The PlayersIituemName of Goddess: Valeia
Titles: N/A
Description of Character: Valeia attempts to keep up a mask of serenity, but is prone to violent rages and rash, impulsive decisions. When able to keep it together, she works to create and manipulate fear in the hearts of mortals. In truth, Valeia is as utterly consumed by fear as her adherents and victims, but tries her best to master it and use it to fuel change in the world. Valeia is likely to oppose certain gods on principle, particularly the more Ordered or compassionate of the pantheon.
To those who can master their fears, and even more to those who can use it to strengthen them, Valeia can prove a powerful (if capricious) aid. Those who fail to master their fears, especially those who use fear against others without mastering their own, are likely to be the target of Valeia or her agents' naked malice. Above all else, the Lady of Terror demands respect.
Spheres: Terror.
Manifests as: A silver-haired young woman whose long, dead flat hair perpetually obscures her face. She usually wears a grey dress or clothing of the appropriate style for the period. If not appearing openly as Valeia, she may take the form of a young unobscured girl with silver hair. In said form she often has grey eyes, milk-white skin and may be considered attractive. The moment she reveals herself, her hair falls in front of her face and she acquires her usual aura of mind-numbing terror.
Valeia tends away from ornaments and usually manifests in simple clothing, even to lords and kings. Even if the situation in which she appears (e.g. a ball) requires a particularly elaborate style of dress, she typically prefers to take the simplest incarnation of the clothing in question. If not appearing in disguise, Valeia's clothing may well be torn and ragged, more that of a peasant's than a lady's.
Characteristic Animal: A milk-white orb spider.
Secondary Source of Power: N/A
Divine Responsibility: None yet.
Reslin tried his best to rub out the pain in his neck, but the shackles made it hard to reach. He could not help but chuckle at the thought that of all possible frustrations he might have at this hour, a sore neck would be the one at the forefront of his mind.
"Long stay or short stay?"
Reslin glanced over to the next cell. There was a prisoner wrapped up in old grey rags on the floor, facing away from him so that her messy grey hair splayed over the stones. She sounded young, if hoarse from long imprisonment.
"Short," said Reslin, putting on a conversational tone. "Three days."
"You must be special," said the woman. "Normally they drag you straight to the gibbet and do you there. They must really want to make a spectacle of you, boy." Reslin's nose wrinkled at the comment. She sounded young enough to be his daughter, if he'd started young. "You kill someone important?"
Reslin shrugged. "Probably. I wasn't keeping count."
There was a harsh, wracked coughing from the cell. It took Reslin a moment to realise the girl was laughing.
"Oh, well done," said the girl. "Well done. You must be a very angry man, no?"
"Not really."
"Brave then?"
"Not that either. To tell you the truth, if they hadn't taken me down I'd probably have pissed myself as soon as it was over." Reslin sat down, lay back and stared at the ceiling. "I don't think I'd ever been as scared in my life."
"I doubt that," said the woman, shifting slightly where she rested. Reslin waited for her to continue, but she didn't seem to be in the mood to talk. Time passed. Reslin counted stones on the ceiling. He became vaguely aware of a gnawing in his stomach, then a low rumbling.
"Getting hungry, boy?" asked the woman.
"Yes. How often are meals here?"
"Irregular."
"Then I daresay they'll take their time getting to me. Make sure the meal's fit for a king. A king in a cramped, dark, wet dungeon."
"Quite the joker, aren't you?" said the woman. "Think you can joke your way out of this?"
"Not unless the gaoler really wants to hear why the chicken crossed the road. That and he's a touch too fat, hairy and male to seduce." Reslin shut his eyes. The girl's chatter was starting to get on his nerves.
"Scared they might leave you here to starve?"
"Not very, but I might get to my execution hungry. Maybe that's the plan; less entrails flopping about when they disembowel me. It's important to be cleanly during evisceration, matter of common courtesy to the crowd."
The girl snorted. "Are you telling me the prospect of death doesn't scare you in the slightest?"
