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[Caesar]

Godhood VII - Era of the Phoenix

If you post in this thread you are expected to possess a certain degree of maturity, writing skill (including proper knowledge of grammar and spelling) and a sincere intention to add something to the game. Players are required to use their common sense. (Which I trust they have.)
Have fun and treat the other players with respect.

Godhood is a roleplaying/creative writing game where the players ascend to Godhood, creating a world from the Essence and the Void. An empty world with lore both written by the players, and hidden in its origins.

Related Pages
Godhood VII OOC Thread
Godhood VII Wiki
The Map of Nativa

This is the game thread for Godhood VII. It is reserved for in-game and in character posts only. Please do not clutter it up with any OOC talk. You can send me a PM here:

PM Caesar

The spirit of this game lies in writing a story together. Every player plays a God of their own, influencing the world through godly acts. I myself take the roles of 'Overgoddess', 'fate' and 'time', which means that I mainly look at the influence the actions of the Gods had on the world and turn them into another part of the story, showing you the consequences of their actions.




From ashes to birth and from birth to ashes is what makes the cycle of the void. What was, can be again. What is, can be changed. Life nor death are perfect, and in the end all is born from, and sent to the Essence.

~Xarn, the Shapeshifter

From the ashes of the World of Worlds, the first beginning, and its end, was born chaos. A chaos so strong and so great, that it by itself twisted and changed the Void and the Essence, transforming the essence of all things into a monstrosity that grew through the Void like a cancer, disrupting the once perfect balance. Perfection- An old word, now naught but an idea. All universes in this multiverse of essence and void are but shadows of the World of Worlds, imperfect recreations of that which once was, but never will be again. The perfect ideas remain beyond grasp, beyond understanding, lost in the nether of the past.
From the ashes of the World of Worlds, the first beginning, and its end, was born yet another universe. One which was - as many might say -  no more important than the rest. One, however, would beg to differ, and it is thus that this universe will be written into the annals of history, to be remembered and studied. It is thus that this universe will come and pass, so that once again the cycle may begin anew.

This is the rebirth of divinity, the rise of new heroes and monsters, myths and new tales. From death rises godhood, like a phoenix from its ashes.

~The Scholar

Turn Zero: Flames


I remember a bright light, the end, an end. It was final, but it was not quite like death. It was worse than that, and it was better. With the ending came freedom, came life. And now I am here. I am once again the creator, the force of power behind every action; the manifestation of Essence and Void. But I am not alone. There is one being like myself. There is one being with the power to destroy me, to negate my actions, to undo my work. And I can sense her presence. My mother, my mother, you are my enemy. But I will not be alone. I will not allow you to do to me what you did to my father. I promise you, mother. You will awaken to a world that is dedicated to hostility, a world of mortal life. A world home to the one thing you can not destroy.

The essence ripped and tore under pressure as this world was born. And as it was born, so was Yilmz, the sun, and Finnwa, the moon. The planet itself was called Nativa, and deep, deep inside her womb, flames roared. Nativa was an empty plane, the landscape empty and charred. Yilmz and Finnwa shone their hot breath and silvery cape on the planet in turns. It was not until Finnwa was first blinded by Yilmz' bright light, it was not until the first eclipse, that brought ninety days of night, that the core awakened, the surface of Nativa cracked, and the flames escaped. And when they did, the air filled with the strangest of gasses, and the rock that was Nativa's surface was covered in hot ashes. From these ashes, from these gasses, was born life. And life changed, slowly, but gradually. And when the second eclipse came, the planet was covered in plantlife and animals of all sorts. Nativa was lush, she was ripe. But she was incomplete. For what was such a world without mortals, without conscience to guide it? Nothing. And Nativa remained nothing until the third eclipse; the birth of mankind. For on that day, Nativa gave birth to the flames once again, and the flames, the phoenix, flew through the darkness, brightening the world. And where it landed, the two first humans were born. Their names are forgotten, but their purpose is not. It is said that they and their children lived in the first city, the first home, created by the Phoenix. Its name too is forgotten, as is its location, but the story goes that in it lies a secret, the key to great power.

Nobody knows exactly what happened on the fourth eclipse, but all of mankind shares a memory, shares a dreadly dream dreamed when doused is Yilmz' light, when Finnwa is at her brightest. After the fourth eclipse, the ancient city, the birthplace of humanity, was lost, never to be found again. And with its loss were lost the memories of its secrets, the knowledge stored inside. Humanity had been cast into the wilderness, into unforgiving nature. And here they turned to hunt, to gathering, to fight. This is how they came to live, like nomads, on the main continent of Nativa. They told tales of times none of them could remember, and in time, those tales too were forgotten. The only thing that remained was the dream, the dream known as the Cry of the Phoenix, dreamed only once by every human on the first full moon after their eighteenth birthday. Humanity's shamans took many different approaches to the dream, but the one which was best spread was the practice of burning a caught bird, the eagle, the only likeness to the Phoenix of the dream, on a bonfire. This practice would happen every new moon, every time Finnwa blinked.

