not given up, and she has not forgiven the villagers. A new idea takes shape in her mind, less beastlike but perhaps no less cruel in the end. She finds a man of the Aikilari, a tall man bearing a stone axe, his mouth rimmed with red. She follows him unseen, days and days, ignoring the ache in her belly, till at last he comes across one of his fellow-villagers, a woman crouched over her latest bloody meal. Before they can set on one another she leaps, and an eyeblink later the man is pinned to the ground by a hand at his throat. The other woman jumps up and flees. The beast lets her go.

"Filth," she spits, her voice hoarse and thick from disuse. Words, yes; she remembers those now. It's been a while since she had any use for them, but she is furious in a way that somehow cannot be sated with a sharp rock to the head.

She shoves the man's face in the partly-butchered corpse on the ground. "This is wrong," she tells him, shaking him for emphasis. If he does not understand her words, he certainly understands her grim tone. "Wrong! Do not do this thing."

He says something, and there is anger in the foreign words. She has listened to the islanders' speech enough to catch the gist of what he's accusing her of. Of course it's true; her wrath is grossly unfair. Had she come across the child lying on the ground first, it would be her crouching there with blood dripping from her mouth. But that doesn't change the fact that she is furious, and she flings the hypocrisy of it aside indifferently, because you do not have to have the moral high ground when you can rip out your enemy's throat.

"I am not an example to be followed!" she hisses, shaking him again. "I am a thing to be shunned! A thing to be feared! Not someone you can point to and use as an, an excuse. That I have done this does not make it right." Again she shakes him, like a dog worrying its prey, so that for a few seconds he believes she will snap his neck. But she does not.

"I will let you go, but only if you tell the rest of your people what I have said. If I see you do this again, I will kill you. No more warnings." She eyes the man to make sure this is sinking in. "And you will find this one's kin, and the kin of all those you murdered, and beg forgiveness for robbing them of a father or a sister or a child!"

By now the man has recovered enough breath to protest again. Some of it is lost, but she hears enough: why aren't you doing this?

'Yes," she muses, suddenly calm again. "Yes, you're right. It is my business and nothing to do with you, but you're right. There are people I must kneel before and beg."

She stares up for a while, long enough that the man begins to think about trying to break her grip and escape. Some stray motion betrays him, and her head whips down to stare at him. "Remember: you die if this happens again. If there is nothing else to eat, build a boat and leave. I will not be merciful when I return."

She lets him rise, and he flees into the jungle. The beast... no, not a beast, she is a child of Fel no matter how much she would like forget... sees in her mind's eye how it happened. She knows better than anyone what hunger can make you do when you press up against the hard edge, and realize that you want to live more than you love your sister. The people of Aikilari, like her, had realized that there was only one prey animal left on the island, and it had broken them apart. Even in this wretched state Fel's child shapes the world, drawing mortals in her wake.

Done is done. She has made an effort to put things right, and now she has something very important to attend to. She climbs to the top of a tree, and takes the birdskin from its place around her neck and stretches its wings along her arms. The feathers wrap around her, and a moment later she takes to the sky, wearing the skin of the frigate bird over her own. It climbs high, higher, higher, seeking not the sun but the island in the sky where Fel Clay-Shaper dwells. A father deserves to be told when one of his children dies.

[Kasanip]

Realm of Shiou

Farthest west, where the river Shishiremon divided the lands of the dead from the living, Shiou spent the time when she was not guiding souls with sweet words.
There was the white tower, and beyond it the great bridge. And beyond the bridge was the great cathedral hall of the Ino. The realm entirely was 444 rin to travel, and of a circle 8888 rin diameter. So it was the a long time in this land of mist and grass Shiou traveled. And she studied the Ino's work and crafts, and spent endless time trying to learn their secrets.
It is said dead don't speak.
But that is a lie.
And the dead of Shiduka that Shiou led to the white tower came here to stay. And so they spoke also as they traveled here, and so it became known the white tower in the west, in the lands of mist. Across Shishiremon, and the bridge.

Shiou had then turned to the many ghosts and divided them and ordered them. And then in this circle land she had claimed, she put them to work in her craft. To build a great bridge to the north, south, east, and west, and so to divide the realm in 4 parts. And in the center there was the cathedral of the Ino, now empty. But to enter this land, only there was one path, from west. And across the bridge of Shishiremon all must come. So at the end of this bridge, the great palace and Hall of Judgement was built. And at the end of it, Shiou stood at it's top, and held the mirror up.

"It does not good to have the dead and the living too close. We are too far for some, and too close for others. The land of endings must be close and far, so let it's truth be known like this. Always I will guide those who are dead to the white tower, and from there once crossed, I decree this.

No dead who crosses the Shishiremon will pass across it again. This is the realm of Shiou, princess and daughter of Fel the creator, who claimed this realm as a servant and lady from the Ino. Let this realm thus be divided in four, to reflect the balance of life and death, the seasons, and so also the souls who are within. And of these realms I will appoint my wardens.
So I say, as Shiou, daughter of Fel."



And with the words of the dead, in the language of Shiou, the lands of the dead were cut then from the lands of the living. So that those who wander while alive will not find it, but the dead may find the white tower in the mists.

Acts:

2 Major Acts: Create a Realm - The Land of the Dead
Shiou makes the lands of the dead separate from the lands of life. The living cannot walk to it, but ghosts and spirits may come to it, led by Shiou, or by seeking the white tower.

2 Major Acts, 4 Minor Acts, 1 Ceremony remaining



Duties of Shiou- Travel with sandal feet and stubborn face, princess of endings
The duty of Shiou, who guides the souls of the dead and watches and judges them, is filled with travel and business.

In these early days she did this work herself. There were many living things, but of those with souls there were less in this time.

And of Shiou, she was stubborn and focused. To gather those souls which wandered idly now, she had to give them order quickly, because death did not wait, and so endings followed death quickly, and now Shiou was this, and so she traveled far.

Having lost her mortal body had advantage here, for she did not tire quickly or become hungry now. Go to the house and wait beside the bed. The fading drum sounds she could hear clearly, though her sight was restored. An existance between a ghost and form, Shiou was reluctant to let those who mourned to see her. The times she had they had been afraid, or tried to pray and plead with her. They had pulled at her clothes, or held her legs in tears. And always they had looked at her in fear and terror. It was troubling.
It wasn't her fault. She said this to herself stubbornly. So now, she silently waited for another. And when the drums were stopped with her words, the soul came up, and she guided it to the white tower, and across the bridge of the Ino over Shishiremon.

[Imperial Psycho]

Kay

Kay blinked. Once. Twice. He was staring at... a ceiling? He had been found then. It was dark here. He felt a lot better than he did before, but for a sharp pain in this head. Touching his hand to it, it came back red, but it did not seem too bad. He shot up, raising himself to look around, and soon regretted it, as pains shot through his stomach. He forced himself to stand, and took stock of the situation. Strange House. No-one here. My clothes have been changed. My...my knife. Where is it? He caught a glimpse of his clothes, burning on a fire. He rushed out of the room, using a poker to extract them. It was a while until the knife was cool enough to take, but he waited, and pocketed the thing. It was a tiny thing, but it was precious to him. And useful.

As he moved to leave, a large woman blocked his path. "You can't leave!" She said in a surprised voice. "You are hurt. You need to stay. " Kay looked at her for a moment, then pushed past her. She resisted a little, but despite his wounds, Kay was easily able to escape, standing out in the cold night. He shivered as he stepped out. These clothes were thin, plain, and rough. Nothing like the fine clothing that foolish woman had just ruined. No matter, perhaps he would blend in better this way. Getting his bearings, he realised the group of buildings he was in was on the outskirts of the fort. Just his luck. Closer, he was able to make out what he had seen atop the ramparts. Heads. Over a dozen of them, mostly they looked male, but there were the skulls of women there too. At the end, the furthest skull, was that of a child.

[Mono Vertigo]

Vagwyrr

That Which Set Free



At the center of this whole mess, where the runes converged, was the old well that stopped providing water one generation ago. And perched on top of that well, was a cloaked figure in brown, with a well-known blindfold over her eyes.
Yes, that was overly dramatic, but sometimes, thought Vagwyrr, theatrics were necessary to drive the point home.
The stunned silence was broken by a single woman, pointing at her.
“Who's that?”
“That's the girl Lars brought here! By the gods, Lars, how didn't you see she was crazy?”
“She didn't look crazy! Vagwyrr, what the heck are you doing?”
“She shouldn't have stayed here.”
“No damn foreigner should have ever stayed here at all! I told you they would ruin our tranquility! Told you all!”
“Last week, you paid an exotic dancer for the night when you were at the city. You do that every week.” Her voice, without much effort, was much louder than the villagers'. “You think you're being subtle, but your wife knows, and so does your son, and too many people here to count.”
At least, she'd caught their complete attention.
“Alright. Anybody here wants to say something next?”
“I see, you're just here to spread nasty rumors here, you-”
“You told as many people as possible that Lars' fish isn't fresh, and tastes funny. It doesn't. That is a rumor. You just want your husband to sell more than Lars does. By the way, you also told a selected friends, who told the rest of the village, that Lars had an affair with me. For the record, I'm more of a virgin than your beloved daughter is.”
Far from calming them, the tension was increasing.
“How do you know th- oh, gods, you're a bloody witch!”
“Let's hang her!”
“I am no witch. Mrs. Kheevee is. Or was, I am not sure of her current state, but the point is she murdered her husband, poisoned several of your elders for her own interest, and drove foreigners away.” Suddenly, she twitched: “Wait, wait, you knew about that last bit on the strangers? And you too? Ooooh, yes, makes you paragons of virtue. By your own standards, maybe. But not everyone might consider that...”
“Shut up, witch!” More hands advanced toward her, trying to grab her and remove her from her spot.
“Don't make me repeat myself. I'm no witch. A witch contracts with obscure forces to gain power, in exchange of her true name. I'm a daughter of Fel, the Maker of everything. My true name is the one I've told you all along, and it's Vagwyrr. And you might have had a chance to notice my status if you were not a bunch of self-centered meatbags.”
Lars pushed a couple of fellow villagers and stepped forward. “Look, it's obvious you're saying things and hearing voices, and you need help. I know an exorcist...”
Her head turned in his direction, her scathing glare invisible. He was dragging chains and empty cages, and his hood covered once again his face, unseen for the rest of his fellow men. “You're one of the worst, because I don't need to read your mind to know what you were hiding from me. You know the sea around here is dangerous, isn't it? Then why don't the travelers know? If I took a look at a map, would there be indications? I doubt you've told anyone, because you want people to get shipwrecked. This way, you choose those in distress who are too weak to fight back, and you bring them to your friend at the city, who's most probably not an exorcist. Nobody knows they're even gone, and you get paid. And I'm not going with you, because I'm not crazy nor possessed; I'm just lucid.”
“How dare you accuse me of such a crime?” asked the man, more annoyed than actually embarrassed.
“Well”, replied the woman, “I found a few interesting things at your home, like chains and secret batches of money, and I invite everyone to go take a look if they so wish. Also, you've taken abandoned children with you.” Her finger pointed at him, righteous. “They're not who you think you are. I don't care what they told you, but they've never had parents or anything of the sort because they're spirits who eat children, and I'd really appreciate if you told me where they are now. I can still correct that mistake and get them before...”
“Oh, shut up! It's all lies! You're right, an exorcist can do nothing for you”, shouted Lars, absolutely enraged, “because you're a god-forsaken witch! You aren't even able to say anything nice! Come on, does anyone really believe anything she's said?”
Everyone looked at each other, uneasy. Sure, they didn't want to believe what they've heard. On the other hand, those directly targeted by the reveals knew it was true in their case; why wouldn't it be for the others? Hesitation reigned over their ranks.
“I do have something nice to say, and it's about your son. He is bound in the chains of your pettiness, as you constantly put him down. He has much more potential than just being your accomplice. Lon has more potential than that. I don't know what is his path, but it can be a grand one. Barely literate, yes, so it will be hard, but if he finds the willpower to leave Pabbe the Pathetic and train, he could be a better, stronger person than any one of you.” The teenager, shocked by that particular bit, turned away, looking down, trying not to attract further attention. Did she divine that with that lock of hair he'd given her? Or did personal opinions slip when he told her what he knew about the other villagers? Or was it something else altogether?
For a very, very brief instant, Vagwyrr smugly assumed she'd succeeded, and she beamed. And then, one hand grabbed her cloak and dragged her down, followed by another hand, and yet another one.
“Leave me alone!”
“We never wanted you here! You're going to be hanged like the witch you are!”
She screamed back, as she was being dragged away from the village: “You fools! Have you got any idea of what I've traded in exchange of the truth? You could have found it all out by yourselves if you had invested a tenth of the effort I did! You should thank me! Because you prided yourselves to be honest and welcoming people!”
Some villagers started beating up the young woman with sticks. “Shut up!”
“How would you dare pretending you know anything about your world if don't even want to acknowledge what you are? I curse you! I curse all of you delusional morons!”
And that's how she got carried away from the village, by what looked like a procession of raging demons to her.


One, two, three, four rotting ropes were tied to that tree, some of which still supported bones and flesh in advanced state of decay. The fifth one held Vagwyrr's neck.
Mortals don't survive that sort of punishment, usually. And yet, her still warm hand slowly raised and grabbed the rope, followed shortly after by the second one, and they proceeded to tear down the rope. When you had the spark of Fel inside you and had such a profound will to live, such a profound conviction you hadn't done everything that needed to be done, the profound conviction you were right all along and needed to help the others see the light, there was the small but non negligible chance that your soul wouldn't leave your body completely. In spite of all the bruises, the broken bones, the blood running down her chin, she did what needed to be done to save the rest.
Rude landing. Being alive hurt a lot. And yet, unmistakeably, her wounds were slowly starting to heal, she could feel it.
Vagwyrr, she who seeks the hidden, goddess of that earth, had so much more left to do. Soon, she would come back and exert her curse... but first, her intuition indicated her a faint presence somewhere in direction of the city. Hopeful, she removed her blindfold, which she renamed Antabagh, and very slowly started to walk there.
Meanwhile, Pabbe cleaned the runes as much as it could, and promised itself to continue living like that embarrassing day had never happened.

[Lix Lorn]

Kisha, Still Questing

It was raining. Not the best weather when you’re sailing across a small ocean, planning to rescue the child of a sorcerer, but it could easily be worse.
As the sorcerer was famed for storm-summoning, it likely would be worse before the night was out.

“How can you stand being out in this downpour?” called the woman on whose behalf they travelled. Her name, as Kisha had learnt, was Teresa-and her fiancé was Jonathon.
Kisha didn’t answer immediately. The pitter-patter of the rain struck the wooden planks all about her, while Teresa leant against the inside of a door, protected from most of it, and Kisha just smiled, looking up, eyes shut, letting the rain run down her face.

When her answer came, it really wasn’t worth the wait.
“I like the rain.” she murmurs, barely loud enough to hear. Teresa stared blankly for a moment, and then sighed, an exaggerated sound that managed to compete with the neverending rain.
“Do you ever speak at length?”
“…when I want to.”
“…is this a Child thing?”
“Just a Kisha thing.” replies the immortal, smiling slightly.

Teresa sighed again, and was going to say something scathing and witty, when a bolt of light seared through the sky. She jumped several inches in the air, and then turned to see if Kisha was okay-and saw her giggling quietly. She was about to say something, and the girl beat her to it.

“I love lightning. It’s so… meaningful. In one instant it’s everything. Nothing can stop it, and its rage can tear the sky asunder.” she murmurs happily. “And then it’s gone, and all that’s left is the memory, and the impressions it makes on people.”

There was yet another silence, as Teresa stared, stupefied. After Kisha’s near silence, it was an utter shock to hear something so long-and so meaningful. As the immortal smiled at the sky, at the rumbling of thunder above the clouds, the winds that tried to buffet the sails, and the endless, endless rain, Teresa stared at her instead, as if trying to see inside her.

It was with slight irritation that she spoke, so she had clearly failed.
“Well, there’ll be a lot of lightning when we finally meet the bastard sorcerer. Should be fun.” she said, with as much sarcasm as she could muster.
“Very fun.” agreed Kisha, without a hint of anything but looking forward to it.

[rapter200]

The Spark

For weeks the pack hunted wild beasts through the northern forests, Kalonoth matching them kill for kill. He had been calling the wolf pack family for a great many months now, and had become very attached to them. He wished to be able to converse with them as he could his own brothers and sisters. In that moment an idea was formed, through his divine will he could give them the spark of sentience. Giving them life that they could never have before.

With concentration he called every member of the pack and the packs in the surrounding areas. The gathering was large, hundreds of wolves all concentrated at one point. It was here that he shifted back into his human form. His divine will shaking the very ground they stood on, the air shivering with power. The wolves were forever changed. From now and until the end of the world they would be called The Great Wolves. Smarter and larger then their lesser cousins could ever wish to be.

With pride Kalonoth watched his new creation, but it soon came time to give them their purpose.

“You are the Great Wolves. Created from your lesser cousins you are more then they are. You are the guardians of the forest. Man may build their homes out of wood and stone, hiding behind their walls, but this is not to be your ways. You will call all of nature your home, your packs will claim territories the size of entire forests and your hunts will yield much food. But this will all come at a price. You will guard the dark and secrete places, let no man claim them nor that which they protect for it is your birthright.”

After dismissing the congregation their was a single pack left over. They have a different lot in life. They are to be followers of Kalonoth, guarding and communing with him. They are to be a special pack, they are The Walkers of the Great Path. No other pack has so much expected from them, so much weight on their shoulders.

Two Major Acts: Creation of The Great Wolves
One Minor Act: Creation of The Walkers of The Great Path

[Swordslinger]

Ashem
Chapter five: The Shadow and the God

Urncer

It was blackness all around him, at least he perceived it as blackness. In truth there was nothing around him, nothing at all. But soon pieces of the world seemed to appear from nowhere and link together like a puzzle. Again, this was how he perceived it, in truth the world was where it had always been, the only thing changing was him. The world looked pale gray; there was no color, no wind or sound at all. He seemed to be floating a meter or so above the lifeless looking ground. But crack started to form around the grayness, more and more they spread out until, finally, it all shattered and was gone.

Ashem fell to the ground; he stood in the middle of a road. On each side of the road there were forests and he could hear birds chipping and flowers where growing along the roadside. Spring it had been early winter when he had last stood here. He had been trapped within a dream, within his own dream. Everything there he had created himself based on his own memories, fears and insecurities. That dream, that nightmare had been bad, his deepest emotion brought out and magnified by the nature of the dream. When he thought back on his experience there it all seemed silly, so blown out of prepositions. Had let himself fall to deeply into the depths of the dream he would not have been able to return. But relishing what it was and by overcoming it he had awoken from the dream. Awake and ready, no more tricks, this… thing had tried to turn his own emotions against him, it had killed Vertai and it had enslaved the entire population of this region, it was time to meet it face to face no matter what the result would be.

He encountered nobody as he walked toward the city, when he arrived he found the gates to be open. As he passed through the archway he found two guards, the where lying on the floor, sleeping. The city streets where lifeless, there was nobody to be seen anywhere, he guessed that if he entered a house he would find people, asleep in their beds. He reached the town square, housed surrounded the square and there was a fountain in the middle. Where would not creature hide, did he have to search the entire city, was it even in the city anymore? As if to answer the question something toughed at his mind, he felt himself being dragged into a dream again. So that is where it was hiding, it made a certain sense, that his creature that seemed to be attuned to dreams would hide with in a dream. Everything around him grew black, he let himself be pulled into the dream.

There was an odd blackness around him, not like the emptiness that had surrounded him before; it seemed to be moving about like waves in the ocean. Standing before him stood the creature, a spirit. It was huge, at least it seemed so to him, and its presence was nearly crushing him, its menace was radiation like a wind threatening to blow him away. “Why are you doing this?” it did not speak in words, however in the black sea all around him he could see images that convoyed its meaning “You are drawing power from these people, creating nightmares and feeding of negative emotion, but how do, implanting subconscious command to keep them from running off or sending warning that would alert the spirit that rules these lands” black spears seemed to manifest from the spirits body, shooting out toward him, he dodged quickly to avoid them hitting him. They passed him and dissipated into nothing. One more spear appeared and shoot forth, it seemed slow to him and he side stepped. “You need to do better tha..oh” The spear was planted in his chest, the spear he had seen was an illusion and he stepped right into the path of the real spear. The spear dissipated, it left no wounds or visual mark upon him, a mental attack. He felt his mind going slow, and he fell backwards into darkness and seemed to sink down. He looked up upon the Shadow as he sunk, it was hard to focus You cannot accomplish anything ”It’s hopeless, I cannot win” it became harder to see, Run along and beg your siblings for help “They are gone” There is nothing to do, just fall asleep “Yes, sleep. Let… someone else take care of it” it would all be so easy, just let himself drift off into eternal sleep. Trough his hazed vision he studies the orb like darkness, a dream, the Shadows dream. Inside it there appeared to be other orbs, thousands of them, all pitch black. Other people’s dreams, all of them sharing the Shadows dream. Remember, for all its power it fears you. From the dark dreams it seemed to radiate black particles, residue emitting from their emotions, and experience with in the dream. From each of the orbs there was a line, a line going from the orbs to the Shadow drawing from them, that was not going to be good for those people psyche. He stretched out, tried to touch on of the orbs. Help. A small voice came from within the orb. “AARRRGGGG” he focused his mind again, he became aware of the orb surrounding him, his own dream, it shattered.

He was no longer falling down into the darkness; he was again standing before the Shadow. He raised his hand struck downward, in one chop he cut the all the lines binding them to the Shadow. “I am Ashem son of Fel, I and my siblings have been given the responsibility to watch over this world in the place of our father, I will not fail those responsibilities. You will not abuse the dreams of these people again, they are under my protection” he slowly arched his hand upward, while he did that he scooped up the emotional residue that radiated from the dreams. A black spiral formed around him as he lifted his hands. The Shadow howled in furry. Ashem poured his will into the black mass, giving it form and purpose. The black spiral turned into a serpent, a nightmare manifestation, and as his hands met the serpent leashed out toward the Shadow. Ashem himself however was staring out passed the dream, how had he not seen this before, dreams everywhere. The orbs where like stars in the sky, yet they were floating all around him, size and distance was abstract here. He felt as if he should have seen them all along, as if he had suddenly focused his gaze a bit differently and only now perceived them. Some of the orbs where completely white, others where a sea of varying colors, blue, gold and black all shifting around in varying decrees based on the nature of the dream, the dreamers emotion. The Shadow and the Serpent was fighting. “You where never that powerful, where you?” Ashem addressed the Shadow “You always feared me, you would not face me but instead you took control of the people and tried to have them kill me. Then you initiated and caught me in a nightmare trying to using my own powers to kill me. You faced me only here out of desperation, again trying to turn my own power against me.” The shadow howled and with a decisive blow shattered the Serpent nightmare. It flew at him in desperation and unleashed a furry of attack, dark blades appearing from its shadowy for. However it nothing only an illusion, Ashem was standing behind the Shadow his attention again turned outward. The Shadow in desperation hurled toward him again, once within range it attacked him. Ashem lifted his hand and caught the Shadow, it tried to hurt him with mental attacks but Ashem did not seem to even notice. Had he ever feared this thing, the Shadow seemed so small now, or maybe he had grown. He turned his gaze toward the Shadow and focused his full will upon it. It’s mind, its life, everything that the Shadow was snuffed out like a candle light.

He still hold on to the shadow, it was now just a lifeless husk, remnants of its being. The thousands of orbs that represented the dreams of those caught in the Shadows grasp started to drift away, they where all dark as night. He put his attention toward them, he touched them and quelled the nightmares, not completely, but it was not only darkness there anymore, other colors started to twirl around in there. “You are safe now, your dreams your own again” he whispered into the dreams. Hopefully the being drawn from for so long by the Shadow would not have too much of a negative effect upon their psyche. He reached in and worked at the weaving the Shadow had left in their sub consciousness, he enweaved what he could without causing anymore damaged and rendered others unfunctional, it would have to be enough. The orbs drifted further away from each other, the joint dream they had all had came to end. Ashem now stood there for while, looking into nothing, the remains of the shadow flared in his hand, engulfed him. And he was gone.

[hi-mi-tsu]

Val, Loss, and Ei, some random beach

Eilyan's eyebrow arched, a little; she had met the witch-queen, though Loss didn't seem to realize it. His story was not...entirely true, this she knew. But if that was what he wished to tell, then she would not hinder him in the telling of it; something very serious had happened in that empty, abandoned village, filled with the presence of the dead. She didn't blame him for wanting to keep it to himself.

"Not that I did much except for running and...screaming..." Her voice trailed off, and a withdrawn, empty look passed over her face and behind her eyes. As though she wasn't there with them, any more...as though she were seeing something else entirely.

The moment lasted only a minute, and then she was back, but the haunted look in her eyes did not go away completely.

"I...I'm sorry. It was a...strange experience, what's...what happened." Unconsciously, almost reflexively, her fingers gripped the pendant around her neck. "I learned about...traveling. In...time. So I'm here, but I'm also...not-here because 'here' is somewhere I wasn't before. I came back, for you, Loss, because she said that you were dead and I had to be sure, but I...before, I was...I am...with Neb, somewhere else. In the same...time. I..."

She trailed off again and colored, pulling her knees up to her chest like she hadn't done since she was a child.

"I'm...very sorry. I don't think...I don't think I'm making any sense."

[Swordslinger]

Epilogue: The God of Dreams

Urncer

She lingered at the edge of sleep, half aware of her surroundings. She slowly awoke, oh her head hurt. She stood up from her bed, body stiff. How long had she been asleep felt? It felt like it had to have been days. She dressed and stepped out of her room, she ate some bread, it was stale. Yeah, she had certainly slept for a day or two. She had been having nightmares, she remembered that. It was kind of unclear, in fact the days before that seamed kind of hazy, thinking back the last few years was hazy at times it seemed she had not been in control at all. She should get go get some water, taking the bucket with her she left the house, a few others was outside, everyone looked disoriented. The nearest well was at the town square, she headed over there. She reached the well and was about to start wincing up the water bucket at the bottom of the well, when her eyes was drawn toward the center of the square. There was fountain, it was connected to the same source as the well, however someone was sitting there, at the edge of the water. There was something about him, he had a powerful presence about him, and she could not look away. She hardly noted that she dropped her bucket as she started to walk across the square. She had mixed feeling of fear and excitement, she could not explain how but she just knew there was something about him. She had felt like this before, when the king had visited the city and people had gathered in the square to watch up on him as he stood on a balcony in the nearby citadel. But the feeling was even stronger now. He sat at the edge of the fountains water, she had never seen hair like his , it was white as snow. He had clear blue eyes and was clothed in a simple pale green suit, not extravagant in any way, but it was clear that few commoners could afford cloths like that. In his hand he held a black cloak, he was staring intently upon it. More people had begun to gather in the square, she had hardly noticed them. There was something about this man sitting by the fountain she ought to remember, her head still hurt slightly. Just what was it, oh she remembered the dream, that terrible shadow that hunted her in her dreams. This man had been there, in the nightmare she had this night, she was sure of it. Other people in the square was whispering as well.

As she walked close to him he looked up, his blue eyes met hers. “Have you slept well?” he asked to her surprised, she stammered a bit “I had nightmares” he was looking upon her with his blue eyes, it seemed as if he was looking right through her, reading her like an open book. She lowered her gaze unable to meet his eyes anymore. People was whispering about the dream. “It will get better from now, your dreams are your own again” he stood up and with a toss of his hand flung the cloak around him. “My lord, who are” he looked upon her again, and studied the crowd “I am Ashem, the one who governs the domain of dreams” The God of Dreams people around the square had begun saying. “What do you want of us” someone said The God of Dreams “Do what you will, in the knowledge that your dreams at night will be safe” The God of Dreams it had become a chanting across the square. She studied the man…the god, for a moment he looked surprised and as if he wanted to say something. The God of Dreamsbut as she watched his cloak seemed to come alive it, it was no longer a normal cloak but instead made of flickering shadows, it engulfed him becoming darker and darker, the last she saw of him was a pair of clear blue eyes. Then the shadow retracted into itself, disappeared and he was gone.

The God of Dreams
The God of Dreams

End


Notes:

Syelddyn:
The island and kingdom of Syelddyn was founded several centuries ago, it is a kingdom ruled from the capital at the central parts of the island. It is unknown to all but those at the highest parts of the government that the highest authority in the land is not the king but a powerful spirit. The sprit lord and the ancestors of the royal family funded the country. With the spirits guidance through the generations the kingdom has become a prospering and stabile land. The island is divided into five regions. The central region where the capital is, the capital is in addition to being the home of the royal family also the cultural center with schools and libraries. It is also trades center for trade between the four other regions. In the western region is a harbor city which is the center of trade between the rest of the island and foreign nations. It also hosts a largish navy which primary duty is protecting the shore line and trading ways from pirates. In the forest covered east lies Urncer, the main export of this area is timber and pelts. To the mountainous north lies a mining town. In the plains of the south there is much farm land. Each of the five regions is based around one primary city with many smaller villages spread out in the area. Few of the inhabitants know it, but each of the four regions around the central part is each governed by one lesser spirit in the service of the Lord spirit at the capital. At some point the spirit that governed the eastern region was killed by another spirit of unknown name and origin, only known as The Shadow. It planned to drain power from the inhabitants of the eastern region and then spread out killing the spirits of the other regions. Once that was completed it would have power enough to challenge the Lord spirit. This usurpation attempt was thwarted by Ashem, the God of Dreams during his ascension, this event feature heavily in a new religion that has been born in the eastern regions and is quickly spreading out across the island.

The Shadow Cloak:
This cloak was crafted by Ashem, the God of Dreams by using a normal black cloak and the remains of one of his vanquished foes. It allows the god to quickly travel between dreams and the world in his physical form. He can use the dreams of people anywhere in the world as gates to leave or anyone in the immediate area to enter. Ashem can do this even without the cloak but doing so takes more time and effort. The cloak also provides some moderate measure of protections from dream based attacks and magic.

[BladeofOblivion]

Canticum Dolor, Part 3: Agony and Discovery

As the door opened into a tunnel, the faint light in the distance seemed beckoning. Inviting. As soon as she was able to stand again, she began to walk down the tunnel. No matter how far she went, those lights seemed just as far away. She pressed on. She was getting tired though, and there was still blood trickling from the pinprick on her finger.

She didn't really have much time.

After what seemed like days of walking in the damp, cold underground, something moved. It wasn't clear what, but there was a sound of some scaled thing rubbing against the rock wall. She ducked just in time.

The thing that had pounced was barely visible, were it not for the faint yellow glow of its eyes. It flew over her head and collided with the rock wall, smearing black blood onto the sharpened stone. Canticum Dolor ran. More yellow glows appeared in small crevices in the rock wall, spurring her onward to escape these creatures.

Then something odd happened. Those lights she had been running off to in the distance disappeared, and she found that she was right between them. Bathed in red light from the left and green light from the right, she recognized them as the lights from before, the ones she hadn't chosen.

Two more of the beasts jumped at her, before being each consumed by the lights. The rest of the creatures backed away, with hissing and whimpering sounds at seeing what the light did to their brethren. The cave itself extended a wall downwards, seeming to want them to leave.

Dolorum blinked, only to find that she had gone somewhere else. A well-lit dome, even deeper underground. And the lights were still there. The creatures the light had consumed manifested again as the light forced itself into them. The red light transformed the creature into a monstrous ape, an abomination with too many eyes, far too many limbs, and enormous size.

The green light turned the creature into a man with a swollen head, one who immediately fell and could not stand back up from the sheer weight of his cranium.

The Ape-beast immediately dashed past her, crushing the helpless man into a small pile of paste, and then turned its head toward her. She performed the only reasonable response she could think of. She began to sing. Her music caused the Ape to fall to the ground, as it could not withstand any sound but the din of battle. As she kept singing, the ape-beast's head exploded into a shower of blood and grey matter.

And then she heard it. Here, in the bowels of the earth, was the song of creation that she had sought. But at what cost? She found that she could not sing it. She could not replicate the tune with her voice alone. She'd need a string instrument of some sort for this...

[the_druid_droid]

Keth

Epilogue

After the destruction of Lucius and the liberation of the spirits bound to the Source, Keth journeyed back toward Addelyn, eager to find Torallden. Against his side, he could feel the fragments of the broken Source, wrapped up in a simple leather pouch. He had been surprised at first, for even once the thing had been shattered, the fire it had kindled in his veins still burned. After the surprise had come the realization that he was a god-child no longer, but now bore the full mantle of a god.

And it was as a god that he returned to the city where Lucius had reigned. He wondered if the guards would try to stop him from finding his brother, but as he passed, men averted their eyes from the grim determination in his face. At last, in the city’s plaza, Keth found Torallden...but not as he had hoped. There, a great black stone stood, and set out in relief from its surface were statues that were not statues. The Rock of Addelyn had long served to forever imprison the most despicable of that city’s criminals, as a warning to others, and when Keth saw his brother there, he wept. For three days, he did not move, until at last the steward of the city approached him, trembling.

When the steward asked, Keth told the story of what had befallen Lucius, and by the time he had finished, a large crowd had grown up around him. At the news of Lucius’ death, the people did not seem angry, or hopeful, or even sad; they merely looked confused. In that moment, Keth had compassion on the people of Addelyn, for he saw that despite the greatness of the city, many living there were like children, ignorant even of its splendors. That night, he went along with the steward to the palace to discuss what ought to be done now that Lucius was gone, and the two talked until the small hours before dawn.

When the steward had finally left him, Keth shut the door to his room and took out the broken fragments of the Source. Losing his brother Torallden had been a terrible blow, and he felt anew the desire to locate his siblings before it was too late. With this purpose, Keth poured all his skill and knowledge of craft into reshaping the broken artifact before him. He worked through the sunrise, and continued his labor as the day grew older, until at last, as night again drew on, Keth finished his task. The sphere of milk-white stone before him was no longer a Source; now it was an Eye, and with that Eye, the god hoped to look for his lost family.

That night, for the first time in a long while, Keth rested.

[Jade_Tarem]

Castellan's Rise, Part 1: It's not the fall that kills you...

Castellan was airborne, and it wasn't his fault.

Even though he'd shown a natural affinity for parts of the Old Magic that allowed him to get around faster, and to move more freely, he couldn't fly under his own power. He'd always sort of wanted to. That desire had increased greatly now that his life depended on the ability to defy gravity.

He'd always been one to ask questions. In fact, while he loved his siblings dearly - most of the time - a part of him had always resented the fact that his growing number of brothers and sisters had cut down on how much time he could spend learning from Fel. Oh, there were always spirits willing to talk, but Fel knew so much more. He had made the answers to so many of Castellan's questions. Why do we exist? Why did you say what I did was wrong? What should I do next? Why aren't we ready to go to the Starlit Isles?

However, Castellan's normally curious mind was mostly preoccupied with a much more practical question. How did I end up here?

Actually, he knew the answer to that, now that he was thinking about it. The Leviathan had appeared, and had promptly obliterated Fel's boat. Castellan had grabbed one of the larger pieces, and had just finished binding himself to the buoyant segment when he realized that one of the creature's many, many tentacles was wrapped tightly around it. Panicked and freezing, he had only begun to frantically untie himself when Lossethir went shooting by, propelled by a force that Castellan couldn't see. The Leviathan made a grab for the godling - without bothering to first let go of the boat fragment until he was already above the surface of the water, and still rising as the creature thrashed.

The impossible strength of the Leviathan had launched Castellan high into the air. In fact, even after he had blacked out from having his arm wrenched from its socket, he had awoken to find himself still rising. For just a moment, he thought he could see Alu Mari again, high above, but when he blinked it was gone. Of the boat, he saw no trace at all other than a rope-burn on his injured arm.

He knew he was going to die. One of Fel's universal laws was that whatever went up had to come back down again - frequently hard enough to break it. Castellan noted, even through the pain in his arm and ribs, that he was slowing down, even as he looked down at the clouds. Another part of him noted that he had also been traveling laterally all of this time. Just when he had begun to ponder where he would land, and how big a splat he would make at that time, he heard a voice just above him.

"Hello there, Fel-child."

Castellan looked up, and saw one of the largest, most beautiful spirits he had ever seen. A long, wide, alabaster, serpentine body was graced by a dozen sets of shining ruby wings - and each wing was composed of white and red strands of something that looked like ribbons. From beneath, the creature had four limbs that ended in claws with six digits, that could have served as feet or hands. The spirit's head - which looked vaguely reptilian and was adorned on top with bright blue fins and below with extremely long white whiskers - was squarish and scrunched, but no less impressive. Golden plates covered the entire body of the creature and rose up partway around the spirit's jaw and face. It was nowhere near the size of the Leviathan, but it was easily the second largest being that Castellan had seen.

"I had not expected to see one such as you up here. May I ask how you managed it?"

Castellan grimaced. "The Leviathan..."

"Ah, it is strong, isn't it? I had no idea it could throw a man so high or so far. Oh, but forgive my manners. My name is Meriasper. Who might you be, Fel-child?"

Close to blacking out again, the godling grimaced. "Castellan."

"Well met, Castellan. Now then, I must know: do you have a plan or a method to survive landing?"

There was no sense in lying to the spirit. "No."

Meriasper raised an eyebrow-ridge. "No? Ah, then perhaps we should come to an agreement. You see, there is a group of mortals in great need of assistance. I have been providing them with guidance and blessings for some time, but if you were to help me I think that they could grow much more swiftly. If I save you from this certain death, will you do that for me?"

Castellan frowned. "My siblings... did you see any of them?"

The spirit considered. "No. Sadly, we are now far afield of wherever you started your journey. I have not seen any others like yourself."

The son of Fel nodded, too tired and in too much shock to feel anything about the fact that he may never see his brothers and sisters again. "Then I will help you, yes."

Meriasper grinned, the expression looking odd on the spirit's face. "Good! As you recover and grow in strength, so too shall they."

"I don't understand."

The spirit reached out to Castellan, a bright white light shining in one claw. "You don't need to. We shall speak again, Castellan."

[TechnOkami]

Ulric, Part 1

When Ulric came to, he was met only by darkness. Pain was coursing through his body, something lodged inside of him in many places and with great force of impact. He tried to feel around him, but even moving his arm made him recoil. And so, for a few minutes, Ulric lay motionless. ...what happened? Where am I? Am I still on the boat somewhere? As his eyes began to dilate and come more accustomed to the dark, he started to remember. ...the sea beast... the Leviathan! He tried to stand once again, but pain forced him to remain. As he recoiled in agony, he finally recognized what he felt to be a massive thump reverberating through the floor. It came consistently, occasionally beating a little faster or a little slower, but for the most part remained the same. ...a pulse?

Almost as soon as the words left his mouth, the surroundings about him were tossed asunder. The mass he lay on was overturned, sliding off of it and finding himself floating in the water. Feeling the pulse still reverberating, even through the water, it suddenly donned upon him... I... I'm inside it! Though his mental victory was short lived, as the salt in the water lapping against his wounds caused them to sting horribly. His state was the same, if not more aggravated than before in this dire situation. To make things worse, the leviathan began to intake water, causing Ulric and the ship piece to float upwards, Ulric hitting the roof of its mouth. Without nary a thought, he quickly took a deep breath before his entire body was lost to the blackness. As his oxygen began to deplete, his lungs wanting to gasp for something to take in, he began to feel his eyes shut. Yet even as his senses began to fade, a single, smoldering voice started forming words in his mind. It couldn't be more far away, but the faster he began to lose, only more fuel was added to this cinder until it erupted into a hell storm of fury and rage. It thrashed, crushed, and gnashed its teeth, but repeatedly screamed out a single word, loudly and clearly, "SURVIVE!"