"Death? No. I mean, I'm pretty scared getting my insides put outside is going to hurt, but that's not so much a fear as a certainty. I guess I'd be worried more if it didn't. But death, I don't have anything to be afraid of."
"Why not? Most people are."
"Well I'm not exactly happy about it, I'd take life given the chance. It's just that everything important's already taken care of."
There was another long silence. Reslin tried to ignore the rumbling in his stomach and get some sleep. Just before he could drift off, the girl spoke again.
"Tell me why you killed them."
"Can it wait until after my nap?" grumbled Reslin. "It's not like you're going anywhere."
"No. Tell me why."
"Fine, if it makes you happy." Reslin kept his eyes shut. "Soldiers came, claimed my clan owed taxes. We'd paid taxes three times this year already. We said no, take it up with the others. They beat my brothers, which we were used to. They broke our wagons, which we were used to. They took what little we had left, which we were used to too. Then they tried to take our sisters." The corners of Reslin's mouth tightened. "I said they had taken enough. We disagreed on the matter."
"Why?" asked the girl.
"Why do you think?" snapped Reslin.
"No, I mean why then? Why not before? You say this was common for your clan."
"Of course it was, we're Threlen! Can't you see?!"
...
Note to self, thought Reslin, think before shouting at blind women.
When enough time had passed for the silence to move from awkward to just silent, Reslin continued.
"Well if you could see me, you'd know what I was by looking at me. I don't want your pity, we've taken your pity and your hate both all my life, and all my father's and his father's too. I've had enough. I had enough then, at that moment, with those soldiers. I had enough of being scared, of letting your kind do what they want with us. Yes, we're scared of you, and yes I was scared when I killed those men, but there's nothing I fear more than staying scared forever."
Reslin coughed, reining in his anger.
"You wanted to know why I wasn't scared of dying. My clan's moved on. My family packed up and left, and though I won't follow they at least will get away from your kin for a time. Maybe someone will even listen and stand up. Probably not, but I can dream. Dreams are what I've got left."
Silence again. Reslin thought hopefully that the girl might finally have shut up, but before long he heard her.
"If you had the power," she asked, "to make them fear you, would you revenge yourself on them?"
"Revenge? No. I'd use it, but I don't hate your kind. I just want my people left be."
"The people who rule here," mused the girl, "do not know the meaning of fear. It is a tool to them, like a spade or a club. It is there to be used, or shielded against. They reject it, or they hide it away until they need it. They live such comfortable lives, here in this palace. It can be so easy to forget, in a place like this.
"Still," continued the girl, "you have three days. Best start now, if you want to learn the basics."
Reslin heard a soft thump by his side. He opened his eyes and sat up. The girl was gone from the next cell and by his waist there was a slim leather-bound book. He flipped open the book (thank the gods his mother had taught him to read) and scanned down the first page. His eyes widened. Instructions and directions for... a kind of magic?
---
The guards came rushing when they heard the scream, weapons in hand and hastily-donned armour, charging down the stairs to the dungeon. The heavy barred oak door was flung open, giving a clear view of the tiny candlelit cells. In front of one open cell was the guard sent to fetch the prisoner, slumped on the floor with one hand clutched to his chest. Above him stood the prisoner himself, dressed in the same clothes he had been captured in and carrying a small leather book.
The guards raised their weapons to charge. The prisoner spoke unfamiliar words. The guards blinked. They stared again, trying to make out what was wrong with the... with the... with the pris-...
The guards burst into screams and fled the dungeon, leaving the door unlocked and open behind them.
Name of God: Ha-Jalah
Titles: None yet.
Description of Character: Capricious and jovial, Ha-Jalah is rarely seen without a smile on his face. While his mannerisms and jocular attitude may seem to indicate a trickster, he is always honest in his dealings, there is no deceit in him when he presents a mortal or immortal with the options available to them. He never stays in one place for long.
His purpose is simply to show a person all the choices they have available to them, especially ones they did not realize they had before, or to give them a chance where they had none before, if they choose to accept it.