On the day of the night that was brought by the fifth eclipse, ten tribes burned their bonfires to make their sacrifice to the Phoenix. That year the eagles had been numerous, but on the ritual day of the hunt, only one eagle, the bald eagle, had been found. None more than this one eagle could be found. Most tribes gave up on the sacrifice. The nine remaining tribes turned, for the first time since times immemorial, to other animals. One tribe shot the baboon, burning the dead animal on the fire. A second fire consumed the owl. The third fire licked at a wild cat, black as the night. On the fourth, an ox burned. A fifth tribe had deemed the grizzly bear a worthy sacrifice. The sixth shot a raven, convinced that in the fires it would be reminiscent of the Phoenix. A seventh caught and killed a nest of three poisonous snakes. An eighth hunted down the mischievous golden haired monkey and watched it burn in ruby flames. The last killed and fed an orb spider, white as milk, to the flames. Ten animals burned as Finnwa moved in front of Yilmz. Ten pillars of smoke greeted the moon's light as it douzed out the sunlight. Ten slumbers began. A long time passed since the fifth eclipse, and the events of that it had sprouted have all been forgotten. The eagles returned, and with them the sacrifices to the Phoenix have gone on as normal. The fifth eclipse itself has been forgotten, but the sleep has remained, the rest has not ended. For from ten fires, ten gods were born; daughters and sons of the Phoenix, brothers and sisters of Nativa, children of the fire. No longer part of a mortal memory, no longer occupying a mortal mind, all they could do was sleep, was wait, was dream. Like the mortals, the gods dreamed, dreamed of the Phoenix, dreamed of eclipse, of Yilmz and Finnwa. They dreamed of flames.

And on one day, they awoke in the flames of their dreams. On that day, ten sacrificial fires roared, and from each fire ran an animal, burning, roaring in pain. Some deformed or larger than was usual, others black as night. Each of these animals disappeared, into the many forests of Nativa's ancient continent, into the shelter of trees and plants. And each of these ten animals collapsed in a clearing, the fires burned out, scorched, yet so very much alive. Ten animals. Ten clearings. Ten gods. One memory; The Phoenix.




The universe is created.
Two Ancient entities enter the universe.
Nativa, the planet, is created.
Yilmz, the sun, is created.
Finnwa, the moon, is created.
Nativa's inner flame is created.

The first eclipse starts, lasting exactly ninety days.
Nativa's inner flame escapes from Nativa's core, covering the planet in ashes and creating an atmosphere.
Life starts to develop.
The first eclipse ends.

The second eclipse starts, lasting exactly ninety days.
The simple life on Nativa rapidly develops and quickly covers the planet with (unintelligent) life.
The second eclipse ends.

The third eclipse starts, lasting exactly ninety days.
Nativa's inner flame escapes and manifests as the Phoenix.
The Phoenix lands, creating the first two humans and a legendary city.
The third eclipse ends.

Humanity grows into a large and intelligent civilization, populating the city of legends.

The fourth eclipse starts, lasting exactly ninety days.
Something causes the downfall of the city of legends. Civilization collapses back into tribes of hunter-gatherers.
From this moment on every human dreams the 'Cry of the Phoenix' on the first full moon after they come of age.
The fourth eclipse ends.

Humanity mostly forgets about the city of legends.

Almost all of the tribes on Nativa start worshiping the Phoenix, sacrificing an eagle on a bonfire every new moon.

The fifth eclipse starts, and all eagles except for one disappear. It lasts exactly ninety days.
Nine tribes sacrifice the following twelve animals on the first 'night' of the eclipse; The baboon, the owl, a black cat, an ox, a grizzly bear, a raven, three snakes, a golden haired monkey and a milk-white orb spider.
The first ten Gods are born; Valeia, Ha-Jalah, Unsobar, Nihilus, Vénorr, Hardrunm, The Broker, Aradan, Alandios and Teneia.
The Gods slumber in the forgotten city, dreaming the Cry of the Phoenix.
The fifth eclipse ends.

Humanity forgets about the fifth eclipse over the generations.

On a sacrificial night, many generations later, the Gods awake from their slumber, each of them born from a bonfire.
The gods end up as their respective animals in the temperate woods of Nativa. They are burned, but alive.
The gods remember naught but their dreams of the Phoenix.