It was at that moment that his eyes flew open, his pupils shrinking into a single collected and determined force, with whatever feelings of pain he had rendered null and void. Ulric began to swim furiously in a direction, going against the power of the Leviathan's diaphragm contraction towards his instinctual way out: it's mouth. It would have succeeded too, if the Leviathan hadn't closed its jaws shut and locked. But this did not stop this mindless, raging beast inside of it to think of another way out. Instead, as soon as it hit the wall of teeth before it, Ulric swam up, using his hands to help him up the beast's fang. When he felt that he was no longer touching the firm cartilage to soft, malleable gums. Instantly, Ulric took his shard-laden hand and punched through its gum and directly to the nerve. The roar was deafening, but the enraged Ulric could not hear past his own inner fire. He felt his body being shaken left and right, the only thing keeping him in place being the fist embedded in Leviathan gum line. As he shook, Ulric moved his arm deeper, reaching in until he found a nerve, and crushed it, the warmth of its flesh squeezed through his hands like a juicer. The Leviathan reared its titanic head out of the sea, letting loose a loud bellow, clearing the sky free of clouds. It swung its head towards land, and as Ulric lost the buoyancy to keep himself in place, he slid down the leviathans mountainous fang, and flew through the air, crashing through the seaside cliff and into the jungle which towered over it. The very fang Ulric punched into dislodged from the many it has, and crashed into the beach, puncturing through the sand. The Leviathan dived back down below the waters, and Ulric was now face-first in dirt...

...but his fury did not recede...

[Jade_Tarem]

Castellan's Rise, Part 2: Grandeur

Then...

Castellan sat near Fel, as the Creator calmly sculpted a new... something. Castellan, as usual, opened with a question. "We are to inherit your world, right? My siblings and I?"

Fel grinned. "That is the idea."

His son nodded, solemnly. "Does this include your power?"

Fel's grin faded. "In a sense. It will be... somewhat more difficult for you to create new things from formless power, as I do, but the power you have will be of my own, so yes."

Castellan's eyebrows furrowed. "I was talking to the spirits earlier. One of them said that power was the ability to make more choices."

"That is one way of looking at it."

"So if we have your power - the greatest power - then we would have a much greater chance of making the wrong choices. I don't think any of us are wiser than you are. How is giving us this power a good idea?"

Fel thought about it a long time. He finally looked at Castellan directly. "All things must grow and change. We learn from mistakes, recover from them as best we can, and move on. This is as true for us as for mortals and beasts, Castellan. And while it is frightening, I trust you and the rest of my children."

"Well I don't! Least of all myself. Is there no guideline you could give for how to use the power?"

"Not at all. I won't stunt your thinking by attempting to preemptively answer all of your questions. But I will leave you with a riddle to think about."

The next day, Castellan had awakened to find a sheet of parchment in his room, with something written on it in Fel's handwriting:

A question that mocks all logic will nonetheless bear thought.
For I did not create this world and give it form for naught.
It does not matter what you do or are, or where you dwell.
To explore this world and see it is to see the power of Fel.

It is in our very nature to wonder what is right.
And we hope to never stray too far, as all our dreams take flight.
There is no easy answer – make your choice and make it well.
If you do so at your best then you will know the power of Fel.

Castellan spent many, many hours after that discussing it with his siblings, and when they grew bored with it, he talked it over with the spirits. He didn't know if it was a riddle in the traditional sense - it didn't pose a question, yet Fel asserted that when Castellan figured it out he would have his answer. For another bit of frustration, one of the spirits confided to Castellan that there was a third verse, but it hadn't been able to make out the words.

When the Leviathan had appeared, Castellan still didn't have his answer...

Now...

Castellan had no idea where he was, and it may or may not have been his fault.

He was staring at an unfamiliar ceiling, and that was bad. It was bad because it greatly reduced the odds that the Leviathan and the fall had all been a nightmare. The last thing he remembered was Meriasper's claw reaching for him, which wasn't as comforting as it sounded.

The room's only door opened and a very young girl - no older than twelve - walked in. She immediately grew flustered at seeing Castellan awake, and bowed, saying, "Good morning, Castellan. I am Vosira. A... are you doing well?"

Castellan blinked, groggy. "I think so." He tested the range of motion in his arm, and found that it no longer hurt. For that matter, breathing no longer hurt, either. "Better." He decided. "Where am I?" For a moment, a look of pure delight flashed over Vosira's face, before she became jittery once more.

Vosira nervously bowed again. "You're in our healer hall, in the town of Rynar, on the Ruby Wing Mountains."

Castellan smiled. "There is nothing to worry about, Vosira. Thank you for taking care of me."

"Oh! No, my parents are the healers. I do the chores. Would you like something to eat? Breakfast is still hot."

"I'd like that very much. Thank you."

Vosira turned and left quickly, somehow bowing again as she did so. "I'll be back soon!" Castellan got up and stretched, before taking a look around the room. It appeared to serve several functions - a shelf contained various bound texts, cots stretched along one wall, and tools were hung from another wall. The room was otherwise fairly spartan, although a large skylight let in considerable light, which brightened what would otherwise be a fairly gloomy place.

Castellan noted that he wasn't wearing any bandages. These healers do some fantastic work. In addition, his clothes and large, hooded robe had been cleaned, dried, and mended, and he quickly dressed himself.

When he was done, Vosira still hadn't returned. Castellan's curiosity got the better of him, and he began examining the texts stacked on the shelves. Most of them concerned anatomy, herbs, healing magic - all of it very advanced for mortals. He had to pick this up from context, of course - the images and drawings told him the subject matter. When he reached the bottom of a stack of what appeared to be either diaries or stories, he found one that seemed to be completely different - none of the mortal words that made repeat appearances in page after page of the previous books appeared.

As he continued to wake up, a realization hit him and he frowned. Wait, how is it that I can understand Vosira? Being able to talk to Meriasper made sense - most spirits could speak the language of Alu Mari - but Vosira was a mortal, and mortal languages supposedly varied wildly. In fact, Fel had designed them to grow and change as much as any species. The odds that one civilization would speak a language nearly identical to his own were staggeringly low.

The door opened again, and Castellan began to ask Vosira about the strange book, but when she saw him holding it she nearly jumped at him before checking herself. "Excuse me! I'm sorry, that book has been... misplaced? Yes! I need to put it back where it belongs!" Castellan thought for a moment. The girl's strange reaction had raised even more questions, but he certainly didn't want to antagonize his hosts. Fel had raised him better than that. He gave her the book and watched her run off with it, but the question remained, unasked.

***

Breakfast was even more strange.

Neither of his hosts understood a word he said, and vice versa. Vosira's parents - he thought their names were Rether and Sair from context clues and pantomime - spoke in a tongue that was only semi-familiar. Upon finding out that they conformed more closely to his expectations of mortals, he expected Vosira to translate.

She did not. In fact, she acted as though their conversation that morning hadn't happened at all. She spoke the same language as her parents, and acted confused whenever he addressed her. He nonetheless finished eating and bowed - since that seemed to be the universal gesture of politeness here - and excused himself, hoping that they would let him leave. He needed to find Meriasper and find out just what it was that he was supposed to do here.

He stepped outside - and stopped, his breath taken away. This is a *town?* Rynar was a fortress. And not only that, the architecture went far beyond what he expected mortals to be capable of producing. Stone battlements and buttresses reinforced high walls, keeps, and towers. The homes within were made of wood, but even then they were solidly built - as well they should be, for signs of combat damage were everywhere. Scorch marks decorated a number of flat surfaces, arrows stuck out of hard-to-reach places, and the occasional roof had a hole in it that was clearly not part of the design. Racing up the steps to one of the walls, Castellan saw an even more fantastic sight - the chain of mountains stretched out before him, and they were by far the steepest mountains he had ever seen. Forests rose up the sides of the slopes, ending near the edge of the 'town.' In fact, each mountain seemed to have one or more of these towns, and all of them looked about as well defended. The most spectacular sight of all could be seen high above - a band of bright red light twisted and shimmered above them.

The Ruby Wing Mountains...

"Oh good, you're back in the land of the living."

Castellan spun upon hearing Meriasper's voice. How does a fifty-foot long dragon spirit sneak up on anyone? His question was answered when he saw that the normally colossal creature had apparently changed shape - it now appeared as a mortal man, albeit a very good looking one. The only supernatural feature was the ruby color of his eyes.

Castellan nodded. "Yes. Rether and Sair were most kind." He almost mentioned Vosira, but a vague intuition stopped him.

"Excellent. I see they've done a good job with your healing as well. Now, would you be interested in seeing your purpose here? I have something very interesting to show you."

"By all means."

As the two walked, Meriasper continued to speak. "This village-fortress, and others like it, stand guard over the Holy Temple of Craephin, where one of Fel's greatest artifacts is housed. The city is constantly besieged by other groups of mortals in the area, which seek to use the power of this artifact for their own ends." He stopped when they reached a set of stone doors set into the side of the mountain, which a team of rather large men struggled to open.

Castellan took the opportunity to ask, "And what ends would those be?"

Meriasper shrugged. "I do not know. Many, many years ago, these people saved me when I was injured, driving off the monsters and other spirits that sought my destruction. I taught them the language that they know, and it has changed over time into what you hear now. I vowed to aid them from then on, and they have achieved much. I know, however, that they could achieve more."

Castellan frowned. He was beginning to wonder if he had imagined his conversation with Vosira that morning. "They certainly have advanced beyond most other mortals. I wonder..."

The doors were finally open, and the two began walking down a long, torchlit tunnel. "...what is it that you want me to do?"

Meriasper opened a new, much smaller door - an iron door, Castellan noted - and the two emerged into a brilliantly lit cavern. For the third time since breakfast, Castellan found himself speechless. The temple was beautiful - halls of perfectly carved onyx ran between pillars of black and gold marble, which themselves supported and decorated gorgeously sculpted structures. Meriasper leaned close to Castellan's ear. "Only the most special guests, as well as priests and the holy wardens, are allowed within."

"I'm honored." Castellan meant it, but something at the back of his mind was nagging at him. It irritated him that he couldn't name what it was.

The spirit led him directly into the largest building. Surprisingly, it was empty, except for a pedestal, on which rested what seemed to be a small oval lens - which was balancing on its edge. Meriasper walked up to it directly, and took it gently from its place. He held it out to Castellan, "Please place your hand on it." When the child of Fel did so, the spirit surprised him again, by holding a lesson on the language of the people of Rynar then and there.

By the time Meriasper was done - about four hours later - Castellan understood the language perfectly. Feeling slightly dazed, Fel's son shook his head. "What just happened? It takes years to learn a language."

"This one is more closely related to your own than you'd think. However, the artifact helped as well."

"How?"

Meriasper grinned. "I'm afraid that would take years to explain. In fact, I need to see to something else now, but I will leave you with Jaess, the high priest. He can explain to you what it is that you will need to do. We do, after all, have a deal."

"One moment... what is he the high priest of?"

"He will let you know." Meriasper's grin widened as he strode out. "You ask too many questions, Fel-child. Just relax! This will not be anything you can't handle." With that, the spirit was gone. In his place, an older man dressed in red and gold robes walked in and bowed. "I am Jaess." He said, and while his language was no different from the healers Castellan could understand him perfectly. "I am very glad to meet you, honored guest of Meriasper. I have been instructed to answer any questions you may have to the best of my ability."

Castellan nodded. "My first question is about Meriasper. Is he your ruler?"

Jaess considered that for a moment. "From day to day? No. He is much more than that."

"How so?"

The High Priest looked at Castellan directly. "He is our god."

[DoomHat]

Mainly Concerning Hunger

Though the sun had not fully touched The Fangs of Evil in centuries, it was never completely dark. The sky above was composed entirely of raging storm clouds. They spouted lightning so frequently that the roll of thunder never fully dissipated. The faint illumination of will-o'-wisps could be seen in the distance, drifting aimlessly over the hatful churning waves that took their former lives.
Rao had recovered enough to begin seeking shelter on his little island, formed as it was of broken ships impaled on a crops of erosion sharpened rocks. Though his skin was hardened to leather by the hardships he’d inflicted on himself, the rising bitter winds and freezing rain would destroy him before long. He dragged himself to the capsized remnants of a skiff. With a serviceable roof over him, he drifted back to sleep.
The sound of a woman’s voice in the near distance awoke him. She was singing, and it was beautiful. Her voice wasn’t overpoweringly loud, it didn’t drown out the sounds of thunder, creaking wood, and crashing waves, but it drew the ear to ignore all other things. Her voice filled Rao with strange feelings. He felt a longing he’d never known before, a heated desire. The song was wordless, yet its meaning danced clearly through the mind of the listener. ‘Come to me’ it said, ‘please, I need you, I will satiate you, come to me, I am yours, come to take me’.
Rao’s nostrils flared, his pupils dilated, fists clinched and unclenched, and his back arched, but he did not go to her. It wasn’t his trusted instincts screaming ‘danger’ that stopped him, but the simple fact that he knew he needed more time to heal. Rao was knowledgeable about precious little, but there was one subject in which his expertise was undeniable. The humble art of self recovery from grievous injury.
With the proper patience, discipline, and meditation it is possible to stand and walk again from a shattered spine. Rao told himself he would go to her later. If she was sincere, she’d still be there in two days. Just two more days. Two more days isn’t all that long. Two more days. Rao went cross-eyed and passed out.
He was stirred to consciousness the next day by the sound of a heavenly quartet. It was almost more then he could tolerate. He budgeted a small amount of energy toward crawling his way to the edge of his crude sanctuary. He looked out and saw, idling at the waters edge, the four most staggeringly beautiful women he’d ever seen. His face turned cherry red and his heart raced. He threw himself away from the view and gathered himself. At this stage, with the reality warping power he was attempting to cage, he was very literally at risk of outright exploding.
He whimpered slightly has he disengaged his muscles entirely. Now able to neither act on nor escape temptation, Rao giggled to himself as his feeble mind snapped like a twig. He went on a hallucinatory odyssey with his four seductresses. They didn’t make it very far, hampered as they were by the scope of Rao’s imagination. He blacked out again.
On the third day, Rao awoke in response to an encroaching presence. She was different from the others. She was larger. Standing side by side she’d be a head taller then Rao. Her song was different as well. It was tranquilizing. It communicated reassurance, all was well, no need to panic or question, just lay still, for all is well, no matter what your lying eyes tell you.
Her beauty was incomparable. Her hair was long, flowing, and shimmered in shades of mother of pearl. Her skin was as radiant as her smile. Her odor was unpleasant yet possessed a potent, primal allure. One could easily be forgiven for missing the fact that her webbed fingers and toes were tipped with razor claws, her perfect smile bore rending carnivore’s teeth, and her iridescent nude flesh was composed of fine scales.
She moved in on him. She ran her palms up his chest and then gently cradled his head, one hand under his chin, and the other brushing through his hair. Before she could snap his neck as planned, he suddenly embraced her. He kissed her full on the lips.
She sneered and tried to bite his face off for it, but just as suddenly, as if by some clairvoyance or keen instinct, he moved away. Infuriated she bit at his throat. She missed her mark as he pulled her closer again, sinking her teeth into his shoulder instead. She found his flesh incredibly tough and difficult to rend with a thrash of her head. In response, he nibbled tenderly at her throat. She gasped, let go, and pushed away from him. She struck him again and again with her elegant yet powerful claws. She hatched his chest with long thin red lines. He caught her by the wrists and roll over on top of her. He began kissing her palm.
On and on it went. She would try to kill him, he would respond with affection. She began to lose out to his persistence. She was among the eldest of her kind, she had killed and eaten countless humans, but never any like this. Deeply confused and exhausted she kissed him back. Nothing made sense anymore. She resolved to just let whatever was happening play itself out.
They thrashed and writhed. They fell to dreaming in each others' embrace.
Rao awoke alone, hearing only the din of the sea. Feeling spent, yet contented, he ventured out. The endless storm was less active now, rumbling threats and showering down a faint trickle. He scanned the horizon. The nightmarescape went on forever in all directions. He resolved to make his way to the sheer cliffs to his south. He sighted something in his peripheral vision, but before he could turn it was gone. He took a step forward, finding a gutted shark carcass in his path.
Famished, he devoured it eagerly, unaware of the blushing face that briefly observed him, then quickly ducked back under the waves.

[Mono Vertigo]

Vagwyrr & Kalonoth




The closer the went toward the city, the more that presence deviated to the north, until she could not mistake its location anymore, and had to make a choice between civilization, or the savage forest.
A map would be a helpful acquisition at this point.
All scars were gone now, including the supernatural ones on her fingers. Her neck didn't bear any longer shades of death and asphyxia. As for her clothes... well, the blood had gotten sticky, and she needed to clean that up as soon as possible. Most importantly though, her leg didn't limp, and the sharp pain in her arm was gone. She no longer coughed blood. For an instant, Vagwyrr wondered how much punishment could her improved body take, but she wasn't eager to find out, far from it. The Pabbe fiasco need not be repeated in personal consequences, and magic would help her avoid unnecessary pain.

Eventually, she reached the edge of wild, untamed woods, with trees unlike what she's seen before. She was powerless in this place. Animals don't reason. Animals don't need to be shown truth, as delusion only came with sentience. Animals were efficient and rational beings that she couldn't improve. As for spirits, well, they were on the opposite end of the spectrum, but as she'd started learning, they couldn't exactly be trusted, not because they lied, but because they played with laws so easily. (Then again, she couldn't help but think that in spite of this fact, spirits might be way more reliable than some human populations, and that was a frightening thought. Geez, sentience and mortality didn't seem to mix so well after all.)

With the presence obviously inside the wilderness, she couldn't just walk in and hope no predator tried eating her whole. “Predator” wasn't a concept she was quite familiar with, having been protected from such dangers at Alu Mari, but she easily imagined what sorts of beasts could dwell in untamed lands, basing her imagination on less harmful animals she already knew, and the Leviathan.
Okay, maybe she had a bit of a Leviathan trauma, after a second thought, but surely it must be normal.
Focusing on the divine spark she perceived there, she sent a silent message, and waited.
Hello. I am Vagwyrr. I haven't seen any of my siblings since the accident. Until you. Who's there?

[TheDarkDM]

Valtam

After hearing Lossethir and Eilyan's stories, Valtam drew himself up into a sitting position. Drumming his fingers on his knee, he remained silent for a short time before speaking.

"I'm not sure exactly what happened after the attack. I can remember getting tangled in the rigging, how Loss tried to get me out, but after that...I'm just not sure. I think I may have drowned."

Valtam's fingers stopped their motion, and he looked up at his siblings with eyes that had turned a deep blue.

"I know that doesn't make much sense. I mean, how could I still be alive if I'd drowned? But when I awoke after the attack, it was at the edge of Leviathan's lair, at the sea's bottom, and I don't think I was breathing..."

In a sudden motion, Valtam pushed away from the beach, spraying sand behind him as he moved next to Eilyan, sitting next to her and placing a muscled arm across her shoulders.

"But really, what does it matter in the end? However it happened, I survived, and I managed to master Leviathan with this."

Reaching into the ragged pouch at his side, Valtam drew out the pearl he had faced such horrors to gain. It was so deeply blue it appeared almost black, but when the light hit it a vicious fire flared to life in its heart, green and blazing with a white core, so bright it seemed that he held a star in his hand. He let it blaze freely for a moment before curling it back into his palm.

"And now the three of us have managed to find each other, by the grace of Fel. And if we survived, I'm sure the rest of them did as well. We simply need to find them."

Later...

After the departure of Lossethir and Eilyan, Valtam remained on the beach for a time, contemplating the constant motion of the waves. The crash of water on water seemed almost to whisper to him, though he could discern nothing in the strange sussurus. Opening his hand, he once again let the light of the pearl shine forth, contemplating its depths. Without warning, he stood, and strode into the waves.

As the water and foam swirled about the pearl's light, Valtam reached down and took up a handfull of wet sand, clapping the clod of sticky earth down on top of the pearl before releasing both into the waves. Rather than drift away though, the lump of material remained static just above the waves, held by some inscrutable force to Valtam's outstretched hands. Carefully, slowly, he swept his fingers through the air above the pearl, and as he did so an orb of water holding sand and pearl rose into the air. With every movement of his hands, the sand changed, taking shape around the gleaming pearl, growing smooth and burnished beneath a veneer of impossibly clear water. Eventually, the pearl sat within a three pronged crown, set in the center and base of the central blade as two smaller ones rose to either side. Finally piercing the sphere of water with his hands, Valtam placed the crown of burnished golden metal upon his brow, and had a moment to examine his visage in the water before he heard a gasp from the beach.

[Orosboru]

Xerxes ll, Part 1
Blood and Iron

"You are awake." A pleasant voice stirred me from my sleep, and I sat up. A woman was looking at me with a smile on her face. "I was afraid you would never wake, sea-child. What is your name?"
"I... do not remember." I touched my face. "The bowl! It-"
"Your possessions are safe, sea-child. You carried a small bowl of quicksilver, and it has been kept safe. Now, would you like something to eat?"

She had a blacksmith's apron, hastily wiped clean of the soot of the forge. Her hair was brown and her eyes burned like a smouldering flame. She looked young. She held a bowl of steaming porridge, which appealed mightily to my famished stomach. I went for it.

She grabbed my hand. "Do not be so hasty, sea-child! Your stomach has grown weak and small. Do not exhaust yourself." And it was true. The taste of wheat and barley had gone from my tongue, and it was a new thing to me. I felt the urge to vomit, and I did.

I stood up, and she turned away, blushing. I realized that I was naked. I clumsily fumbled for the blankets, and I fell over, my muscles decayed after days of inactivity.

After she had cleaned me up, I was dressed in a small tunic and pants. The feeling of cloth on my skin was both alien and familiar. It was like wearing a chafing sweater, but wearing it so often that you forget the sensation. And then taking it off. It was a strange feeling.

"This village is small, sea-child, and you owe me a debt of servitude." She was still blushing. "Or rather, man of the sea."
"I had a name." I stared into the bowl, but I did not find anything. "It is forgotten."
"Well, I must call you something. Do you wish for me to name you.?"
"Yes."
"Well, your last name must be Sea, for that is where hence you came. I'll call you… Rosemary, for remembrance."
"That's a girl's name."
"It'd suit you fine."

…

Rydel's muscles bulged, as once again he spent another night and day tending to the forge. This would be his journeyman's gift to his master, proof that he was able to go by himself in the world. This sword would be perfect. A long, thin blade of steel that could cut silk when pressed by the wind. He hammered again.

[rapter200]

Walking, he had been doing a lot of that lately. Always forging a new path, always one more step. There was no getting lost, it wasn't possible to get lost for he was the forger of the pathways. It was as if he couldn't stand still always walking to where the forest met its end. At least he wasn't lonely anymore, The Walkers were there with him walking alongside of him. They were the perfect companions, with them he debated about the nature of Fel's creation, their purpose in it, and numerous other matters. Leaves the deepest color of green grew on these trees, the trees themselves told their stories of who passed through these parts. These trees were truly wondrous, a marvel of creation. Greater then any living beast of the land could possibly dream to be. Tough and beautiful weren't usually words that could be used to describe the same thing but that is exactly what these trees were. Upon them lived many creatures, birds and insects called them home.

“Hello. I am Vagwyrr. I haven't seen any of my siblings since the accident. Until you. Who's there?”

The words appeared out of nowhere and it stopped him dead in his tracks. In that moment the world seemed to stop spinning. He had given up on his siblings and by this point he hadn't even dared to hope that they still lived. The Walkers marveled at the look on his face, it was one of both relief and of a renewed hope that for a long time was extinguished.

“Dearest sister it is I Kalonoth. I had all but given up hope on you all, thinking that the Leviathan had crushed you between its great maw. Please enter the forest, you have been granted safe passage and The Walkers will guard your every way. I will be making my way towards you as well, know that I am eager to see your face. It has been a thousand life times since last I saw one of my beloved sisters”

[Mono Vertigo]

Her wait was fortunately short. Oooh, Kalonoth. She best remembered him as a child, when they both played games that were improvised, but strangely complex, and have since been reinvented and played by every other mortal child in the world. Ah, sweet memories that hadn't crossed her mind in a long time. She'd been neglecting these lately.
Confidently, she walked forward. As if the plants themselves took notice and subtly retracted on her path, the woods invited her in. Bushes shook before letting large beasts through, exhibiting the perfect mix between the potential of absolute ferocity, and the serenity of trust. Their eyes even betrayed a far greater intelligence than usually displayed in this place. Vagwyrr had heard about these feral relatives of dogs, but never seen them up close.
And then, the shape of the lord of these lands appeared. She couldn't help but raise her arms in a welcoming embrace. True affection, that's also something she'd been longing for. “Kalonoth! I'm so happy to see you! I can still recognize you, but my, you've changed a lot.” Her loud and clear voice failed in conveying properly her emotions, but her genuine smile made up for it. She added, “Sorry for probably stating the obvious.”

[HalfTangible]

Northal

Northal had come to a conclusion when he arrived at that island: the temple was not well maintained enough for visitors to regularly come here. However, he had discovered something most curious after his 'fight', for lack of a better term, with the Banshee. After pulling himself to his feet, he found a side chamber that the Banshee had pried open in searching for him, and found that thwere was a pungent smell of incense of some kind. Entering the room, he had found that a small offering of incense remained in a green bowl with a red interior that looked like it could carry nearly five months worth of the stuff.

The incense had proved that someone came here regularly - and when they came again, he could finally get a ride off of the island. The small amount of incense told him that they would return soon if they wanted the spirit of this place to remain appeased.

However, that posed a different question: why hadn't the spirit he thought forgotten tried to contact him yet? Northal knew for a fact that a spirit could speak to him if it wished, he was a child of Fel. But it hadn't yet, for whatever reason. He decided to explore further into the area the crumbling had opened - the temple was most definitely still in use, which meant that he might be able to find records within...

[rapter200]

At his appearance Vagwyrr embraced him deeply and he did the same. For the first time in a thousand lives he felt a joy that escaped him since their time on Alu Mari.

“Kalonoth! I'm so happy to see you! I can still recognize you, but my, you've changed a lot.”

He smiled gently at this, it was true that since the time they all left left his Father's island he had changed greatly. No longer was he an inexperienced child struggling to survive in the Jungle where he had first woke up after the Leviathan, nor was he the child that would stare awestruck at the natural wonders of his father's Island. He was different now. The trees called him lord and the beast named him master.

“Sorry for probably stating the obvious.”

“Do not worry, I am just so glad to see you.” he said while embracing her tighter.

After a what seemed like hours of just holding her in his arms he let go and stood back to look at her fully. What he saw unnerved him, she was seemingly unhurt but her clothes were bloody. From what he was able to gather she had been through a lot.

“Tell me what brings you here and why are your clothes bloodied” Kalonoth said with a slight tinge of anger in his voice as he nodded toward the blood on her clothing. If anyone had dared to lay a single finger on one of his sisters they would suffer a fate worse than death.

[Jade_Tarem]

Castellan's Rise, Part 3: Here there be monsters.

Castellan was confused, and one could argue that it might be his fault.

Fel's son blinked, but managed to keep most of his surprise off of his face. "Your... god?"

Jaess smiled. "Yes. We are the people who rescued and preserved Meriasper when he was weak. Now he has grown mighty, and we are those he has chosen to guard Fel's artifact from the barbarians that surround us."

"Barbarians?" Castellan frowned. "They seemed to have village forts similar to your own."

"Mere copies." Jaess responded, dismissively. "They mimic our buildings because without them they would have to live with their own savagery. They produce our war machines because they need them to fight us effectively. They seek to be like us because they know that it is as close as they will ever come to the greatness of Ruby Wing Mountain."

"War machines?" The term was only familiar to Castellan in the abstract. "Machines for making war? What do they do?"

"They can fire arrows the size of a man's arm, hurl stones the size of a man's torso, and do so at a great distance. There are others, of course, and we keep them within our walls to protect our secrets."

"I see." Castellan was still disturbed. "Did Meriasper show you how to make these things?"

"Of course. As I said, we are his chosen people."

Castellan nodded. "And did he tell you that the artifact is only a fragment of Fel's tool?"

The old man's eyes flashed. "Yes. Pieces of the artifact have been stolen over time by the various barbarian tribes. That is why it's so important for us to triumph over them - only when we have the whole artifact will we be able to fulfill Meriasper's vision for us. In fact, recently this portion disappeared, but it was returned soon after. The panic was tremendous, but no culprit was found."

Castellan thought about that as the silence stretched out. Finally, he asked, "What is it that you want me to do?"

"We know from Meriasper that you are stronger and faster than most men. You survived fighting some terrible beast. We had hoped for aid in the coming conflict."

"You want me to be a soldier?"

"A champion." Jaess nodded decisively. "With your help, we could attain the artifacts of the nearest tribes, and use them to gain a decisive edge over the others. We could quickly and easily bring this conflict to a close."

Castellan's eyes narrowed. "And all of the other groups would be dead."

"Yes."

The child of Fel closed his eyes. "I will need some time to think about it."

"Of course. It is no easy thing to ask."

Castellan left the temple soon after. He wandered all around Rynar, observing - and of course, asking questions.

Some of the answers surprised him. The theft of the artifact pieces was not new. In fact, it was well over a hundred years ago, before anyone here had even heard of Meriasper. Apparently, the people of the mountain had not known that the others were inhabited - lava flows between the peaks had made passage between them impossible, until the spirit had shown them how to build bridges strong enough to span the rivers of molten rock. In one hundred years, no common trade language had developed. There had never been any trade - all were apparently enemies of Meriasper's chosen. Attempting to refer to the other groups as civilizations, peoples, or even tribes was met with scorn by those Castellan talked to.

And in all that time, no outside enemy had ever defeated even a single one of the mountain tribes. They were simply too well defended for other mortals. Meriasper had apparently driven out all other spirits.

Castellan still felt vaguely ill - he moved outside the walls of Rynar and sat down. Several things didn't add up. Vosira had referred to the area as the Ruby Wing Mountains, yet everyone else used the singular version of the term. He was also told that he had asked too many questions - and that was something Fel had never said, no matter how obnoxious Castellan had become.

These people had saved Meriasper. The spirit appeared to wish to repay them by making them the dominant group in this area, but had a funny way of going about it. Surely the being's shape shifting abilities and firepower would allow him to steal the other artifacts without instigating constant open warfare. Why would he do this so inefficiently?

The godhood aspect bothered Castellan as well. Meriasper was not a god - he knew this objectively - but how to say that to the mortals here? What did they have to compare Meriasper to? Fel? They would find no comfort from an absentee father figure. Himself? Meriasper had dragged him to the mountain half-dead. By those standards, the mortals probably felt that worshiping the dragon-spirit was their best bet.

And if warfare was what the spirit wanted, was Castellan obligated to help him? Certainly, Castellan owed Meriasper for saving his life from that terminal descent, but he wasn't sure that slaughtering mortals was within his capabilities. According to Meriasper, the people of this mountain were the most deserving, but did that matter when in came to life and death? Castellan had been under the impression that all of Fel's creation was precious. He sensed nothing about this group that made them more worthy to live than any other.

Most likely, this group was identical to the others, save for Meriasper's influence. But did that mean that Castellan shouldn't aid him? What was he supposed to do at this point?

Finally, Castellan spotted Vosira - she was sneaking down the path out of the city, toward the woods that joined this slope with the base of the next mountain. It was a long way, and Castellan worried that she might hurt herself. He resolved to watch her on the way down, to make sure that she made her trip safely - anything to take his mind off of his current decision. He noted that another mortal - one of the holy wardens - was also trailing her.

And that was when she disappeared.

Not behind an obstacle or into a shadow. The girl simply vanished from sight. The other human searched for a while, then gave up in disgust, having apparently not noticed Castellan. The godling almost gave up as well, but suddenly spotted Vosira much further down the mountain. He smiled and moved quickly to follow.

The girl made her way through the forest with surprising speed, but Castellan was fast even by the standards of Fel's children. He sped down the mountainside and through the forest gracefully, and had caught up to Vosira by the time she reached the bridge over the lava flow between the two mountains. She crossed it without hesitation, and disappeared into a cave on the far side.

Now frowning, Castellan started to move out from behind cover, but stopped when he saw another young girl emerge from the woods across the bridge, and enter the same cave. The son of Fel's eyes narrowed again, as another piece fell into place.

Darting across the bridge, he found his way to the entrance of the cave and hid just inside it. There, he could hear the two girls talking once again - in his own language.

"...he knew! He knew what I was saying!"

"That's amazing! I can't believe we found the language of the outsiders! What do we do now?"

Castellan sighed. Of course... She'd made friends with a child from another tribe. That only left the question of how they had discovered his language. He decided to ask directly.

Both girls gasped when he walked right up to them. "Please remain calm." He said, as quietly as possible.

They scooted away from him, never taking their eyes off of him. He sat down on a rock and relaxed. "I was hoping you would answer a question for me."

Vosira and her friend looked at each other. When neither of them said anything, Castellan opted to go ahead and ask. "How did you learn my language? I was under the impression that each tribe spoke a different one - and that all of them were different from my own."

Another exchanged glance. Finally, Vosira spoke. "Greppa and I... We... figured it out. We met by chance one day while doing chores, and we found that there's a... a meeting point between the two languages."

"A meeting point?"

The other girl nodded. "Right. If you change out the words for a common one, everything makes sense."

Vosira chimed back in, excited now. "And you can get the common one by doing math to the letters! Meriasper taught us all about it - the math, I mean. He didn't say anything about using it on words. The math is different for each tribe - we think. We haven't figured it out for any other tribes."

He frowned. "That's... extremely impressive for two girls your age."

Vosira grinned. "It was easy! We used the artifact - my tribe's artifact, that is. It makes it easy to learn things. Greppa's tribe's artifact lets you disappear, or make things look like other things. That's the only real difference, though. Her mountain is called Ruby Wing Mountain too - that's why I called it the Ruby Wing Mountains earlier!"

Greppa leaned forward. "So, since the tribes are the same except for the artifacts, maybe we could put all the artifacts together, and then we could have one big tribe and no one would have to die anymore!"

Castellan leaned back, his sick feeling returning - he was beginning to identify it as suspicion - suspicion combined with the knowledge that he was going to have to do something devious if he wanted to put an end to the calamity. Because while the two girls might be able to set aside grudges just like that, he sincerely doubted that everyone else would be willing to forget a hundred years of on-and-off skirmishes. Not to mention the fact that every tribe had a bad habit of dehumanizing the others. In fact, he began to see that the war might never end until something drastic was done.

He hated having to lie to those around him, and he hated taking unilateral, irreversible actions even more - but that didn't mean he wouldn't do it.

There was one more thing he needed to know before he settled firmly on this new path, though.

He looked at the two girls. "Greppa... did Meriasper teach you all of this as well?"

She nodded. And with that, there was only one more question to ask.

But he would have to ask it of Meriasper.

***

The next morning, he climbed up over Rynar and waited. He knew the spirit would show up eventually.

"Hello there, Fel-child. Have you come to a decision?" Castellan didn't even turn around this time.

"May I ask you a question first?"

"Just the one this time?" The dragon spirit intoned facetiously. "Go ahead!"

The child of Fel took a deep breath. "You are the 'god' for all of these tribes, not just the one on this mountain. You gave them each a language that's just a code of Fel's, and told all of them to fight each other over the artifacts - and I wouldn't be surprised if you were the one who arranged the thefts in such a way that each tribe had one artifact. You've given them technology, math, medicine, literature, and architecture, but also xenophobia, a narrowness of thinking, and you taught each of them different languages to ensure that they couldn't communicate. I know that I said I had a question, so here it is..." Castellan finally turned to look at Meriasper.

"Why?"

The spirit actually looked surprised. "Power, of course. Look around you. Take a good long look. What do you see? I see the most advanced and dangerous humans in the world. And they'll need to be dangerous. You had the advantage of staying far above the world, on Alu Mari, with the most powerful being in the universe to protect you until you were ready to face the world - and then you were nearly killed mere moments after descending from that haven." Meriasper gestured. "I, and the mortals you see here, did not have the luxury of staying out of reach of everything that could consume us until we were ready to face it. So now they and I shall face it together."

Castellan scowled, and his tone turned derisive. "The survivors, you mean."

"You find it easy to judge, don't you, boy?" The dragon-spirit's lip curled into a sneer. "You don't even know where you are, but I'll fill you in - you're off the edge of the map. And as the saying goes in any language, 'here there be monsters.' And how! The tribes of mortals in these mountains have successfully defended themselves against creatures that have killed spirits, devoured the weak and the unworthy, and felled entire civilizations that were too noble to realize that the top of the food chain can only be reached by standing on a mountain of bodies. In fact, they are now stronger than anything in this part of the world - and I made that happen." Meriasper leaned close. "So my actions, while incomprehensible to you, have saved more than you realize. And my plan, while repugnant to you, is the only reason this place isn't a mountain-sized graveyard. So I'll ask you one more time: will you help me, or not?"

Castellan closed his eyes (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9O3-ohtxxsw&feature=related). He knew that he had promised Meriasper aid, but that one seemed insignificant compared to the raw hope shown by the two girls in that cave. Was the spirit correct? Was it better for one of them to die in order to save some of the humans? Was the world really such a dire place that the spirit's plan made sense?

The lines of Fel's riddle echoed through Castellan's mind. Make your choice and make it well...

Castellan opened his eyes. "Yes."

[Mono Vertigo]

Reflexively, she looked down. “Well... it's not a happy story. That's my blood. But right now, I am fine.” She passed her hand in her hair, her smile turning into a wincing grimace. “I'll make this short. I've spent... months, years, I don't even know anymore... I've spent a long time in that miserable village after the accident. Since the very first day, I thought there was something off. So, typically of me, I investigated until I got an accurate enough picture of the problems.”

One of Vagwyrr's games, when they were all still at their all-powerful father's side, was taking a cherished or shiny object, and hiding it somewhere on the island, while leaving hints on the way. The longest searches could take days, but the players usually found an extra surprise along with their belongings, as to reward their participation. It could be marbles, or ribbons, or dry candies. As the brothers and sisters grew up, the brunette took it upon herself to play a role more suitable to her age, and start being the organizer of such games with the few younger siblings she had: Shiou, Abigail, Castellan, Uluwana, Kilea.
Those who'd once played Find-Your-Treasure with her could remember she was so eager to play she wanted to find her treasure and the others' before they did.

She took the blindfold out of her pocket for illustration. “And I couldn't do it alone, so I had to get tool. The result: I got rid of a witch who menaced their lives, and told them the despicable secrets they were hiding from each other. Pathetic mortals. They didn't want to improve themselves, called me a witch, and killed me. Almost.”
The news would certainly sadden Kal greatly, but she had no choice. She couldn't leave out the important parts. And she couldn't just lie either, for she has learnt that ignorance starts with a single little lie, then gets followed by a single one for convenience, then another one, and before you know it, you're stuck in a whole net of lies.

[Nefarion Xid]

Loss, Valtam and Eilyan - Somewhere

Lossethir silently agreed that his sister was making little sense. Though sharp witted, he (nor anyone else for that matter) was acquainted with the concept of moving through time. And so he nodded dully with worried eyes, leaning against his sister’s shoulder and trying to piece together her bewildering story. At length he managed to ascertain that Neb was unharmed, though beyond reach for some time. And that Eilyan had come into contact with the frozen witch, but long after he had left the great hall… yet arrived on the cliffs to see him pummeled by the Glacial. His questions were few; Eilyan was clearly upset by the ordeal and he didn’t want to prod her unnecessarily. Mostly he just sat beside her as she rambled and drew his arm around her when she grew tired of babbling.