Spheres: Opportunity
Manifests as: A well dressed man with slick, black hair and a goatee. His eyes slowly shift colors across the entire normal spectrum, although they occasionally slip into a more exotic color such as gold or silver. He has a large keyhole in the upper part of his chest where his sternum would be. Always carries around a ring of keys, whether it be on his belt or in his hands, and presents several at a time as representation of choices and opportunities to receivers both immortal and mortal. He is usually well-dressed and, when presenting himself openly, wears shirts which reveal the keyhole in his chest.
Characteristic Animal: Golden-haired monkey (Sichuan)
Secondary source of Power: None yet.
Divine responsibility: None yet.
Just as it went with Digital Hellhound, I forgot to ask Phantom of the Library for an examplatory piece of writing. I still feel, however, that their TWO submissions were more than good enough to illustrate what their writing would be like.
Name of God: Unsobar
Titles: the Three-Headed God
Description of Character:
Unsobar, peculiarly, possesses three personas it flicks through at seemingly random, which seem separate and independent from eachother. The Archer, young and quite mad, is ignorant of its divinity - deceiving itself as it walks amongst mortals as just another of them, its use of godly power mostly subconscious and accidental. The Archer is brash and hotheaded, acting on its whims and quick to anger and violence. While the Archer is unlikely to be found with organized militaries, it tends to gravitate towards sites of conflict, and can be found defending an unfortunate village it thinks itself part of, or following angry mobs storming the gates of palaces.
Unsobar's second persona is the Rider, who makes no effort to blend in with the mortal world. It is haughty and commanding, seeing all as its rightful due as a god. It feels little else than disdain towards both mortals and fellow immortals. Whenever possible, the Rider attempts to exert its infuence over others and take charge, no matter if it's wanted or if anyone else has a better plan. Surprisingly for a self-proclaimed master of war, the Rider has a poor grasp of military strategy or any sort of wider fighting.
The god's third and dominating persona, perhaps the true Unsobar, is the Autarch. It is perfectly aware of the two other personas, unlike they themselves, and sometimes subtly guides and shepherds them while they are in control. It may even pretend to be them in order to make others underestimate it. The Autarch reveals little of itself to others, but possesses an even greater hunger for power than its deluded second persona. This may not seem obvious - the Autarch thinks on a long scale. It works slowly, gradually, building up ties and influence amongst the powerful. The Autarch is remarkably affable to even lesser creatures, however, preferring to maintain a kind, helpful appearance.
Spheres: War
Manifests as: The Archer is a subconscious shapeshifter, manifesting in a form that blends in with its current surroundings and mortals. The Rider, on the other hand, shows itself as a tall, thin man with highly-refined facial features, a sharp beaked nose and a thin mouth. A tidy patch of brown hair crowns its head. The Rider is sometimes lightly armoured or uniformed, and wearing a helm or hat of some kind. As for the third persona - the Autarch/Unsobar appears as a man or woman of indeterminate age, dressed in regal robes and clothes, often with a crown of precious metals and jewels. A pair of writhing snakes are bound around its arms, hidden by the sleeves of its clothes.
Characteristic Animal: Snake/Three Snakes
Secondary source of Power: None yet
Divine responsibility: None yet
Upon looking back on my exchange with Digital Hellhound I realized that I had never asked him to write anything as an example of how he writes, like I asked all others. This is not only an unfair mistake from my part, but could also have been very unfortunate for him. Luckily, Digital Hellhound's template was so descriptive and well written that it could very well pass for examplatory writing.
Name of God: Nihilus
Titles: None
Description of Character:
Nihilus is the great negator, he who has the right to veto. He who speaks: "No!" when everyone says: "Yes!" and who says "Yes!" when everyone speaks: "No!". He is the counterweight to the other gods.
But he isn`t a simple negator, who likes to undo the efforts of others. In fact, he represents change itself. Whenever someone proclaims "And so it shall be!" he is the first to ask "Why should it be so? Why shouldn`t it be different?"
