Pan-aeons: a God Game

[AlexanderML]

The Edge of the Grey Plains - The Last Shaman and Huntsman of the Tribe of Calm Winter, as well as a Stranger: It was another cold sad day for the struggling family among the outer edges of the plains, made worse by the recent tragedy that had be-felled them. After a long and painful birth the shaman's only daughter had been stricken with an illness that took her life after only a few short months, leaving behind her baby girl. Just outside the winter tent where the child laid crying the shaman and the father of the child were arguing over what to do next, for both knew that they could not support the child here in this barren land. The grandfather shaman wished to go north, for he feared of the Icanda would slaughter them just as they did their ancestors. The father wished to go south, believing the sorcerous and barbaric mutants to be even worse. As neither side reached and agreement, their words becoming ever more bitter, and weapons were in hands they both suddenly stopped; for they felt it appear from the winds in the guise of dark mists. Appearing a fair distance away it looked vaguely humanoid in shape with two barely noticeably glowing eyes looking at the two as it moved side to side. The two were a bit surprised when the thing talked, it's voice creaking and vibrating in an unnatural way. "Neyh hehehe... My what sad scene this is, the last heir to this land's legacy with no mother and the two left to guard it about to leave it with even less." The shaman stepped forth immediately, brandishing his staff which made the air tremble as he began to call upon the sorcery of icey Water to him. "Begone foul one! By the power of the Picter's blessed ice that covers this land I shall not let you near my kin!" The figure gave up on the spell that made it's form mist, becoming something that looked closer to a human or giant, but still utterly malicious with it's mask and skin that clung onto it's bones. Spoiler Show "Nyeh hehehe, you call the water god that?" The figure said with not a care for the staff or magic, and especially not the huntsman. With a snap of their fingers a small burst of purple flame shot out an inch from the figure's bony hands "Waters cold and still, be free from chill once more so you may follow no ones will." In an instant the ice and snow which surrounded the tent transformed into water, the ground became mud beneath the two tribesmen and the hunter tripped. The shaman shocked and confused asked: "Why are you here?" Replying with a bit of an annoyed tone the thing said: "Now you have some manners?" Looking down for a moment it gazed back up at the shaman, stating like it was still thinking: "I'm here to care for the babe." "You lie!" Said the shaman, certain that this thing was no blessing in disguise. "It does not matter what you think, I will be taking the babe with me. It would not survive in your care." Said the thing. At this point the huntsman was able to rise from the muck and charge at the tall figure with spear in hand. As he got close however, the figure moved with speed that defied it's thin frame and wrapped one of it's bony hands over the neck of the huntsman, drawing blood with it's biting nails. The huntsman struggled madly to break free as he was risen into the air, only stopping once he was at eye level with the thing and looked into it's eyes. "How pointless, die." Said the thing as it tore the man's neck open with it's other hand, letting him fall to the ground limp. The shaman now enraged, unleashed winds of freezing cold onto the tall now blood-covered thing. Other than it's edges gaining some frost, it just stood there. The shaman did not relent and poured every bit of mana into this attack that he could. The thing began to cackle. "Nyehehehe! Foolish shaman your magic is nothing like your predecessors whom slayed giants aplenty, you'd be lucky to have this kill a man! Step aside and let me take the child or I shall tend to you like I did that fool." The shaman exhausted fell to his knees in the mud and looking down asked "Why, why do you want my granddaughter?" Step by step the thing drew closer, it's shadow the only thing the shaman saw as he lacked the strength to look at the stranger. "Because she's special, she'll have more essence in her than most mutants and has blood ties to this land that are deeper than those Icandan fools. You may not be anything special, but in my hands she will be." it said looming over the shaman. "Such a shame you already used what mana you had in you... I'm peckish and your depleted blood would not satisfy me." Before the shaman could even think about what the stranger said it crushed his skull with one fast downward fisted strike. Her family all dead, the orphan still laid crying inside the tent, though now only the stranger heard her cries. Spoiler: Varpier Show A master Su Sorcerer who's gained incredible power during the in-between of godly Ages. It's still alive because of it's habit of using necromancy and the mana of others. After centuries the blood of those with plenty of mana or magicite has become the only substances it craves.