When Valtam had said his piece, Loss sighed and fell over backwards into the sand once more. Raising a hand to guard his eyes from the sun, he murmured, “The spirits of wind and water saw us to land. Well, except you, Val. But I am not so sure that all of us have survived what we found there. Still, we had better get to searching…”

They were some time planning and discussion about their upcoming journeys and ascertaining that each could navigate the sea (Lossethir reckoned he could skip across the water’s surface for a ways, but sought Valtam’s tutelage on how to command the element as a precaution, so as not to place all of his faith on his already questionable grace) when Lossethir proposed that they use their new magics to fashion a device, or rather devices that would allow they to communicate with each other at any distance. To this end, the three crafted six crystalline orbs wrought in wind, water and time – one for each of them and one to gift upon meeting another brother or sister in the world.

-1 Major Act: Gain Water Mastery
-1 Ceremony: Creation of unnamed artifacts (details to follow)

[Orosboru]

Xerxes ll, part 2
Blood and Iron

"So, who is he?" The two woman sat down as they watched Rose work.
"He's a man from the sea. Rose Sea. Slides off the tongue, don't you think?"
"You shouldn't have kept him a secret, you know. I hear that he has a bowl of liquid silver that he keeps to himself. Is that true?"
"That isn't true… completely. Whatever he keeps in there, it isn't silver. It doesn't tarnish, and it's cool to the touch."
"So, where did he come from?"
"He doesn't even know his own name. I named him. When I found him, all he knew was that he left somewhere, and he came from the sea."
"He's cute, isn't he? I mean, in his own brutish fashion. Look at him work!"

And she looked. Rose hammered the iron against the anvil, making methodical, repeated blows to shape it into a new form. The works he did were amazing, and they looked like a master's, rather then a simple apprentice's work.

"Carolyn, you live here all alone with him. You're not getting any younger. Have you…"
Carolyn frowns. "Don't be so vulgar, Julia. He's practically my little brother."
"Oh, come on! The village elders are unhappy that you've taken over your father's trade without marrying. I've heard that if you don't set up your own household, they'll give your father's property to a cousin. You don't want that, do you?"
"The village elders can go **** themselves." Carolyn takes a deep drink from her stein. "What did you come up to talk to me about? Don't you have a dress to make?"
"So where do you think he comes from? I bet that he's a prince or something. Look how majestic he looks!" Julia holds her hands over her heart. "It's right out of a play! He doesn't remember anything of his regal past, and he is rescued by a commoner woman that captures his-"
"This isn't a play, Julia. This is real life. He has talent, sure, but if he's a prince, then I'm Fel's daughter." Carolyn tilts her head. "I have to get back to work. Thanks for coming."
"Don't mention it! And besides, if you aren't going to take the opportunity of a fate-given prince, then I'll gobble him up!" Julia winks. "He's all alone… vulnerable… with a cold woman…"
"Ah, be quiet." Carolyn blushes. "You always talked frivolously. Now get outta here."

Julia leaves, her plain brown dress going to and fro in the wind. Carolyn finishes her drink, and turns back to the forge.

"How's work been, Rosey?"
Xerxes looks up. Soot covers his arms like a second skin. "Excellent! I feel like I was born to do this!" And he was. He looked like he fit in to her home better then she did. It was unnerving. She could see the traces of his muscles, even through the thick apron. She shrugged it off.
"You shouldn't work so hard, you bastard! Makes me look bad!" She donned her own apron and put on her gloves.
Xerxes took off his apron, and folded it up. "I've finally finished it, Carolyn."
"What, your bowl? I've been wondering - what exactly do you put in there?"
"I'm not actually sure myself." Xerxes shrugged. "But I know that it's important, and it's been overflowing for the last year. So I made it bigger! And out of metal!"

It was impressive. The silver within rippled like a great sea. It was a large cistern, and despite its contents it was extremely light. Odd.

"…do you remember anything from before, Rose? Anything before you came here?"
Xerxes looked pained. "I remember that my father loved me very much. Other then that, I couldn't say. I don't even remember his face."
Carolyn was concerned. He was always depressed when he tried to remember things. She shouldn't have done that."Don't feel too bad, Rose. I don't want you to be sad on this day. It's a anniversary!"
Xerxes looked puzzled. "A anniversary of what?"
"I found you on the beaches this day, two years ago. Isn't that neat?"
"Yes…" Xerxes frowned. "I don't remember my own birthday. It's funny what you don't remember every day." Xerxes looks sad.
"Well, how about we make today your birthday? You can make new memories, right?" Carolyn grabbed his shoulders with her two hands. He was growing bigger every day.
"Yeah!" Xerxes brightened. "That'd be great!"
"I'm glad you like it, Rose." Carolyn grinned.

…

Rydel's swords were famed in the region for never rusting and being extremely sharp. He had set up his own workshop, and at such a young age too! His marriage prospects were good, and he was always receiving requests for forging swords, and his income was high enough that he could bury his parents in the merchant's graveyard. Yes, he was moving up in the world...

He was busy one day when a strange man approached him, alone, in his workshop. His assistants had went for lunch, and he was all alone. "Sorry sir, do I have business with you?" Rydel wiped the sweat off his brow.

I AM THE GOLEM REMEMBER. I WILL RETRIEVE XERXES, FEL CHILDE, HIS MEMORIES SO HE CAN ASCEND TO HIS RIGHTFUL DOMAIN.

Rydel stood in awe as the golem approached. He did not speak one word as his skull was shattered by its grip. The golem ripped into his chest and grabbed his still beating heart. A small, silver liquid oozed out of the ventricles..

YOU ARE THE FIRST. YOU WILL NOT BE THE LAST.

[Swordslinger]

Ashem

A dream

It was midsummer; it was not a cloud in sight to disturb the sun as it shined down upon the earth. Ashem was lying in the grass staring up into that cloudless sky, in the background he could hear the laughter and voices of children playing. “Finding you wasn’t easy” a voice came from nowhere. Ashem of course knew he was there, Ashem had felt the person’s presence as he first touched and entered the dream. Ashem was looking up into the black nothingness where the dreams floated like stars upon the sky. “Do you see them, all those dreams, floating up there, an ever changing display of colors?“ whoever had spokent to him seemed to hesitate for a moment. “There is nothing up there but the blue sky, Ashem, child of Fel, the one they now call the God of Dreams. Don’t play games with me.” The sword came crushing down, a long sword of superior make with an elaborate and gilded hilt. The blade sunk down into earth, but only earth. “So what do I owe this visit, great lord of Syelddyn” Ashem spoke from behind the Spirit Lord of Syelddyn and made a small bow towards him as he turned to face Ashem. “You know why I am here, what happened at Urncer? What happened to kind and gentle Islye that was to govern that area? People speak of you fighting and defeating a Shadow creature that had enthralled them, a religion with half a dozen versions has been born and we have been unable to contain it. Was there ever a Shadow creature, a spirit, or was it that whole dream of your making o`God of Dreams?” Ashem studied the spirit lord, he had the appearance of a human, he was tall and lean, with gold hair down to his shoulders, red eyes and was wearing a stylish red coat with the emblem of Syelddyn on his back however he seemed to be transparent. “I know you are upset, but if you could calm down a bit we can talk this over” the spirit lord was supposed to be the intelligent diplomatic kind based on the information Ashem had gathered, he would have had to be to establish a country like this. However Ashem could see he was really out of balance right now. The spirit scowled and lunged his sword toward him, Ashem raised his hand and the blade stopped in mid air, right in front of Ashem’s palm. “Remember, you are not really holding a sword right now.” The spirit was not even here in physical form, just projecting is mind into the dream leaving its body behind. The Sprit might be very powerful but here within the dream it was simply no match for Ashem. The spirit seemed to realize its great disadvantage and it faded out of the dream. “Well, that is just rude” . He would probably have to confront the Spirit Lord, sooner than later, and in reality. Ashem just hoped the spirit would have a chance to calm down before then.

[Madwand]

The Witchking and collateral damage

He had changed. Not only his soul. When he had a moment to examine his visage in the water of river he barely recognized himself. He had seen it in his face, in the wide-set, demanding gaze. He glanced across his square jaw and the bony hollows of his cheeks. His eyes were open wounds
beneath his brows, pale and red flickers in them like coals in the ashes. His mouth all thin pale lips and clenched muscles, a mouth that had forgotten how to smile. White was his skin as in bloodless cadaver.. and his hair become gray.


He thinks of power he wield now. Power to crush his enemy beneath heel. He could flood the city with water, he know he could. He could rise every dead soldier and with that army bring blood and destruction to Averis. Yet he play chess and he don't want to smash every opposed piece.

It bring him back to memory of second home.

Chess was his doom. He was too stubborn to admit that he was defeated. Yet, Keth always wins. Brandon never gave up, really. This time for every white piece on board were twice as many black.
Yet Keth said:
"Checkmate, brother".
And he was right. Brandon king's has no move.
"My mistake?" asked Brandon " I have had material advantage to beat you this time.."
"You forgot what Kuri always said: Good generals don’t win battle, they achieve their objectives! There's only king. As many pawn you have if you get to king you have win. Yours force has no time to reaction and without them..”

"I get it, Keth."

When white king was unprotected? He know the answer. He had time to prepare.

Brandon devoted himself to combat training with a fervor he hadn't felt since his descendance from Fel's home. While he'd never been focusing on martial training he practiced with Rao, Valtam and Kiri regularly like he was fulfilling every obligation. But his prime intrest was in sorcery. In magic Brandon was second to none. And his newly exalted flesh was tireless.
Night after day after night, tireless, exercising... for kill, for a way out, for his mother.. fury boiled within him, when he shaped his new magic. From that discusion of nature of time with his sister Eilyan, he know, he know have to bend time itself. Pushing, Pushing, and never finding true limits.

He made himself ready for blitzkrieg checkmate.

-1 Major Act: Gain sorcery(celerity).

[rapter200]

As Vagwyrr told him her story his face dimmed, obviously showing anger. Mortals, how dare they harm one of his sisters. *

“And I couldn't do it alone, so I had to get tool. The result: I got rid of a witch who menaced their lives, and told them the despicable secrets they were hiding from each other. Pathetic mortals. They didn't want to improve themselves, called me a witch, and killed me. Almost.”

“What can I do for you” he replied with concern in his voice. The very land itself seemed to take notice of the grim change in Kalonoth's mood. The Walkers howled loudly, the Trees shook violently and the wild beasts ran off in all different directions. The forest turned in on itself twisting into a dark version of itself. His emotions became that of the wild, his anger affecting all in his domain. He didn't let her reply.

“I know what I must do, tell me the name of this town that tried to kill you for only speaking the truth and they shall no longer be a blight on our Father's creation.” His anger finally built up into a crescendo.

-1 Major Act: Gain Spirit of the land

[TechnOkami]

Ulric, Part 2

A Monk’s Tale

It was a calm night, with the crickets singing their song to the stars. Clouds overshadowed the moon, a cloak to its luminosity. The creatures of the jungle slept in peace, save for those with nocturnal instincts. The trees swayed in the slight, sea born breeze, and everything was calm. Then it broke into pieces, as a terrible roar emanated through the air. Its power was so strong, that the very clouds were blown away, and the first of the trees to feel its impact were bent at the stump. The jungle woke with a jolt, animals running left and right, taken over by fear of that terrible noise. Beasts which slept in peace were now running amok, roaring and fighting wherever they ran.
It was utter chaos. Yet as soon as the tranquility was broken, it was rebuilt. The sound of a bell replaced the roar, a bell which chimed to the very core of the animals, calming the onslaught of rage to a mere candle flickering in the wind. Once again, they all were pacified… but something was not right. A feeling of anger and aggression still resided, and it was moving. It felt as if one was surrounded by barking dogs, ready to bite you at a moment’s notice. Its movement was slow, but in a terrible, looming feeling of dread. Then, from where the bells ringing originated, men came out. But these were no ordinary men. Nay, these men were monks. They could feel the disturbance to the depth of their souls, and now they came to greet this challenge, which walked into their monastery.
The most distinguished monk of them all was an elderly one, with hair the color of clouds and wrinkled skin; proof of his age. Yet he had an aura about him, something which brought a feeling of calm and patience. What he saw as he looked down from his room was a brutal thing to see. There stood, hunched over, was a man. His hair was long and black, soaked from water. Throughout his body were shards of an indiscernible material, stained crimson by his profuse bleeding. There were large chunks of the stuff pushed into his chest, thinner pieces through his legs and arms, and smaller shards pierced through his hands. He had the eyes of a beast, wild and glowing with a shade of crimson. Yet the most distinguishing feature about this man was not his wounds, nor his eyes.
It was his soul.
This elderly, wise, and truth-seeing monk could see the very soul of this being before him, and immediately felt something wrong. What he saw could be described as a smaller presence, crying in agony, surrounded by a second presence, one of fury and anger, whose clutch around the smaller would not let go. It shrouded the smaller one like a raging fire, keeping it from growing any larger and burning all who tried to reach it. He could feel a power residing in the smaller, something which even he could not entirely perceive. Regardless of what that power was, his attention was drawn to the simple fact that this creature before him was not himself, and possessed by something which he could not control.
Then events began to take a shocking turn. The man leapt from the ground, jumping through the air to the elderly man, a jagged punch extended to his face. The monk, with simplicity and precision, grabs his punch by the wrist, turns his own energy against him, and sense him colliding with the earth a second time. The man lay in a small crater. And yet it did not stop him. An arm arose, and then slammed into the soil, pushing his body back up to a standing position. At that, all the monks who watched their master’s enemy seemingly unharmed by this broke into a run, about to attack the bestial creature.
“Stop.” The Elder Monk said. After jumping down from the great height of his room, he continued, “This being specifically attacked me. This is a battle strictly between us…. no one is to interfere.” All the monks stared at him for a second, then backed off, giving the Master the entirety of the court to fight in. The monk assumed a stance, one leg extended forward and his arms to his sides, with open hands at their ends. “...whatever manner of creature you are, I will beat you back. You will harbor him… no longer.”

[DoomHat]

What Can Conquer A Man Without Fear?

Rao was still coughing saltwater out of his lungs as his unlikely savior wailed sorrowfully and beat at him with her dainty fists. Like all sirens, her voice was meant only for singing, and so had difficulty speaking as humans did. However, each sound she made carried unmistakable meaning to the listener’s heart. At this moment her sobs and warbles carried derision and chastisement. Their meaning weighted down on him. You fool, you’ll die, you careless fool, are you blind?, men can’t swim, I hate you, you’re a fool, don’t die, please don’t die, you’re so stupid, don’t leave me!
His vision was blurry and his breathing was labored. He’d badly underestimated the treachery these waters were capable of. The harsh winds and cresting waves made the surface all but impossible to navigate. Life was evidently abundant here, yet somehow almost exclusively predatory. Powerful currents threatened to batter you against stone spires along the way to any number of inescapable whirlpools. He’d gotten his tunic caught on a razor wall of coral, and would have drowned had he not been rescued.
He turned and hugged her tightly. He was grateful for her help, though he didn’t necessarily mind dieing. His only regret was that he’d caused her such distress, even if he didn’t fully understand why she was so upset. She fell silent. Blushing, she shoved him away and dove back into the water. Rao scratched the back of his head and stared out into the churning waves, befuddled.
He didn’t have the strength to try chasing her, so he resolved to explore his temporary home. He found a number of rooms in the huge graveyard of ships surprisingly intact. He decided to bunk in the preserved quarters of the legendry Pirate Lord, Captain Vran DeCruel. He did so over the ardent protest of the current resident, Captain DeCruel’s lingering poltergeist. The siren returned in the evening, carrying another shark carcass, this one stuffed with oysters. Rao led her to a galley he’d discovered. She found the taste of cooked meat strange, but enjoyable.
It was not the last time Rao would test those grim waters. Over the following days and weeks Rao had the time of his life. He was surrounded on all sides by an uncertain, mind bogglingly dangerous environment to explore. And he was visited frequently by a beautiful, mind bogglingly dangerous woman who would, from time to time, know him with varying degrees of tenderness.
She did what she could to keep him from exploring to far away from his little island. It was as much to keep him from killing himself as it was to simply keep him, not unlike an unruly pet. Rao learned her unpronounceable name, and came to call her Ahmi. She taught him to sing, so far as a human voice could. From him she learned to understand the spirit language of Alu Mari.
They were happy, but all things must end. One morning, as Ahmi lay sleeping in his lap, he stroked her hair, and starred out across what he’d grown to think of as home. He’d nearly forgotten what it was like to stand outside without being awash in a rainstorm. He thought of how far he’d swim out today… and something clicked inside him.

He had mastered this place. He knew how to escape.

[BladeofOblivion]

Canticum Dolor, Part 4: Perfection and Madness

It had been days underground, without food or water. She was reaching her limit. Still, she continued to work. The bones of the Ape-beast were iron-hard and made to last. Best of all, however, they were hollow. She was able to work some of the larger bones together, taking the best bits and cobbling them together into the shape of, of all things, a lute. She chiseled out the bits that weren't just right with one of the smaller bones, but it never seemed to be quite perfect.

She was letting that curse take hold of her, wasn't she? Could she could never be satisfied with a creation again?

Purple mist began to form in the dome, and Dolor soon found a duplicate of herself sitting in front of her. Smiling. With a grin full of fangs, wild eyes that did not seem to falter, and not a hair out of place. Perfection and Madness, driven together into one being. The doppelganger seemed not to move, and so she continued whittling her lute. She took her own shirt for the strings, unweaving it and carefully weaving the strands back together. At the end of several days of work, she had a working lute. And yet something felt wrong.

The Doppelganger had moved. It was standing before her, still grinning maniacally. It was very close, and Canticum Dolor only now realized that it had sharpened claws...

[Mono Vertigo]

The young woman looked up again. “Saddening him” had been an understatement. And in fact, watching his own burst of anger only revived hers. Yes, how did they dare? She hadn't hurt anyone, not even Antabagh/Kheevee. She could have exerted a twisted form of justice and poison them, or assault them. Instead, she couldn't have been nicer. She could even have hit back, when they decided to get rid of the disturbing element and broke her bones, but she hadn't. Nobody with such a pacifist behaviour deserved to be hanged and forgotten. Especially not an agent of truth like her.
Thus, she felt no guilt when she replied:
“That place is called Pabbe. Whatever you want to inflict them, they have deserved it, for your anger is righteous.”
She wasn't fond of physical punishment. But as long as she didn't do the deed herself, she didn't care.
“If you make them suffer as much as I did, dear brother, your sister will forever owe you one.”
Vagwyrr could already taste the sweet, imperfect and human nectar of revenge. It was well worth whatever service the new lord of these woods could ask her.

[Imperial Psycho]

Kay
Kay simply strolled into the Fort. No guards at the gates. He wasn’t challenged once. Odd. In truth, the place looked to be more of a fortified city than a fortress, and the fortifications themselves were simple wooden ramparts. Again, very strange. I could have sworn it was made of stone when I saw it in the distance. No matter. It would be his seat of power, he was sure. The city itself seemed pleasant enough. The buildings were largely wooden and closely packed, to the degree that if there were just a single fire, there would probably be nothing left of the place. Kay resisted the temptation, though.

In the pocket of his simple clothes, he fingered his little knife. It was a beautiful little thing, taken from his home. He couldn’t entirely remember where he first got hold of it. Not that it mattered. It was a tiny little blade, no good in a fight, but concealable, and perfect for a surprise attack. Always handy. In this case, it got him a purse of coin, holding up a well-dressed man in an alleyway. Little square chips of clay were apparently what passed for currency here. He turned to leave, perhaps buy something a little better than these rags, when he heard a murmuring somewhere behind him.

Kay turned, and investigated the sound. It was two men, one elder, one younger. The younger had naked steel in his hand. Dangerous. He managed to catch part of their conversation. "-too dangerous."
"I don't care, uncle. He's a madman. He..he killed...I won't let him get away with it. He is clearly insane. There are more and more executions every day. I am sure that if we stand up, the people will be with us." Kay smiled to himself. An Opportunity.

[rapter200]

“If you make them suffer as much as I did, dear brother, your sister will forever owe you one.”

A smile crept up on his face. He will make them suffer, suffer greatly indeed. Kalonoth wasn't one to easily anger as his siblings knew from their time on Alu Mari. But when finally brought to a boil he could be more wrathful than anyone of his sibling. He had decided against a full on assault on the town, that would be over to quick and they wouldn't suffer enough. No he decided to go with a much slower and painful death. By concentrating his diving will into the palm of his hand creation took its course, a small seed was formed.

Inside that seed he poured all of his wrath and malice, creating an all together new form of plant life. It would grow faster than any other before it, fully developing in a single night and its one purpose was to hunt all nearby forms of life and take root in them. It would detect the people of the town by the heat they gave off and then the vines of the plant would creep through the windows and gaps of their houses. When finding the source of the body heat the vine roots into its victim paralyzingly them as the vine grows over them. By morning the entire town will have been rooted. From this point on they become a food source for the plant as it feeds off of them for weeks, the victims don't die of thirst but they will eventually succumb to hunger. When the entire town is used up, the plant will wither and die.

“It is by this seed that their demise will come. As when they tried to slowly take your life away from you so shall it slowly take theirs. If there is anyone left in that town that you would like saved I suggest you somehow get them out of there by nightfall. The matter of the debt can be thought about later.”

The debt she owed him was something he would have to give more thought to later before jumping on anything.

[Swordslinger]

Ashem

A dream

The ship was sailing under the starry sky, a light breeze came from behind Ashem while he was standing at the bow of the ship, a few people was working around the deck keeping it sailing during the night. None of them seemed to notice him, and he in turn did not pay any attention to them. He was looking up, past the sky with all its stars. He searched, searched through the dreams of men. He stretched his hand out and caught one of the orbs in the sky, he withdrew is hand and studied the orb. Colors of gold and green was dancing around the surface of the orb as if it was made of water, a streak of black appeared for awhile but quickly disappeared. Yes, this was what he had been looking for. The shadowy looking cloak flared up and engulfed him in darkness. The world around him disappeared, the only thing he could see was the orb in his hand, it seemed to crack around the middle and the two halves separates from each other forming a gap, the orb seemed to grow and he fell into it. Around him a house started to form, and people was arguing, but this was not where he was going. This was just the gateway. The darkness around him had not even let go fully before it again started growing darker, and brought him away.

It was night, with a clear starry sky, a real sky this time. Ashem stood at the entrance of a city gate, he had begun to get a better handle on controlling his exit points now. He remembered back to one of his earlier attempts with a grimace, appearing on a roof had not gone exactly as planned. Ashem looked to the sky examining the stars while he felt the chilly breeze. Now, in the real world his cloak had again taken the appearance of a normal black cloak. “Where did you come from? Who are you? “ A city guard on gate duty spoke up, who had apparently seen him appearing. Ashem lifted his hand and made a small motion, the guard walking toward him stopped and then feel to the ground. Sleeping on duty, what sloppy guards. Ashem walked through the gates and into Osayu, the capital city of Syelddyn.

-1 major act: Up dream domain

[Kasanip]

The reaper's words would come around all of those who were there. So did Shiou think about them as she walked across the hill.

The devastation of the hills from the famine and the struggle for survival was dark and grim. Those who were still alive, their faint drums beating, looked worse than most of the dead whom she had met. Truly a famine was a bad thing.

Shiou walked between them, occasionally stopping to whisper a few words to one, who would sleep, and a ghost would step free to follow her. And eventually, she had visited every home in the town, and taken nearly all of those who were there.
As she walked across the mountain, she looked back. She would return here soon. Some of the children wouldn't last for much longer.

She showed the ghosts to the white tower, so that they could continue on their way, but she turned back. There was not much time for judgment now, or to divide the souls in the domains she had created. No, she had to step quickly through the mists to come to another place.

And always she returned to the bridge over shishiremon, and the lands that she had organized. She walked through the ghosts who lived here, the souls of the dead. And as much as she was here, the architecture of her hand and the Ino, it's colossus and beauty, she studied. Their crafts were their legacy, to remain for long time to come.
And slowly Shiou too began to learn and understand them, so that her own creation became more subtle and skillful.



Acts:

1 Minor Act/Harbinger - Blight 2 lands
1 Major Act: Gain Ability: Item Creation

1 Major Act, 3 Minor Acts, 1 Ceremony remaining

[Mono Vertigo]

A seed? That was an unusual instrument of torture. Which isn't to say she didn't trust its effectiveness; she trusted him, and had she bothered to try reading his mind, she doesn't think she would have found proofs of the contrary. Not that she'd do it, either. The small privilege of mental privacy was reserved to her family. “Those who took care to heed my warnings must have left already, there is nothing more there of importance.”
She took the seed carefully. It would be most unfortunate to trigger its effects early. Fortunately, she always had gloves on, and didn't need to worry about brushing her skin against it.
“You must have incredible powers over flora to do that...”, she said simply. “I hope the price you paid for them wasn't as heavy.”

[Orosboru]

Xerxes ll, Part 3
Blood and Iron

A couple of months later...
"It is past time you were married, young mistress." A table sat in the middle of the workshop, with the various tools of the trade and scrap metal lay around. "I warn you, I cannot hold them off forever."
"And what else, Widow Styan? I tire of your prattle." Carolyn hammered the anvil, taking her frustrations out on the metal.
"You cannot mean that. Do you realize what you are? You are no longer a young maiden. You have no house to claim shelter, no clan to call home." The widow teared up. "You are alone, and vulnerable. You can no longer refuse."
"I have Rose." Carolyn shrugged off the day's labour. "He's good at holding off those damn suitors."
"You know that sea-children will leave you when you need them most! The tales have told you of this. Have you hidden his fish-flesh?"
"He came with none. What are you, to tell me a story when I need it least?"
"It is as I feared." The widow clutches at her veil. "You never told the village on how he came to you. Do you keep his bowl of silver, as the gossips tell me so?"
Carolyn stared at a locked closet. Once he had finished his work, he had placed it there and warned her never to touch it, to disturb or let its contents leave. "I don't! What are you-"
"You keep him hostage here. You know better when your honourable father died that you must uphold his engagement vows he made for you." The widow punctuates her sentences with the rapping of her cane. "I have my suspicions on what he really is. Know that if you keep him here, you must either hate him or let him go. He will become a slave to your new husband. And he will not treat him, for a man who lives alone with a woman must surely make him a cuckold. I must leave, for the council tires of my fruitless efforts. Fare thee well." The widow leaves, walking slowly out in her own, quiet manner.

"What is it, Carolyn? Did the widow say something again?" Xerxes walked down, his eyes barely open. "And so early, too."
"It's… nothing you should be worried about. And what do you mean, Rose? It's already morning!"
"Ah? Ah! So sorry, so sorry!" Xerxes rushes up to change.
"…Does he really want to be here?" Carolyn grips the metal. It groans as it slowly bends. "Damn it, I don't want to think about this!"
"Think about what?" Xerxes walks down, half dressed. "Is there something wrong?"
Carolyn jumped. "What are you doing?"
"You know, I'm not dumb, you know." Xerxes smirks.
"You… you…" Carolyn sighs. "You're kinda like that, aren't ya?"
"You know me best!" He frowns. "Is there a problem?"
"N-nothing that you could solve! Look, let's get to work and have a late lunch. We're already late on the-"
"You're hiding something from me." Xerxes grabs her by the shoulder. Carolyn winces. "Tell me. I want to help."
"…do you want to stay here? I've known I've been cold, and I'm a bad cook, and I'm not a very good woman, but-"
"What are you talking about? Of course I'm happy." Xerxes smiles. "This is my home now."
"But-"
"But what? Don't dodge the issue. Tell me what's wrong."
"…I'm getting married. Soon. Rose, I-"
"That's fantastic!" Xerxes smiled. "I always knew that you would marry someday! Is that what was worrying you?"
"Yes, it was, Rose. Yes, it was." Carolyn looked away. "I want you to leave, little boy."
"What?" Xerxes looked a mixture of confused and saddened. "You want me to-"
"Yes, leave already, Rose!" Carolyn spat out. "I've hated you ever since you've come here. Don't you understand? Just go."
Xerxes gave her a very sad look that clawed at her heart, and he slowly walked out.
After she was sure he was gone, she fell on the floor, sobbing. "…be free, little rosy. Be free." The hammer slipped from her hands, and clanged on the floor.

[Nefarion Xid]

Lossethir's Travels

It had been months since he had parted with Eilyan and Valtam on that spec of an island to the north. But, thanks to the Whispering Stone he carried with him, he never felt lonely. The clear glassy orb knew where its five brothers were at all times, though the little heartbeat within slowed and became quieter as the miles between Lossethir and his siblings grew. He could see clearly through the orb to anywhere the other five lay and listen to what they could hear if he concentrated. And he liked to listen in often, if only to hear the rustle inside of Eilyan's satchel or the waves around Valtam.

He had come far to the south and farther to the west and sat now against an old baobab tree with the morning sun at his back. Local legends about a beast, perhaps more monster or spirit or myth, had caught his ear and now he very much wanted to see the creature with his own eyes. If it was any measure as terrible as the plains walkers said, Lossethir couldn't just leave it alone. What he knew for sure is that it wasn't one of those lurking monster that made off with young ones in the dead of night, no, it ate warriors. Or, at least, there wasn't anything left of the hunting parties that had gone out to slay it excepting the broken spear shafts and shattered flint heads.

One such broken spear tip had been given to him as a warning by the locals and he turned over. What flesh could do this to a weapon? He pressed the sharpened edge to his arm and winced. Still sharp. Sharp enough to pierce him with a good thrust.

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, he glowered in his hiding place. Winter air cloaked him and his breath turned to mist. Still warm on the inside, he assured himself. Then sun was oppressive in this land and the grass baked year round spare for the short rainy season. The twisting river had dwindled to a narrow silver strip caught between wide clay banks. The deer drank from the water within reach of the crocodiles, but the river monsters were too lazy, too full or too caked with mud to snap at them.

Lossethir's eyes drifted skyward. Here, so far removed from his element he felt powerless. Oh, he could will it to rain, perhaps even snow, but at great effort. It wouldn't last.

Wound about his fingers was a lock of chocolate brown hair, a momento from Abigail, the first and only trace of his family he'd found since parting ways with Eilyan and Valtam. Oh, Abigail: simple, beautiful, happy. He had been angry at first when he'd found her out. A mortal life with a fisherman's son? He'd laughed cruelly, and nearly struck the upstart kid; his chest puffed out, eyes full of defiance as he stood between the god and his wounded wife.

"Come on! Get up! I'm taking you home. Our father didn't send you into the world to expire in a fisherman's hovel!"

It hadn't been Toran's conviction or his speech about hard work and sacrifice (or whatever; he hadn't listened). No, only the choked, desperate cry of, "I love him!" from his sister stayed his hand and kept Abigail from being thrown over his shoulder and carried away. He'd sighed. He sighed now, still not understanding what there was in that boy that was worth giving up her birthright. She would grow old with him and die and it wasn't something that Lossethir wanted to think about. Reluctantly he'd given his blessing and wished them well, leaving them with a gold cup he'd taken as a souvenir in another land. They had refused at first, saying they had nothing to give in return.

"Well then, give me a long lock of your hair so I can show everyone you're alive and well. It's more beautiful than a golden trinket anyway."

Indeed it was. And she'd given so much more than a lock, saying that it only got in the way while she went about her chores. She'd bound her hair tight with a leather thong and whisked it all away with fish gutting knife. Standing there with a yard of hair in her outstretched hand, Lossethir finally accepted that she was as happy as she said and that there was no going back for her.

He replaced the shorn ponytail in his pack neatly. There was magic in the gift, Abigail's radiance and innocence was palpable. It would be a shame to let it go to waste, but for now Lossethir could think of no purpose for it beyond showing it to his family and telling them the story. He was a clever lad though; he'd think of something for it. No sense in letting good magic spoil!

Finally, in the late afternoon he caught sight of his prey lumbering towards the watering hole. The Ivory Lion was every bit as magnificent as the plains walkers had claimed. Had he known more about the world, he would have guessed what master claimed this beast as his pet and continued his journey in the opposite direction. Alas!

[Snacs]

An Attic bedroom, somewhere in the Mortal World

Alahm woke to the sound of soft whispering and the quiet pattering of bare footsteps on wooden floors. He was spread out on a small, sturdy little bed that was just a tad too small for him, for the Godling could feel the lack of support beneath his ankles. If it were not for the discomfort this caused Alahm could think himself asleep in Alu Mari, listening to the soft voices of the spirits playing in the trees.

The roof hanging above his head was slanted sharply at an angle, ribbed like a ships hold with crossing beams of ancient timber. These were strung with oddly shaped bits of glass and streamers of gold and red silk mixed with somber black.

It was a far sight smaller than Alu Mari's endless vistas.

The Godling turned his head slowly, and watched as a young woman set a small wooden tray upon an equally diminutive table. On it was a large ceramic jug glistening with water, and covered ceramic bowls that steamed lightly and smelled heavenly of freshly made food, despite their mere earthly vessels.

His shifting caused the bed to creak, and the woman turned. She was breathtakingly beautiful for a Mortal, with soft blonde hair and wide, soulful eyes. Her shapely lips pursed as she looked at him, then parted slowly, realizing he was awake. A small, surprised squeak escaped her, and without a word she fled through the doorway at the opposite end of the room.

Alahm sat up slowly and watched her curled locks bounding down a set of cramped stairs at the opposite end of the room. It was from there the whispering had been coming from, and excited sounds rose briefly, then settled into a tense, curious silence that brooded from the staircase up at him. It was rather disconcerting.

Something pulled at Alahm's left side as he moved, and he reached down to gingerly touch the neat bandage of white cloth stained with red that wrapped around his middle. He shifted uncomfortably at the sight of it, undoing the careful binding slowly, exhaling gratefully at the sight of smooth, unmarred flesh below. The memory of the wound made him a bit careful as he slowly rolled his shoulder and stretched, but all was as if the monster had never touched him!

In fact, to be honest he felt as if he could wrestle his brother Rao to a draw, or outrun a wind spirit.He sucked in a great lungful of air and felt his body sing with health. It was a heady experience, and he found himself giving a bright, cheerful smile at his surroundings as a smooth, husky voice rose in chiding tones at the base of the stairs, which was followed by half-hearted denials and muted replies.

The voice continued up the stairway, a dark-haired head turned to continue arguing in a light, fluttery language. A slender hand made shooing motions. It was the woman he had met the day of his arrival to the Mortal world, and she finally made a disgusted noise and shut the door behind her firmly before facing the Son of Fel.

Without hesitation she sauntered towards him, speaking first in that light, fluid language. At his look of incomprehension she pursed her lips thoughtfully, and spoke in an accented, broken version of one he did understand. It was hard to understand her perfectly with the way she rolled each syllable, but he found it oddly pleasing rather than annoying.
“You are alive, that is good. We feared you would end up dead with that wo-” She stopped when she noticed the smooth, unblemished skin where a wound had once been.

“So the soldier was true then, you are a child of Fel?” She asked breathlessly, her eyes alight with wonder. At the top of the stairs a curious assortment of women were peering over at the pair, listening in without any appearance of guilt at having cracked the door open to peek.

“I am. And I thank you for caring for me while I was injured.” Alahm spoke as politely as he could, which caused a flurry of hurried conversation from the group on the stairs. His savior said something sharp over her shoulder, which sent the women scurrying back downstairs. He watched the exchange curiously, noting the small smile that slipped past the woman's lips.

“Do not mind them, they are as curious as cats sometime, though they have the brain of mice.” She said with a soft laugh. It was a rather pretty, unassuming laugh. Alahm could only think that such things were what his Father had intended with this Mortal World.....

[Snacs]

The woman's name was Silk, Alahm soon learned. She and a dozen other young women lived in the house of an full-figured, elderly woman named Eio, who spoke with a deep, carrying voice of command and kept them in line with a lashing tongue and a dry, acidic wit that kept them busy during the afternoons cleaning, cooking, and taking care of any errands that older Lady could think of before they left for a night of working.

All of them were prostitutes of the city of Cahra, which was where he had ended up. They were quite blunt about their occupation, which in Cahra, was a job that, while not fully accepted, was not entirely outcast either. They served in brothels and the palatious homes of traders and soldiers and the rest, and returned to Eio during the day in much smaller, more mundane surroundings

The City was a small, but ambitious one , warmed by seasonal weather nearly year-round at the base of a chain of mountains, with fertile land trapped within small, pleasant valleys making up the majority of the nearby farmland that supplied the city its food. Winter rarely touched Cahra enough to make travel difficult, though the rainy season was known to bring flood to the city's outer Holdings. During the summer the ocean breezes drew the worst of the heat away.

What was most interesting to Alahm was the division of power among Cahra's current rulers. The city was split into quarters by semi-autonomous groups, who banded together to make policy and control the law. The two districts farthest from the water were known to be held under the sway of a brutish spirit named Had(who controled a large portion of the city's warriors), and his conniving, mortal partner the Aut.(who, while weak in the city, controlled much of the outer lands and held sway with the farmers and herdsmen.)

The sections making up the Harbor, dockyard, and trade streets had been under control of the Artisan's Guild, and until recent, the trading families headed by the Rasso clan. These divisions made for a sharp loyalty between the separate districts, but the alliance had worked in keeping any one group from seizing power.

That is, until Had had grown tired of having to compromise. The Spirit was known to hate the Rasso family, who found his warmongering stance distasteful, openly criticizing the way he continually threatened Cahra's neighbors, goading them away from lucrative trading alliances, and instead turning them into foes needing to be conquered.

Had needed the trading families to fund his armies and mercenaries, and the Artisan's guild, who depended on the Traders to sell their goods, backed them in policy. It was their money and influence allowed him to pay for the mercenaries that fought with his men, and bought them food and supplies, so he would suffer under their demands for peace rather than constant war.. At least, that was how it was until the day the Rasso clan refused to loan Had more gold for his campaigns.

One of the women of Eio's house, a tall, amazonian woman with skin the color of freshly tilled earth named Tia, had delighted in telling him of the scene in the Great Hall of Cahra. She had been with one of the Artisan guild Leaders that week(who had paid handsomely for the exclusivity of her presence, Alahm assumed, by evidence of the sumptuous, well-worked jewelry that had curled up her arms and down her legs). Tia had been sitting in the Hall when the head of the Rasso clan had pronounced that Had's armies would receive no more funding from the clan this spring until he made strides to curb his war efforts, which threatened to bankrupt the city's coffers with his endless conquests.

The spirit, a size and a half larger than any in the Rasso clan, had roared and thundered up and down the lengths of the Hall's chairs in a violent display.

Had could not stomach the loss of a season's gold for his warriors, and the Spirit had grown angry and sullen, refusing to come to the Great Hall after his outburst. His soldiers disappeared from the docks and streets, and half of the artisan's bodyguards resigned. Rumors began of men entering the city's outer walls in the middle of the night in twos and threes.

This went on for some weeks, until the day Alahm had arrived. Had struck that evening as the Artisan's were busy closing their shops, killing or driving out all of the Rasso clan in a single night's work. It had been a Rasso trading ship that he had passed that day, their men dying to get the bloodline safely away from Cahra and the violent grip of Had.

Of course, this had made the remaining trader's and their families sullen and angry, and the Artisan's fearful of a similar uprooting of their more vocal, anti-Had number. The city was now in the grip of a deep, simmering resentment, with Trader and Artisan gangs clashing with Had's supporters in back-alleys and taverns. No one knew what was going to happen next, but the tension was there, spilling out in riots and skirmishes, with the powerful of Cahra pulling supporters, making their own bids for control of the city.

The Balance that had brought prosperity to Cahra was broken, and Alahm felt the wrongness pervading the streets outside Eio's home strongly.