Nihilus prefers to react than to act on his own. He constantly watches mortals and gods alike and delights to undo, or to change, their creations. The thing he likes the least is stagnation and thus he might act on his own, if the other gods are too passive.
Nihilus is neither good nor malevolent; He simply is. He might send a humbling plague to a mighty empire, and in the next second he could send a blessed rain which saves a little town from a terrible drought. His motivation isn`t to make the world better or worse, his goal is to keep the world changing.
The great Negator can be a fickle master. Worshippers who rely too much on his favor might suddenly find themselves without it. Not many worship him as a result. But he doesn`t mind it; He actually prefers it that way- For if one serves change the whole time, isn`t he stagnating somehow, too? Nihilus is aware of this paradox and as a result spends most of his time watching the world before suddenly altering it.
Spheres: Change
Manifests as:
Nihilus takes the form of a normal human- But true to his nature his form is ever-changing. The changes are often subtle; His eye color might be green in one second and blue in the next. His hair might grow a bit, or become shorter. Suddenly onlookers might notice regal jewelry on his hand, that they didn`t notice a moment before. His teeth could be broken and yellow, until you blink and they suddenly are white, whole and beautiful. Due to how the human mind works most won`t notice the sudden changes in his appereance, but they will still feel that there`s something odd about Nihilus.
Characteristic Animal: Raven
Secondary source of Power: None yet
Divine responsibility: None yet
In Lordinquisitor's case I looked back on all the previous Godhoods and used the ones in which he took a part as my personal example.
Name of God: Vénorr
Titles: N.A.
Description of character:
Vénorr cares about three things; Hunting, Honor and Power. He takes great pleasure in watching brave hunters and adventurers take up arms and fight fierce beasts that he in his search of the ultimate predator creates. Vénorr is disgusted by people that use cheap tricks to beat their opponent or kill others that have no way to defend themselves. Unless they have to do with him or his followers in a negative way or if someone proves their honor and prowess in the heat of battle or the hunt on a mighty beast, he stays out of mortal affairs. Most of all, Vénorr ignores the weak and rewards the strong and brave with unimaginable power.
Spheres: Hunting
Manifests as:
Usually a predatory creature that lives in forests such as a wolf or a bear.
Secondary power: N.A.
Characteristic animal: A Grizzly Bear.
Divine responsibility: N.A.
I shall now tell you of one of the most dangerous hunting trips I undertook to be able to write this chapter of my book for you. It’s about the Ma’raan, as the locals of the great northern forests call it. I left for the forests in the middle of the summer because they had told me that the Ma’raan has only been killed a few times before and that it’s always happened in the summer because the beast is very aggressive, and not to mention very hard to find during its long hibernation. I searched the forests for days trying to find tracks or other clues as to one of the species location. Eventually I stumbled upon two-day old tracks that matched those of a Ma’raan. Then the true hunt began. I followed the tracks for a week without making much improvement and I thought I was losing the beast, until I found the carcass of a mature male boar torn to shreds. The Ma’raan had been hunting around this area which meant that it had stood still, something it doesn’t often do, or so I was told. With renewed strength I quickly found its tracks again and as I suspected, the beast was only about a day ahead of me.
I began jogging through the forests and continued doing so for another three days, until I noticed the footprints were further apart from each other than before. It was running from me. I thought that the stories about the Ma’raan’s excellent scent were exaggerated, but apparently it knew I was coming for it. For a whole exhausting week full of jogging I followed it through what seemed to be an endless amount of trees and other vegetation and exhaustion almost made me take the decision to turn back.
I had been prepared for anything from a simple ambush to a frontal charge, but the creature was more clever than anything I had ever encountered before. As I said, I had been following it for three weeks until deep into the night at the end of the third week I found the tracks ending in front of a large oak. I looked up at the foliage, but couldn’t see a thing. As I was pondering where it might have went I heard a menacing growl coming from behind me. I turned around just quick enough to watch the Ma’raan leap from a tree that was an astonishing seven meters away from the one the tracks stopped in front of.