Code: [Select]

Valeia: 1
Ha-Jalah: 1
Unsobar: 1
Nihilus: 1
Vénorr: 1
Hardrunm: 1
The Broker: 1
Aradan: 1
Alandios: 1
Teneia: 1

[Shootandrun]

It started in pain. Terrible pain, scorching pain; the pain of becoming alive. Throughout the burning, while a part of his mind screamed and tried to escape the excruciating pain, another noted that he could think, and that he had feelings. He was conscious, and therefore he lived, even though a physical form of himself was currently burning. The rational part of his mind supposed that this was a comforting thought, to be able to live beyond the needs of a physical form, to survive despite the destruction of one's body; a comforting thought indeed. Then he noticed that the pain occupied a large part of his mind, and it was annoying, disturbing. A waste of his mental resources into thoughts that were both pointless - since he could obviously live despite the destruction of his mortal body, which caused the pain - and bothering, since the pain was somewhat unnerving to his more rational mind. He decided that this information was irrelevant and should be suppressed, for he did not need it - however, he kept it in a part of his memories. From then on and until the end of his days, he would feel no physical pain, but he would know what it was. He knew something. Another comforting thought, he supposed.

In the mortal world, only a few moments had passed since his awakening. When he noticed that, he also noticed something else; he did not know what he was. This was a discomforting thought, beyond a doubt - not knowing something so basic and so important. He analyzed his own thoughts, and he came to a conclusion. This was his first experience as a being, but it was not his first experience in his memory. He remembered  something - and words formed into his mind. The Cry of the Phoenix. He was not alone.

He noted that his physical form was no longer on fire, but he decided that it was not important. The physical form was not something that should matter to him, he decided, for he had other things to find out. He was, doubtlessly, but he did not know what he was. He had to find out. He moved for the first time by himself, as a mind with no substance. He could watch and he could hear, but he could not touch or be touched. He decided to return to the place where his physical form had been hurt - a fire. He followed the trail that his former self had left behind, and remembered everything he saw on his way, and finally he arrived. It was a camp inhabited by mortal beings, animals with greater thinking capabilities than others. They were primitive and obviously they did not share his mental capacities, but he appreciated them more than the other creatures he had seen on his way here. They were able to think about the act of thinking, just like him.

He examined their thoughts - an easy matter, they never noticed he was there - and he understood. The physical being - an owl - that had been burned had been a sacrifice to a superior being than these puny mortals. They called it a God. Since he was immortal and immaterial, he decided that he must be a God like the other. It seemed to fit the description their minds he had found in their minds. He himself was apparently an accident, something not meant to happen. For a while he felt something strange, that may have been described as 'sadness' by the mortal beings, but then he decided that it was an unnecessary thought, so he suppressed it. He had no time to waste on superficial thinking. He had just realized that since neither he nor these beings knew who he was, he had no name at all. He needed one.

Alandios was the name he found - it had no particular meaning, in his language or in theirs. It was simply a name that he thought sounded well in human sounds. He decided that this name, however, would find a meaning for itself - and found that thought amusing and interesting. The creation of knowledge. He was capable of inventing new ideas - of imagining things, as the mortals called it. They were capable of doing so too, but they always forgot quickly, their simple minds incapable of remembering anything perfectly, unlike his. He found that thought highly alarming; these mortals were not able to remember everything. It was something he knew he could do, for he had not forgotten a thing since the very first pain. He decided that this would not do. If he wanted these mortal beings to have a meaning for his name, he needed to find a way for them to remember it. He came up with a way that was not perfect but sufficient - to store these human memories in physical things instead of their weak, flawed memories. He decided that this would be his responsibility as of now - to preserve and spread knowledge to those unable to do this by themselves.

He created an object in his thoughts - imagined it, as they said. It was a green crystal that could, when heated, remember sounds, and repeat them later if it was spun around three times. He could have created much more complex objects, of course, but he decided that he should keep things simple, simple enough that these mortal minds would understand without too much difficulty. He made this crystal grow in the earth - a bit like a plant, one could say, by taking energy from the sun - so that the humans would not lack any of it. To destroy it, a human simply had to leave it submerged into water for a long time, and it would slowly dissolve. He named this crystal Alandium.

Now, all that was needed was an example. He imagined a new form, a human form - that of an elder of their people, one in which they saw wisdom and intellect, one whom they would listen to. He created this as a physical form, and placed his mind into. At first he could not move, but after a few moments he understood how this strange body worked, and he walked into the camp. The others looked at him with a strange look, and he realized that they had never seen this physical form before, and that as such they mistrusted it. He created with his mind two crystals - one very large, planted into the ground in the middle of the camp, whose purpose's was to grow, and another one, much smaller, which he held into his hand. That last one already had words inside, words in their language which they would understand. The physical form held the smaller crystal high above his head, so that all could see it, and he turned it three times in the air. The mortals were surprised - afraid, as they said - when they saw this, but they listened.