[Swordslinger]

Ashem

Osayu

The capital was an indeed a wonderful city, a center for trade and learning as well as the home of the royal family. The castle of the royal family stood in the middle of the city and was protected by an inner wall separating it from the rest of the city. The city itself looked very well, the style and layout of the city had not been left to chance and the streets where fairly clean. He supposed that the Spirit that in secret governed the country wanted his surroundings to be nice; he had after all lived here for centuries. He entered the inner city easily enough; unlike the outer gate that had been open even during the night, the inner gate was closed, which it probably was all the time. He twisted the perception of the guards making them view him as someone that was allowed to enter at will. Who, he did not know, their minds conjured up the images on its own. He reached the castle gardens and set down on bench. There he sat a while, then he gathered some of his power around him, he did not do anything in particular. However for anyone in the immediate area who were able to perceive that divine power he had just light a beacon. He had did not need to wait long before he heard steps approaching. Owner of many estates in Syelddyn, a capable swordsman and a well educated scholar, Lord Rynton had also been adviser for the king for the last 20 years. Or that was how the general populace knew him as. In truth, Lord Rynton was just the latest disguise of Vahyne, a powerful spirit and the true ruler Syelddyn, he had worked with the ancestors of the royal family for centuries all the way to the present day. “Good evening, Lord of Syelddyn” The spirit stood there hand resting on the hilt of his sword, his presence was much stronger than it had been in the dream, he seemed to radiate confidence and power. Ashem wondered if he had any chance if it came to a fight, maybe. At the very least, the whole city was sleeping and slipping away into a dream would be easy.

There was no fighting that night, not with swords and magic at least. Ashem told the spirit lord what had happened to him the last few months, starting with the shipwreck and all the way to him slaying the shadow and the people had dreamed it had started a religion. In the end it was agreed that the least violent option would be to let the new religion grow. Vahyne, the lord spirit had never cared for worshipping and religions had been discouraged throughout the realm. The new religion worshipping Ashem had quickly started to divide without any guidance and there were now a dozen branches, some of them rather extreme. Ashem would trough dreams legitimize one of the branches focusing in non violence and thereby the others would merge with that, and hopefully it would make it harder in the future for any other more dangerous religions to grow in the area. Ashem swore to the Spirit Lord that he would directly interfere with the governing of the country trough the followers, in turn Ashem was free to make Syelddyn his home in the real world without being opposed by any of the other spirits of the area.

-1 minor act: Organize religion

[TheDarkDM]

Valtam at The Leviathan's Teeth

The sound of another living being took Valtam by surprise. Twirling around, wreathed in a swirling halo of water, he beheld a boy barely old enough to be called a man. The lad had a sickly look about him, and his thin arms spoke to a life of hardship, yet he leveled his fishing spear towards Valtam all the same.

"Stay back, demon! You'll not take any more from my people!"

Valtam could not say what stunned him more, that he was somehow able to understand the boy's speech or that a mortal would dare to level a weapon against a child of Fel. Though the spear's head was made of bronze and bore the marks of a cunning artisan, it would do little to harm him in his own domain. Overcome by the tragic comedy of the pitiful scene, Valtam could not help but smile ruefully as he took a step forward atop the water.

"Be calm, boy. I know not who you think I am, but-"

Valtam was cut off by the boy's harsh cry and the sight of bronze flashing towards him. The young fool had thrown his spear, thrown it will all his might, and had Valtam been a mortal there was little he could have done to avoid being impaled outright. But the weaknesses of the mortal coil held little meaning to Valtam now, and the sea leapt reflexively to his aid. A tendril of water shot from the churning surface, knocking aside the flying spear, and in a moment a wave of animate water had engulfed the boy, holding him in a vice grip. Valtam followed close behind, riding a second wave that rose over the boy's head, crashing against the beach to take his attacker by the throat.

"You dare to attack a child of Fel!? What madness has taken hold of you boy?"

"Why nae attack one of Fel's bastards!? Ye've already taken all that my people have; there is little to lose in defying you now!"

"Cease your foolish lies boy. The children of Fel are new come to this world, strangers to most who live upon it. We've done nothing to your people."

"I'd like to hear you tell them that!"

The boy's rage was confusing to Valtam, yet there was no denying its sincerity. Could one of his siblings have passed this island? No, surely he would have felt it, even if there presence was long forgotten. And not even Brandon had been capable of the kind of barbaric repression the boy seemed to lay at Valtam's feet. Gingerly, he released his grip on the boy's throat and the waters about him receded, leaving the youth gasping on his knees before the new-born god.

"I do not know what horrors have been visited upon your people boy, but I swear to you it was not my doing, nor the doing of my kin. If another has sullied the name of Fel's children in their actions, we may have a common foe. What is your name?"

The boy cautiously stood from the wet sand, looking suspiciously at Valtam. This close, it was clear that the god towered over the boy, yet the spark of defiance refused to leave his eyes.

"I am Siegfried. If what ye say is true, ye might be able to help us. The chief can explain everything better than I."

"Then take me to him."

Siegfried turned towards the forest and began walking without another word. Valtam lingered for a moment on the beach before following. Loathe though he was to leave the sea that held such comfort for him, he was comforted by the scent of salt and the sound of waves that seemed to permeate the island. Soon enough, Siegfried had led them to a ragged game trail, and began to speak.

Valtam had landed his siblings at the northern tip of an archipelago known as the Leviathan's Teeth, a scattered collection of more than two dozen mountainous islands flanked by two larger ones dominated by a snow-capped peak, surrounded by a blackened, jagged reef. Spread throughout the islands was the native people known as the Thaeldan, blonde haired and blue eyed men who had stood proud as the masters of their limited domain. Though the Teeth provided meager land from crops, they had held abundant mineral wealth, and the Thaeldan had become master sailors by necessity, taking the majority of their bounty from beneath the waves and working gold and copper as an art. The tribes of the Thaeldan had lives thus for centuries, protected from the outside world by their remoteness and treacherous seas. But then, almost a century past, the "Children of Fel" had appeared. Capable of commanding the very waters, they had sunk many fishing boats and killed many men before appearing before the tribes and demanding tribute. For gold, they had allowed many ships to go forth and provide for their villages, but the Children were duplicitous. They led other men to the Teeth, and in exchange for riches guided them through the hidden reefs, allowing them to raid and plunder the lands of the Thaeldan to their heart's content. It was only a decade before the gold had been stripped from the islands, and the tribes had turned to copper to please the Children. But copper is far less grand than gold, and the Children allowed fewer and fewer boats out as the offerings became more frugal. Now, the Thaeldan's entire culture had devolved into a mad race to produce sufficient gifts to be allowed to fish enough to provide for their families, and it was a race they were losing.

As Siegfried told his tale, Valtam's face grew stonier, and in his eyes began to flicker a rage that was unknown to him. Had any of his siblings seen him, they would have gasped at the crimson flame that now seemed alive in his pupils, but Siegfried gave little thought to the strange glow. Finally, the trees began to clear, and Valtam beheld the Thaeldan village. A great smelter stood at the village center, belching out smoke and fire from half a dozen clay chimneys. Every detail of the building spoke to constant care and repair, in stark contrast to the rest of the village. At the outskirts, Valtam could see the tumbledown remains of houses long abandoned, and even the central longhouses showed signs of disrepair. Countless shingles were missing from the roofs, and here and there he saw patches where timber had rotted away only to be replaced by mud and reeds. The village seemed deserted, but before Valtam could question Siegfried pointed towards a stony path leading back to the sea.

"The call for offerings must have come. The Children will be by the shore."

"Then let us go to meet them."

Valtam and Siegfried ran the rest of the way, down the winding path to a beach that held a sorry excuse for a pier. A score of people had gathered by the water's edge, with a pitiful pile of copper wares between them and the water. Even at a distance, Valtam could see the care and mastery put into the crafts, but the pile was so small, and the glint of copper is a pale reflection of gold. Yet there was no sign of the so-called Children until Valtam and his guide had reached the sand.

From the horizon came a great wave, rising many feet into the air, that crashed upon the waters at the villagers' feet. The Thaeldan sank to their knees as a figure emerged from the spray, floating lightly on the wind. It appeared female, naked save for a torc and belt of polished gold. The figure's green hair cascaded down her back until it disappeared below the water, framing an alabaster face that was both beautiful and boundlessly cruel. Her black eyes looked down on the people of the village and their meager offering and she gave a derisive laugh.

"Is this all you poor fools can manage to please your gods? Do you disrespect us so?"

One man, the village Chief, dared to look up from his kneeling position into the being's shark eyes.

"Forgive us, mistress. The mines grow harder to work, and we be weaker every day. If we could send out a few more boats..."

His response elicited a kick from the spirit, sending the man flying back into the sand. As he struggled to regain his knees, blood pouring from a gash to the forehead, the spirit laughed again. Flexing fingers that flowed into razor claws, she surveyed the Thaeldan.

"So, you are too weak to pay proper deference to your betters? Perhaps the problem is not a dearth of food, but an abundance of people. Who among you would be willing to sacrifice yourselves for the glory of Fel's Children?"

"I am!"

The crowd of the village turned in shock as the spirit's head whipped towards Valtam, who came striding through the throng. The Thaeldan parted in stunned silence, and the spirit's gaze was drawn inexorably towards the golden crown upon his brow. A sliver of drool made its way past her thin lips, revealing a mouth of needle-like teeth as she smiled.

"Ah, a volunteer! So good of you to come forward. And with a suitable gift as well! We knew that the gold could not all be gone. Now, kneel before your god and present your gift in supplication."

"Before I do, I must ask - what did Fel teach in his enlightened realm?"

"What? It is not for you to know the secrets of the divine realm!"

"Really? Because I imagine you'd learn the difference between a true god and a spirit rising above their place."

The spirit's face contorted at that, and she whipped her clawed hands towards Valtam's throat, intent on decapitating this impudent mortal. Rage turned to horror though, as Valtam caught her wrist in flight.

"One would think he'd also teach how to properly rule."

With a heave, Valtam pulled the spirit from the water, hurling her over the crowd of villagers and into the stony embankment of the beach. She landed with a sickening thud, soft flesh protesting against jagged rock. Calmly, Valtam walked towards her thrashing body, and with every step the flame in his eyes glowed a little brighter. Finally, the spirit regained her feet, and rushed screaming towards him.

"How to treat those beneath you with respect."

A claw whistled towards his head, only to be dodged. Then another, towards his abdomen, which was caught in a terrible iron grip. A flick of Valtam's hand, and the spirit's wrist snapped, the black bone tearing its way out of the skin. The spirit wailed in agony, but her voice could not drown out Valtam's steady speech.

"How best to judge the sacrifices of your subjects."

Valtam's fist slammed into the spirit's jaw, sending her flying once again, only the dig a furrow in the sand. Making her way to her knees, the spirit began to crawl towards the sea, wrath forgotten in the face of this terrible unknown man. But unquestioned rule had made her sluggish, and she was still outside reach of the waves when Valtam's heel came down on her back. The spirit's spine snapped like a twig, and as she was kicked over she stared into eyes that were known to all that lived beneath the sea. For Valtam's gaze was not his own, but that of Leviathan, red and terrible and unstoppable.

"Please..."

"How to temper justice with mercy."

Reaching down, Valtam took the spirit by the throat, lifting her writhing form into the air. Clawed feet hung useless in the wind, but her arms still flailed against his unyielding grip.

"Yes...mercy...please..."

"If you would gain mercy, tell me where your leader dwells."

"He...he goes now to the capital of the Thaeldan with the majority of our host. He shall be there before tomorrow's sunset."

"Good. You have earned my mercy."

Valtam's hand clenched suddenly, and the spirit's neck crumpled under the assault. She scarcely had time to gasp before life fled her body, leaving her hanging in Valtam's hand like some unholy fish. He dropped her in disgust, the red flames leaving his eyes, and her body dissolved into a pearly foulness that was washed away in the waves. Turning, Valtam saw the entire village looking at him with a mix of awe and terror, as the Chief staggered towards him.

"Who...who are you?"

"I am Valtam, true child of Fel. And I require a guide to your capital."

Acts

1 Major Act - Gain Divine Athletics

[rapter200]

“You must have incredible powers over flora to do that...”, she said simply.*“I hope the price you paid for them wasn't as heavy.”

Without a word the journal that had been at his side every day since the moment he had received it found its way into his hands. He then handed it to her. The cover was plain, made from leather and had his name imprinted on it. This journal was his whole story, and it still continued it tireless task of chronicling every moment of his life.

“I lived a thousand life times in but a single day. I learned the ways of nature through the only way one can truly know it, by death. Death was as if a dear friend. But each death lead to new life, and so it is with the way of the natural world. Death leads to New Life. It is one of the few constants of our Father's creation, this I learned at much expense.”

A smile slowly crept up on his face for he had survived, survival is always something to be commended and treasured.

“That book I handed you, it is The Journal of Me. It chronicles every moment of my life. It is an endless tome, but if given over to study it can reveal much wisdom. If you were to flip to the last page you would see these very words escaping my lips right now being written down by some accursed magic, recorded for all eternity. It begins with the moment I touched it and it does not end. For this reason I keep it on my person at all times and have never given it over to anyone to look over. Excluding myself you my sister are the first to look upon that journal”

[BladeofOblivion]

Canticum Dolor, Part 5: The Song of Death

There was blood everywhere. Whatever that thing was, it had torn her flesh in twain like a knife through a leaf. As its eyes began to glow purple, Canticum ran.

She needed a moment to think, to fight off this entity. But it would never be satisfied with anything less than perfection. It needed the flesh of its host to become more human. All of it.

As she ran, Canticum took advantage of the fact that she now could play the song. With the Song of Creation, walls began to rise from the ground, obscuring her view of the beast that looked so much like her. As it turned the corner into the maze, Canticum slammed her lute of bone and twine into the beasts head, shattering its neck.

It still tried to get to her, but it couldn't move. It was paralyzed. Still, it cut the tendon that was long ago made famous by the Illiad, and she fell. There she was, bleeding to death on top of a doppelganger. She played the lute, but her trembling fingers caused her to miss a single note.

Death was a cold thing. She could swear she caught sight of her sister Shiou for a moment, but then she awoke.

The doppelganger was gone. She was gone. EVERYTHING was gone.

...except the lute. That lute that she had scrounged together from improvised materials was still sitting there, charged with some great power that she could never have comprehended before.

And yet she could. Was this Godhood? It barely felt any different, but it had to be! She had survived that place of horror, and it had erased itself from existence. It looked like it had never existed at all, actually. She had slain the source of the taint, after all, and consumed its very soul.

And she still knew the song. The Song of Creation was hers. And she realized that, regardless of her state of Godhood, she was powerful enough to change the world at her whim.

"I am ready."

*Quest Complete*

*+10000 XP: Level up!*

[Nefarion Xid]

Lossethir's Travels

Let it never be said that Lossethir was heartless.

He had spent several days stealthily tracking and observing the beautiful ivory lion Bakoshka, not to slay the beast, merely to learn from observation. Since he knew lions to be social animals, it would eventually lead him back to the pride and perhaps reveal even more creatures as magnificent as he. Upon returning to the pride, Lord Bakoshka saw that one of his lionesses had given birth and two white cubs now lay mewling under the sun.

Lossethir watched from a distance with grim fascination, piecing together old stories with the drama unfolding before his eyes. Bakoshka roared and chuffed his demands to the lioness who stood defiantly between him and her newborns refusing to stand aside. Though harmless now, the cubs could not be allowed to grow up and one day challenge Bakoshka's rule over the pride; he would murder his own sons to ensure his reign continued. He had done the grisly deed countless time before, but never had a mother interceded like this. The snarling continued until, at last, she'd had enough and swatted her lord across the face. Her claws skipped over his blessed skin, finding no purchase and drawing no blood. For her insolence, she was dead in a flash. One retaliatory swipe of the godbeast's huge paw threw the lioness to the ground with a cracked skull.

In the next instant, a heavy round stone careened off of Bakoshka's shoulder. A second stone was in Lossethir's hand before he realized he'd thrown the first. The stupid savage brute; he couldn't just watch as the monster dispatched his innocent sons. Pain was not a thing with which Bakoshka was familiar. Though no weapon could pierce his hide, everything inside was not immune from being battered and bruised, it seemed.

The beast charged, his progeny thankfully forgotten for a moment. This man-thing had hurt him and Bakoshka would take great pleasure in devouring him.

On instinct, Lossethir kicked off from the ground after loosing another rock. This one found its mark on the lion's skull, but bounced away more or less harmlessly, despite the great strength behind the throw. When sparring with his siblings, Lossethir would normally use the time during such a leap to survey the battlefield and calmly plan his next move. Unfortunately, while Valtam and Rao were unable to catch him while airborne, the godbeast found no trouble making a similar jump and intercepting him well before he landed. They tumbled in mid air, claws raking down Lossethir's arms as he kicked away to avoid being grappled. Grabbing hold of the beast's ear, he held on for his life while flinging himself onto the lion's shoulders just before impact with the ground. Bakoshka immediately took to rolling and flailing about in an attempt to rid himself of the man that was now riding him. Lossethir's arms found their way about the beast's throat and for several agonizing minutes he endured as the monster beneath him bucked and clawed. Shimmering blue blood poured freely from the many gashes and hot tears burned his eyes as Lossethir cursed his fate, sure that the lion would rend his arms asunder. Slowly, surely, Bakoshka's fury dimmed. First he staggered, then he laid down and at last his heart stopped beating. Lossethir squeezed for a minute after, just to make sure.

Bloodied, dirtied and just as savage as the thing he'd killed, Lossethir stood in wan triumph. His chest heaved and he had only enough sense to use his magic to freeze his wounds at the surface to keep himself from losing even more blood. Blue stains ran down the flanks of the dead beast and for a while, he rested against it until his strength and wits returned.

Eventually, Lossethir made his return to the village of the plains walkers, dragging Bakoshka's corpse by the tail and carrying his two sons draped over the same aching shoulder.

[Jade_Tarem]

Castellan's Rise, Part 4: In his own image.

A question that mocks all logic will nonetheless bear thought.

Castellan had several dozen angry mortals pursuing him, and it was at least partially his fault.

Each night, for the past twenty-one nights, he had led a raid on one of the other tribes, moving in a cycle. It was by far the worst twenty-one nights of his life. He tried to create plans that limited damage and casualties, but they were never so good that no one died. More terrifying was how readily the humans accepted it - this was life in the Ruby Wing Mountains, and despite Meriasper's claim Castellan was certain that the only reason a mountain-sized graveyard did not exist was because the tribes usually cremated their dead.

There were twelve tribes total, and he obviously wasn't going to raid the one he championed. This, plus the fact that he only needed to raid Greppa's tribe once, meant that he could finally move on to the next stage of the plan, and he had informed both Meriasper and the mortals of the tribe who had taken him in - the White Air tribe - of this fact.

What he had not told them was whose plan he was referring to.

It sure wasn't Meriasper's - it had taken him some time to sort through the things that the dragon spirit had told him, but when he had he had noticed that a few things still didn't add up. The spirit had stressed how important it was that the humans be made stronger through constant conflict - ostensibly for their own protection - but had also claimed that they were already the strongest force in this part of the world. He claimed he needed Castellan's aid with the grand plan, but Castellan could see no real reason for Meriasper to keep him around, besides having an extra - albeit highly exceptional - soldier. Finally, the dragon had stated that they were outside the known world, but if that were true then how could he know about what the monsters that had assaulted the tribes had done to other civilizations? He supposed some of those monsters may have been intelligent to brag about it before they died, but Meriasper should have been smart enough to suspect hyperbole.

For I did not create this world and give it form for naught.

No, the spirit had lied to him again. Not that Castellan was surprised, but it did make his final choice about what to do a lot easier. The hard part was executing his new plan - which brought him back to the present scenario. He dove through stands of trees - which was harder to do in the middle of a forest at night on a steep incline than you might think, and occasionally used his magic to keep him from falling from a missed step. Castellan had long been able to summon up a pair of wings that could give him a boost in any direction, even allowing him to 'jump' off of thin air, but he couldn't fly with them - it simply took too much power and concentration.

Fortunately, it was more than enough for him to make it back to safe territory ahead of his pursuit. He heard the sounds of celebration from within Rynar, and saw the warriors inside counting their spoils. For each raid, Castellan had been a diversion. This was important because it allowed him to draw defenders away from the main force of White Air tribesmen, keeping casualties down. Even more importantly, it had allowed him to steal one or more books from each tribe the first ten times, and to leave a book and a note behind for the last eleven, generally propped against the door to each tribe's temple.

It does not matter what you do or are, or where you dwell.

His plan, in addition to keeping the other tribes shaken, wary, and in a generally bad mood, also required the White Air tribe to be in a similar state. No, this celebration wouldn't do at all. He gave a tiny, imperceptible nod of his head, and suddenly alarm bells were ringing from within the temple.

"The artifact! The lens is stolen once again!" Panic immediately went up among the crowd, people racing about while frantically searching for anyone suspicious. Ironically, they would need the artifact to actually find who had stolen it.

The child of Fel smiled. "How does that keep happening?" This was the tenth time it had disappeared since he had begun his plan.

Castellan left them to their sudden catastrophe. The next step in the plan needed to happen tonight.

***

To explore this world and see it is to see the power of Fel.

Castellan walked into the cave that had been the site of so much work lately. "The raid went well. Are you ready to move to the final part of the plan?"

Vosira and Greppa nodded. Even now, Fel had his doubts about their inclusion in this mess. They had been essential to the previous stage - translating each tribe's "language" and decoding it back into the speech of his father, sometimes working all through the night to create a translation guide for each tribe - a guide that now rested in the hands of each tribe's leaders, along with a note in their own language explaining what it was.

But the next step was far more dangerous. Vosira and Greppa each had their tribe's respective artifact with them - combining the powers of the two had allowed the girls to use illusions and deceptions far beyond their normal limits. That power would certainly make acquiring the other ten artifact pieces easier, but Castellan was not sure that he was willing to risk their lives on this, his final raid.

It is our very nature to wonder what is right.

"You realize that this is no longer a game. If I fail to evade each tribe's Holy Wardens, you will likely die right along with me."

Both girls nodded. "But if we don't go, you might fail because of that, and then the wars won't stop."

"I think. It could be that Meriasper has a higher plan than that. In any case, this would be your last chance to go back to your tribes. I would never tell anyone."

"No! If this doesn't work, then one day we'll both die in the fights. I don't want everyone to keep fighting!"

And hope we never stray too far, as all our dreams take flight.

Castellan closed his eyes. "Alright."

He strapped on the harness that he had made with what little spare time he had - it had a bag to store the artifact pieces in, and hand and footholds large enough for a small child to hang onto while riding on his shoulders.

Vosira climbed up. Greppa's role would be to lace the path between each tribe with illusions for them to hide in. Vosira's would be to ride with him, giving him the disguises and concealment necessary to steal the other ten pieces.

There is no easy answer - make your choice and make it well.

With all of their gear in place, Castellan set off into the darkness. It was going to be a long night...

***

"Good evening, High Priest."

Castellan nodded, and entered without a word. Once inside, he made his way to the last artifact - in this case, a long handle. He didn't know for sure what this did, but given the nature of the other pieces, he suspected that he knew what the complete artifact was.

When he found it, he took it from its resting place and quickly made his way to the door. So far, none of the other tribes had questioned their High Priest - it had been straightforward and frighteningly easy to collect all of the pieces.

Not this time (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=51dHLxrRQ_k#t=1m4s). At the door to the temple, Castellan came face-to-face with an understandably surprised looking High Priest. He swore and bolted for the gate. On his back, Vosira shifted the illusion to one of total transparency. Castellan dove through the gate before the mortals could close it, but the noise he made in doing so set off alarms throughout the fortress. Vosira, already exhausted, lost her concentration and the illusion slipped.

Castellan glanced up - false dawn from the ribbon of light was mixing with a slow brightening of the sky. He could dimly hear other alarm bells going off, echoing off the mountainsides as other tribes awakened and began whatever their morning rituals were only to discover that their greatest treasures were missing.

If you do so at your best then you will know the power of Fel.

Castellan grinned as he wove through the forest once again. His thoughts went out to his siblings. How would Lossethir have handled this? What questions would Keth have for him? Or Eilyan? Rao would have loved it all, he was sure.

He wasn't completely out of allies, though. He had managed to move too fast, and had hit too many sites, for everyone to know who he was. In fact, only the last group had managed to get a good look at him - the other eleven tribes might as well suspect their own leaders.

With the last of Greppa's power, he made it into a secluded spot, high up above the fortress of Rynar - by design, the last tribe he'd hit had been the one adjacent to the tribe of White Air. And there, he began to work.

With all of the pieces right in front of him, it quickly became obvious what the artifact was - it was the Felhammer, one of Fel's greatest tools of creation. The spirits of Alu-Mari had said it had a hundred powers. When he'd asked Fel about it, the old god had replied that it only had one - he had simply used it in a hundred ways. As Castellan put the pieces back together, he saw that Fel was, as usual, correct. The Felhammer was a tool of creation alone - it could enhance, reshape, amplify, and forge - and it could do that to anything. Castellan could see why Fel had dismantled it, but it was those powers that he needed now.

And so it was complete - the lens he had spent so much time in fit into the side of the head, the head itself contained gemstones and ends that had made up other pieces. Greppa's tiny black pearl had fit into the pommel, and gold filigree had clasped around the black handle, and as he picked it up he could feel the power it gave off.

"Now... now what?"

Fell looked at the girls, both out of breath. "Now? You need to run. Meriasper will not be happy."

"Are you going to fight him?"

"Probably."

"Can you... can you beat him?"

"I doubt it."

Greppa leaned forward. "Then what was this about?"

Castellan hefted the hammer, and considered. "Progress. I'm going to reforge Meriasper's 'food chain.' Whether I live or die, the war ends today."

Castellan waited until the girls had made it a fair distance away before he began to move up the mountain, toward the very top, idly twirling the hammer as he went.

When he arrived, he simply focused. He knew the Felhammer couldn't be used as a weapon. Nonetheless, he intended to use it to destroy Meriasper. This was the last part of the plan - after that, he would just have to wing it, and would probably die doing so.

After a moment, he knew he had successfully used the Felhammer. Now all that remained was for Meriasper to show up...

"Fel-child, I don't know what I'm going to do with you. If you're not arguing with me, you're doing your job *too* well."

Castellan smiled. "I don't know what you're talking about. I have the Felhammer. All twelve artifact pieces have been reunited. All that's left is for you to bequeath it upon your chosen people, and they will sweep across the mountains and claim victory."

"Don't be dense." Meriasper shook his enormous head. "The whole point of the war was to see which tribe would be able to claim the artifact pieces for themselves."

"Well, yes. But that seems rather inefficient. This way you can do it without all of the bloodshed. And without having to explain to each tribe how many times you lied to them." As he spoke, Castellan never stopped swinging the Felhammer around. It really was an incredible hammer - somehow retaining balance despite the four foot length of the haft and the size of the head.

"Why would I do that to begin with? I owe them no explanations."

"Well, you owe me one. This has been bugging me - you say that the tribes have defeated every external threat in the area. If that's true, why do they need to keep killing each other to get stronger? It's just senseless bloodshed." He paused. "Unless you have a bigger goal in mind."

"Well of course. Did you think I intended to sit up here with the backwards mountain people in the back of beyond forever? There's an entire world out there."

"Ah, so you planned to take the survivors of your brutal twelve-way conflict, and then... conquest? Today the mountains, tomorrow the world?"

"Something like that." Meriasper's eyes lit up. "And why not? I am the strongest spirit in these lands, and once these people have been sufficiently reforged into an instrument of my will, I shall sweep down out of the mountains like an avalanche! The fittest can not only survive, they can rule!"

"You would rule, you mean."

"Yes, I thought that was clear."

"And you feel no obligation to the people that would die in the meantime? They did save your life."

"I did, at first - indeed, I couldn't have created such a deception without putting some real feeling into it. But I have given them so much more in return - and at the end of the day, what is man but a monster that can build and learn? No, they are better in a servile role. You, though... you could have been different. They would have needed a central leader - a person better than them, but one that they could still relate to. I could have easily used you in such a capacity." Meriasper smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "Also, I needed you to reassemble the Felhammer and use it. The old man used some of his best magic on it - it breaks apart if any spirit touches it."

"The Felhammer can't be used as a weapon."

Meriasper laughed. "Such limited vision! The Felhammer can make anything! It can amplify the power and range of anything! Anything short of a god, that is. I taught these mortals how to make siege engines - their catapults, their ballistae, their walls and fortresses, but the Felhammer can surpass even Fel's natural laws!" The spirit looked straight at Castellan. "And that can still come to pass. We can restore the Felhammer's pieces to the temples, and carry out the plan in its entirety, reshaping the world in our image. No more lies, Castellan, son of Fel. I offer you the whole world as my foremost avatar! What do you say?"

Castellan gave the hammer a final twirl and caught it, holding it at the ready. "I believe... that we should ask the tribes what they think about all this."

The dragon spirit's eyes narrowed. "They don't need to know anything about it."

"And that's where you're wrong. They already know."

The Felhammer pulsed wickedly. Meriasper eyed it, sharp enough to catch on. "You've used it already. What did you do?"

"I've used its powers, of course. As you said, it can amplify and create anything. I thought about using it to create a giant block of metal that would squash you, or a weapon powerful enough to defeat anything, or amplifying my own power to raise myself to your level, but all of those options only lead to more bloodshed - not to mention being incredibly disruptive to the world. You can't hit something with a giant hammer as hard as you can and not expect cracks to appear, after all. No, I amplified our little discussion here, and created auditory copies of it near every tribe, along with a transcript."

"So what? They can't understand a word of it."

"...which brings me to the other thing I need to tell you about. You got lazy when it came to teaching languages. I've spent my time with some of the local mortals, and they've left a translation guide with each tribe. Normally, it would take a long time to translate, but the difference between languages is just word substitution. Soon, very soon, the humans will know everything."

"..." Meriasper blinked and began shaking. Castellan guessed that the root cause was rage, rather than fear. "I confess that I may have lied to you earlier when I said I'd help you. I figured that if deceit and theft was good enough for a 'god,' it was good enough for me. I believe that the mortals are more than monsters that know a few extra tricks. I believe that because their creator told me so."

He gestured with the Felhammer, indicating all twelve tribes. "I have given them the ability to express, to communicate with each other, and to ask questions before they destroy themselves. I have already remade them in *my* image. So no, I'm not going to use the Felhammer for you, and I won't have any part of your grand plan."

"That is a shame, Fel-child. It will take me some time, but I think I can undo the damage you've done. Wars are surprisingly easy to start, regardless of whether or not the mortals are upset now. What's sad about this is that I have no further use for you at all - but I do need the hammer. If you won't use it for my cause, then pieces will do almost as well. At least, they will until I can find one of your siblings."

Castellan silently vowed not to let the poisonous spirit get anywhere near his brothers and sisters. "I am ready to face you, monster."

"You really aren't." With that, Meriasper struck - there was no advance warning, and no chance to dodge. The spirit's tail simply lashed out faster than the eye could follow.

***

Castellan's Rise, Part 5: ...it's the sudden stop at the end.

Castellan was airborne, and it was definitely his fault.

He was sailing through the air with the force of Meriasper's impact, and from what he could tell would likely land in one of the lava flows far below. He somehow doubted that the dragon would save him a second time.

He'd tried to block with the Felhammer. It hadn't gone well. The artifact had shattered into its component parts the moment it had made contact with Meriasper, and now they were flying through the air past him, many of them now damaged. The only pieces he had left were most of the haft, the black pearl from Greppa's tribe that had been placed in the pommel, the severely cracked lens from the tribe of White Air, and the part of it that he thought was responsible for enhancing and amplifying things - although it was badly damaged too.

Was this my purpose, father? Did I do well? Did I stop the war?

He idly rubbed the lens, and was surprised when it responded to his thoughts. It responded with the voice of Fel.

The power to change and shape the world was always yours. You chose to stop the war and if you continue on this path, it shall be stopped. That is the privilege of being a god. Your purpose is for you alone to decide. Freedom was my last and greatest creation with the Felhammer. That is the privilege of being a man.

But I'm not a god! Castellan smiled wrly. And when I hit that lava flow, I won't be a man either.

Meriasper was wrong about one final thing. Do you recall when he said that the Felhammer cannot make a god? It can - *if* you think you are ready. The pieces are still here. All you must do is command it.

I... don't know. But my task isn't finished yet. And so...

Castellan took a deep breath and opened his eyes, noting that dawn had finally arrived. "I am ready. I, Castellan, son of Fel, command you to make me a god!" As he shouted, the lens in his hand shattered.

The son of Fel came to an abrupt halt in midair, as did all of the parts of the Felhammer. Each of them began to glow before bursting in sequence with a bright flash of light and a crack of thunder - all except the three that Castellan still held. These details would be remembered later - at the moment, all anyone could focus on were the words that boomed out, sealed into the Felhammer long ago and finally released (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_BTXGiJVab8#t=0m28s).

"Infinite is my gift to all – your path shall be your choice.
A world to shape, a world to wake, a world to hear your voice.
If you can see beyond yourself, look past your mortal shell.
And once you have, learn what it is to wield the power of Fel!"

The last verse! Castellan blinked as he hovered there. His last verse wasn't for me alone. He knew I wouldn't understand it on Alu Mari! After a moment of total silence, Castellan frowned. Wait, how am I hovering?

But he was. The effect that he could summon up to give him the occasional boost had solidified, and the enormous silvery feathered wings beat steadily, requiring no more effort than standing. In addition, he could feel a new strength flowing through every part of his body.

He regarded the broken haft in his hand. If he remembered correctly, this could still reshape and re-purpose physical objects. He used the Felhammer's power one more time - on itself. I am sorry, father, but I must make your tool into a weapon after all. The haft turned into a hilt and cross guard, and from that cross guard a long, reflective, broad, solid blade sprung. The pearl remained in the hilt. That should be sufficient.

Far below him, Meriasper had begun to fly up to him. The dragon spirit looked extremely angry - not to mention huge. Castellan frowned. Maybe a bit bigger... He increased the weapon to the dimensions of a two-handed sword. Despite its size, he found he could still swing it easily in one hand. Amazing. He felt the last of the creation magic leave the weapon - only the pearl remained. That will have to be enough.

Meriasper finally reached his altitude. "What was that voice? What did you do?"

"That voice was our creator, my father. Apparently, I am to be a god."

"You? Don't be-"

"Yes." Power rolled through the word. "And not your kind of god, either. These people need guidance - a friend and benefactor, not an absentee puppet master. I propose a new plan, Meriasper. We shall not have the humans kill themselves until one group of super soldiers remains. We shall instead unite their tribes, integrating all of their peoples to promote the growth of ideas and society. When the time is right, these people shall sweep down from the mountains like an avalanche, sharing their knowledge, experiences, and culture. Some will reject them and make war, others will embrace them and make great things. Eventually, all of them will unite enough to explore Fel's creation in its entirety, even to the point of reaching for the stars themselves, though it may take thousands of years. And when that new dawn arrives, the edges of the map will be filled in. Mortals, though still fallible and flawed, will stand above all other contenders - creatures, animals, and monsters both human and not - and no more shall we write 'here there be monsters.'" He gave Meriasper a hard look. "World domination can't be made exclusive. No more lies, spirit Meriasper. I offer you the whole world - a chance to see the mortals rise from dust to dreams, and us to aid them. What do you say?"

"I say that you are a naive fool, Fel-child. Your feel-good plan will fail, you will falter and die, and another group of humans will wipe out this group, accomplishing nothing. A hundred years of effort will go to waste." A burst of flame shot from his nostrils. "I will not allow it! You may have figured out how to fly, but that trick alone will not save you. I am Meriasper! And I am still able crush you."

"You really aren't."

The dragon-spirit lunged at Castellan, wings beating powerfully. The son of Fel twisted his wrist, light shone off the blade of his sword, and he disappeared (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kRv9QprVeGI&feature=related).

Meriasper's attack connected with nothing. After a moment, he felt a burning pain slice along one of his wing joints. A glance back showed Castellan already behind him, but a moment later, he disappeared again, only to repeat the attack.

"That's not good enough! You don't know what power is boy! Or how much you're going to need to wrest this world away from beings like me." Meriasper clasped all four of his claws together, muttering something. A moment later, a blast of pure force shot out in every direction. With no way to dodge, Castellan braced for impact - he succeeded in not being flattened, but was surprised to find the illusion torn away. Narrowing his eyes, he shot skyward, Meriasper in pursuit.

Looking down, he called back, "So if power is what gives a being the right to rule, does that mean that I'm right retroactively if I defeat you?"

"A moot question, brat! You won't defeat me." Meriasper exhaled, and a plume of flame raced upward. Castellan wove to one side - he found he could dodge in midair faster than he could react on the ground, although coming out of a maneuver or changing directions rapidly was harder the faster he went. Meriasper continued, mockingly, "You plan to promote peace through deicide! Should we call you the god of irony?" The spirit caught up to Castellan and claw met blade as the dragon began his assault, both of them still rising.

"Were you actually a god, that would be your domain! Had the mortals followed your advice when they first found you, you would be dead even now, and they with you! Your mutual trust is what made you strong, up until you started trying to make them weak again. You went from being a god to a parasite and a hypocrite!" Castellan snarled as he and Meriasper passed through the clouds, still tearing at each other. "Your refusal to see them as anything but tools is a defense mechanism - you can't face that fact that your ambitions corrupted your initial ideals. The only monster off of this edge of the map is YOU!"

"Shut up! You've spent a solid amount of your time on this world as fish bait. I've had a hundred years to study the humans! They can't rise above their own nature." The dragon flexed, and the coils of his body twisted into a cage around Castellan, boxing him in. "The discussion is over, and while I'd love to have you around long enough to show you just how wrong you are, only one of us can rise to the top." Meriasper exhaled, and fire raced out at the trapped god.

When it faded, Castellan was gone, only a few sparkling particles remaining. Meriasper sighed. "Hrmph, so much for that. I'll have to be more careful next-"

A number of glittering particles suddenly coalesced above him, and a moment later another pair of the spirit's wings were tumbling to the ground. "What?"

The remains of the amplifier gem trickled from Castellan's hand. He had managed to enhance his motion-spell enough to teleport, at the cost of the last piece of the true Felhammer. All that remained was the sword, which he rested against the back of Meriasper's neck. "You've been outmaneuvered, both literally and figuratively. Surrender."

"For a being that's apparently lighter than air, you are exceptionally dense, Fel-child." The dragon twisted (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iUvhbQSSSxg&feature=related#t=5m3s), the cut on the back of his neck not deep enough to cripple him. His claws lashed out, catching Castellan in the chest and hurling him downward.

"Outmaneuvered? What a stupid thing to say." Castellan disappeared as he plummeted into the clouds, and Meriasper waited until he could feel another cut, then reached out with impossible speed and grabbed the blade of the godling's sword, flinging it away and sending Castellan tumbling. "I've faced threats that make your encounter with the Leviathan seem like a gentle bath." He breathed fire again, and Castellan, still recovering, was unable to escape being singed. The son of Fel dove for speed, Meriasper following. "I've seen stars burn their way to the ground, screaming the whole time." He closed in, noting that Castellan was moving to recover his blade, which was still free falling. "I've defeated every foe that has entered my domain, destroyed every being that threatened my power, and each of them was convinced that they were too strong, or too fast, or too magical, or too damn clever to die. You will be no different, Fel-child!" Castellan put on a burst of speed and grabbed the sword again, bringing it around just in time to block another attack, the force of which sent him hurtling down again.