I was hit by its full weight as its head collided into my stomach, almost making me vomit. It had me pinned to the ground now and before I could react in any way tore open my entire cheek. I still have the scar to show you if you don’t believe what I’m writing here. Anyway, as I said; it had pinned me to the ground so of course my spear was unusable. I unsheathed my dagger instead and stabbed upwards. I hit it in the shoulder, but the attack only seemed to anger the creature more. A horrible pain and incredibly sharp claws were all I could feel and see for a while as I desperately tried to get it off of me. Suddenly the claws were gone and I could see what was happening again. I had apparently been kicking my legs around while being attacked by the creature, and I hit it in its groin. With a low growl filled with pain it stumbled off of me. I quickly got up and looked at my injuries. My body was covered with scratches. Some were quite deep but amazingly most weren’t a serious problem. What I was concerned about was my upper left leg, where an entire piece of flesh was missing. Adrenalin was the only thing that kept me from passing out by then. I looked up to see my attacker. The Ma’raan looked like a mix of a giant tiger and a wolf; the strong, massive and flexible body of the exotic and rare tiger, but the typical fur and shape of the head of an ordinary wolf. Its hide was black as night, its eyes yellow with those typical cat-like pupils. The beast looked at me with such a fury that I thought I was done for.
It readied itself for another jump when I noticed my spear was lying between its front paws. There was only one option to save myself. I waited, and when it jumped at me I dived just underneath it. Our bodies almost collided, and I thanked the gods for my narrow body. I quickly grasped the spear, turned around and stabbed it into the Ma’raan’s exposed neck while it was still turning around. All of this seemed to happen in a fraction of a second. As I watched it die the adrenalin slowly receded. The blood loss and exhaustion finally took their toll on me and I sank to the ground. I do not know how long I lay there, but it must have been quite a while. My sight became blurred, and I wondered if I would ever leave these forests alive. A figure entered my vision. Its mouth went up and down, but I couldn’t hear any sounds coming out of it. All went black…
Name of God: Hardrunm
Titles:
Description of Character: Hardrunm is a stoic god, as strong and stubborn as the earth he embodies. He believes strongly in the value of hard work, industry (particularly forges), endurance, and perseverance. That said, he is also a supporter of hard play as well, and thoroughly enjoys a good drink, or a 'friendly' brawl. Work or play, he gives his current task his entire effort and strength. Hardrunm is slow to anger as well, rarely giving vent to his emotions beyond a tired annoyance. That said, he does have limits, and if pushed beyond them, he can become destructive and dangerous.
Spheres: Earth
Manifests as: Hardrunm generally appears as a large, muscular man. His skin is coarse and tanned, and bearing a few scars crisscrossing over his body. His hair is black and scraggly as well, left to grow long and wild. Much of his face is hidden behind a bushy black beard, though two eyes can be seen from beneath a craggy brow, as well as a large nose. The eyes resemble orbs of steel, or sometimes silver, though when angry, they glow fiery hues like the embers of a forge.
Clothing wise, Hardrunm wears a patchwork of tough stony grey hides resembling elephant skin. These are stitched and shaped into a simple tunic and breeches. Along with these, he wears a simple rope belt and a pair of sturdy work boots. On one hand, he is constantly wearing a glove made from a silvery metallic, yet flexible material. It is the only aspect of his appearance that reflects more than just functionality. However, in battle, he wears a strange armor, crude yet effective. It seems to be a patchwork of stone and metal, with occasional crystalline patches. In peace or war, he is constantly carrying a large hammer.
Characteristic Animal: Ox
Secondary source of Power: None yet
Divine responsibility: None yet
I asked Fortis for a writing example, but I was too late to give them time to reply. I used the template itself as well as Fortis' own quite popular thread instead.