Meriasper hovered there, above him. "There are none here who can challenge me. What the mortals have lost in reverence they will make up for in obedience, due to the object lesson that I'll make of -"

A dark blur, about the size of a man's arm, shot across the brightening sky, tearing through yet another of Meriasper's wings. A stone the size of a torso suddenly launched itself from one of the mountains, failing to connect with Meriasper but still causing him to duck. "What...?"

Castellan finally grinned again. "Those would be your obedient tools, which you once described as the most powerful force in this land. It seems they've finished translating your message from earlier. One of the problems with conditioning them to believe that they're the chosen people of their god is that none of them feel disposable anymore. And you gave them all very large weapons, let's not forget that."

"Impudence! It's become clear to me that I'll need to start all over again." More projectiles lanced out from the twelve peaks. Accuracy was terrible, but they made up for it in volume - a hundred years of warfare had left the mortals with no shortage of weapons or ammunition. Castellan took the opportunity to become invisible again, beginning to ascend as he did so. He was bleeding and burned, but Meriasper was starting to look bad himself, as the siege weaponry tore at him.

The dragon spirit finally managed a new spell - a shield to protect him from the barrage, to obtain time to think. A brief silence descended on the mountains. Meriasper started to speak again, but never got the chance.

Castellan fell at him like a thunderbolt. Enough of Meriasper's wing surface had been damaged that the spirit could barely move, and this time Castellan's attack cleaved through spine. Meriasper fell, slamming down on one of the bridges spanning a lava flow, cracking it badly. Castellan descended and hovered over him.

"Ungrateful..." Meriasper wheezed. His eyes focused on Castellan. "So... you think you can replace me, boy? These humans needed me."

"They did... but they don't now. You are not what you once were, Meriasper. You've been falling for a long time." Castellan continued to hover. "But I have no intention of replacing you. I... understand what you tried to do, but I think it would have only ended in torment and destruction. And the mortals, too, deserve a chance to decide."

Meriasper grinned weakly. "Is that so? I think you'll find that they are capable of some truly terrible decisions." He sighed, and then stared hard at Castellan. The child of Fel almost gasped - his mind flooded with images and sensations. A man who spilled blood constantly with a clean blade. A woman who would kill even a god for the right price. Empires spanning countless islands, with fanatics and devotees to wicked men and women expanding constantly. Cults devoted to terrible ideas and creatures. Cults devoted to terrible ideas that were creatures. War and chaos everywhere, with more upheaval to come.

"I can't let all of my work go to waste. I thought I should show you some of what awaits you and your new plan. The edges of the map are not filled in yet - you have a long, long way to go." Meriasper closed his eyes, and in a tone of voice that made it impossible to tell if he was being sarcastic, he grunted, "Good luck, Castellan." The bridge collapsed, dumping Meriasper into the stream of molten rock. Within moments, he was gone.

***

Days later, Castellan stood at the jagged edge of the broken bridge, thinking over the spirit's last words while gazing upward at the aurora that spanned the mountain range - now showing every color instead of just red. It was true that his problems were much bigger than any one monster. By comparison to what he'd just seen, the Leviathan seemed like a tiny threat.

There were also the mortals to deal with. As is so often the case, their opinion of him now varied wildly. Some were happy to accept him and wanted him as their new leader. Others were angry enough to approve of his killing Meriasper, but did not want him as their ruler. Still others, either because they were fond of Meriasper or because they wanted to continue with the spirit's plan anyway, wanted him dead or gone as soon as possible.

Castellan could no longer afford that. He had sacrificed too much to see the Shining Wing Mountains, as they were now called, bathed in blood again - especially now that everyone was finally on the same page. After communicating with the leaders of each tribe, he decided to remain long enough to ensure that the general weariness concerning the warfare and desire for peace and stability outweighed old grudges and tribal centrism. He drew up some guidelines, the very first steps of his plan for a united area, but pointed out with each distribution that the mortals may need to use their own judgment in difficult situations. To those that rejected his guidance, he stated that he could show them how to make themselves greater than even Meriasper had promised, and that they should try his advice first. If they would not bend even that far, he told them that they should probably leave - the world was changing.

Now that he was fully healed, there were few that could challenge him directly, but he had no intention of leading through brute force or deception. He hoped to win them all over to his way of thinking, but knew that it was unlikely.

And speaking of deception, he had heard in one of the old stories that the spirits of Alu Mari would tell that a weapon as powerful as the one he now owned deserved a name. As "Felhammer" was no longer appropriate, he had considered what the object truly was - a weapon of danger and deceit. Not truly a part of him, but there to remind him that it may be needed. And he would need to balance his own idealism with ruthless pragmatism on a razor's edge to keep his dream alive without sacrificing his people, or vice-versa.

He named the sword Meriasper.

But Castellan's eyes now turned south. As soon as possible, he wanted to start the search for his siblings. While older than most of them, he was not the toughest, nor was toughness the only indicator of survivability. Some of the others had to still be alive, somewhere...

Actions:
First Turn Artifact Creation: Meriasper (Sword)

Meriasper is a two-handed sword, made of a tough but light material that Castellan can wield in one hand in necessary. The last remaining piece of the Felhammer - the Pearl of Illusion - is slotted at the pommel of the weapon, and allows Castellan to become invisible, and possibly silent, for brief periods of time.

Visual Effect - when the weapon's power is used, light flashes across the blade even if the angle is wrong or the light insufficient for such a flare.

[DoomHat]

To Defy One's Own Heart

Ahmi witnessed something truly amazing. She knew that Rao possessed some manner of sorcery. She had seen him use it recover from injury and fatigue with abnormal speed on many occasions. This however, was something completely different.
Day after day Rao had braved the cruel depths of The Fangs. Each time he’d been thrown back, but each time he’d make it just a little further then the last. This time however, it seemed nothing could stop him. The water seemed to offer him no resistance as he moved. Ahmi could scarcely keep up with him. When a giant squid approached, she thought she would have to save him. Instead, she looked on with horror and confusion as he successfully beat it back with not but his hands and feet.
She briefly lost track of him. She, like all other things living here, traveled the currents like a network of undersea roads. The terrible force exerted by the currents made little else feasible, and yet Rao plowed through them, heedless. Unable to follow, she doubled back to the graveyard of ships, to await his return.
As the time passed she grew anxious. Had something terrible happened to him after all? What manner of power could make a man swim as no beast of the sea could? Would he come back at all? Did he still need her? She resolved to dive back in and search for him, just as he resurfaced.
She scolded him. Her angry chirps and warbles pieced his heart with their magic as he clambered out of the water. As she continued venting her frustrations and making demanding sounds, wanting to know just what it was she’d seen him do, and how was it he’d never done it before, Rao simply sat next to her and looked away. She grabbed his chin and forced him to meet her eye. She couldn’t recall him ever having made a face so sad.
Ahmi pulled away. Rao turned his eyes back to his feet.
He spoke, “Me and my brother Valtam… we raced sometimes. He claimed to be the fastest swimmer of any of us, so I wanted to prove him wrong. But I never did,”.
Ahmi turned to look at him, and listened intently as he continued, “One time, after he’d won again, he asked me, ‘Are you trying to beat me? Or the water?’. I didn’t understand then, but now I think I do,”.
Time passed, and Ahmi nudged at him to continue.
“I think, I’ve figured out how to beat the water… its, a little hard to explain,” He said as he put a hand over his eyes, to hide the tears.
She threw her arms around him. She was beginning to understand now. He’d told her about Alu Mari, and how he’d fought to escape. He told her often of his dream. He had to find something he was afraid of, confront it, and teach the world. He could never do that in a place that didn’t challenge him. She’d grown to love him, and in her love, understood him. She could help him one last time.
She sang. She sang a seductive song, meant to bind him, enthrall him to her forever. She gave it her all, working every nuance and exploiting the shape of his soul as she knew it. Carefully, gradually, she laid chains around his heart, so that he'd never have the strength to leave...
He suddenly shoved her off of him, and screamed, “NO! NO! No, I still have a mission in this world. People are counting on me. Even now someone snivels quietly under the heel of another. There are other places to challenge me. I may yet face the Leviathan again!”.
His words were heated as he rose to his feet and pointed toward the towering, absolutely shear cliff-face to the south.
He said, “There! I am going to see the other side of that great stupid hillock, and if needs be, beat the crap out of whatever I find!”.
She smiled weakly to herself. She knew him too well. She gasped as he suddenly scooped her up in his arms.
He looked deep into her eyes and whispered, “and when I’ve found whatever it is I need to find out there, I‘ll come back for you,”.
Lightning stuck near them, and yet they held fast to their deep kiss, utterly lost in each other. Rao’s heart fluttered, betraying a portion of divine power that surged into Ahmi.
She watched him take off running. He ran a distance across the surface of the water with his bare feet, before diving under. She waved to him as he disappeared and she swayed in a blissful haze. She would wait for him. However long it took, she would wait.

-1 Major: Gain Water Mastery
-1 Major: Create Exarch (The Siren Ahmi)

[Mono Vertigo]

The description she was given of that artifact was very, very interesting. More than that, the idea of a self-recording book sounded marvelous to her. What enchantment had been put upon these pages? In her supernaturally vibrant eyes, gleamed an ambitious flash. Yes, she needed to be able to produce such an effect to serve her cause.
“I hope this book will end up huge and thick”, she replied, not quite daring to open the Journal of Kalonoth yet. One day perhaps, when time would be right. One day. Not today, for she had much more left to do, and she suspected Kal preferred to keep his privacy private (a shame, really, but family was family). She was patient, and silently dying to read it all because she just had to know.
In exchange, she put her blindfold in his hand. “This is Antabagh, the main tool I've talked about. It blinds you from what you usually see, and instead shows you one different reality every time you put it on. It takes cleverness to understand the alternative sights properly. Still, it is invaluable to me.”

[Madwand]

Brandon the Witchking

Written while listening to this. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sx5FP0SSEYc)

Everything was so.. normal. Queen is dead, year have passed, nothing change. When Brandon passed the unguarded gate year ago, full of hope, full of.. anticipation. Now he was only bitter.

Year spent on training, preparation and planning. For one move. One.

But now he realized a fundamental mistake. People. No one seems to care. Queen is dead, King is alive. Annual council is held and no one question what happened. Traders argue over profits, peasants about taxes, husbands whines about unfaithful wives, there is family feuds about sheep and another without any reason.

Brandon waited. And he drift to memories. When Fel explained him abut carful balance of world. When Brandon had first heard about dangers of world. Then he committed to mastering that forces, to protect people from them. He, Keth, Torallden intended to shield humanity. Everyone in his way. Then he start hate mortals. Now he find out better word. Brandon despite them. Short-sighted, short living, disloyal and cowardly. He wonder why Fel shaped mortal kind that way. He find no answer. Brandon lowered his head when he entered main square. King where crown of his mother and his own cloak of black and purple. Work of the spirits of Alu Mari. "Is there is one thing you don't steal from me King?" Brandon thought hatefully.

He waited. He lowered his head, he hunched shoulders and hidden mutilated hand in other hand. He looked as old man. When he kneel before King, no one recognize him.

"What brings you into the presence of King of Averis?" herald intoned traditional question.

'Justice. Vengeance. But when I uttered that froths I realize I want only one thing from the king. My cloak."

Brandon bind time, forced world to slow down. The open hand was aimed with a precision that did credit to his long years of training on Alu Mari, as though all of that training focused on this instant. Almost every muscle of his body cooperated in the placement of it. The hand struck the soft part of Wizard's abdomen just below the sternum, slammed upward with terrible force over the liver and through the diaphragm to crush the man's heart.
With one gurgling scream, the dead king jerked backward across the seat. Brandon held in the upraised hand still beating heart.

Dead king screamed. Terrifying cry of tortured man. Without stop. Brandon enchanted traitor soul within ripped heart, leaving mind in dead, rotting corpse.

Men cried for mercy, men run, men trample each other to escape unnatural scream. Rabbits, all of them! And how they cowered when they saw the predator!

Deep below city, soul ward break. Angry, hungry spirits were freed to world once again. When they find mortals..

Brandon slowly take cloak of black and purple, stained with blood of king. Then he turned to the castle. Guards at the entrance tried to stop him.

Bloodshed ensued.

Brandon examined his look. Stains of blood all over.. Blood was precious thing. He augmented cloak with power to draw it, to store it. Brandon has resumed his march, streams of blood behind him followed in snake-like movement.

When he reached pit, he descended with his new magical grace. Then he found his first servants. When he at last take his sword, his soul. Being whole, or as whole as he might be, he summoned the spirits. The weakest of spirts entrapped here. Spirits of night predators, which has no power to left when sun is high in sky. Hunger crippled them. They fly to him like moth to flame. Hunger ruled them. Brandon said:

"My kin betrayed me. My subjects proved disloyal to me. No one stood to protect me, when I was weak. All of them flied when I came with might. I renounce my royal authority over them, I shall not protect them any more. I, Brandon, child of Fel offer you this, spirits of night." from his cloak rose delicate mist of blood, in forms geometric shapes: pentacles, stars, octagons. Brandon's sigils." "Blood of humans. Flesh and form. Serve me well and every mortal will be prey for you!"

Spirits accepted the bargain written with blood.

Acts:
1 major act - create artifact, Cloak of Black and Purple for gathering and storing blood. It's self repairing and always perfect clean.
2 major acts - create the race of vampires.
1 minor act - entrap the soul of king.

[Swordslinger]

Ashem

Ashem had been studying the dreams of creatures from far and wide. The dreams of animals and beast were hard to enter, they seemed odd and surreal even to him and he could not yet use them as gateways. The more sentient it was the easier it was to interact with the creatures dreams, humans was the easiest. If he had entered dreams of a creature before he could just by observing the dreams from the outside feel what was dreaming. Yet, this was like nothing he had encountered before; they had suddenly started appearing a while back. He studied the orb in his hand, red and gold danced around the surface. The cape engulfed him in darkness as he begun to enter the dream.

It was hunting, the creature, human like it form was hunting a human. At least it was dreaming of hunting a human, a dream formed by memories of dozen different hunts perhaps forming a dream. It at least seemed to be to clear to be purely made up. The creature’s joy for hunting was clearly evident in the nature of the dream, and the creature was ecstatic as it sunk its teeth into the mortals neck. “and every mortal will be prey for you!" a different memory had become part of the dream, memories by association, such flashes he had found to be normal to happen in dreams. But that voice… that image, was that…Brandon. “I shall not protect them anymore. I, Bra” that vision faded out of the dream. Ashem was overjoyed to finally see one of his siblings again, even if in just a flash of a memory, he was alive! But, oh Brandon what had happened to you. The brief image had seemed so full of hate. Ashem was not paying attention to what else was going on in the dream, he left and soon fell down into a bed. A real, big bed at his room so kindly offered to him by Vahyne at the royal palace in Osayu. He lay in his bed for a while, thinking and worrying about Brandon, well, at the least he lived when the creature saw that and hopefully still did. Soon Ashem became very tired. Watching other peoples dreams all day he kind of forgot his own need to sleep, slowly he drifted in to an uneasy sleep filled with disturbing dreams, dreams for once entirely of his own making.

[Kasanip]

Shiou
Averis a city of drum and silence, sounds and Shiou, who walks with determination.


Where there is death, there is soon to be Shiou, who will come to those who wait beyond. The maiden who wears black shadow as a skirt, and with determined step walks carefully along the front path through the gate, she cannot be seen.
To see a ghost requires a special talent, and so the queen of ghosts herself is of the same. Jealousy is not her guard, and so she walks freely with little mind to the care of mortals.

And freely then, her sandals step in the blood of Averis when she comes to it.
But the drums that have stopped, now are different, and she frowns. Blood is not unusual to Shiou, and she is used to it's red color.
But there are other things here that she does not understand. There are the expressions and feelings of another that is familiar and different. One of her siblings maybe, but not the same.

With a different determination she walks through the streets until she comes to the palace.
The madness of this place is difficult to breath, and so with a flick of her hand from sleeve, Shiou plants it upon her hip and regards impassively the death around.
Death, but it is not death.

So with wary and curious expression, she looks at Brandon, whom she does not recognize.

"You, who are one of Fel's children and my brother. Who are you, and what has become of this city? It calls to me, and yet it is broken in a ill fashion. Is this your hand?"

[TechnOkami]

Ulric, Part 3

When Ulric finally came to, he knew not where he was. It felt as if minutes ago he were in cavernous jaws of a massive leviathan, and now… a roof lay above him. Sunlight was pouring in from an open set of screen doors, with fine drapes dancing in the wind. Ulric couldn’t tell if this was all a dream or a reality. He soon discovered the truth of his surroundings when he tried to get up, quickly lying back down due to sheer exhaustion.
“…great.” He thought, “Not only do I not know where I am, but I’m lacking any mote of strength in my body… at least my mind is working fine. Can I even…” “…speak?” He says out loud, and gives a sigh of relief when he does. “That’s good… but it still doesn’t tell me where I am…” He looks around his surroundings, seeing nothing too defining; a painting of calligraphy hanging on the wall, an unlit candle with solidified wax spilling over its sides, and… his clothes? He saw his clothes neatly folded to the side of him, then looked at what he was wearing.
“Robes… wait, if my clothes were folded up, that means there’s someone else here…” Invigorated by this possibility, he tried to move again, only to have slumped back down to the floor. He considered his possibilities, given his current state of being and decided that the best thing for him to do was to crawl around until he found somebody. He rolled onto his side, and then let gravity do the rest as he found himself belly-down to the floor. Using the smoothness of the wooden floors, and using the mat he lay on, he slid on it, mustering what strength he could to his arms and feet to propel himself.
“Heh… if any of my kin found me in this state, I would not hear the end of it…” He stopped moving, suddenly coming to the realization that all of his brothers and sisters could be dead. These dark thoughts clouded his mind, clapping in thunder when he slammed his fist into the floor.
“DAMNIT!” As anger began to fester in his heart once more, it only stirred up the dust of guilt and remorse, hating his self for the powerlessness to do anything about it. As his fury grew, so did his ability to move. His sliding hastened, and soon he was able to crawl. Anger and adrenaline pulsed through his veins, until he finally stood and yelled in anger, breaking the silence of the temple. It was at that moment that his anger-fueled energy became spent, his knees giving way. As he sat on his lower legs, he let his head and legs slump over, barely keeping his back up. “…must anger be the only thing to power me?”
As he wallowed in annoyance, he could hear feet running towards him. He didn’t have the strength to perform any sort of counter, nor the hit of desire to defend himself, so he let them run. When they stopped, he saw feet standing in front of him, with bandages carefully wrapped around them. Ulric looked up to see… a woman? She had green eyes, and meticulously braided hair slung over her shoulder. She wore robes with wrappings on her forearms and lower legs. She said something, but Ulric was unfamiliar with the words, so he continued looking. She had a puzzled look when he didn’t say anything, then made a beckoning motion with her hands.
“…she wants me to follow her?” Ulric tried to move, but to his annoyance, only fell flat on his face. She gave out a light laugh, then moved herself under him, lifting him by the legs and giving him a piggy back.
“…and now I’m being carried around by a girl…” She walked to an unknown destination, and he took in his surroundings. He saw men and women in robes of similar type and color in rows in a courtyard, imitating the actions of an older man who threw punches in the air. He saw a massive crater in the ground, with other men and women carrying soil to fill it in, and one with a small sapling. He felt as if there was something important about that crater, but he couldn’t remember why. So he continued to look, and suddenly found himself being moved up flights of stairs. When they moved roughly two or three flights of them, he saw another spacious room before him, with pillars of… Ulric blinked.
“Are those trees?” He saw rows of trees in the room, and from what he could tell, these trees were growing out of the earth below the many flights of stairs below them. What was even more puzzling was a massive set of boulders protruding from the wall, with a slow stream of water falling down from them. It ran into a crevice in the ground, which swept across the room and fell further from an open veranda of sorts. It was almost like an artificial creek. The girl moved over a small bridge which connected the separation in the room, and continued walking until he reached the end of it. She crouched down, moving Ulric off of his back and into a sitting position on the floor. She moved closer with her forelegs down and bowed. Ulric saw a man sitting there, with an altar behind him with many a lit candle melted into it. He was free of hair on his head, and had skin old and wrinkled, yet lithe and lightly muscled at the same time. He too wore robes which everyone else, including Ulric, seemed to be wearing, and had a string of beads in his hands. He sat with his legs crossed, and seemed… elsewhere, though clearly his body was here. The girl moved back up from her bow, and said,
“Sensei.” The man before them opened his eyes, and the power he emanated could be felt clearly. It wasn’t thick and pressuring oddly, but one felt as if water were moving around you. The candles flickered for a second, then resumed their almost motionless standstill. He nodded, and the girl stood up, walking out of the room and closing the door behind her. This old man stood up from his sitting position, walked closer to Ulric, and then sat in front of him, looking directly at him. Ulric could truly feel his gaze upon him, and felt like he was looking at something other than his face.
“…so you are the one who was taken hold by the beast who entered our monastery. It is good to meet you.”

[the_druid_droid]

Keth

In the morning, Keth rose and made his way to the plaza of Addelyn. He spared a glance at the great stone that rested there, but quickly shook himself and addressed his gaze to the crowd that had gathered in the early morning light. In the crowd he could see expectant faces; the people had not been called together like this in many years, and no one was certain what the god would ask of them.

“People of Addelyn, as you have heard, Lucius is dead and his passing marks the beginning of many changes. It is time for men to begin to rule themselves, free of the tyranny of wicked spirits and false gods. For this to happen, there is much you must learn, and not all the lessons will be pleasant. However, if you accept the burden of becoming your own masters, I will serve you as Teacher.” As he spoke, Keth looked out at the men and women before him; many still seemed confused, but others turned and whispered to their neighbors, and a few began to nod slowly.

At last, the steward himself stepped forward to speak for the people. “We accept your gift, lord Keth, and we hope to be found worthy of it.”

For a long moment, Keth looked between the steward and the people, judging if the man had spoken truthfully. Satisfied at last, the god turned to the crowd and began to speak, starting at the beginning and telling the people of the white city the story of the world as it was recorded in the libraries of Alu Mari. He told them of Fel Clayshaper fashioning the sea and sky; of his father’s long journeys to the four corners of the world, and of the kinds of things the Clayshaper had made to inhabit and enjoy his creation. While he spoke, the sun rose higher in the sky, until at last the responsibilities of hearth and home began to call the crowd away. Seeing that the hour grew late, Keth ended his story and asked the people to return the next day, before departing himself.

For many days, the people continued to meet, and Keth continued to teach them. He passed on Wisdom’s Lessons, as well as stories he recalled from his time with his siblings in Alu Mari, and he even told them of his trials in search of the Source. Each day as he spoke, the god saw comprehension dawn more and more in the minds of the people of Addelyn, and he felt real joy bloom in his heart as he walked in the streets of the city and heard the people begin to tell stories of their own.

During the nights, after the crowds had left and the steward of the city had gone away to his chambers, Keth would turn his thoughts to the future. His struggle with Lucius had taught him that there were many threats in the World Below, and he saw that knowledge alone, without action, could not save those he loved. So it was that he meditated long on how best to protect his surviving siblings and the men of the Starlit Isles from corrupted spirits and darker things that lurk in the shadows. Frequently, the god would pore through ancient books in the libraries of Addelyn, picking over the wisdom of the lost men who had founded the city, looking for inspiration, until at last he found it.

So it was that one night, in the late summer, the men of the bright city saw strange lights coming from a tower in the palace, and the sharp-eared ones among them could faintly pick out incantations in unknown tongues. The next day found Keth in possession of a new book, fashioned out of black leather, with complicated silver-white designs etched on its cover. Keth smiled broadly as he carried it hidden under his robes. The knowledge in this book would be his gift to the wise, enabling them to defend themselves and their charges from those that would destroy what they had worked so hard to build; for out of the fragments of the past and his own knowledge of magic, the god had shaped together powerful wards and strong protections for those who would take the time to learn them.

Acts:
2 Major Acts - Create a school of magic: Warding Magic
1 Minor Act - Teach a population

[Mono Vertigo]

Soon, their meeting ended. Beyond the topics of artifacts and hardships, the conversation drifted towards more benign and light-hearted subjects. The goddess tried washing the stains away in a pond, as advised, but dark spots remained in the fabric. Oh well. In the end, they wished each other good fortune, and Kalonoth personally escorted his younger sister back to the plains.
The instant they left the safety of the wilderness though, they distinguished a handful silhouettes running toward them. One of them was on horse, some had pitchforks, and they all seemed to know where they were going.

Two days ago, a peasant had decided to check on Vagwyrr's corpse for missed loot, like jewelery or scrolls. When he saw the body was somehow missing so soon after the execution, he'd called neighbours for help. The footprints were still fresh, and the group went to find the witch and kill her properly. Oh, and loot her body afterward, too.

Her feet didn't move any further when she realized what these men were here for. Fortunately, she and her brother were, today, more than capable of defending themselves against inexperienced fighters. “I'm very sorry for involving you into this mess”, she said, visualizing the hand gestures needed for her protection magic. She hasn't had time yet to practice it.

[rapter200]

“You dare to raise weapons against me and my sister. You do not know who you are dealing with do you. We are children of Fel and you have forfeited your lives the moment you decided to give chase to my sister.”

His powers were strongest inside the wild and untamed lands of the world but still they held sway here. Beasts still roamed these parts, plants still grew here. The men from Pabbe stood there ground, they must have been stupid, brave, or both. “Do not worry about these lowlifes sister, they are nothing but mortals who have grossly overstepped their bounds.”

With a smile on his face Kalonoth started to shift form into that of a great wolf, larger and more fierce in appearance than even others of its kind. His coat was the color of a foreboding darkness. His eyes pierced straight into the souls of men. A stench of death surrounded him. All creatures of the land ran at his sight as he stepped forward between the mob and his sister. He had decided to not call upon the walkers, they would not be needed for rabble like this.

The mortal men started to shift in fear, what was this great beast that now came their way. This was not the way it was supposed to be, they were supposed to capture the witch and the hang her for good. Making sure she was dead. But now this monster came their way.

One of the men from Pabbe turned his back toward him and started to run in the opposite direction in fear but as soon as he started to run Kalonoth pounced on him digging into him as he landed on top of the mans back and shattering it as he landed. The man's head flew with force into the forest as it was torn from the body. The beast then turned again to face the remaining men, blood dripping from his face.

[Nefarion Xid]

Lossethir's Travels

"You in for it now."

The clothier had been harping like that for eight days straight. She was tall, slightly taller than Lossethir, which he found unsettling. On occasion he had to remind himself that he was the god here. While she worked, he amused himself with attempting to count the rattling shells in her tightly braided hair. He always lost count somewhere around twenty nine. For now, the cubs played on the floor nearby, always too wary to stray from his sight. It was a nice respite from having them fight for space on his chest. Lossethir was the one with milk, so he was mommy now. Well, it tasted and nourished like milk, though it was conjured from thin air with no small effort. Given how much weight the cubs had already put on, the magic milk was having the intended effect. They were, however, still adorable and Lossethir hadn't decided if he would name them something that would strike fear into the hearts of his enemies... or something to reflect just how heartbreakingly cute they were.

"Take some'tin big out a da world. World take some'tin big out a you."

Lossethir kicked the wall idly and set his hammock to swinging and closed his eyes. The fact that Niela spoke his language at all should have concerned him more than it did (which is to say, not at all). He just found the accent endearing.

"I must have missed that lesson from my father." It was entirely possible that he had.

"Yeah, you joke, but I'm da one who in for it big, ya? You kill Bakoshka. I skin him. Make coat. Remind me why."

"Because I've elected to give you the entire sum awarded to me by every village in the area. Though, I suppose I can take my sixteen cows with me and be on my way if you won't complete the..."

"Don't even have pen big enough for sixteen cows," Niela snarled, tossing the finished item towards Lossethir who pulled it off his face and stood to inspect it fully before slipping it on. It was impeccable, of course. Niela deserved her reputation as the best leather worker in the land. She'd always been good, of course, but ever since her trip to the beach some months ago, she'd just been inspired!

It was a full length fur coat fit for a king in style alone, ignoring its invisible qualities. It rather gave Lossethir the appearance of a lion. The short hair down the body and sleeves had been brushed and conditioned to a downy texture and stained a dusky gray color thanks to his own dried blue blood. The high collar and sleeves were trimmed with the snow white mane. The black silk lining had been a lucky find and Lossethir would never reveal exactly where he located such exquisite fabric or precisely what he'd done to obtain it. The thread binding everything together was, logically, the lion lord's own tendons, sewn with a needle made from his tooth. When no weapon could pierce the hide (or so the legend said) that certainly made working with the material difficult, that is, until Lossethir had the bright idea use part of the same beast for the job.

"It's..."

"Ya! I know it is. I know. I made it. My best work ever. Now go! I can feel some'tin bad gonna come dis way. And you and I da ones' got blood on our hands."

-1 Major Act: Create Artifact (The Ivory Lion Coat)
(2 MA, 4 ma left)

The Ivory Lion Coat is itself almost impervious to damage, granting its wearer excellent protection from slashing and piercing attacks and even blunting the impact of heavy blows. That is the coat's only magical property, though the wearer may report feeling stronger, more handsome and more courageous than he actually is. Such auxiliary effects are purely psychological, however.

[Madwand]

Brandon and Shiou


When Brandon feel presence of one of his siblings in Averis, he smiled. First time since he was imprisoned. He ran out to meet with family.


"You, who are one of Fel's children and my brother. Who are you, and what has become of this city? It calls to me, and yet it is broken in a ill fashion. Is this your hand?"

While Shiou voice was rife with hesitation or hostility Brandon's was rife with excitement, he was honestly happy to finally get around to talking to another member of his divine family.

Shiou! I'm Brandon, yes I changed.. dire nesseserity to survive. What happened to you? To your eyes, princess? And how you found me? In this palace is a garden, where we can talk. Brandon made ​​a gesture of invitation.

[Mono Vertigo]

The god's transformation into a huge beast surprised Vagwyrr, who let out a small cry. So much violence, so much strength, so much...
… right, the fight.
Obviously, she wasn't the main target anymore. Taken in a fight or flight situation where flight was evidently not an optimal option, the terrified men, as terrified as can be the most dangerous animals when cornered, directed their makeshift weapons toward the great wolf. She quickly wrote runes in the air, symbols that briefly appeared before vanishing just as quickly. “The Feral's hide should not be challenged”, she chanted, “You know it is true.” The spell cast, Kalonoth found himself surrounded by a weak aura able to partially absorb blows.
This sight, combined with the sudden kill that had just taken place, led the horse to kick out and throw its rider behind as it galloped far away, back where it came from.
Good.
And now?
Had she time to cast more powerful magic by writing runes physically? Or did she risk attracting their attention again? Her eyes turned to a large granite rock upon which quite a lot of blood had been spilled, right in front of the mauled body, the red making an intriguing shape on the pale grey, and...
… and she had an idea. The woman rushed and finished drawing a more precise shape on the rock, without much respect for the victim. Blood, she had learnt, made a potent catalyst, even if it weren't divine.

[TheDarkDM]

Valtam and the False Children

The waters separating the isles of the Leviathan's Teeth were treacherous at the best of times, but in the hours following Valtam's punishment of the sea spirit the black waves seemed to gain a life of their own, writhing and undulating like a mass of numberless snakes straining for the kill. One would have been forgiven, then, to have missed Valtam's passing as he cut through the water like a spear in flight, a terrified boy hanging to his belt. Siegfried had been the natural choice of a guide, and indeed despite their gratitude all the others in his village had been to weak to accompany Valtam. Whether their weakness was borne from hunger or fear, none could say.

Night fell amid howling wind and lashing rain, and Valtam put ashore for the sake of his young passenger. As Siegfried huddled on the beach of some unnamed islet, clinging to a small fire that no water would touch, he described the ancestral home of the Thaeldan. The southernmost isle of the Leviathan's Teeth, Firefang had once been a great volcano in times when Fel still walked the earth. Centuries past, it had exploded, tearing a quarter of the mountain away in the process and opening a natural harbor where there had been none. There, rising from a crescent bay, the Thaeldan had made their first and greatest settlement, expanding the network of volcanic shafts and shallow caves into an interlacing collection of longhouses, basements, and secret passages. When gold had been discovered in one of the smaller tunnels, the Thaeldan had begun to mine the base of the mountain, sinking deep shafts into the lightless depths for the sake of their metalcraft. They had renamed the settlement Shining Bay, and it was said that theirs was the only island that still held gold, that their people alone among the Thaeldan had not been driven to desperation and starvation. As Siegfried told the old story of a place he had never seen, Valtam saw a fragile, desperate hope spread across his face, as his voice became breathless and wistful. Siegfried truly wished to believe that there existed one place where his people were not simply cattle, one place that retained the grandeur of their civilization before the coming of the False Children.

The morning light shattered Siegfried's hope, the inexorable weight of reality crashing into his dream and rending it asunder. Even before they turned east to reach the harbor, Valtam and Siegfried saw the bare rock that had once been lush forest, the pockmarked scars of dozens of barren mine shafts carved into the living rock. Only a few of the gaping wounds were lit, and in those moved shockingly thin phantoms that may once have been men, clawing futilely at the uncaring stone to feed the lusts of their new gods. When the harbor came into view, it merely confirmed the story of the mines. Spreading like a cancer along the topmost ridge of the blast crater was a vast smithy, untold smokestacks belching black smoke into the air. Below, the extensive village appeared as little more than a haphazard collection of twigs that may once have been longhouses, held in place only by their stone foundations and prayer. Encircling the western edge of the harbor was a crumbling sea wall, its resilience a testimony to the Thaeldan's craft, but it was a lonely sentry, cry out a greatness that none dared remember. Siegfried began to weep at the pitiful sight, but Valtam could spare little time to comfort him. For standing at the edge of the water, alongside docks that had long rotted away, was yet another pile of blood-bought treasure.

To have been of the Thaeldan at that moment would undoubtedly been terrifying, as Valtam's wave crashed against the shore with all the grief and anger of its two occupants, sending sea spray even as high as the blighted foundry. The Chieftain, a lean, scraggly thing, barely retained his feet at the shock. To any reasonable mind, it would have seemed his gods had arrived, yet none of the Children had such an air of perfect divinity. Cautiously, the old man stepped around the pile of treasure and approached Valtam.

"Pardon me, great master, but I know you not. From where do ye hail, and for what purpose have ye visited our humble village?"

"I would speak with your gods. Gather your people, Chieftain - they are like to see something they will not soon forget."

Without a word, the old man ran to gather his people. After all, the only thing he knew was a life of servitude, so obeying came naturally. As the village roused, Valtam planted his feet before the great mound of treasure, awaiting his quarry.

Soon on the horizon came the first signs of a great wave, a rolling wall of water far larger than Valtam's simple craft. It arched higher and higher as it came, and on the wind were the cries of dozens of spirits calling forth the deep, cold water, urging the frothing peak higher and higher. Just when it seemed the wave could do nothing but crush the village, it stopped, and the waters receded slowly below the surface. In their place was a coterie of humanoid spirits, each a perfect example of humanity save for a myriad of incorrect details. One spirit had foregone hair for grasping suckers, another's mouth opened on a churning lamprey's maw. These were of little interest to Valtam, however, as he stared at the spirit at the center of the throng. Over twelve feet tall, the spirit's flesh was the unblemished silver-grey of a great shark, and his squid's eyes glowed green with power. This was Ulvidrias, leader of the False Children, and many had been the warnings leveled at Valtam about him. He was said to be as mighty as the very sea, and had a temper to match. He had decapitated mighty warriors with his teeth, and cruelly raped the flower of every Thaeldan generation, leaving them to bear squealing monstrosities of ichorous bile and eyeless graspings. He was the spirit Valtam had come to see, and as he laid eyes on Valtam Ulvidrias' fanged mouth opened in a joyless smile.

"It seems we have a far mightier welcoming committee than usual, family. Tell me, warrior, do you intend to fight us, as so many of your pathetic kind have in the past?"

"No, Ulvidrias. I have eyes only for you this day."

At this, a female spirit clinging to Ulvidrias' side spat a stream of green ink at Valtam's feet.

"You dare call the God of the Sea by name, boy? He will rip your tongue from your mouth for such insolence."

"Ah, you see, you have angered my consort boy. However, rejoice in that you shall not face death at my hands. Brothers?"

A trio of spirits stepped forwards, wicked grins on their faces, and in their hands suddenly appeared jagged blades of coral and bone. Yet before they could come any closer they gagged, as tendrils of sea water wrapped around their throats. Before the other spirits could react, they too were being strangled, as their arms and legs were also grappled and pulled away from them, leaving the army of spirits spread eagled in the air, straining to escape. Not Ulvidrias though. No, before the great spirit could process what was happening he was encircled in an iron maiden of black water, drawn from the coldest, darkest pit of the depths. As Valtam's outstretched hand closed to a fist and the icy prison began to constrict, he began to speak.

"Ulvidrias, I judge you guilty of crimes uncounted. You have risen above your station, usurped the place of Fel, and have brought naught but suffering and death upon these isles. With your death, I shall free them of your nightmare, and-"

Valtam gasped as the prison holding Ulvidrias collapsed, the water losing shape and falling away, revealing a bruised and enraged spirit.

"You think some cheap tricks will be enough to kill me, boy!?"

He was in the air before Valtam had time to regain his focus, a flying tackle that sent both of them into the nearest longhouse. The structure crumbled with the impact, and for a few moments both beings were left to flail blindly at each other. Despite his strength, whenever he struck Valtam felt his blow deflect off Ulvidrias skin, while the spirit's fists were like hammers upon his flesh. Coughing blood and dust, Valtam eventually managed to gather his legs under the spirit's bulk, and with a mighty kick sent him flying upwards. The pile of debris exploded around them, and Ulvidrias sailed through the air to impact the mountain with a wet crack. As the spirit fell back to earth in a small avalanche of rock, Valtam struggled to regain his feet, spitting out blood that seemed almost black even in the morning light. Shaking his head, he began to make towards the pile of rock holding Ulvidrias, only to stop dead as the spirit rose from the pile, bearing only the slightest trace of injury.

His mind racing, Valtam did the first thing that came to mind, reaching out and taking one of the ancient roof beams of the longhouse as he'd once held a training spear of Alu Mari. Staring deep into Ulvidrias' eyes, he saw a frustration and rage their that seemed almost familiar, before the spirit charged once again.

Suddenly, Valtam was back in Alu Mari, years before, standing in a field with Lossethir. He'd often trained with his brother and Kurilagu, finding the others to unpredictable or undisciplined to provide a decent challenge, and this day he had done particularly well. So well, in fact, that Lossethir had not won a single match, and the constant failure had finally managed to surmount Lossethir's patience. Trusting to his superior strength, he had rushed headlong towards Valtam when both were flagging, hoping to disarm him and thus gain the advantage. Though Valtam had not expected such a desperate maneuver, he had made a careful study of the water he so loved, and so reacted instinctively.

First, to flow around the oncoming storm...

...Valtam sidestepped Ulvidrias' crushing blow.

Then, to attack the points of weakness supporting strength...

...the beam whistled in Valtam's hands, striking the backs of Ulvidrias' legs and sending him to his knees.

Drown any hope of resistance...

...another blow to Ulvidrias' steadying hand. Then one to the shoulder, the thigh, the ribs. Faster, faster, so fast the beam was a blur in Valtam's hands.

And finally, drag the foe under with a single inexorable strike...

...the beam pulled back in a final overhand strike, and with all his strength Valtam brought it down on Ulvidrias' head.

And the beam snapped.

That certainly hadn't happened on Alu Mari.