Name of God: N/A
Titles: The Broker
Description of Character: The Broker is a being with great curiosity, especially of mortals. It wants to listen to the songs and poems of mortals; see the bloody fields of war that mortals use; watch as mortals celebrate and mourn; taste the cuisine of mortal hands. Course, it does get rather boring after a while. To this end, The Broker provides deals and gifts to mortals, to make the world change. It is willing to wait great periods of time to see something worthwhile. It is willing to provide support to any mortal, great or small...as long as they entertain It. Otherwise, they might as well wish they were never born. When The Broker is actually content, he generally mixes in with mortals, often as an old, charitable aristocratic man.
Spheres: Ambition
Manifests as: A vaguely humanoid mass of black with flashes of lights exploding on its figure every now and then. It has two large white eyes where the 'head' is. May sometimes take on the form of an old aristocrat.
Characteristic Animal: The Baboon
Secondary source of Power:
Divine responsibility: Giving out favours to mortals.
The enemy at the gates and their navy at the docks. It was not a good day to be in Lymros today, even worse was it to be the tyrant. Elimos had been tyrant* for 44 years, dutifully fulfilling his campaign promises. He was an old man, 76, in an age where most were expected to die in his 40s. He had been strong and courageous once, fighting on the front and commanding on the battlefield itself, but now he was craven, looking out from his balcony as the city was sieges. The walls themselves still held, but not for long. He knew. One just had to look at the condition of the walls and the decrepit manner of the city to see that doom was apparent. A more cowardly man would have fled, but Elimos has thought that his northern allies would save him. The last report said they had been crushed at the river Maln, with their chiefs dead. It had been too late to flee. Now all there was left to do was to die. There was no chance left. The remains of his army were cowards and traitors. His major supporters, the merchants, had fled the moment the enemies had touched Lymrosi soil. Even worse, the Red Plague had come. Elimos lamented on the history of this city, more than 2000 years old, now soon to be reduced to rubble and ash. Then his thoughts wandered to the torture and humiliation that was likely to follow the plundering. It would be too much, especially for an old man. There he decided, it was best to jump. He put one foot over the balcony wall, then he heard something.
"What if this could go all away?"
"What if you had another chance, a chance to live?"
The old man's hear jolted with fright; none but him were on the balcony. He quickly took his leg down and shouted, "Who's there? Reveal yourself!"
"As you demand, my lord" The Broker revealed itself, the dark masses gathered by the door. Its eyes stared at the old leader, and somehow smiled.
"W-w-what are you?!"
"I go by many names, but you may call me the Broker. I offer a deal; I shall remove this army from the city and make them turn on one another."
"And what would you get from this, creature?"
The Broker laughed.
"Oh just the enjoyment of seeing the great city Lymros survive and the tale of Elimpos The Stubborn prosper forevermore. Perhaps a favour...a few years down the line, but truly, what is a favour to your life and the city's survival?"
The tyrant quivered and thought deep and hard; life for a favour...It was better than death and ruin. "I...accept."
Name of God: Aradan
Titles: None yet
Description of Character: God of Order, both natural and mortal, social hierarchy and law. Quite humourless and serious figure, although calm and inclined to forgive given particular circumstances. Always seeks stability of and fights with chaos in all forms whenever he sees it.
Spheres:Order
Manifests as: A tall man in armor of burnished bronze and gold. Head is always covered up with a hood, face never visible under the hood.
Characteristic Animal: none (yet? I don't think there is any animal that could represent order, unless I go for something royal like eagle, or abstract/mythological. Will edit later.)
Secondary source of Power: none yet.
Divine responsibility: none yet (sustaining order/keeping the mortal plane from falling apart? Up to you and future actions)
For a being that was supposed to be devoid of mortal feelings, Aradan felt something close to disgust. Prince Isterius was kneeling at the marble altar of the God of Order and begging for justice and deliverance from his unjust situation.
With loud banging on the temple doors and shouts, guards demanded that the prince gives up the sanctuary and hands himself over to the judgement of his brother.
Aradan was not interested in personal motives or feelings, the pleas of mercy falling deaf on the marble idol's ears. Regicide and patricide, heinous crimes against both natural and man-made order, could not be balanced out by the life experiences of the young prince. Isterius found himself a constant target of his father's bullying and disaproval, the weight of the position of being next in line was crushing the young man. The people of the kingdom fared no better, the taxes and army levy draining the wealth of the common folk to secure kingdom's position in petty border wars.