With a roar of pain, Ulvidrias backhanded Valtam, sending him arcing over the village and into the treacherous deep of the water beyond the sea wall. As Valtam disappeared below the waves, the spirit began to laugh, clear ichor spilling from his wounds. Spinning on the huddled mass of the Thaeldan, he roared.

"See what befalls those who dare question the Children of Fel?! None can stand before the might of the ocean personified, the sea's wrath given form! I am the ultimate power in these islands, and I shall never be defeated!"

Silence was all that greeted him, and eventually Ulvidrias realized that the Thaeldan were looking past him, out to sea. Confused, the spirit turned, only to see Valtam standing upon a great pillar of churning water, his confederates bound at its base.

"I had thought to defeat you like a man, Ulvidrias, but I now see that you are not worthy of the effort. You are no god, spirit, no great force. You are a servant who has forgotten how to obey, a dog that has forgotten the feel of the leash. It is time that such things were remembered by your kind. Ulvidrias, your power is broken!"

And like that, with a sound like unto the tearing of cloth, Ulvidrias' spiritual essence was torn from his body. With a pitiful wail he collapsed to his knees, grasping feebly at the ephemeral strands of his greatness.

"I leave you one thing, spirit. You shall have the immortality Fel granted you, that you may strive to repay the debt you owe these people."

Ulvidrias stared blankly up at Valtam, even now incapable of comprehending, until a wooden club smashed against his head, wielded by a boy who'd had his dreams for utopia crushed. But a spirit is not so easily undone, even one without power, and with a snarl he reached for Siegfried, only to have another club smash down on his arm. The Thaeldan had seen through his claims to divinity, and they set upon the once-spirit with a rage unknown to them, beating him senseless in an orgy of wordless cries and vengeance. He would awaken later, chained to the very mines he had forced them to create, a slave creature unworthy of even a name, but for now the Thaeldan turned their heads to Valtam high above. He raised his fist, and his words echoed not only through the air, but through the seas and rivers, the waves and waterfalls, in every roaring crash and freezing spray, to every corner of the Twilight Isles.

"I am Valtam, the drowned god who has risen again! Tamer of the Leviathan and inheritor of its mastery, Child of Fel and Lord of the Sea. Over all that dwells beneath the waves, I claim lordship! On all who guide the course of wave and water, I demand fealty! From those who would pass upon my domain, I demand tribute! Hear me, and know the Children of Fel have come to master this world!"

Acts

1 Minor Act to strip Ulvidrias of his spirithood.

[Swordslinger]

Ashem

Syelddyn, eastern region.

He stood watching the ocean from atop the hill, cold sea breeze hit him in the face. This place, protected from sea by mountains and a nearby island was the perfect harbor. The coast was formed like half moon with an island in the middle. “What do you think, will this do” the question came from the spirit Vahyne who stood beside him “Yes” Ashem answered. There had been a fort on the island and a village by the shore, but it had fallen into ruins 50 years ago or so. Now it had been decided that the defenses would be raised again, the fort, and a harbor would be made. Some military ships from the west would be stationed here to patrol the eastern parts of the country, and this would be overseen by Ashem, who would make a home here. A village would form here, around the harbor. “I will hire stonemasons from the north to come and start construction; I will leave the specifics up to you.” Ashem offered him no response instead he walked a few steps forward and closed his eyes. Power started to gather around him responding to his will. Beside him Vahyne went a bit pale as pure divine power radiated from Ashem. Ashem slowly lifted his arm and the ruins of the fort on the island evaporated; on the island, created from nothing a new structure started to grow. Walls of white rock with a gatehouse toward the shore surrounded the island, from the middle of the island a citadel rose up toward the sky, shinning in the sun. Around the shore a harbor and a town… no, a city with buildings of the same white stone was formed. “Or you can do that” said a shocked Vahyne.

Ashem stood inside one of the citadels towers looking down upon his so far nameless city. Soon there would be people inhabiting it, this place would become a center of trade toward the east, military would be stationed here, and those that worshipped him would flock here. Yes, soon this city would be alive.

-1 minor act: Create city

[the_druid_droid]

Keth

Keth sat alone in a darkened room, contemplating the quartz orb before him. Earlier that day, the god had heard the sea resound with the voice of his brother Valtam, and mixed emotions swam in his heart. He had been pleased to hear that his courageous brother had survived the ordeal with Leviathan; Keth had seen his eyes lock on the beast in the moment before he himself had leapt from the ship, and a part of him knew that his brother would master the sea monster or die in the attempt. All the same, the declaration fostered the strange notion in Keth’s heart that Leviathan had not been the only foe to challenge Valtam, and he wondered how many dangers the Children would have to face before they could truly rest.

At last, the god had decided to consult his Eye, to try and glimpse a bit of the world at large and discover what might be waiting. He had spent the afternoon studying maps both old and new in an effort to direct his search, and now he called forth the images of the Starlit Isles from the recesses of his memory. As he meditated on them, the god poured silver powder from a horn around the quartz globe in the shape of a spoked wheel, and as the last of the spokes connected to the wheel’s rim, the Eye began to glow softly. Slowing his breathing, Keth focused on a the names and locations of a few cities on the nearby islands, and gradually the glow strengthened, bathing the room in soft milk-white light.

Suddenly, a tangled series of images flashed into Keth’s mind, most vanishing too rapidly to be deciphered, but he could nevertheless make out the faces of men and spirits, jungles and cities, before the vision faded and the Eye went dark. As he opened his eyes, the god shivered slightly; he had not been able to get a close look, but even in the brief flash he felt an undercurrent of danger and darkness. It was clear that the world beyond the walls of Addelyn had a great need of Fel’s Children, and as he sat in his darkened room, the god worked to form a plan.

The next day found Keth wearing the rough clothing and heavy leather apron of a blacksmith, and despite the grim visions of the Eye, the god smiled because each stroke of hammer on anvil brought to mind happier days back in Alu Mari. In particular, he recalled the day he had asked Xerxes to teach him about smithcraft very clearly; his brother had seemed a little puzzled, but had agreed easily enough. Keth had been delighted, for as he worked beside his brother, learning to heat and shape the metal, he had also learned the joy of giving form to the images in his mind. After that first day, Keth had returned again and again to learn more of the secrets of the forge from his brother, and each time the god had rejoiced to see the things he had imagined come to life before him.

Today, Keth was alone in the forge, but Xerxes’ lessons had not been forgotten, and once again metal took shape under the god’s guiding hand. After countless hammer blows and tempering baths of water, Keth found himself in possession of a set of light daggers, each with a sharp, leaf-shaped blade, perfectly balanced for throwing. Just above the hilt of each was etched his maker’s mark, an eye rune of inlaid silver. With a flick of his wrist, the god tossed one of the blades at the opposite wall, and was gratified with the solid thock of wood as the dagger sank into the panelling.

****************

Although Keth no longer taught in the public square of Addelyn, there were still those who came to learn from him. He continued to teach this smaller group of mortals, and they continued to absorb his lessons, until at last the god decided that it was time to encourage them to learn things for themselves and make their own stories. With this purpose, Keth called together those who had been most diligent in learning from him and when they had all come together in the great hall of Addelyn, he addressed them.

“You have all been faithful learners, and I think that you have tasted the joyous mystery of Fel’s creation just as I have. By now you have learned enough that you are ready to begin your own labor of knowing and understanding the world around you. For this purpose, you all shall be my Scholars. My only commands for you are that you remember Wisdom’s Lessons and always teach as freely as you have been taught. Each of you shall play a part in relieving the darkness of ignorance and doubt that plagues our world under the rule of the spirits, and together we will usher in a new era of true enlightenment.” After saying this and seeing that each of those present felt the importance of his words, Keth permitted his followers to return to their work, save for a few that he judged wisest among those gathered together; to these mortals, Keth offered an even greater role.

“You each stand out among your brothers and sisters as the wisest I have yet seen in this city. To you I give another title, my Scribes. You shall go out into all the Starlit Isles, seeing what there is to see and recording it, both in memory and writing. You shall work alongside me, teaching and raising up mankind, and through your eyes I shall see more of this world than I yet have.” As he spoke, Keth presented to each of the three mortals before him a set of white robes, similar in style to his own.

The god also presented each of them with a quill and a brace of the daggers he had forged. “These shall be the symbols of your office, for the world is a dangerous place, and Wisdom must guide you in the use of both pen and blade. Go now, my servants, with all the blessings of Alu Mari upon you, and rejoice in the world Fel has made.”

When Keth finished speaking, Ithys, Merith and Aros, the Scribes he had chosen, donned their robes and departed, talking together in hushed whispers. As they left, the god turned and headed back to his own chambers, hopeful for the future of the city and the Islands.

Acts:
1 Major Act: Obtain Ranged Mastery (Throwing Daggers)
1 Minor Act: Create Religion - The Scholars
1 Minor Act: Create Servants - The Scribes

[Raz_Fox]

Cats have many secrets. One of these, I will reveal to you: its name is Ijara-Vashana, the Hall of All Cats. The way there is easy for any cat out of its first fur, for it lies in the shadow of an alleyway, a forest, a mountain, wherever there is darkness and privacy. Do not try to follow a cat down the paths that lead to Ijara-Vashana, or you will be lost forever in the swirling mists and shadows. It is for this reason that no one knows what Ijara-Vashana looks like - it might be a long warrior's hall, with a thousand fish being devoured every moment; it might be a tower, with a winding stair decorated with the heads of all vermin that have been given to the cats to hunt; it might be a castle, and it might be a hovel, and it certainly is the Prince's Court.

A bone-white lioness with a blood-spattered muzzle pads silently into the great hall of Ijara-Vashana, to the seat of the Prince. He is slumped in his seat, his tails twitching with agitation, as he listens to a one-eyed fisherman's cat recount the story of the Drowned God of the Thaeldan. Spirits beware, for your doom is at hand! This is the story that runs from cat to cat, from cat to nymph and shadow and household-god, from the lesser spirits to the greater spirits, and from them to those that deem themselves lords of earth and heaven.

The Prince does not look at the lioness as she approaches, pushing aside Elekan Hunting-Cats, Vangrian ginger-cats and Addelynic tomcats. No, his eyes are closed, and his fingers twitch. His jesters slink away in search of fish-bones, for it is never wise to be near the Prince when he is bored. But the lioness comes to the foot of his throne, and says, Bakoshka is killed on the wide plains, by the hands of a man cold as the desert night.

The Prince does not rant, or cry, or call for rabbits to rip apart. Instead, he smiles, and his teeth are sharper than the fangs of a serpent. Good, he says. Bakoshka was beginning to bore me. But I cannot allow my subjects to be harmed without the weregild, after all - I mean, imagine what might happen. The wicked would not fear you any longer, and man would enslave you just as he enslaved the donkey and the dog. No, this will not do at all. I will go and visit him, and beat his ears, and then maybe eat with him. Maybe eat him, I don't know, I'll decide as I go.

He leaves Ijara-Vashana, with his claws sharpened and his fine clothes (which stink of cat's-urine and rabbit's blood, despite their shine) freshly washed, and his warband around him. They are terrible-vicious things from the jungles he loves, with golden fur, stamped with black-ink circles. Their fangs are long and yellowed, and they are more spirit than cat, worshiped by the sun-people and the shell-people and the stone-people of the many islands of the west.

They travel for a day and a night, until they come upon a man on the road, a man whose skin is even paler than the Prince's, who is pale as a snow leopard. The jungle-gods go to his left, and his right, while the Prince comes up behind him with a laugh. Say, stranger, he says, laughing. Where are you going, and why is my pet's skin on your back?

[Nefarion Xid]

Lossethir and The Prince
Somewhere to the West

Lossethir had elected to take the western route from the north, guessing correctly that it was the more treacherous of the three ways, to save his siblings from going in his stead. It was troublesome to be right so often and he wished Eilyan and Valtam were faring better on their paths than he, and not for the last time.

He met the stranger's eyes coldly, stoically; if he was afraid, he'd not give the wild thing the satisfaction. Plumes of mist seeped from his nostrils in to the cold air which grew more arctic by the agonized second. The word 'pet' stuck him in the ear. This stinking feral thing was... no, Bakoshka had no master, he was bluffing or else telling a poor joke.

Koru, the cub draped over Lossethir's shoulders, broke the silence with a startling growl. The leopards didn't look like playmates. Haru squirmed, growing bored with being held. Lossethir bounced him gently and pressed a kiss to his forehead. He was a wiser man than he acted, the sort kept their sanctimoniousness and I-told-you-sos to themselves. Prudently, he kept the little cub tight in his arms and over his heart, guessing that he would come to no harm from this cat-tailed man while they were close. No, he wouldn't strike for risk of hurting the lions. Lossethir hoped, at least.

His handsome features twisted into a baffled smile quite suddenly. "Your pet? Well, you really should have kept him in your yard. I presume he outgrew his collar?"

Mist puffed rythmically from his mouth as he chuckled quietly. "To answer your questions though, I go south. And it is a crime to let such a fine pelt rot, so I made him in to a coat, of course."

[rapter200]

Not a fighter

Blood trickled from unnoticed wounds as the fight carried on. Bodies lied strewn across the field future carrion. The aura of protection that Vagwyrr cast on him was very useful turning strikes into nothing more than a flesh wound. Since as long as he could remember Kalonoth had always been an untamed fighter. He was unpredictable and wild, unlike Lossethir and Valtam who fought with some semblance of order and training.

Eyes poked through the forest clearing, these were the walkers watching the battle intently waiting for their moment to contribute.

Pain shot through his side as a blade hit its mark sticking into his side. He tore away from where the pain came form and jumped upon the man who had stuck him tearing him limb from limb. The blade was stuck, and he couldn't remove it. Shots of pain ran up through his side with every step as his blood streamed unto the ground mixing with the earth. Kalonoth grew weaker with every step, he was most definitely not a fighter.

Seeing their lord struck so hard forced the walkers to come out of hiding. They surrounded their lord as he collapsed onto the ground, cutting him off from his enemies. The Priests of the Great Path would guard their lord with a ferocity unknown to mortal men.

[Kasanip]

Brandon and Shiou


When Brandon feel presence of one of his siblings in Averis, he smiled. First time since he was imprisoned. He ran out to meet with family.


"You, who are one of Fel's children and my brother. Who are you, and what has become of this city? It calls to me, and yet it is broken in a ill fashion. Is this your hand?"

While Shiou voice was rife with hesitation or hostility Brandon's was rife with excitement, he was honestly happy to finally get around to talking to another member of his divine family.

Shiou! I'm Brandon, yes I changed.. dire necessity to survive. What happened to you? To your eyes, princess? And how you found me? In this palace is a garden, where we can talk. Brandon made ​​a gesture of invitation.

Shiou and Brandon

Shiou was surprised. She did not recognize Brandon when he came to greet her, and she was surprised because the scenery was terrible, or so she thought at first. It was a place of death, but not normal. It felt wrong in many ways, but Shiou did not understand how yet.
And Brandon had changed so much, to her eyes. But his excitement and joy to see a sibling was also the same as hers, and so she followed him at his invitation. As she walked behind him to the garden she tried to think of before, when she was little and they had been back at home.

Did either of them think it would be like this to meet again?
She answered at last to his questions when they were alone in the garden and the mood more relaxed.
"I also suffered you know. I have these gold eyes now because of some you will never meet. And in those struggles I was branded a slave, and I lost my body...
Many things have happened, older brother. " She said. He said 'princess' to her, and so she was happy and tried to present a strong and confident figure.
"I found you because of the heartbeat. I am death, and guide those who are finished of life." She looked a little troubled now.
"But here it is not the same. Though there are dead, they still hold their bodies. You have done something to them, haven't you, brother?" She asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

[Snacs]

The 'Gentle Man'

Alahm began to explore the city with Silk at his side during the day, since it was too dangerous for Silk to ply her trade under the shadow of Had. She had been known as a favorite of the Rasso's family heir, and such people were known to disappear these days.

So she stood in as his guide, showing him the city and its curiosities as he learned the language its people spoke. What wonderful things the Mortals made of themselves! Cahra lacked the serene, perfect beauty of Alu mari, but the delicate craftsmanship of the Artisan's Guild was apparent even in the most mundane buildings. He found peace in watching the Artisans work their skills in the warm sunshine, though the oppressive air of the city's current mood was dampening.

They saw Had's soldiers frequently in their somber browns and greys, and the violence they caused whenever they found a home or shop bearing the colored cloths of a rival faction left Alahm breathless at the senselessness. Inevitably the godling found himself drawn to such places, where that sense of wrongness pervaded the strongest. And in those places he would find those that could still be saved, and the soft, gentle power that was his birthright made the injured whole again.

They left each day at morning's night, and by nightfall stories would spread of a Gentle Man of tall stature accompanied by a dark eyed beauty, who would turn up at the spot of the worst of the riots and fights. Men at the edge of death's door would find themselves whole and healthy, all without more than a few words from the Gentle Man. Blind beggars on street corners would feel the gentle touch of strong hands, and when they pulled back sight would fill in with a rush. Soldiers who had lost legs or arms in Had's relentless wars of conquest found themselves restored, and able to embrace loved ones in two good arms, or run and jump down the street with abandon.

He asked for nothing in return, other than a soft plea to refrain from fighting or harming needlessly, and would go on his way. Soon the 'Gentle Man' was whispered in tones of awe that outweighed the fear of Had and his increasingly violent rages. Few saw the way Alahm stumbled home exhausted at night, or swayed when he dragged another Mortal back from death's doors. Once or twice Silk had been forced to half carry him back to the House of Eio.

And Had learned of this and grew troubled. Such a person could seize power to fill that left by the Rasso's departure. Something would have to be done about this 'Gentle Man' and the new powerbase among the poor and the sick and the humble. The Aut, that sneaky, conniving worm, should be perfect for the job. He had done well with the Rasso clan after all....

[Madwand]

Shiou and Brandon



Shiou and Brandon

Shiou was surprised. She did not recognize Brandon when he came to greet her, and she was surprised because the scenery was terrible, or so she thought at first. It was a place of death, but not normal. It felt wrong in many ways, but Shiou did not understand how yet.
And Brandon had changed so much, to her eyes. But his excitement and joy to see a sibling was also the same as hers, and so she followed him at his invitation. As she walked behind him to the garden she tried to think of before, when she was little and they had been back at home.

Did either of them think it would be like this to meet again?
She answered at last to his questions when they were alone in the garden and the mood more relaxed.
"I also suffered you know. I have these gold eyes now because of some you will never meet. And in those struggles I was branded a slave, and I lost my body...
Many things have happened, older brother. " She said. He said 'princess' to her, and so she was happy and tried to present a strong and confident figure.
"I found you because of the heartbeat. I am death, and guide those who are finished of life." She looked a little troubled now.
"But here it is not the same. Though there are dead, they still hold their bodies. You have done something to them, haven't you, brother?" She asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

When they sit in palace's garden Brandon relaxed. It was quiet, tranquility place, full of life. And full of memories.
Good for them, that they will not encounter with me. Yes, we all have stories. But it's past, if don't want to share, I will will respect your silence. Shiou, I know not what I have become. I am unnatural, twisted creature. Sundered body and soul. His voice was calm, but Shiou know that he is honest. My creation are in my own image. This.. he pulled out from under the cloak still beating heart. It was shrunken and devoid of blood. It's soul of screaming king, he murdered my mother. You have right, it is wrong to punish someone in this way. Too cruel. Free him and take to your new realm, under your judgment. I trust you will not be blinded with anger as I. Brandon gave her a terrible artifact. My second creation, my new subjects are born from blood and spirits. Yes, they have no end like mortals instead they are like spirits. But all of them will come to you, From fire, from swords, from sun. They will perish to realm of dead. I ask only for patience, sister.

[Mono Vertigo]

Vagwyrr added the last touches to the picture in a hurry. She was no artist, and to be fair, the creature she'd drawn was crude and bizarre, but it wasn't meant to be fancy, it was meant to be helpful.
“I have made your image”, she claimed, focusing on the granite and nothing else, “with your shape and colours. You are exactly as big as your body is described there; no smaller, no bigger, because this image is the Truth. I tell you you will live and travel with me through the skies; this is not an order, nor a hopeful prediction, but a statement, because what I speak now is Truth. You will obey me, and only me, for as long as the natural resources can satiate you. My name is Vagwyrr, and yours, from now on, is Yamascah.”
The stone violently and loudly shook and split loudly, releasing the exarch that shared it shades, but not its inorganic consistence, blood transfigured into something superior. It crawled awkwardly toward its master, but once in front of her, it spread its 4 wings with much more control. While at first glance, one might confuse the round spots decorating them for the intimidating markings sported by many butterfly species, they were actually fully functional, and blinking eyes. They looked everywhere at once. Just the way she wanted it.
Another of its feature was revealed when it turned its head toward the villagers. Its jaws were insectoid mandibles, with menacing teeth and a long slimy tongue.
When she turned around, a pack of Great Wolves had joined the battle. Where was Kal? They were hiding his wounded self. “Yamascah, attack these humans.”


1 Major Act: Create an Exarch.
Yamascah: (air mastery) exarch flying steed. Giant scarlet and grey bat/moth/owl crossbreed with many blinking eyes on its wings. Large enough to carry a single passenger. Eats flowers, nectar and honey. Afraid of bigger creatures and thunder.

[Jade_Tarem]

Castellan's Aside 1 - Home Improvement

In the months that followed Meriasper's death, Castellan spent his time with the twelve tribes. As he had expected, maintaining the peace was harder than it looked - Meriasper had spent a hundred years shaping the people of the Shining Wing Mountains, and Castellan was trying to undo his work in less than one. But he had one advantage that Meriasper didn't.

He was a god. A real god. The dragon had shown him that he was far from invincible, and that there were still beings out there that could crush him, but he suspected that some of his new abilities were far beyond what the dragon spirit had been capable of.

For instance, he could bless the land itself, bringing more fruits and nuts to the trees, more produce to the hanging gardens, more animals into existence to be trapped and hunted for game. There's less reason to war when everyone's belly is full, after all. He didn't want to force the hand of the mortals by acting as a parent over unruly children, holding back goodies when they misbehaved, but for now he would take what he could get.

He could also do two things at once, if he was willing to delegate. The Shining Wing Mountains were host to a creature called the shriek bat. Shriek bats were extremely shy, and nearly impossible to see - a tiny bit of magic distorted their image, showing only a ripple in the air as they flew - and they flew with great speed. Castellan noted that such creatures might make excellent messengers, and so created new bats of his own, with the same properties but more intelligence and a better voice.

They were also extremely excited to get to work, and sometimes repeated what they said, although those traits had been unintentional. He sent them out into the world, with the names and the best descriptions he could come up with for his brothers and sisters.

He left the governing of each tribe to the system that had existed before - the only rule he had handed down was that warring amongst each other was forbidden. In the meantime, he decided to teach, and to be taught in turn. He spent a great deal of time listening to the mortals, of their fears, hopes, and complaints. In order to bond more closely, he asked if their was something they could teach him. He learned of their arts, their music, and their architecture, such as they were. He learned of their blacksmith's trade - the lava flows made it convenient and fast to start powerful fires, if not safe - and those who had spent their lives dedicated to it had spent more time on it than he, mortal or not. But what they were most proud to show him were their martial arts.

He was leery of learning something like that, or even encouraging it, but the tenants of the martial art involved a great deal of patience and discipline. There was no inner magical or zen connection, there was just a need to focus, which could certainly come in handy. And so he had let the mortals teach him their form of warfare.

In this new setting he could appreciate it better. When he had fought them before, he hadn't had time to do anything other than dodge and use his superior speed and strength to overpower or evade his opponents. Now, he could see how it had developed. Due to the mountainous terrain, sure footing was rare - the mortals of the Shining Wing Mountains had not created a great many two-handed weapons. In fact, the most common weapons were actually reinforced gauntlets and boots, lined with fur against the colder temperatures that had come long ago (winters were a legend here, a fact that he found very strange), and were now mostly for decoration. The armor turned each limb into a shield and a weapon, and Castellan learned quickly that it became even more dangerous with flight, which allowed him to fight with all four limbs at once. Before they began, no mortal could touch him. Now, he barely needed his divine powers to evade the attacks of his sparring partners.

The months stretched into a year, and then two. Castellan learned combat, if not how to conduct full scale warfare. He learned how to create and destroy from the land around him, rerouting the active volcanic activity to make the area safer - from attackers as well as for the people living there. And in return, he taught.

It wasn't easy - for a full century, each tribe had been told that theirs was the true inheritor of the earth, the others shallow copies. Meriasper's admission had damaged that belief, but not destroyed it completely, and it took the full two years before Castellan made any progress at all. Finally, he managed it.

It had happened when he had grown exasperated, talking with the twelve chiefs. He had finally asked one, "How do you run your tribe?" The chief had explained carefully - the tribe was a close-knit community. Each person worked for the benefit of themselves, the family, and the tribe, though not at the expense of the others. Castellan had then asked if, considering that Meriasper had visited each tribe, the twelve tribes together could be considered one, larger tribe. And when there was no answer to that, Castellan had asked if all of humanity could be considered an even larger tribe.

They weren't going to go for it right away, he knew, but the idea was out there for them to think about. And the next time, he began to fill them in on the Plan.

Another year went by, and his appearance changed somewhat, becoming a little less boyish. He grew slightly taller, and while his frame still looked a bit weaker than it actually was, his height made him an imposing enough figure for most. His dress changed as well, as he ditched the longer robe for a shorter hooded tunic and the thick trousers that were more common among the people of the tribes. He stopped keeping the hood up and donned one of the scarves of those who worked at the higher elevations, where it grew colder. Castellan continued to teach, and spent some of his time working on his next tool - armor light enough, and sturdy enough, to wear while flying. He found it much more rewarding than the creation of a weapon, although in truth he had built in the traditional reinforced gauntlets and boots - were he ever to face another Meriasper, or something worse, he would be prepared.

He had just completed it when one of his song bats, nearly forgotten, returned to him. "Found a buddy! Found a buddy!"

Acts:
Minor:
Bless Population (-1 ma)
Change Landscape (-1 ma)
Teach a Population (-1 ma)
Create a small number of servants with low power (Song Bats) (-1 ma)

Song Bats
A divinely-altered shriek bat, Song Bats are approximately as intelligent as children. While unable to effectively fight anything larger than they are (they're still bat-sized), these creatures are nearly impossible to see and even harder to catch or kill - at least for a mortal. Unlike traditional bats, these creatures can fly, soar, and glide like a bird for greater speed if they so desire.

Song Bats are not a species - they are servants and messengers of Castellan, a role that they delight in for some reason. Song bats can mimic lengthy messages perfectly when instructed to, and can remember simple messages or come up with their own at any time - they are most likely to do so with part of a song, which is how they earned their name. While they are capable of great speed, they are not immune to the weather, inclement magic, or bad luck. They also do not have any divinely-inspired guidance system, and so must search for a target if a precise location cannot be given. They can, and will, ask passing mortals, gods, monsters, and butterflies for directions.

Major:

Gain an Ability (Melee Expertise: Mountain Brawling) (-1 MA): this is functionally identical to Melee Expertise: Unarmed.

Create Artifact (Wingborne Armor) (-1 MA)

Wingborne Armor
An artifact designed as Castellan was learning the rudiments of the craft. The young god focused less on creativity and pure power and more on getting it right. The armor is extremely durable while also being very lightweight, with the exception of the denser gauntlets and boots, which are used to aid him in a fight.

[Swordslinger]

Ashem

Ashem stood by a window in his citadel looking down upon his city on the mainland, it was running efficiently now, ships was arriving and leaving regularly and carts brought goods between here and the capital. Well it had run efficiently until a few days ago, then the message had arrived, everywhere water flowed the message had boomed out. A message from Valtam, Ashem had of course been very surprised by the sudden message and he was happy to hear from one of his brothers again, even if the message was not directed at him specifically. Valtam had survived the shipwreck, and he had apparently tamed the Leviathan, amazing. Now he knew that two of his brothers had survived and was hopefully still out there, maybe there was hope for the other too. Behind him doors opened and two robed and hooded figures emerged, they where spirit creatures formed by dreams and his will. They served as high priests and organized the city and his followers for him, now days he tried to distance himself from most of that, and interceding by proxy for the most part. Audience with him and access to the top parts of his citadel had to be arranged through his priest, it was not often that was needed, and the city mayor and his priest took care of the day to day business of the town. Of course sometimes things happened that they were not able to handle. The two high priests was escorting in the city mayor “My lord, the sailors are refusing to sail” Ashem turned from the window to face the mayor, “Trade must continue” the mayor looked uncertain for a moment “They are afraid, they would not want to risk the Sea god’s wrath by traveling the oceans” Ashem turned and walked over to the window again. “I can understand they would not want to face Valtam’s wrath, but I suppose the worst that could happen is that he come looking for this tribute of his. Should that happen… Yes, should that happen they can tell him to come here and discuss it with me, I’ll come to an arrangement with him.” The mayor left and within a day the ships where sailing again. Valtam’s wrath would indeed be a bad thing, the country relied heavily on trade not to maintain the large navy the country maintained, if Valtam was to become displeased by the ships traveling across his domain it would be a disaster for Syelddyn. Ashem looked down again upon his city, when it came down to it, it did not really effect him either way whether trade continued or not, but yet he felt a sense of accomplishment from keeping the city running properly, and yes he had to admit he now had a responsibility these people.

-1 minor act: Create high priests(small number of servants of moderate power)

[Raz_Fox]

Lossethir's Travels

The Prince's laughter was sudden and loud, and he nearly doubled over with the force of it. What, he says between gasps, collar him? Oh, you are funny, you are! He was wild, just as all good cats are, and as a pet he was moody and slow to listen to my voice - but he was the finest of my creations, after all, after all. His expression sours. That is a fine coat, he says, and around him the spirit-cats growl.

Imagine, he continues, sitting down on a rock as he does so, what men would say if they saw a man in such a coat. They would see that one of the greatest cats of all the world had been killed, and stripped of his pride. They might get it into their heads that one could kill cats without retribution. And that would not do at all. No, that would not be fun at all, if men heard of the death of the greatest lion to ever live.

His tails twitch here and there, agitatedly, and he examines his claws. Unless the weregild was paid, he says, almost to himself, as the spirit-cats circle ever closer. Then everything would be right under heaven. But oh, but oh, what could the right price for the shining-white lion be?

He looks up at Lossethir, smiling, with no shrewdness or cunning in his face. As innocent as a cat who has forgotten that it devours mice.

[rapter200]

Leaves fell to the ground as the wind shook them, but then it ceased. For a moment all of nature was quite. Birds stopped their singing. The trees forced themselves to be silent. For but a moment all rivalries in the natural world were put off. A most unnatural sight indeed, the moment the very land mourned its lord as he lay pitifully on the ground bleeding to death.

The silence was broken by the howling of the Walkers, soon joined world wide by every Great Wolf. Was this were the path ended. He watched this all through the eyes of the land. Through the squirrel climbing a tree, through the hawk soaring through the air, as well as through the very trees. Why were they mourning, death was the way of the world.

“This is not how it is supposed to end” he heard himself say. All was black, all but single tree that was throwing back the darkness. Somehow he found himself at the base of the tree and when he touched his hands upon the tree the darkness was no longer. He woke up back on the field of battle in the form of a man. The wound on his side was healed, and with a grim smile he ordered his priests to bring down sky down upon his foes.

[Nefarion Xid]

Lossethir and The Prince

"I suppose it matters little to you that your pet was in the act of mauling me when I strangled him? Or that I saved these two cubs, and that, under my care, they will surpass their monstrous father in greatness? Or perhaps that, funnily enough the people of this realm now call me the Lion of Winter? No?"

Lossethir pursed his lips in mock sympathy. He let Koru down from his grasp and maneuvered his shoulder bag round front so that he could rummage through.

"Well, you can't have my life or my coat. You're incapable of taking either." His jade eyes flashed with mischief. "Even if you succeeded... oh, well you'd have my brothers to deal with then. But, I'm a fair man. So, what say we end this with your payment and I'll be on my way. That is what you wanted, hm? A pretty thing?"

From one of two gray sacks cinched up with string he drew out Abigail's gifted hair. In the sunlight it had the glean of polished mahogany and when the wind caught it, the scent of a virgin girl wouldn't be missed by a predatory fellow like the Prince. Back into the sack it went after just a glimpse and a waft and there it stayed.

"The hair of a virgin goddess. Freely given. You can still smell the magic, can't you?"

In a wink, the second gray sack came out (which contained only Lossethir's old linen tunic) and was hurled high overhead and away with prodigious strength.

Glance to see where his dirty laundry landed and you'd miss his sudden departure. Lion and cubs were gone when next you looked and all that remained was a footprint in the hoarfrost and the blistering arrival of an arctic wind that sped his flight.

[TheDarkDM]

Valtam and the Sea Raiders

Standing atop a pillar of surging water, holding the very supernatural essence of Ulvidrias in the palm of his hand, Valtam allowed himself to revel in the intoxicating rush of deific power. A hunger had woken in him, a hunger for which there was no name in all the tongues of men. Yet, even amid the pulsing desperation of Ulvidrias' soul, the lamentations of the spirits trapped in his pillar eventually penetrated Valtam's ecstasy. Looking down upon them with eyes that were the burning red of Leviathan, Valtam allowed the pillar to slowly lower, releasing the spirits to cower above the deep water. As the Thaeldan looked on from the shore, Valtam turned to address the assembled throng.

"Do not cower so, I have no intention of passing the same judgement on you as Ulvidrias. Were I to strip all of you of your essence, it would not repay a tenth of the suffering you have inflicted upon these people. No, your punishment will not be nearly so swift. As you have preyed on these isles, so shall you serve as their protectors. Where once you led enemies to the very gates, now you shall obfuscate and mislead. Your continued existence is now contingent on the well being of the Thaeldan, and the return of their stolen wealth. I suggest you see to that last detail with...alacrity."

One look into Valtam's eyes and the spirits dove beneath the waves, to whatever dark fastnesses they had hidden away their stolen riches. His eyes fading back to a deep green, Valtam stepped upon a slight wave back onto the Thaeldan docks and walked towards the huddled villagers. On sighting him, the Thaeldan sank to their knees in a mixture of terror and awe. Only Siegfried remained standing, and he shot Valtam an exasperated glance as he absorbed the scene. But for Valtam there was no exasperation, only a sudden sick surge as he realized how they must see him, as some mad conquering god no better than Ulvidrias. He rushed to the side of the Thaeldan Chieftain, kneeling beside him to take his arm.

"Do not kneel, good sir. I may be a god, but I am no monster like Ulvidrias. I ask not that you kneel, but that you stand beside me in a new future for this world."

Valtam stood, and in so doing aided the chieftain in taking his feet for the first time. There was a look of wonderment in the old man's eyes, a look that was mirrored in the eyes of his people as they too stood. But then the old man's face grew troubled.

"But what shall we do when the Turann arrive?"

"The who?"

A murmur of fear went through the assembled Thaeldan, and the chieftain wordlessly motioned for Valtam to follow. He led the god through the overgrown village square, up a set of worn stone stairs to a door of black iron set in the living stone. The door was so sullied by misuse and the passage of time that it blended perfectly into the cliff face, but as he approached it Valtam saw intricate carvings upon its face. Reaching to an unremarkable chain about his neck, the chieftain pulled forth an iron key that slotted into an ingeniously hidden lock, and the door swung open soundlessly. Past the doorway was a breathtaking sight - the chamber beyond must have at one time been the throat of the volcano, but had been widened substantially in the eruption. The walls were of polished obsidian, and the mouth of the volcano gaped in the high ceiling, sending light streaming down to play in liquid ripples on the walls. In the center of the chamber stood a great stone table, upon which was carved an exact map of the seas around the Leviathan's Teeth. Moving to the table, the chieftain gestured to an expanse of barren sea to the south, barren save for a few scattered islets.

"The Turann were once of our blood, in the days before the coming of Ulvidrias. But before the coming of the false gods, they were expelled from our islands for indulging in barbarous practices - cannibalism, and darker things. They fled to the barren seas to the south, where they proliferated like rats upon a corpse. For decades they preyed upon our weaker settlements and some smaller cities of the south. But with the coming of Ulvidrias they smelled a way to take their vengeance. They bought passage through the surrounding rocks, and laid waste to our people with yearly raids. They have taken our greatest artisans and enslaved them to their will, and this has given them weapons that outstrip our own. They have grown into a great pirate armada on the bounty of our islands, and they will come again soon."

"Then we had best prepare."

Valtam swept from the map chamber, and upon the mountain steps examined the Thaeldan village. The ramshackle dwellings were pitiful things, and would hardly survive a barroom brawl, let alone a pitched battle. Sweeping his gaze upwards, the forge-works came into view. They were an ugly, sprawling thing, and though they were under good repair their walls were the same flimsy wood as the rest of the village. No, there was no hope of the village pushing back the Turann - they would need to stop them in the sea.

Moving down to the water's edge, Valtam summoned up the spirit of Ulvidrias. A twisted reflection of the spirit's face passed over the misty surface, mouthing soundless profanities at Valtam before receding back. Valtam considered the mass of energy a moment longer before bringing it into focus between his two hands. Focusing on the amorphous blob before him, he began to bring his hands together, compressing the spiritstuff as he did so. Straining against the ethereal pressure, he pressed further and further, until the spiritual essence of Ulvidrias was nothing more than a pearl in his palm. Valtam held the shining gem over the water before closing his fist around it. A moment's strain, and the spiritual pearl had been crushed into dust, dust which spread out over the water in a fine powder. As the energy suffused the water and the last scraps of Ulvidrias' personality faded from it, Valtam reached out and took hold of it with his will as a sculptor holds clay.

Under Valtam's guidance, the water began to become solid, taking on the appearance of black flesh. As spiritual energy suffused the growing body, it took on the likeness of a great squid, its main body and tentacles over a hundred feet long. Two greater tendrils increased the creature's length by another forty feet. As the slick, black body grew ever more solid, great bony protrusions began to form at the terminus of its tentacles, which themselves became barbed. The creature's head gained a crown of similar armored plates, and its lamprey-like mouth receded beneath a quadripartite shield. Six great eyes glowed with the same green energy that had suffused Ulvidrias, and as they met Valtam's own the creature spread its tendrils wide in obeisance. The first Kraken was a mighty thing, yet Ulvidrias' soul was potent enough to create another five progenitors. As Valtam gazed upon his new creation, he allowed himself a smile, and sensing his pleasure the Kraken began to sing. The sound escaped through slitted vents in their sides, and was akin to whale song flavored with thunder. The mighty chorus rolled over the village of the Thaeldan, reverberating in the chamber at the mountain's heart to escape in a great trumpeting blast from the volcano's mouth.

Weeks passed after that, Valtam lending his might to the reconstruction of the Thaeldan's village. Mere days after is defeat of Ulvidrias, the spirits of the Leviathan's Teeth had returned, their backs bent beneath the weight of mounds of treasure. Gold, silver, and copper glittered despite the brine adorning them, yet the Thaeldan refused to touch the artifacts, so soaked were they in the blood of their people. Even so, Valtam had the spirits pile their accumulated treasures in the center of the village, until they had become a mountain of shining metal. A mountain to set the lustful mind of any pirate or raider aflame. And so it did, when the black sails of the Turann forward scouts were sighted on the horizon.