Isetrius thought himself the liberator of the people, but had inner doubts about his action. Would his mother forgive him? She shielded the young man as much as she could, but she was a dutiful wife, and could not bear to see her husband fall.
People were cheering the young prince as he fled through the streets, but quickly dissapeared once the guards appeared. Human feelings were clashing and mixing, clouding the minds of both the young prince and of the people around him. But not the god. Order was broken, chaos threatened to engulf the kingdom once the news spread beyond the borders; these things were forgotten or ignored in the torrent of emotions and desperate actions.
Where were pleas for justice and order when the tyrranical king was alive? while Isterius delivered people from the rule under the thumb of his father, he did so through a stealthy stab in the back. A method that would never be approved by the God. No mercy was there to be had to assasins, double-faced murderers and kin-slayers.
It would take human effort to put things right again, but Aradan was inclined to give a little nudge in the right direction.
Isterius, still deeply in prayer, did not hear the moving stone, as the statue of a tall man in armor toppled on top of him. When the people outside heard the crashing of the stones and metal, it took little time for them tear though the doors of the temple, only to witness the judgement delivered upon the young prince.
Name of God: Alandios
Titles: None yet.
Description of Character: Wisdom. Intelligence. Patience. Memory. Those are the words that define Alandios' personality. He takes no part, neither with gods or mortals - conflicts do not concern him, unless they go against knowledge itself. He gives secrets to those who will know how to use them, and councils to those who need them. Alandios is neutral at all times, and while he can be a generous god to some and a cruel one to others, he always has his reasons.
While Alandios is wise, he has been known to make mistakes - for there are secrets that are hidden even to the eyes of Gods, even to his eyes, and despite all of his knowledge, he is unable to read what the future holds. Still, such mistakes are rare and far between, and he corrects them whenever he is proven wrong - for giving false information is against his very nature. He is not always honest - but as he says, there is a good deal of difference between omitted truth and lies. He reveals what he believes needs to be revealed, and that is enough for him.
Alandios rarely manifests himself in the mortal realms, but he is always watching, always listening, always meddling. He will have a tendency to help everyone instead of choosing a specific party - his own form of neutrality. Winning his favor is hard and gaining rewards for it may be harder, but it is not impossible. He rarely considers morality when he makes his choices - wisdom is not about being good or evil, it is about making the right choices at the right time. The best observers are those who do not intervene, and he generally respects that mindset when he is faced by a conflict. That belief leads to few friends, but it also ensures that one has few enemies.
Spheres: Knowledge.
Manifests as: An old man with grey eyes, clad in grey.That is the form he uses the most - it gives an impression of wisdom and safety to those who see him, making it easier to deal with mortals. However, he will sometimes take the form of a mortal who is certain to get another one's ears (a lover, an advisor, a priest...), in order to make sure that his messages are remembered.
Characteristic Animal: The owl (I know RAM took the owl. If he keeps it, I'll take the raven).
Secondary source of Power: None yet.
Divine responsibility: None yet.
After resting for decades, he decided to make a new move. Little time had passed - only a few mortal generations - and yet a lot had changed. He knew it all, of course - Alandios never slept; he always watched. The Others had not been idle, and they had used their powers during the time that he had needed to regain some energy. He cared little for the geographical changes, but he watched the mortals with curiosity. The Others always tried to impress them, to gain their favor and their worship. They gave them new technologies, new powers, new lands to live in, new resources to extract. None of them understood what was truly important.
One of the Others had given elemental magic to the shamans of a few tribes, trying to gain their worship. Another god had quickly replied by giving similar powers to the tribes under his power. Because of their actions, the magic-controlling tribes had started to grow and unite the clans, forming somewhat larger tribes. However, all this was useless - the shamans used oral tradition. For every new discovery that they discovered in the fields of this newly acquired magic, two would be lost in the generations to come. The tribes would grow, until they formed several large communities, and then their knowledge would start to change from village to village. They would fight internal wars soon as their understanding of magic differed more and more, and this newly acquired unity would collapse upon itself. Thankfully, he was here now, and he would not let that happen.