They came at twilight, a great line of black hulls and sails sweeping north towards the village of the Thaeldan. As they grew close, they sighted the pitiful defensive line of the Thaeldan drawn up on the shore, frail waifs of men and women, children with arms nary as large as the sticks they wielded as weapons. And at their head stood Valtam, tall and strong but far from enough, seemingly, to hold back the Turann. As their ships entered the shallow waters of the Bright Harbor, the Turann began to cackle in maniacal glee at the thought of the slaughter ahead, only for their cackling to turn to screeches of horror as black tentacles rose from the deep to bore through the hulls of their vessels, to wrap in crushing darkness around frail bodies, to drag entire ships into darkness. The ships behind the vanguard tried desperately to turn away from the new thread, to fire upon the monstrous Kraken, only for the spirits of the waters to leap aboard. The monstrous spirit-things that had once acted as their guides tore through the Turann, and the waters of Bright Harbor became as blood. Few Turann survived the surprise onslaught, but those that managed to swim to shore were set upon by the Thaeldan. Even the weakest of villagers was more than a match for the panicked and confused pirates. By the time night had fallen, all but a few of the Turann ships lay beached or sinking, and the surviving raiders were shackled in the map chamber.

That night, the Thaeldan allowed themselves their first outpouring of celebration since the fall of Ulvidrias. From the seas came a bounty of fish, and they feasted until they were ill, regaling Valtam with their ancient stories and songs. Accompanying the Thaeldan in their songs were the Kraken and the spirits, their voices mingling into a sounds of unspeakable beauty and terror. The Thaeldan would retake from the Turann captives the secrets of steel, the secrets of sailing the deep waters, and they would emerge from the Leviathan's Teeth as the Thaeldan no longer, but as Valtam's chosen, the Valtamyr. But that was for the future, and on the morrow Valtam left the Leviathan's teeth, sending his Kraken to carry the secrets of his religion to every port, while he sped south towards faint pinpricks of divine light. Valtam had a family to rediscover.

Acts

1 Minor Act to bind the sea spirits in defense of the Leviathan's Teeth

1 Major Act to create Kraken

[Kasanip]

Shiou and Brandon

"I do not know what you have become. But you are different, and I fear it is not in a good way, brother." Shiou frowned, but took the heart from Brandon into her hand and then spoke clearly.
"Even though our mothers were different, I am your sister, and I understand that you suffered by this king. Let it be known he is not a king now, but a servant, and in my realm he will not be rewarded for his actions."

Brandon's second artifact catches her gaze,and her hands pass through it (for a ghost, even half ghost and goddess like Shiou, cannot touch some things). She pushes away from it gently, and rises to stand in front of Brandon, though she is shorter still. But her eyes are unwavering in their golden earnestness.
"Brother, the mirror I wear forbids me to lie. It is my own punishment for pride, and also my tool of judgement. I cannot touch your artifact- it shields you from death, and so also your subjects. But it is not a shield forever, like you say, and someday I will bring you to see my realm. But until then, it is shut from you, and so also we are apart."

She reached out to put her hands on his face, like an embrace. But her hands gently pass through as a ghost. Brandon, who had sundered from body and soul, and his little sister, who was half ghost and goddess, could not embrace like this.
"And so, brother,we are also sundered I fear, except the love I will carry for you."
She hesitated, and then stepped back, to hold the mirror up to Brandon.

And in the mirror he saw two memories and dreams, or were they reflections of something else?
[ooc]
If you don't want to, it is ok. Maybe if you want to write a memory of them together when they were young too it is ok too.

One memory:
A proud and happy little sister always indulged in craft and play. But always she had strange rules and demanded everyone play her way. This game was in the field, and Shiou was hiding cleverly from Brandon and the others. To win, they had to find her, even as she dove into the grass or disappeared behind a tree.
Her hair betrayed her, and her pride though. Always assured she was well hidden, and yet for Brandon who turned to look, there was always something that betrayed her presence.
To find her too quickly, of course she would just make up some rule that he had to turn around and count when she hid. To indulge her in this would be tiresome and struggling to some of her siblings, but for Shiou, always she had tantrumed until her word was final.

Only Vagwyrr had been able to control her like this, but often that was when she had sharply berated her little sister, and pointed out that her clothes were once her own. This time, the cicadas were noisy, and it was hot, but Shiou waited with assurance and pride.

Brandon would never catch her here!

But then she felt his hand touch her head lightly, but the disappointment of being caught was overwhelmed with the delight of being found.

[Raz_Fox]

Lossethir and the Prince

The Prince simply shrugs his shoulders and smiles ruefully as Lossethir recounts his excuses, his last parting shot at the feral youth. What can he do, that shrug says silently. Perhaps Lossethir should have thought of that earlier.

Then Lossethir draws out the lock of the virgin goddess, and the Prince's eyes narrow into pinpricks, as those of a cat who has scented a mouse. His mouth watered, and his cohorts began to howl, their own jaws slavering, as they crept closer still. As soon as the sack left Lossethir's hand, all of them were bounding away to catch it, leaving him able to whisk away the cubs, hair and all.

The motley band of cats rips the bag apart, tooth and claw, and this proceeds into a grand fight, Prince, spirits and all. It is some time before the Prince sits back on his haunches and realizes that he cannot scent the precious hair any longer, and his scream of fury is such that the fight ceases instantly.

He spits a curse out through bloodied teeth, and dashes away back to Ijara-Vashana, his cats at his heels. And as he goes, he plots revenge, formulating and then forgetting a hundred schemes.

For, though he is a trickster himself, and a sower of chaos, the Prince hates nothing more than being tricked.

[HalfTangible]

Northal - Almost done

The room at the end of the passageway was filled with scrolls, mounted on shelves and even spilling onto the ground. The eerie glow in the room that had no discernible source gave the room a reddish hue, as if the entire place was bathed in blood. Fortunately, the scroll Northal was reading was written with blue ink, and so stood out against the light. Northal frowned as he read the scroll in the cramped, dank place.

It told of how the temple had formed, and so far was disturbing him severely.

When explorers - the scroll referred to them as 'the lost ones' - first shipwrecked on the island, they found it hostile and plagued with monsters innumerable. The forests crawled with beasts even mighty Fel had not intended, from massive faceless horrors to beings that drove men insane just from a touch. There was the occasional mention of a ghost or banshee, but otherwise dealt with far stronger beings. On the first night, the lost ones lost (How ironic.) three of their people before the beasts withdrew, letting the corpses bleed all over the ground.

Northal gulped. If this were true, he had been extradordinarily lucky to have only seen that one beast, that one monster, so much weaker than the others.

The scroll went on to say that the lost ones were mostly former military men and criminals who had chosen a risky mission into the seas as opposed to eternal imprisonment, or even death.

So it came to be that the already small population that had originally shipwrecked on the island dwindled to a mere handful. When the people seemed out of hope and out of luck, a shaman in the group was able to commune with a powerful spirit of the island. In exchange for the spirit's protection, one among the group would be sacrificed each month.

Northal's eyes widened. Sacrifice...

Oh Fel. All the red everywhere - that couldn't be bloodstains, could it?! How long had this spirit held power?

One month later, after only one sacrifice was made, a ship arrived and rescused the people. They thought themselves safe from the monsters and sacrifices forever.

But the spirit was a trickster, and had left a small bit of insurance: every single one of the people who had left became plagued by monsters wherever they went, as did their families, and their children.

The spirit appeared before them, and demanded to be worshipped as a child of Fel himself. And so the people fell into a worship of this spirit out of fear - one sacrifice a month on the island would appease it, they knew. It began to demand temples, widespread worship, and-

Northal slammed the scroll down. He'd read enough. This spirit had gone far beyond it's place and held massive delusions of grandeur. He would not be affected by the spirit's curse, he could simply leave and never look back. He started searching the room for a map - he couldn't wait for a boat anymore, he needed to find a way off immediately.

"So now you know, child." came the voice of a grizzled old man. "I am a god."

Northal whirled around to see a ghostly visage before him. He recoiled in horror as he took in the sight. The spirit appeared in the guise of an old man in a green cloak. His hair was wispy and frayed, and his teeth appeared rotted beyond recognition. His eyes were inky black, and he almost radiated power. His bones creaked even when he didn't move to such a degree that Northal was absolutely shocked he hadn't heard him come in.

Northal scowled at the being before him. "A 'god'? Someone's full of themselves."

"What would YOU call it, child of Fel?" The spirit sneered. "I rule the lives of countless beings - i have taken their sacrifice and made it my own power. I have no higher power over me. What would you call that?"

"A delusional spirit." Northal replied, turning away and walking further into the room of scrolls. As he looked around the shelves, the spirit snarled.

"Don't turn your back on ME, child."

Amongst all the dust on the floor, Northal spotted something very interesting. He calmly bent down to pick it up. "I see no reason not to. A bloodthirsty old shaman swallowed up by his own masquerade is hardly frightening." He turned and folded his arms across his chest.

The Spirit's black eyes narrowed, and one more tooth rotted out of existence. "How did you-"

"He's mentioned in the story for no reason but, apparently, to make contact with the spirit. He was an old man with delusions of grandeur among shipwreck victims. YOU are an old man with delusions of grandeur worshipped by shipwreck victims. So yeah, ain't hard to figure out."

The spirit sneered. "Perhaps I am now. But soon, i will have a new body... one far younger and far more powerful than my old mortal shell."

Northal smirked and drew out one hand. "You want to posses me? Wanna make a bet on that?"

The spirit's scowl returned as his face grew slightly more sallow in the red light. "A bet?"

Northal held up a solid gold coin. On one side was a mark of a skull, and on the other was a two-headed eagle.

"If it's tails-" He showed the spirit the eagle side - "-then you point me in the direction of the nearest mainland and i will swim there. You won't get to posses me. If it's heads, however..." He showed the spirit the skull, "You get my body."

The spirit blinked at him in the bloody light.

Northal grinned and flipped the coin.

Before the coin landed, however, the old man rushed at him and forced his way into Northal's body.

Northal yelled as his mind and soul came under assault. As he fought, he realized it was a losing battle. Perhaps one of his brothers could do this - perhaps even Shiou - but he was not the strongest willed of his brethren. Luck had always been on his side...

But now that spirit was overcoming him through sheer willpower. As the two fought for control, Northal slumped and landed facedown on the stones.

Before his face smashed into the stone, he saw that the coin had landed on tails.

-----

Time stopped.

He heard footsteps coming down the corridor, and he felt a great power in the room. He hadn't felt such strength in his life - only Fel's had been greater. It was as if life itself had no place being in him, now that this creature was in the room.

Northal raised his head to get a better look at whatever it was that had come for him. Suddenly his eyes shot open wide, and his mouth split into his characteristic grin. Only this time instead of sarcasm and mockery, it was genuinely heartfelt.

"Shiou... you lived?"

[Kasanip]

Northal and Little Sister named Death

The footsteps were deliberate and purposeful. They echoed like a drum sound reminiscing of a heartbeat. Slower, and slower.

There was no feeling of life here. When the one in front of Northal stared down, it was a strange sight. It was Shiou, but certainly not the same Shiou - proud little sister, bossy but loving. Not the same little sister Northal easily had played pranks on.

Her cheeks were seared and tattooed in a painful way as a servant. And her eyes too were gold like this. And the cool, analytical way she looked down on him, like an insect, that was harsh and almost as black as the skirt around her. It was not kind. She was not crying or throwing a tantrum here.

But when Northal spoke, Shiou squatted down in front of him, crossing her arms over her knees and resting her hands on her chin with a frown.

That demeanor, that frown, Northal knew it well, surely it was Shiou now.
She spoke, and though her voice echoed in his heart and in the room, he knew it was her.

"I am not alive. I am half dead and half goddess. Maybe a ghost is closer, but I'm above that kind of small existence as well. I am a child of Fel.

You might be better to address me as the one who will serve as your guide now. I'll clean your feet and fix your dress before guiding you on to the white tower- that is my duty. I am Death, and I come to you at this time.
...But then..." Her frown increases with a troubled and annoyed look.

"If you are truly Northal, my dear, reckless older brother, then it means this is your death. You're the first of my family I have the misfortune to meet like this. It is ironic then, that you who delighted in risky fortune have fallen to such misfortune. It will be troubling to explain to the others."

She tapped her lip as she turned her head sideways.
"But there is a problem I see as well. There is still this living body, but there is a great confusion too. Different drums. Different beats. Maybe you aren't Northal. Maybe you are some wicked thing to try to hurt me. Maybe you stole my brother from me and my family. I will gladly then take your dark soul now for judgement in death."

She was definitely the same assured and proud sister he knew.

[HalfTangible]

"So the others are around too... that's good." Northal's trademark grin only grew wider. "But what happened to the kind, loving little sister I- wait you were never kind, you were a spoiled brat, what was I thinking? A little hard work might actually have been good for you."

"... Ok, that was too far... I'm sorry." He admitted after a beat. "But you have changed, dear sister. A great deal more than I have." He grinned and tapped his head. "I played the odds, like i always do. But someone decided they didn't like those odds, so they came marching right in anyway." Northal glanced towards where the coin lay in this time-stopped 'spirit world', and found it still laid there. He smiled and reached a hand over, still laying on his belly, to pick it up.

"The way I see it..." He said calmly, staring intently at the coin as he turned it over his fingers, "The spirit was trying to swallow up my consciousness but leave my body and power intact for his own use, and if he failed, then HE would be destroyed...so you're here to guide one consciousness to it's rest."

"... But that conciousness doesn't have to be me... I was cheated out of my chance to survive..."He grinned and readied the coin before grinning up to his little sister. "...So how about what may be one last game, Shiou? Heads I live, tails I go with you."

His grin disappeared and he gave Shiou a cold, hard look. "These scrolls are centuries old...If you're death, you know all the people he's responsible for killing... I can't let that monster have the power of Fel... not without a fight."

[Snacs]

“That's it, feel how it should be. Can you sense that it is wrong? That's it, just take things slow Fawn, it will come to you.” Alahm spoke softly to Fawn, who was standing with him in Eio's spacious kitchen. The girl was much like her name, Doe-eyed with an innocent look. By now Alahm had learned well that, despite her appearance that the young woman was quite rough-tongued and strong-willed. The Godling sometimes thought she could give his brother Rao a run for most stubborn once they got an idea stuck in their heads.

Seated was the woman Tia, who had her arm helpfully lifted and cradled by the Gentle Godling's hand. Fawn, her eyes firm with concentration, bent her fair-haired head studiously over the other injured limb, inspecting a long, shallow gash. The riots and spats between the Artisans Guild and Had were growing worse, and the dark-skinned beauty had been caught in one of the scuffles. Luckily this was her only injury.

The fair, slight girl concentrated, a gentle glow filling her hands with a warm light the color of her fair hair. Her eyes unfocused, and the long, ugly cut reknit itself, fading by stages until the skin was whole and unblemished yet again. A quick brush with a wet cloth and the skin was healthy and new.

Fawn smiled triumphantly, then tottered and would have fallen if not the Gentle Godling's hands had caught her, helping her into a nearby chair.

Such a small thing, healing a cut was. Alahm felt a warm glow of pride nonetheless. In the last two fortnights, the girls of the House of Eio had become willing adepts in learning the art of Healing. At least, once Eio made the tart suggestion that the exhausted Godling, slumping home one night after one of the larger riots, teach one of her 'useless girls' to do it for him.

Most of the women now stayed indoors for fear of the riots and the soldiers of the Had and the Artisans guild roaming the streets looking for trouble. And besides, learning under Alahm meant they evaded Eio's regimen of chores and demands to keep them busy.

Even she had been surprised when not one, but nearly all of them had turned out capable, if untaught Healers. He was still debating if the talent had simply lain dormant in them, or if he himself was imparting it by his presence, but whichever the reason, they excelled. In less than a week most of them were able to heal small cuts and remove fatigue, though none could yet match the godling's ability to being a Mortal back from near-death.

“I think I followed it that time. I can probably do it now.”Tia said with a husky chuckle, hopping to her feet and experimentally running a hand across her newly-healed arm. She had lagged behind the others in healing superficial wounds, though Alahm had been surprised at how quickly she had learned at influencing a Mortals body using the same technique. She could put others to sleep with a touch, or wipe the exhaustion from even the Godling himself(though he found he could not summon any of the Power that healing demanded until he did rest. Still, it helped.)He had learned much simply from watching the way 'his' Mortal Healers used their gifts.

And his Power was being stretched thin daily by now. His ability had grown with leaps and bounds, yet more and more people were being injured in violent riots, or simple violence on the part of Had's warriors. Eio had allowed the front room of her home to be turned into a makeshift hospital of sorts at Alahm's urging, though she would only gruffly say that any who came should not, under any circumstances, bleed over her rugs or meticulously well-kept wooden floors.

Alahm left Fawn in Tia's capable hands and entered this makeshift hospital, feeling a strange, calm sense of satisfaction at the way the men and women(for men healed by Alahm found an eagerness to help someone who ahd given back a lost limb or saved a loved one from the brink), moved about the various cots and sitting, injured people. The sight of them was sobering, for even with the godling helping, and teaching as many who could learn the art of Healing, more and more came every day.

Currently there were about two dozen injured in the wide, empty entry room(Eio had demanded her furniture moved to the back of the house), mostly men in the blank grey-brown clothing of unskilled laborers sitting or laying patiently to one side to wait for a Healer's touch. They huddled worriedly about one of their own, a man who Alahm could see had had his tongue cut out, and a vicious lump on the side of his head.

The Gentle god approached with a vague feeling that something was off. A small, wiry man stood out from the others as he sat holding the injured man's unconscious hand. His eyes were dark and closed as Alahm approached and bent over the man, lacking the normal worry as the child of Fel carefully explored the injured commoner. The injured man was dressed differently, he noticed. His clothing was far, far dirtier and patched in many places. He was injured by a blow to the head that left a fat, painful lump in his skull, and it appeared his tongue had been cut out. he was mercifully not awake to feel the pain that must follow such a set of injuries.

He looked up at the man beside him and frowned thoughtfully, even as his Power flowed outwards into the injured man under his hands. The men around him made sounds and murmurs of awe as the lump lost size and shrunk, though the dark-eyed stranger stared at the godling with a curious detachment to his supposed friend's fate.

There was something wrong about the man. He and the men that had come with him did resonate with the injured man's pain at all, and they had begun to sidle away from him across the room while he was busy dealing with the wrongness in the man below him.

The gentle pressure of a sharp knife at his back confirmed his suspicion as a woman screamed. Around him the 'injured' laborers were lifting long tunics, revealing long daggers and short swords. Now he could sense the faint stir of wrong around the disguised soldiers.

“You must be the 'Gentle Man' I have heard so much of. Had wishes you dead.” The dark-eyed stranger pulled himself to his feet across the prone body of the injured man from Alahm. He stood at least two heads shorter than the godling's fair height, whipcord-thin but healthy beneath the coarse clothing of a laborer.

“I assume you want something more, since I am not dead yet.”Alahm felt a strange calm settle over him, despite the sure, firm pressure the dagger took. He knew that a thrust from that angle would pierce his side in what would kill a normal Mortal. It would not kill him of course, but the next dozen or so thrusts would while he was busy healing.

“It wasn't very hard to find you. How pathetic to have nothing but women and weak, unfit soldiers to protect you. This was rather too easy! Perhaps Had is slipping? I want to know why he fears a weak Healer.” The Aut, for that was who he was, continued as if he hadn't heard the godling speak. He spit to one side in derision and tilted his head like a vulture eyeing a carcass already dead and rotting. Deep in his eyes flickered something strange, a faint, disquieting sense of wrongness that gripped the Aut.

There was the quiet sound of gasps and sighs from around the room, and the clatter of weapons hitting wooden floorboards was loud in the stunned silence, as was the far more organic thump of the Aut's men as they hit the floor solidly. Around the room they had grabbed prisoners they assumed were helpless, holding their weapons close to the throats of the Healers. All of them had learned well from Alahm, and had applied his Healing in the ingenious ways Tia had discovered.

The few soldiers the Aut had with him that had not been in contact with a Healer gave yells of challenge, only to be tripped, grabbed, and mobbed by the former soldiers who had not yet learned the arts of Healing, and the half-injured Mortals laying nearby.

Alahm reached out, his palm covering the top of the man's head, and with a sick flush of nausea ripped the wrongness he sensed curled about the Aut's mind. The sense of bloodlust and greed that wrongness gave made his stomach flip. The soldier behind him tensed, preparing to stab the Godling, and there was nothing Alahm could do about it while grappling with the wretched energy that coiled out of the Aut and struck at his own inner self like a snake chased from its hiding place.

There was the quiet -Wuff!- of air being displaced, followed by the heavy crack of something heavy smacking the side of the soldiers head behind him.
Eio stood with an furious expression as the soldier slumped to one side and wielding a bent, mangled metal pan in her hands.

“Donovan!How dare you bring weapons into my house!” The matronly woman had a voice like a town Crier when she needed it, and the loud, shrill roar made the Godling wince, and the Aut visibly cringe.

“E-Eio? What are you doing he-” The Aut started to speak as the Madam of the House of Eio strode forward and gave the Aut, the most powerful Mortal in the city of Cahra an open-handed -smack- that rocked the smaller man almost off his feet.

“What am I doing?This is my house you stupid, illiterate pig-farmer.” She said in a hiss as the Aut stared at her in dumb surprise along with everyone else in the room. One of the Aut's soldiers, so stunned by the act started to guffaw until one of the Healer's lightly tapped him on the arm, and sent him into slumber.

“Eio? I'm...What have I been doing?..” He looked lost and far less menacing than he had a moment before. Rather than a vulture, the man that was the Aut looked more like a bedraggled, wet pigeon besides the angry, voluptuous presence of Eio.

She cocked back her arm again, which was caught by the Godling and gently lowered before she could strike again.

“He is not at fault.” Alahm spoke simply, even as his power blazed, destroying the lingering traces of Had's influence that had seeked to curl around him. He felt sick by the touch of it, as it was nothing so much as a horrible, dark bloodlust. It was a corruption against everything the young godling felt his Father stood for.

“Take their weapons, and send them home once they awake.”He said to his Healers with a wave of his hands. He turned back to address the Aut, only to find the small man was entangled with Eio in a clutching embrace filled with much apologetic murmurings. The Godling coughed pointedly, and Eio broke away with a faint flush.

“I wish to see Had.” And the statement left no room for argument. It was clear Had was not just power hungry. He was a danger to these Mortals above that of a petty tyrant.

[Nefarion Xid]

Addelyn

A nervous attendant coughed to alert the studious Keth to his presence before softly speaking, "Someone to see you, Master," and, anticipating the natural follow up question, "A man claiming to be your brother Lossethir. Em, rather large, fellow; white hair. With... a pair of young lions. And... carrying an unconscious young woman."

Ah, well, one could see he had good reason for the hesitance and downcast eyes. It's not every day that someone vaulted the perimeter wall and brushed past the watchmen carrying a small menagerie.

"We've taken the girl to the infirmary. The... other one... is waiting in the antechamber."

Later, in the Infirmary

Lossethir stood to the right of the bed, arms folded with a stern look on his face as he recounted the story to Keth.

"She's been in and out for a day now. Still dehydrated. Don't know when she last ate either. She's holding on though. Lucky that I'd gotten lost on my way here. I doubt I'd have sensed her from more than a few miles away in her current state."

[the_druid_droid]

Addelyn

As the messenger spoke, Keth turned toward the entrance of his makeshift study, a look of shock on his face. Much to the man’s surprise, the god’s face quickly broke into a wide grin and he strode rapidly toward the doorway, his robes billowing out in his wake.

“If you wish, I can call the city watch, lord Keth.” The messenger was hurrying now to keep pace with the deity.

“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary.” With a gesture, Keth dismissed his servant and then threw open the doors, finding his brother waiting just as promised. “Lossethir! It’s good to see a friendly face! Addelyn, though lovely, is sadly lacking in those of late.” The god embraced his brother with an uncharacteristic warmth before stepping back to take a good look at him and his new pets.

“You must tell me everything that’s happened since the boat; what did you face? Who else have you seen?” The questions came crowding into Keth’s mind faster than he could express them; Valtam’s declaration had been one thing, but here was flesh-and-blood proof that his family was still alive! He found himself wanting to know everything at once, but tried to be considerate of Lossethir after his long travels. As Lossethir finally began to speak and Keth stilled the questions in his mind to concentrate on his story, the two began to move toward the infirmary and Addelyn’s other guest.

Later, in the Infirmary

Keth watched his unconscious sister with concern in his gray eyes. He had already made sure that the best healers in the city were tending to her, but silently he cursed his own lack of skill in the healing arts. He wished he could be more useful now that one of his siblings was in need.

As Keth glanced up, he heard his brother speak. "She's been in and out for a day now. Still dehydrated. Don't know when she last ate either. She's holding on though. Lucky that I'd gotten lost on my way here. I doubt I'd have sensed her from more than a few miles away in her current state."

Keth nodded at his brother’s words. “It’s good you brought her with you; the physicians here took good care of me after the Leviathan attacked, and I’ve instructed them to do the same for her. With any luck she’ll make a full recovery.”

After double-checking that all his sister’s needs were being met, Keth spoke again, this time more quietly. “There’s something you should see if you haven’t yet...it’s Torallden...he...well, it’ll be easiest if you see for yourself.” With that, Keth motioned for his brother to accompany him as he made his way toward the infirmary door and the main plaza of the city.

[Nefarion Xid]

Addelyn

After sweeping Keth off his feet with a hug, Lossethir fist named Valtam, Eilyan and Abigail and assured they were safe, and excepting Abigail, had attained their birthright. Neb lives, he said, but is beyond our reach for now. He added that he had faith Neb would return one day.

On the walk to the infirmary, Lossethir spared no details with Keth, apart from again omitting the encounter with the witch and replacing it with the ill protected elixir and angry titan. Both vowed to scour the library for clues as to the creature's origin. Secretly, Lossethir thought there must be a way to command the Glacial as the witch had. And, no, he didn't suppose that being decapitated had greatly inconvenienced the colossal of rock and ice. Rather, he fully expected it to be waiting for him on the beach when next he returned to the far north.

The story of his encounter with the Leopard King (as he had called the nameless stranger in his own mind for some time) he chose to keep for later. Something about the feline man nagged at the back of his mind, something sinister he couldn't put his finger on. The Leviathan was the stuff of nightmares, but it was only a beast. Beasts were simple. Men are complex. And this creature he'd met in the west was something in between. Worse than a beast, a cat! Cats and men shared a similar penchant in that they were both a species known to kill out of simple boredom. Lossethir had no doubt that, at this moment, he was being plotted against or...

Of course! The scent of the hair. Oh, something would have to be done about that. Thankfully he felt quite safe within the great city and knew himself (or perhaps, blissfully, ignorantly thought himself) to be safe for now.

After attending to their sister, he followed Keth to the plaza center. Upon seeing the petrified Torallden, Lossethir's eyes slid shut and he turned his gaze away and downward. His blood boiled, as if the icy blue slurry in his veins was capable. Momentarily losing his composure, a thin layer of frost spread along the stones at his feet and a sudden chill bewildered the citizens. The miniature cold front faded as quickly as it came and Lossethir chanced a defeated look towards the stone.

"Is there no way to free him?"

[Mono Vertigo]

… dead?
Had he just died? Were the songs and noise of the wild a requiem? Her new companion, being an artificial being born of cold stone and man's blood, didn't feel concerned by the collective mourning. As he tore a man's throat, he threw brief but strong gusts of wings to knock its next targets away.
How could that happen? “What? No, he can't be-”
“-of course he can die”, she said harshly, interrupting herself. “Of course, what are you, stupid?”
Her face distorted in blind rage and shame, as she scolded herself out loud. “It's the way of the world. Things die, things are born, things live and die. It would be an unspeakable chaos if it weren't the case. Idiot! Moron! You can't think you deserve to escape that cycle, or else it doesn't make you any better than who you're fighting! Stupid Va!”
She needed to suppress the sudden pain in her heart and the tears with cold rationality. It would be much more painful to wake up one day and find out she was just like them. And maybe, just maybe, if Kal had as much power over nature as she thought, he could go once more through that cycle.
And that was exactly what he did.
Still! The bastards killed him! And if the pain of the consequences faded away, the pain of the cause didn't. Sensing her rage, along with Kal's companions, Yamascah doubled its efforts.

[the_druid_droid]

Addelyn

Keth had been pleased to hear of more siblings that had survived their journeys, but now that he saw Torallden’s frozen form again, and felt the chill emanating from his brother’s heart, his mood turned dark.

“Is there no way to free him?” At Loss’ question, Keth sighed heavily.

“I have not yet found a way.” Keth spoke quietly, studying Torallden’s stone-smooth features. “This stone is old, and the magic that rests on it is terrible; it may even predate the great founders of Addelyn. Those ancient men learned to use it, as did Lucius, but somehow its magic flows only one way: to lock up and bind. Anything I might try would be just as likely to kill as to free him.”

Here, the god paused, kneeling to re-light a white candle at the statue’s feet. The wax from many other candles had pooled on the cobblestones, next to a small bowl of honeyed oat cakes. “So while I wait for a better answer, I remember him in my own way.” Then, brightening a bit, Keth put a hand on his brother’s shoulder and began to gently lead him away. “But come, there has been enough sadness for one day. We have faced harsh trials, and now we should rest and celebrate the good that has come our way. It has been far too long since this city smiled.”

[Kasanip]

Northal and Little Sister Death

Northal could pierce the gaze with his smile, wide now enough that there in his eyes he can laugh and grin at Death herself.
And with that, the aura around her seems to lessen somewhat. The mists seemed brighter in this time, and the aloof and cold look she has is broken some to one of childlike annoyance - that was the Shiou he knew.

And she had changed, and there was irony there, that the princess was also a servant.
She looked annoyed at Northal when he taunted her, but that was not new.
"You shouldn't treat me like that, older brother. Especially in the pathetic form you are in right now. I could take your soul you know. Except I can't. I can't because you are right." She looked at her mirror like it betrayed her words.
"I can't lie, but I can know your word is true. I am Death, and I have come to take one of you. But it is not him and you who get to decide when they will die. I am here for that.. He has his sins too perhaps. But that's something I decide later. I don't judge the living.

Fine then.
If you want to wager that, then I will accept it." she said, crossing her arms and sitting down to face him.
"It is a victory for me either way. One way I have another brother who lives. The other, I will have a ghost of one who was once my brother to take care of. "


She glowered, remembering some far off memory.
"But you better not cheat. You set these terms of the wager. I set the terms of flipping: One flip only."

[HalfTangible]

Northal

Northal laughed at some memories of his own. "I don't cheat when something is on the line, sister. I cheated plenty but never for personal gain, just for fun... And thanks. I know you don't need to do this." He sighed deeply, and then flipped the coin.

It dinged against the stone floor, flipping over and across the distance between Shiou and Northal. It landed right in front of Shiou, landing and vibrating a bit before settling at last. The visage of a skull stared right at Death herself. Northal smirked.

" A deal's a deal. I live for a little longer... Lucky me." He stared at the coin, then looked up to Shiou, mocking amusement and smirk gone. "Before you go... You said I was the first you found dieing... but the others may have died before you ascended... Do you know anyone else who made it, sister?"

[Nefarion Xid]

Addelyn

Lossethir began to perk up at the talk of something to celebrate. He'd seen the vineyards outside the city and sincerely hoped they were being put to good use.

"Why not a whole festival for the city then?" He had a mischievous smile on himself by the time they'd left the plaza and swept around in front of Keth to waggle a finger towards him. "It is our right, eh? We say it-is-so and so-it-is. And you look like a man who can say that it is a holy day. Ah, the night of the first snowfall! Winter is coming soon, and I can promise this one shall be a proper winter like we haven't had in an age... more about that later."

Retiring to a secluded study with Keth, Lossethir reluctantly revealed the unabridged story of his ascension. The North Wind had been slain a century prior and much of the world had experienced summer without end, indeed many of the southern people no longer had words for seasons in the languages.

"Fel set them at the ends of the world for a reason," the spirits of the North and South Wind, he meant. Lossethir's wine lay long forgotten on the table beside him as he sat on the edge of his chair, arms resting on his knees. "I know... I know many people won't like it and some of our brothers will argue with me, but I have to. The world, it's... drying up. I can feel it.

He paused, rubbing his temples as if suffering from a sudden headache. "I remember the world being different. There were more rivers in these realms, but the mountains haven't been capped with snow in years. The sea too, it's risen, hasn't it? Swallowed up more and more land?"

A spirit remembers the lay of the land when they see it from far, far above. There had been fewer islands when the North Wind had made his last journey south. He no longer had a voice of his own, but he spoke to Lossethir with the sights and sounds of his memories.

"It will be mild... this year. I swear. No crops will perish. But, for next year, the people will need to store food and have proper clothing. I would also send out messengers to let the other lands know. I'll travel myself, but I can't reach everyone. Tell them that the first snow is a sign of the god's love, that we work to preserve and protect the world."

Reclining at last, he took the silver chalice from the table and sipped his wine hoping that his siblings intended to keep true to his words.

[the_druid_droid]

Addelyn

Keth had to smile at his brother’s enthusiasm. A celebration would be just the thing to bring them out of the darkness of their recent struggles, and it was most certainly deserved. “A holiday it shall be then!” As he led his brother someplace quieter to speak with him further, Keth dispatched a messenger to inform the Scholars and the city of the impending festivities.

Later, as Lossethir confided the full story of the north wind, Keth sat swirling the wine in his glass. He was concerned that his brother had withheld information earlier, but Keth knew his family well enough to trust that there was no malice behind the omission. Instead, it seemed as though Loss was slightly troubled about the whole affair, but rather than dwell on the issue, Keth chose to take comfort in the fact that his brother had trusted him enough to reveal the full story eventually.

As the white-haired god began to speak of the coming winter, Keth noted the odd look that passed over his face. Internally, he cringed; the newly-ascended god recalled the shock and confusion of the Source’s revelations when he had taken it up, and he did not envy his brother the constant contact with the Frostheart and its memories. At last, when his brother had finished speaking, Keth took a long sip from his glass and pondered briefly what the future might hold.

“It is wise to show restraint this first winter. I will make sure that all in Addelyn are prepared, and my Scribes and I will spread the word wherever we may journey.” Pouring out more wine for himself and his brother, Keth continued. “In truth, I think that a winter will be good for the people, as much as the land. I wish to see them grow wise as well as strong, and the tasks of storing up food and increasing the land’s production will be a fitting challenge for their skills. The hardships of true winter will be painful, but they will grow because of them, and that has always been my purpose.”

Here Keth paused and let his eyes wander over the books and scrolls that lined the study’s walls. “The true depth of Lucius’ betrayal was that he kept these men and women blind and powerless to help themselves; they lived in a beautiful bright city but did not understand it or know who had built it, a mausoleum for the living. Unfortunately, I fear that such blindness is the lot of many in this world. With luck, the coming of the Children shall wake them from their sleep.”

Having finished, Keth raised his glass in a toast. “To winter.”

[TechnOkami]

Ulric, Part 4

Ulric stared at the man, “How do you know the language of the gods?” The old man smiled. “Because I know your father, son of Fel.” Ulric had a look of both shock and confusion on his face. “Fel Clay-shaper taught us the monk way of life. We sacrifice the many pleasures life can offer to improve ourselves. Together in this temple Fel built with his own hands, we train our bodies to the height of physical purity, teach ourselves and improve our minds, but most importantly: we unlock the depths of power within our souls and learn the truth behind our personal natures.” Ulric sat there in silence, listening to the old man’s every word. “For instance, when you are in my presence, you feel water moving around you, correct? That is the “truth” of my person, emanating forth from my soul. Knowing my true self gives me strength.” A silence passed by the two as Ulric thought upon his words and the man looked inside him, looking for the truer person. The old man then asked, “…what is your name?” Ulric looked at him once again, and responded with, “Ulric…” “Well Ulric, I can tell immediately that you seem to be an angered youth, and it is that anger that seems to be your strength, but you hate it. …why is that?” Ulric looks away immediately from his gaze as soon as that question surfaces, knowing the answer but refusing to give it up. The man sighed. “Listen, Ulric. You arrived here because of the angry spirit which resides inside you, and I am here to help you with them. But before I can do anything to help you, I have to know: what is it that causes you to burns so fiercely?” Ulric was silent for a moment, his eyes closed to the world around him. His words sunk through to his soul, drawing things he never hoped to recall. “I...” There he was, standing above the body of a woman lying on the floor. “I…” He stood there, before her dead body, tears streaming down his face as he cried in agony. “…I let her die…” And then, everything started to burn. The fire lapped around him, igniting the floor where he stood, and with arms raised and eyes full of fury, those who slew her were naught but piles of smoldering ash. “…it was only at the moment when I was most helpless that my power awoke in front of me, and forever I’ve been angry with myself. Why couldn’t I beckon it forth earlier? Why did my mother have to die?” His head shoots up, staring directly at the man. “And why do you force me to conjure up such painful memories? How the hell does giving me more pain help me? Tell me!” The old man remained silent for a moment, thinking carefully of what to say. “What I can tell you, Ulric, is I think I have a way to help you.” The flame in Ulric’s eyes had yet to recede, but the man’s words did steal his attention. “If aggression truly is your strength, perhaps drawing it forth through combat is the best way for you to master it.” He stood up, turning around to strike a gong, beckoning in servants who bowed at their master’s feet. “I will teach and train you, son of Fel, in the way which we fight and the philosophies we live by. I will teach you the path of the monk.” The fire dispersed from Ulric’s eyes, and a slight spark of hope emerged. “…will it work? Will teaching me the ways in which you live truly make me master of my power?” The monk looked upon the suddenly changed Ulric, now more akin to a boy than a man. “Frankly, I do not know. The power of a god is great to behold, but I will attempt to nurture your humanity to tame the beast inside you.” As he talked, his servants poured a glowing, golden tea into a cup, and handed it to Ulric. “Drink that, and your training will begin.”

[BladeofObliviom]

Addelyn, Infirmary

Canticum awoke with a start, not expecting the relatively urban surroundings. No, she'd collapsed in the forest, for sure! Where even was she?

...There were people here.

"Ummm... Hi. Where am I? And where is my lute?"

[The_Snark]

Flight

The frigate bird flies high, high into the air, buoyed by the hot afternoon winds. Below, sunlight glitters off the crest of ten thousand waves, each too small to make out with the naked eye; together, they make a rolling tapestry of light. The isle of Aikilari shrinks, still deceptively verdant; nobody could tell by looking that that place is dead. No seeds will grow there, no eggs will hatch, no woman will swell with child while she stands on those shores. Even rot flees from barren Aikilari's shores, forever stained by hunger and blood.

Higher she soars. Other islands appear on the horizon, already small and growing smaller still as they huddle closer together, til at last they are no more than dots of emerald and grey and gold, like jewels in the foam. The ocean is laid out beneath the frigate-bird like one of Keth's maps, and she sees it all at once: the sluggish currents twining their way through the islands of Gillinguap, the gentle hours-long roll of the tides. No bird flies this high; why would they? And yet she flies higher. The sea fades, blurring at the horizon until blue sky and blue sea can no longer be told apart.

When darkness falls the world is enveloped in blackness; the stars gleam overhead, but there is nothing for them to shine on save a few pale wisps of cloud. The air is thin and bitterly cold, the sun's heat having fled beneath the surface of the waters mere minutes after it set. The bird must labor to rise further, for the air will not carry her. But labor she does. The clouds slakes the bird's thirst and leaves her feathers glistening with dew, but there is nothing at all to eat so high above the earth, and the gnawing fingers of hunger begin to twine themselves about her belly.

Day comes, illumining a sphere of endless blue, and night again, and then another day and night. The wind is icy cold even by day, and the sun's rays blazing hot. By day, she stands balanced between those two extremes, exulting in the fierce intensity of it. By night… there is no balance.

The goddess wearing a bird's skin knows what it is like to be close to death. The frost is killing her slowly, and still she has not even glimpsed Alu Mari. Perhaps it lies elsewhere. Perhaps it is too high for any living thing to reach. Or perhaps Fel her father refuses her entry to his home.