He thought for a few days, trying to think of new ways to keep the fruit of the tribes' researches to fall into oblivion. Eventually, he found something relatively simple, that he was sure the tribes would be able to understand. A set of symbols, similar in a way to the drawings the clansmen placed on cavern walls, that all represented a sound. When assembled together, these symbols could form words from the primitive language of the mortals. The mortals could draw them on wood or stone using their simple dyes, and use them to preserve knowledge forever, if they were careful. That way, the knowledge they acquired would not be damaged by the defaults of their simple memory. He called this new invention 'writing', and he decided that he would give it to all tribes, not just the one who had received the gift of magic. If all tribes used the same writing system, their language would - hopefully - remain the same as well, thus preventing too many cultural barriers to form between them, without stopping cultural diversity.
He decided that the best way to spread this new technology was to simply let the mortals do it. He chose twelve of them, one in every tribe, all of them very wise and respected. He spoke to them in their dreams - he disliked physically appearing before the mortals if he could avoid it - and whispered to them as they slept, knowing that they would perfectly remember his words once they would awake.
"Listen to these words, young ones, and learn. I am Alandios, god of Knowledge, and I have decided to offer you a gift. Those of your kind are still few and primitive, but you have much potential to grow. A race needs Strength to survive, but it needs Knowledge to thrive and grow. Your people know how to learn by themselves, but their work is wasted. The only thing preserving these discoveries is the memory of mortals - and memory alters and destroys knowledge of old.
I give you a way to preserve your people's discoveries. This technology, that I have called writing, will allow you to immobilize words in time and to leave messages to those who are far away. With it, grandchildren's grandchildren shall be able to learn about you and about your work in this mortal world.
I ask only for one thing in exchange of this gift - that you will spread it to your fellow clansmen, and that you will tell them who gave it to you.
The twelve men woke up the next morning knowing how to write, and remembering Alandios' words. Once he was satisfied of his work, he returned to his rest, his eyes fixed on the young world. All that work had tired him, and there was much to watch and much more to learn, as always.
Name of God: Teneia
Titles: None yet.
Description of Character: Despite being the personification of darkness, Teneia is simply a pleasant but shy young girl who doesn't want to cause pain or harm. She simply serves her role as needed, and rewards her followers nicely for what they do.
Spheres: Darkness.
Manifests as: A young girl who is incredibly pale, with purely black eyes, no color within them, and purely black hair. Despite this, she is quite beautiful. She doesn't make eye contact, and talks in hushed tones.
Characteristic Animal: Black cat.
Secondary source of Power: None yet.
Divine responsibility: None yet.
In the darkness there was a light. The light of a torch, glowing in the darkness. That torch was held by a hunter. This hunter did not want to go hunting out in the darkness, but he didn't have many other options, since the tastiest prey tended to be out in the dark, and not in the light. So it goes. The tundra was cold and silent, and his fur coat wasn't much of a help. The hunter swore he saw something out of the corner of his eye, possibly a shadow or the light of the moon, but when he looked he only saw a young woman.
"What are you doing here, little girl?" He asked.
The girl looked at him, and smiled. "I dwell in dark places. What's your name?"
"Drake."
"I think I like you." The girl had the prettiest smile. The hunter could not remember those next few hours, but when he awoke at dawn he was alone, but happy. When he came back to the village, each night he would have a dream of that girl asking him to do something for her. She would always give him something back, like food or water or even just a nice dream. For such trival little things, such as mobilizing a militia or building a temple... Strangely, it usually turned out to be the smart thing, for when beasts attacked while the militia was ready or shelter when the houses burnt down...
He wasn't going question it, whoever.
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Topic: Godhood VII - Era of the Phoenix OOC Thread (Read 43422 times)