It is night, but no longer dark. The moon waxes strong in the sky, drowning out the stars with its bright glow and painting the clouds silver. Its roundness is like a half-lidded eye, mocking and inviting at the same time, lulling. Hungry, cold and tired, the bird surrenders. Its wings half fold, the first time they have rested in a week. It falls.

The descent is swift, a spiral barely short of an outright fall. Down, down, shattering clouds with the wind of its passage, each moment undoing hours of hard-won upward flight; down, down, down, til the moon's light shines on something beneath. Then the frigate-bird extends its ragged wings to cut the fall and glides, aiming for something that shines pale white in the dark.

The bird alights in the courtyard of a palace of white marble, luminous in the light of the moon. It removes its skin, and a woman stands in its place, naked and wild. A servant garbed in silver gasps, and scurries into the building to bring the news to its mistress: a spirit at the gates, wearing the shape of a woman but with the eyes of a beast.

2 major acts spent to claim the forbidden island of Aikilari as a Realm.

[the_druid_droid]

Addelyn, Infirmary

As Canticulum spoke, a young woman wearing a healer’s tunic stepped forward. “You are safe in the white city of Addelyn, my lady. Your brother, the lord Lossethir, brought you here, and the Teacher commanded that we watch over you and provide anything you might need. All of your possessions are safe, here in the room with you.” At this, the woman gestured toward a small table where Canticulum’s things were carefully arranged. As she finished speaking, the healer turned toward a pair of attendants, and sent them off to bring news of the goddess’ recovery to Keth.

The messengers had not been gone long before the god himself appeared, a smile present on his face as well as in his gray eyes. “It’s good to see you well, sister. Lossetheir and I have been swapping stories and celebrating our adventures; when you are feeling well enough, you will have to join us and tell your own tale.” Keth bowed a greeting to his sister, knowing that she likely wouldn’t appreciate a bear hug quite as much as Lossethir had.

As Canticulum adjusted to her new surroundings, Keth watched her carefully. She looked well, but the god wondered what she had been through; she had certainly been in dangerous shape when she had arrived. Still, a small part of him rejoiced; his sister’s awakening would be even more cause for celebration in Addelyn.

[BladeofObliviom]

Addelyn, Infirmary

Canticum was confused. People were being nice to her? That's something she hadn't seen since the shipwreck.

She hesitantly smiled at the nurse as she gave a gesture of thanks.

When Keth himself appeared, she tensed up a bit, believing herself to be seeing things from her dehydration again. When she realized that he was real, and not in fact a hallucination, she could barely keep herself from exploding with joy!

She would have instead shown a large, bright grin, with the mischievous air typical of her. However, Keth might be able to sense that she's troubled, worried about something. In fact, the smile doesn't even seem completely right, as if restricted slightly by paranoia and no small amount of terror.

"Keth! I haven't seen you in so long, nor Lossethir! I've missed my brothers."

She's clearly able to stand, since she appears to be doing so. And attempting to give her brother a hug! Not a bear hug, mind you, but a gentle and loving one.

"I've missed you so much..."

[TheDarkDM]

Valtam Seeking the God of Trials

Valtam left the Valtamyr to their festivities after a night of well earned rest off their shores, his body embraced by the sluggish roll of the waves. Upon the dawn, a great wave rolled in from the deep ocean and carried Valtam away, towards the nearest spark of divinity he could feel. The night before, he'd spent hours poring over the Valtamyr's great map, and had seen the nearest spark was located somewhere near a rock formation called the Fangs of Evil. A colorful name, to say the least, but the Valtamyr had assured him that the rocks had earned their dark reputation. If one of his siblings was truly trapped in some blighted wasteland of rock and darkness, Valtam was set on rescuing them.

Day passed into night, and back again, but on the third dawn since his departure Valtam sighted the Fangs of Evil. The black, jagged rocks pierced the heavens like the rebellious fingers of an angry demon, seeming to gouge holes in the clouds and send a shadowy pall over the area. As he drew close enough to make out the rotting husks of generations of ships, Valtam began to fear the worst. That was when he heard the singing, a piercing melody that cut directly to Valtam's heart. Yet even as his humanity compelled him towards the voices, a dark, bestial presence at the back of his mind urged him to caution. As the shadow of the Fangs touched him, Valtam saw a triad of sirens lounging at the base of a sea mount, gesturing him forward. However, as he floated above the shattered remains of masts and the treacherous razored reefs, the sirens' faces contorted in confusion and fear. When Valtam's feet touched down on their rocky landing, the scaled beauties scrambled backwards until their backs struck the stony obelisk.

"Greetings, daughters of the blackened deep. I am Valtam, Lord of the Sea, child of Fel and claimant to the entirety of the waves. I will come to know you later, but for now I need know but one thing - where is my kinsman?"

The sirens regarded Valtam in a stupor for a moment before one of them crawled forwards. Opening her full lips to reveal a mouth full of needle teeth, she unleashed a high trilling that nevertheless conveyed her intent. She knew where another child of Fel could be found, and he pointed finger towards a particularly intact wreck was all Valtam needed to know. Stepping back into the water, he vaulted over the flotsam and jetsam of the Fangs and landed at the yawning gap that led into the ship's interior. Valtam took a step forwards, and before his eyes adjusted to the gloom a pale form was flying towards him. The siren struck his chest with enough force to drive them both back into the light, and as Valtam beheld Ahmi's face her talons scraped across his chest. Yet as her talons bounced off of his divine flesh, Ahmi paused just long enough for a tendril of water to wrap around her neck. With a sweep of his arm, Valtam sent Ahmi into the air, strangling at the end of a watery noose. A squeeze of his hand, and the iron hold tightened, and Ahmi's angry howl had turned into high pitched squeals. Valtam would have finished her then, yet as the life began to flee from her body he sensed the divine spark that had been imparted to her. It was a shock, enough of one that the tendril holding her dissipated into nothingness, allowing her to collapse on the rocks, coughing. His wrath turned to a hesitant tenderness, Valtam knelt beside her and helped her back to her feet.

"Forgive me. I thought you were but a feral beast defending its territory, but you have been touched by a child of Fel. Rao, unless I miss my guess. This makes you more precious than you realize. But I must know, if you have my brother's spark does he yet live? And if so where is he?"

Ahmi's eyes narrowed at Valtam's apologies, but his powers were beyond anything she'd seen since before she'd been caught in Rao's embrace, and his claim to kinship rang true. Allowing a lilting chirrup to pass her lips, she waved vaguely towards the mountain beyond the fangs. Valtam turned, and indeed once he pushed the screaming chaos of the Fangs from his mind he could feel Rao's presence, clinging to a uniquely treacherous outcropping of rock. Valtam shook his head, both appreciating the impractical tenacity of his brother and despairing at its translation into godly proportions, and turned back towards Ahmi with a smile.

"We shall meet again, siren. Though unlike your sisters, it will not be as master and subject. Until then, good health to you."

Valtam stepped into the water, and from the deeps came a roiling rumble. Bubbles flew to the surface from the darkest reaches of the ocean, and as Valtam braced himself a great geyser of water shot up, propelling him into the air. Yet the water of the geyser did not fall to earth, instead wrapping around him in sinuous bands. This it was that Valtam landed a dozen feet above Rao, the water shooting out to brace his fall and soaking him in the process. Standing in the depressions the pressurized water had made, Valtam looked down at Rao with a broad smile and seawater dripping from his beard.

"How goes it brother? You truly have a most interesting taste in women."

[Kasanip]

Northal and Shiou

Shiou looked at the coin with a frown, and picked it up with her fingers daintily. She stood up over Northal as he spoke, though she looked at the coin skull.

Then she knelt down in front of him quickly and took his hand and put the coin in it, before closing Northal's hand on the coin, her own hands still holding his inside.

"Yes...Lucky you." She says with a sigh. And then she smiles. It's a tired smile, but proud, and one not often seen by Northal. Normally it is the sullen face she has when she loses.
"I don't really want to take one of you across yet anyway." She admits. "Though I would if I had to. Ah, by the way. That means I will take this other soul then.
And she tugged on Northal's hand, and stepped back, as from the hand she pulled the soul, and it screamed in fear and rage before words like mist and shattering glass resonated around it's neck as Shiou spoke. Resonating like a drumbeat. And it became a collar and a chain about it, so the ghost could not cry out.

Shiou turned and pointed at the mist around, as it turned bright like a door. Off in the distance, Northal might catch a rare glimpse of the white tower, but it is not there. It is not a path to walk yet.

At his question though, Shiou turned curiously.
"I...suppose others may have died before. If they have, I have not met them....
As for the others, I only hear stories as I travel. To the north, to the south, to the east and west. I have been...too busy, or afraid to see them. Perhaps I will go soon too. It was good to see you again brother. I'm sure we'll meet again soon. Hopefully under...more relaxing time."

She turned, idly send her hair off with a hand in a proud manner. And then she was off into the mists, and the glimpse of the white tower was gone.

[rapter200]

The fight was over and blood flowed freely over the field of battle. The humans had become nothing more than unrecognizable dismembered bits and pieces. Kalonoth had stayed back letting his priests destroy the enemy. His sister's creation had proven very useful as well, it alone taking out many of the mortals. He had enough of combat to last him for a long time, it wasn't his way of doing things. Fighting through proxy and allowing time to take it toll was much more his style. Create a plant to handle the problem or overwhelm with wild beasts. That was his style. Not charging straight into combat, what was he thinking.

He glanced at his sister and with a smirk on his face started speaking “It looks like we are done here, you have to give them credit it though. They came very close to ridding the world of me for good.” He then smiled as if to remark that he was ok. Even gods were not invincible, something that they would all have to eventually learn.

[Mono Vertigo]

With a hand gesture, she recalled her exarch, still shaken up by the experience. “I-I won't let them try that again. Their place in the world will be taught! And... and most of all, after I exert my revenge, I won't involve you into my problems again.”
Va needed to grow wiser and stronger so she could stand her own, at last. Had Kalonoth not been there, they could have had a chance to kill her instead...
Wiping the tears off her furious face, she mounted Yamascah.. “My presence may attract more of them. I need to deal with vermin like that alone. It... it was nice seeing you again. Next time will be in better circumstances. I swear it, I won't come back until I'm sure nothing, no one is after me. Until next time... farewell, and take care.”
The creature took off and flew away, helped by the winds, just above tree height. Destination still unknown, although the closest civilized town would do.

[TechnOkami]

Ulric, Part 5

As soon as the golden sap touched his lips, he felt strength returning to him. The wounds he procured from his and his family’s brush with the leviathan were healed completely. If one looked upon him, it would seem as if he had nary a scratch on his body. Feeling more confident, Ulric stood up and beheld his body returned to normalcy, feeling his muscles and flexing his joints. “…I have to hand it to you, that’s one hell of a tea.” The old monk smiled. “We collect it from the sap of these pillars holding up this room. These trees have medicinal properties which we convert into a tea form.” Ulric thought for a second, then asked, “…my father grew them, didn’t he?” The monk nodded. “Makes sense…” Ulric thought. “…the old man always was a kind one.” Ulric turned his thoughts back to the old man before him. “…so what do we do now?” The monk talked as he stood up, saying, “What you will be doing, son of Fel, is following me.” With that, he began to walk down the stairs and into the courtyard, Ulric following close behind. All the monks became aware of the master’s movements, noting his coming to the main courtyard of the monastery. They moved inside, standing under the roofs to watch what would unfold. When Ulric finally reached the courtyard, the old man lead him to its center and stood facing him. “Now, no doubt your divine prowess will speed up the process by which you learn our ways and our fighting style, but for now I have one thing I want you to do.” The old man took several steps away from Ulric, turned to face him, and said only this, “Hit me.” Ulric stared at him blankly. “…that’s it? You just want me to hit you?” “That is correct, son of Fel.” “Alright…” said Ulric in a concerned tone. Ulric remained motionless for a few, brief seconds, and then began running as fast as he could across the courtyard, running up to the old man, and with a momentum powered fist, punched. What he met was air. The old man raised a hand and deflected his fist. “Surely, the son of Fel could do better.” A tinge of annoyance flickered to life, and Ulric attempted another punch, only to have that deflected as well. Thrust after thrust, Ulric was unable to land a single blow upon the old man. His annoyance festered quickly, and soon his fury was beginning to show. His fits began to fly faster, though they were deflected just the same. The old man started to feel a presence within Ulric coming forth, something bestial and powerful, with an aura resembling the heat of a wildfire. Ulric’s attacks became wide and indirect, his fists unfurled into open hands resembling claws. The way he fought became inherently different. He fought like a beast of fire. His movements were indiscernible, and his attack was a constant force, leaving virtually no room to fight. In simpler terms… it would be facing a wall made of flaming fists. Steadily, the old man could feel the pressure of his raw strength on his chest, slowly coming to the realization that his defensive stance could not outlast his fury. Ulric’s furious side claws at the elder monk yet again, but gets pulled back as well as deflected, the elder monk flipping Ulric over him. Taking the chance, he bursts into a sprint, running across the courtyard and leaping to the whole next story. Then suddenly, he feels intense heat behind him, barely dodges, and is staring at an arm tearing through the second story wall. Ulric looks down upon the monk with his red glazed eyes, his killing intent nearly visible as a fog of crimson around his being. The master’s own aqueous aura felt as if it were boiling over, unkempt and threatened by his presence. Ulric roars, and his arm which was formerly inside the wall has now torn through it, and would have hit the old man if he hadn’t performed a back flip and dodged his strike. Reactively, Ulric charged him with his free arm forward, only to hit nothing as the monk hopped up yet another floor. Ulric regained control of his momentum, and propelled himself onto the next floor. He looked about wildly, finally seeing the monk above him yet again. With all his fury-empowered might, Ulric launched himself from the floor’s ledge, breaking it off in the process as he flies through the air, chasing after the monk. The master, with his foot extended, aims for and strikes at the perfect location for resonation upon his target: the bell. The tone emanated through the air like a sword through water, striking the fuse which was Ulric’s furious rampage and knocking him out cold. Yet on he flew with his body, flying directly towards the elder monk. The old monk flinched for nary a second, and felt the brush of Ulric’s limp hand meet his cheek. The rest of Ulric slammed into the bell, cracking its once perfect form. The elder monk caught himself from the fall, landing only feet away from Ulric. His true self returned to its normal composure, though still deterred and choppy from the encounter with the being it just came in contact with. The old man put a hand to his cheek as he heard the sounds of his disciples running up the flights of stairs to check on his condition. Looking upon Ulric, the Master felt somewhat humbled. “…congratulations Ulric, you hit me.” Though Ulric will think otherwise once he regains consciousness, it was infact the master who learned a very important lesson this day: never underestimate the strength of a God, especially a son of Fel, Clay-Shaper.

One Major Act

Divine Athletics Obtained.

[Raz_Fox]

Change comes slowly to the thousand islands of Fel's world. A harsh wind blows from the north- winter is coming to the world of eternal summers. Wildmen unite beneath the banner of a proud god, as do pampered, entirely-too-civilized men beneath the watchful eyes of a wise god. The lord of the sea culls the traitorous spirits of tide and wave, and words carry far and wide over this deed.

Not everyone appreciates change.

They say that the children of Ira-Bekana beat the war-drums now, that they set sail in their sleek ships to bring glorious, holy war to their neighbors. That scaled scouts and assassins slip snakes into the beds of far-off kings, so that chaos reigns when her children come to call. Soon, they whisper to cooling corpses, soon everyone will understand her glory.

The south wind, too, comes unleashed from its moorings. The summer that comes before the harvest now is burning-hot, dry and scorching. Lakes wither away in the south, and rivers choke and die. Those of the east, and those of the west, find their crops dying, begging for better water. And in the wind there is a whisper something like a lion's roar.


But hark, turn your attention to Addelyn. A man - if the word can be used so loosely - rides up to its gates. This man has fine clothes of shining green silk, and an amber clasp on his cloak, and finely-pointed teeth. And he commands the guards at the gates to summon forth their spirits, that he might warn them about the fate that is to befall their city, now that the bargain has been broken.

And his smile is cruel, and those that know their mother's tales make the sign to ward away misfortune, for one of the Laughing Folk has come to them, and where there is one there are a hundred more in the forest.


Turn 3 Begins
All Gods Gain 3 MA, 3 ma, 1 Ceremony

Domains Gained:
Northal - Fortune

[Mono Vertigo]

Vagwyrr

Suta, prosper city



Among the merchants, among the thieves, the craftsmen, the dancers, the elders, there were words of death and destruction, of roots and blood, of pain and punishment, rumors of a terrible catastrophe in the village of Pabbe, known by a handful for their export of fish and octopus ink. (There were also rumors about winter, and the wind, and creatures in the sea, but Va was busy enough listening to what was directly relevant first.) Each detail, however, was a drop in the sea of tales. Some say a curse struck them swiftly, at once, one night. Other that by the time they arrived, barely-breathing people hosted cruel and thirsty vines. Or that they were turned to stone. Or turned into immobile silhouettes on their walls. Several claim only children left unscathed, or women, or blondes. A few dared make their own interpretations about the cause: spirits, cursed fish, magical runes.
In that population, however, only a handful had actually made the travel themselves to see with their own eyes what had happened, and even then, their imagination ran wild.

The facts were however that, by the time Pabbe's population was decimated, five people got a second chance by fleeing their home before divine wrath struck. A tired woman with her toddler and old injuries inflicted by loved ones; a remorseful woodcutter who sought redemption; a scared young teen who had seen things little girls shouldn't see; and the latest student of the academy, running forward because that's the only way he knew how to solve problems. In the thriving city of Suta, the mother, the girl and the woodcutter told their side of the story with conviction. They had done awful things in absolute impunity, they had caught and sold as slaves people who were anything but that, they had done the very opposite of what they'd preached, they had enforced the status of their home as an invisible and peaceful village... and when that woman came to confront them with their lies, their neighbours resorted to murder and kept their ways. Only they had listened to the stranger's prediction and survived. Most of all, since everything else she had said turned out to be true, her identification as a godly being was also correct.

In a way, except Lon, they were Vagwyrr's first followers. They paved the way for Vagwyrr, who taught with energy the philosophy of the Inquisitive Eye. Those willing to fight the lies plaguing their mind were blessed with magic that allowed them to perceive the unseen: poison, invisible spirits, diseases. Disciples could see such phenomenons clearly, and ward themselves against their coming; however, once they had settled, they could not be removed as easily.
Last of all, the goddess made a new plane of existence accessible through meditation. It fundamentally resembled a misty swamp with ruins, and a tall lighthouse in the middle, all engraved with eyes; but each visitor's mind would unconsciously shape the surroundings, and make it more welcoming as they found and fought their own flaws. Also, the place was big enough so it would be uncommon for two guests to meet each other there. Last of all, only the creator of this realm could force someone to stay or leave against their will. This sanctum was called Banti-Gonn, which meant “Soon-to-be-illuminated Truth”.
The growing group was progressively catching the attention of the ruler of the city, and other forces.




One minor act

- Teaching a population a philosophy/religion of the Inquisitive Eye. Promotes the knowledge of self foremost, and secondly, the exposition of cheaters and other liars. No hierarchy, beside, obviously, Vagwyrr as the leader. Followers learn the existence of Banti-Gonn and knowledge of minor warding magic, and are encouraged to teach both of them in return. Obviously, authorities and criminals tend to oppose these teachings and silence followers.

Three major acts

- Creation of a divine sanctum, Banti-Gonn, or Soon-to-be-illuminated Truth. Only followers know of its existence, though others may access it with extra meditation and luck. For the time being, all are allowed to access and exit it freely, though this may change if the master notices abuse. By default, everyone's fears, flaws, hopes and memories shape the place uncontrollably, with an extent proportional to one's emotions. Only constant is the tall lighthouse in the center. Everyone gets out at exactly the same place they accessed it in the physical world, making it highly unsuitable for travel purposes. Time flows more slowly there. Other children of Fel may find the sanctum much more easy of access.

[the_druid_droid]

Addelyn

Canticulum’s embrace took Keth by surprise; he hadn’t been sure how awakening in the infirmary after her adventures might affect her. Nonetheless, he returned the warm embrace, and felt his smile broaden. Having company at last, after nearly despairing at the loss of Torallden made him feel almost giddy, and he had a sudden urge to show off the city to his siblings.

“Now that you’re awake, everything is set for a celebration tomorrow. Why don’t we have a look at the preparations, and I’ll show you both all the sights and sounds Addelyn has to offer?” Keth glanced between Lossethir and his sister, and seeing them interested, he helped Canticulum gather her things before accompanying his guests outside.

Just off the main square, they found the festival grounds, dotted with small white tents and long wooden tables for feasting. Several workers were hastening around, placing decorations and coordinating their efforts with carpenters and caterers as the preparations began to take shape. The gods walked among them, chatting easily and commenting on the wreaths and ribbons that were hanging up on all sides.

With Keth as their guide, the gods continued on, past the festival ground, into the oldest part of the city. Here were the mansions, libraries and theaters used by the ancient men who founded the city. Everywhere there were marble pillars, and fountains decorated with hammered bronze or glittering gold. Walls and lintels were carved with figures depicting long-forgotten hunts and royal weddings. However, despite their beauty, many of the buildings had been abandoned and some had even fallen into disrepair after their original inhabitants had vanished, but Keth was quick to point out the efforts at restoration, carried on by the men he had taught to shape stone and forge metal.

As his tour was concluding, a tall man in armor ran up to Keth, panting and looking terrified. “Please...my lord, you must come to the gates... there is a...creature there who desires to see you.”

Confused by the man’s rambling, Keth tried to get a description of the visitor, but the guard would only plead for him to come quickly to the city gate. At last, with a mixture of concern and irritation, the god turned and strode toward the entrance to Addelyn, apologizing to his siblings along the way for the inconvenience.

When he reached the gate, Keth saw the green-clad figure, and his expression hardened slightly as he noticed something vaguely inhuman in man’s face. Stepping forward, the god greeted the man, a slight chill in his voice. “I am Keth, Teacher and Protector of this city. The guards tell me that you demand an audience with me and refuse to tell them your purpose here. Is this true?”

[Raz_Fox]

"Keth?"

The thing's voice is melodious and sweet, and it smiles at Keth, but the smile is merely a showing of teeth - there is no warmth in its eyes, only cold cunning.

"Keth. Pray tell us, whatever happened to Lord Lucius? He was ever so polite to us. But no, I will not judge, for I am merely a messenger from our Queen of Roses, who - with the greatest remorse and disappointment, I assure you - must inform you that the city known as Addelyn will be razed to the ground before the moon veils herself again, for it has not supplied us with the agreed-upon terms of our bargain with its master. A shame, that such high and unnatural walls should be broken and torn down, but what must be done must be done. That is all, Keth." It thinks for a moment. "That is the most unusual name! I like it. I am Keth now. Keeeeeth. Keth!"

It laughs, like a child discovering a new toy, and the men upon the walls feel faint-hearted and unsteady as they hear that laugh. One drops his shield, and it clangs upon the stone with unnatural clamor.

[BladeofObliviom]

Addelyn - Gates

Umm...

Canticum's hand is humming.

That is not good. At all.

"...You would dare to threaten my family?"

Someone should probably stop her before she turns this diplomat into paste. It'd be rather poor form for diplomacy...


While I'm posting, since I don't see a smooth way to integrate it, I'll just spend my acts now.

1 Major Act: Gain Music domain, since it's slightly central to the character.
1 Major Act: Gain Greater Warding Magic, a made-up-on-the-spot Rank 2 ability! Yay! It's probably easy to guess what it does!

[the_druid_droid]

Addelyn's Gate

A gentle hand rests on Canticulum's shoulder. "Patience, sister. There will be a time for that, but it is not just yet." Keth's words are kind, but there is a resolve in them, and as he regards the messenger, a fire burns in his gray eyes.

"It troubles me that your Queen does not take more note of the world outside her halls. Lucius is dead, and any bargains he made have died with him. I watch over this city now, and you shall find that I am no mere Spirit, but a son of Fel Clayshaper, as are my siblings." There is an edge to Keth's voice, and he does not look away from the messenger. "If I thought there was some mutual benefit to be had, I would propose a renegotiation of whatever arrangement Lucius' death terminated, but I see all too clearly from the fear in these men's eyes and your haste to threaten us what manner of creatures you are. Go then, and tell your Queen that the world has changed, and Addelyn will be ready to face you when you come."

The messenger's appropriation of his name infuriated Keth, and he struggled to resist the temptation to draw his dagger and kill the cursed thing where it stood. At last his willpower won out, but the god looked on with hate as the messenger departed. When the inhuman rider had faded into the distance, the god turned to Lossethir and Canticulum again.

"It seems the celebrations will have to be postponed." Keth's expression was tense, but his siblings could read a silent request for help in his features.

[BladeofObliviom]

Addelyn's Gate

Well, disaster averted. Keth's gentle touch seemed to diffuse her anger. But the idea that celebration had to be postponed? Nonsense!

"Now, now. As unpleasant as that was, there's no reason to dim the spirits of everyone here! Morale is a good thing, after all."

With that, she began to play. A tune that would lift spirits upon all within sight, carrying a subtle blessing with it. All who heard it found it easier to avoid being distracted when they so chose, as well as gained a brighter mood and generally higher happiness.


1 Minor Act: Bless Addelyn.

[ryan4567]

Yemaya

Something was happening. A guard had entered her throne room in haste, bringing words of a strange being at the gates. Yemaya was not sure if she was excited for the potential of change, or if she was concerned about its risk.

Time on the island of Lomaris passed slowly for her. It took less than no effort to coerce the tribes into accepting her as their new goddess, and treat her with the respect they had treated Mesic. The religion of the Moon, her religion, she changed from vague, undefined traditions into a defined and organised religion, full of ritual and ceremony, and ultimately empowering its center – her. Mesic’s palace became Yemaya’s head temple, rooms which had previously only existed for his twisted pleasures became dedicated sites of sacrament, places of holy dance. The many images of the dispossessed spirit were moved to one small room, which received little attention, but still served as a reminder to Yemaya to remain on her guard at all times. Her priestesses she taught the basics of illusion that she knew, and tasked them to instruct the islanders in her correct worship, the right dances, at the right times.

Once she had established herself on the island, Yemaya had turned her attentions to the sceptre of Mesic, that which she now called Chandra. She spent weeks trying to figure out how Mesic had used it as destructively as he could, but something was missing. Eventually, she gave up, and practiced using it for its physical potential – it was unassailably hard, and strikes with it could shatter boulders. It had taken a while for her to master the art of fighting with Chandra, but eventually Yemaya pieced together her own unique style of fighting, which was based on dance. Her attendant mortals were appreciative of the grace with which she flowed across her practice yard, Chandra in hand, disarming her practice opponents with quick flicks of the weapon. Some would notice the silver glow which would surround her when she was perfectly balanced with Chandra, and it seemed to be an extension of her body rather than something separate.

For a while, Yemaya was content. Divining the secrets of Chandra and moon-magic engaged her mind, and establishing her religion and authority on the island took up her time. Dance-fighting practice could exhaust her body so much at times that she had no energy left for anything else. The lingering memories of her siblings, and that horrible night of her shameful scream, stopped lingering, and Yemaya was at peace with herself.

But the creature being presented to her now changed that. The wild eyes were not anything she had known before, not even Mesic in his final fury had been that... savage. The beasts of the field were no comparison, for which of they could know of true depravity? The cloak she wore was of entirely foreign design to Yemaya, and she could not decide if it was barbaric or fashionable, in a harsh way. It was decorated with feathers, and the skins of animals – completely at odds with the pure white silk gown Yemaya wore. But she knew this being.

“... Uluwana? Kilea?” It was her sister. But which one? Somehow, she, Yemaya, who had been second closest to both in Alu Mari, could not tell which one it was. That was impossible, because of all her siblings, she had been the only one to know the subtle differences between the two, and who could correctly tell which was which every time. Also impossible was one being here without the other – everyone knew they were ALWAYS together. Yemaya truly believed that even the storm and the Leviathan and the shipwreck would not have been enough to tear them apart. Which one was it? Yemaya waited for her to speak.

1 Major Act: Melee Expertise (Sceptre/Mace)
1 Minor Act: Establish Yemaya as the new centre of Lomaris' moon worship religion

[The_Snark]

At the Palace of the Moon

Soon men clad in metal and bearing weapons come and bid her enter the white marble palace. One leads the way and one follows behind, but neither tries to touch her, which is good. She would not have borne that. Inside, the moon's face is hidden, but its silver glow suffuses the halls nonetheless, blurring edges and softening curves. The soft radiance and gently winding corridors are almost hypnotic. If she did not know better, she would wonder if she had somehow fallen up, and landed on the moon itself.

Then they reach the center, and she meets the lady of the palace: dark skin gleaming in the moonlight, languorous and voluptuous, looking sleek and smug as a well-fed tiger right up til the moment the shock of recognition shows in her eyes. Yemaya. The question that she has been dreading spills from her little sister's lips almost at once. She doesn't flinch. She's proud of that.

"Yes," she says at last. (Her voice is deeper than it was on Alu Mari, still raspy from long disuse; it sounds like sandpaper next to Yemaya's oiled-silk voice.) That is the only answer she will give. She sought Alu Mari to confess her crimes, and she still means to, but she will keep this piece of herself secret. Her kin may scorn her from this day forth, but she would like to know that she is still cherished, even if only in childhood memories. They must never learn which twin they should mourn and which twin they should hate.

She meets Yemaya's eyes, proud, daring her to challenge or question. "Yes. That is my name."

A moment later she looks away, glancing around the palatial throne room with the restless energy of a predator. "I come to your gates cold and hungry, sister. Will you not send for food and blankets?"

[ryan4567]

The Seleno Temple

Yemaya was confused as to which sister was in front of her, but she certainly was not going to admit to not knowing – how embarrassing that would be!

“Where is our sister? Don’t tell me that you were separated – we all know that would never happen. And what of our other siblings! What has befallen you since the night when the... when the ship wrecked?”

Of course, mentioning the Leviathan would just raise memories of her shameful scream, so that was to be avoided at all costs.

“Get her some food, and a blanket like she asked for, at once! And prepare a bath, and a room and clothes for her too. Really, sister, you could have at least cleaned before you visited. My people don’t really know exactly who or what you are yet, but when they figure it out, it will probably reflect badly on me, with you showing up in such a... well, a feral state. Now tell me, what has happened!”

[TechnOkami]

Ulric, Part 6

Ulric was lost once again amidst a moonless, star-vacant ocean of the impossible black. Nothing could be felt, everything was void, and he wafted in this cold dank sea, alone. Any sense of self felt pushed out from him, ejected by a power not his own. It felt wrong, nay, unnatural to his core. He couldn’t explain why, he simply knew that it went against his nature. It was as if his true self was beaten down and locked away… forgotten within a deep, empty cage. And so on Ulric floated lost and alone, nothing and no one there. He stared into the darkness, the ever stark wall of nonexistence before him, as nothing happened… and as he sat submerged in that inky pool of the void, he felt something pass over him. It was familiar, something innate, something warm… as he felt it, he thought he saw two crimson stars in the far distance. “My mind must be playing tricks on me…”, he thought… yet the stars remained. Slowly, more stars began to appear, some brighter, some dimmer, but all of them present in the sky, enough to bathe the darkness with a crimson hue. Ulric couldn’t understand it at first, and as the initial flickers of frustration began to bloom, their brightness intensified, and his understanding grew. Soon the stars began to have shape and personality, and as their light descended forth from above, he recognized kinship in them. “…tempered anger… grey eyes… fury wanting to be let loose upon an unknown enemy… my brothers and sisters!” In perfect coordination with his realization, the stars exploded into the faces of his kin, their slight frustrations, angers, slight annoyances, and wraths becoming apparent and visible to his senses. “They’re alive! They’re all alive!” Ulric smiled and laughed as tears of unbridled joy streamed down his face. Yet once his discovery was made, he felt the water close around him as tentacles of black nothingness dragging him down into the depths. He struggled to get free, but their grip would not be broken, stealing him further to the deepest part of this prison. The farther down he sunk, the more he began to see a new light appear down at the murky bottom, something he recognized to be of himself. The water threw him towards it, and he felt the heat and anger which seethed in his heart suddenly reignite into the bastion of unending fire it once was before it was thrust from his body. Ulric stood up with a jolt as he woke up from his dream. He put a hand to his face, and felt that he was really crying. A grin emerged on his face, “They’re alive…”

[The_Snark]

At the Palace of the Moon

The goddess Uluwana-Kilea (for such is her name; she has already stolen her sister's life and her flesh, so why not her name as well?) laughs, harsh and scornful. The sound is discordant in this place of beauty and silver light, like sweet birdsong interrupted by the cawing of crows. But really, clothes and a bath! She falls from the sky faint with hunger and half-frozen, and her sister worries about how she looks. It's been a long time since she even thought of such fripperies; not since hunger first stole the roundness from her cheeks on Aikilari and her clothes rotted against her skin.

"Do I shame you, Yemaya?" she asks dryly. "Have no fear. You need not claim me as kin if your pride will not bear it. I do not ask you for luxury; only that which you might give to any weary traveler." The other question she avoids, saying only, "After we have eaten. It is a long tale, and I do not wish to tell it on an empty stomach."

If Yemaya only knew her danger! She would be twice as eager to see her sister safely fed - or driven away like a wild beast - if she knew what that hunger could mean. No, the goddess tells herself. I would not kill her; there are others here I would turn on first, if I came to the edge of starvation again, and I am not there yet. My sister Yemaya is safe tonight, and tomorrow I will be gone, if not sooner.

Soon the servants bring in wide white platters heaped with food: roasted gold pheasant and crisp blackened fish, glistening honeyfruit and white rice, a half-dozen dishes each drenched in a different sauce. It is a sumptuous meal by any standards - the people of Lomaris fete their goddess well - but to Uluwana-Kilea's palate it is almost impossibly rich, the strangeness of cooked meat and the intensity of the spices overpowering to a tongue accustomed to raw meat and scraps. She would prefer simpler fare, but she is here for the sake of her belly, not her palate. She eats until she feels she can eat no more, and then looks up abruptly.

"She is dead at my hand."

[the_druid_droid]

Hearing his sister’s song, Keth was torn. The people of the city certainly deserved happiness, and a celebration might help raise their spirits for the struggle to come. At the same time, the god mistrusted the strange messenger, and wondered how long they truly had before danger came to the city.

At last, struggling to reach a decision, Keth turned to his brother and spoke, concern weighing in his voice. “Lossethir, you have more experience with combat than any of the rest of us. What would you advise?”

[ryan4567]

Yemaya

At her sister’s simple statement, Yemaya’s eyes widen till they are as round as a full moon.

“Never!” she whispers. “What could she – how could you – no! I do not believe it. And if it is so, then I have no need to disown you as my sister, for you are not her – regardless of if you are Uluwana or Kilea. Unless you have a good explanation?”

Yemaya’s grip on Chandra tightened, in case she needed to protect herself from what more and more came to look as a maddened beast to her eyes.

[The_Snark]

At the Palace of The Moon

Uluwana-Kilea's lips peel back in what could be mistaken for a smile, were there even a speck of mirth in it. "Do you call me a liar, little sister, or merely addled? I know what I did. Do not pretend to make excuses for me." Her fingers curl into claws on the table. She forces herself to lean back and relax, or at least pretend to; beneath the thin veneer of calm she is as tense as a coiled serpent. It hurts, revealing herself like this. It should hurt.

"You want to know why, of course. Very well. There is a reason, though I will not say whether it is a good one or not." Her voice drops, low and mesmerizing; not the gentle insidious hypnosis of the moon's power but the queasy fascination of blood, something horrifying that you nonetheless cannot quite bring yourself to look away from.

"We washed ashore together, of course. We found an island. Rich. Green. Full of life, and color, and beauty. For a little while we were happy. I do not know what sin we committed, or if it was merely unhappy accident that we were there, but the land turned against us. The streams dried, the fish fled, the fruit fell from the trees and rotted on the ground. We starved, my sister and I, and at the last I found that I loved living more than I loved her." She pronounces each word deliberately, drawing them out. The shame she no longer feels at baring her body returns a thousandfold as she bares her soul, cutting like a knife. "I ate her flesh, and drank the blood from her veins, and cracked open her bones to feast on the marrow."

She looks away. "I am not proud." But when she looks back her back is straight as a queen's, and she meets Yemaya's gaze without flinching. "But I will not hide what I have done. You are kin. You have the right to know."

[TechnOkami]

Ulric, Part 7

“…and that is when I realized that the only way to learn to control my fury is by proactively using it as a source of strength.” The monk was dumbfounded. “…so not only are your brothers and sisters alive, but you are submitting yourself to the very power you have fought against in vain for all of your life?” “Yes.” The monk paced back and forth between two points of the floor, preset in his mind. “But… it will not work Ulric. Granted yes that it is inexhaustible as we discovered, but relinquishing all control from it would be like letting a wolf out of its cage. You won’t be able to control it, Ulric.” “But that’s just it. I’ve never been able to control it, and I’ve fought and fought and fought for so long with little to no results. I’ve always lived in fear of what I could do and the things I could bring about, but that’s exactly the direction I need to go with this.” Taking in what Ulric said, his hand moved to wipe the sweat from his brow. “…now that I have thought on it, what you are proposing to do would actually be the summary of our teachings: the complete submission to oneself. But you are part Divine Ulric. Your power won’t be a strain on yourself to summon, and you won’t have to spend years of meditation to bring it forth. For you, it will be as easy as breathing, nay, as simply thinking. I do not know if you will be capable to even attempt to wield it.” “…then teach me how to fight.” The monk was taken back a little. “…pardon?” “If indeed my anger is inexhaustible and the slightest frustrations make me go into a flurry, perhaps adopting your way of hand to hand combat will channel my anger into a manageable form. Through combat I may be able to at least harness it properly.” The monk pondered upon what he had been telling him, eventually responding with, “…so you would merge your anger with our traditional combat, with the hope that it will temper and tame your fury…” “That is what I desire.” The monk looked at Ulric, and made contact with his eyes. They were strong, determined, and had the will to see it through. “…you are young Ulric, young enough that the passing of this knowledge to you would require good judgment on your part. I hope you at the very least do not seek and thirst for war and combat: it only ends in emptiness and sorrow. That said, are you sure you wish to go through with your plan?” Without even letting a moment pass between the two, Ulric’s response was curt and to the point. “Yes.” “…very well. I will dedicate myself to training you, and making you as strong as I possibly can. I hope that you will honor us and all we stand for by at the very least using your newfound combat prowesses when only necessary and no other solution can best solve the situation at hand.” “I will for as long as I can keep myself calm.” “…normally I would say that is not enough, but with you, I believe I shall make this one and only exception. Come with me Ulric. Your training will be fast, but it will still take time to teach you everything I know in the ways of fighting.”

Over the next few weeks, Ulric would stay at the monastery to train and toughen himself into a vessel for his fury. His training will take him until winter’s arrival.

1 Major Act. Gain Melee Expertise (Martial Arts/Unarmed Strike)

[ryan4567]

Yemaya

There is little more Uluwana-Kilea can say which would shock and disgust Yemaya further. To hear of her beloved sister being butchered by this monster...

“I know not whether you were Uluwana or Kilea, but I feel it does not matter. In fact, neither of those names shall pass my lips again, for I will not disgrace my innocent sisters name and use it on you. Begone from this island before I put you down as a mercy, destroying the abomination you have become. Trouble not my people, and fear the light of the moon, for it shall be a reminder of the contempt I have for you. Leave, now, Kin-Eater. For you to be in my presence again may mean death for one of us.”

Yemaya turned her back on the Kin-Eater, ready for any attack which may come from her monstrous sister.