"I am Alandios", repeated the crystal, "God of Knowledge. This creation is my gift to you, mortals. This crystal is Alandium, a creation of a God for mortals. When you wish to remember an information for years and years to come, place it into the fire until its hue turns blue, then take it out and say what you wish not to forget. Afterwards, turn it three times and it shall repeat, word for word, what you told him, no matter how much times has passed. If you desire more, plant some into the earth, and it will grow as the sun shines upon it. If you have too much, throw it  into Water, and it shall dissolve. Spread this gift, mortals, and use it well; for memory is the most powerful of all your tools."

And then his mind left the physical form, which quickly died. He knew the mortals would quickly learn how to use his gift, and he knew that the secret of Alandium would eventually spread to other tribes like this one. However, he was tired - a strange new concept. He did not have the strength to carry on for now. He needed to rest. So he decided to sleep for some time, but despite his sleep, he kept on watching the world. Kept on listening to the mortals. Kept on learning.

Alandios wakes up in pain, and decides to suppress pain from his thoughts, as it is distracting, but he remembers how it feels.
He creates a crystal, Alandium, that grows when planted in the earth and left before the sun, and that can record words when heated. Once it has cooled, turning it around three times makes it repeat the words it recorded. To get rid of it, one has to simply throw it into water, where it will dissolve after a few hours. He gives some to a human tribe and teaches them how to use it. He encourages them to spread it.

[Fniff]

Teneia began with dreaming.

Dreaming was a fun activity to escape from the real world, to feel like you're somewhere prettier, brighter, funner... But when you don't know where the dream ends and the reality begins, therein lies the problem. Trapped eternally in a dream does not mean true happiness, but simply the dream becomes real life. Truth is what you see, thus the dream would be real. Eventually, it becomes repetitive, like real life. Dreams are also repetitive, but in a fun way since you aren't used to this repetitiveness. All she could dream about was the moon, the sun, the darkness, the flames...

Teneia was somewhat in need of a wake-up call, but she didn't know she was sleeping. She was alone.

Then, like a mental fuse breaking, she was awake. And on fire. Real fire. Pain wracked her as Teneia ran like she never did before, but she was awake at last. Long, long last... Strange creatures on two legs stood around her, yelling and dancing, and she was afraid.

As she escaped into the forest, away from the flames, away from the pain, Teneia was very suddenly in the darkness. But this was not a bad thing. She was used to being in the light, which she didn't like. Darkness felt like she was home again. She looked around as to where she was. Forest, surrounded by trees, blocking out what little light the moon would give. With this calmness, she could think. And think, she did. Why was she on fire? She had vague memories, none of them really much use. Sacrifice was the word that rang out her mind, and all she could wonder about as whether or not to punish them for trying to murder her.

... Though, Teneia thought, how did they know she was anything but a wild black cat?

As she stood up into a form she thought would resemble the creatures, she thought more and more. She didn't really need to kill them, and she didn't even want to anyway.

She could forgive them.

***

Keskta, of the Crow, stared at the bonfire and wondered where he went wrong. He was a shaman, a very good one. Like his father, and his father, and his father. His spirit animal, after his dream, was declared to be the Crow, so that was his Vital Name, the name that was given to all shamans of his kind. But, last night did was not an example of his work. He was very sure that the wild cat was meant to be dead. Yet it ran out on him and now no-one wished to talk to him, preferring to stay in their huts. Keskta felt pathetic. The sun went behind a cloud and it became even darker. Well, that's that then. I ruined my reputation with the tribe. He thought.

"Hello." A very quiet voice said. He jumped around almost immediately, his blue robe following him loosely.

A young woman, with black eyes and hair, in a grey robe stared back. Well, at the ground. She didn't seem to want to look at him, for whatever reason.

"... Who are you?" Keskta asked.

"I'm the one you sacrificed." The young woman didn't sound angry, but he guessed she wasn't exactly pleased. "The black cat."

Kestka was not an idiot. He knew his myths, even from the furthest regions, and yelling at her that she was a heretic, as he usually did, was not a good idea.

"... Oh. Should I be bowing down and kissing the ground you walk on? Because my back doesn't feel up to it." Kestka realized sarcasm was going to get him killed in this instance, and he probably should be silent. This was the problem of having sarcasm as an automatic response.

"Probably not, no. I'm not going to start demanding worship or anything." The young woman shrugged. "I'm Teneia."

"... Lovely to meet you, I'm Keskta of the Crow. Do you need anything?"

"You could do me a favor, yes." She smiled. She had such a light voice, you could mistake for the wind.

"What is it?"

"Mind if you build me a spare hut? I'll help out."

Kestka frowned. This wasn't exactly godly behavior, even if he didn't exactly believe in those heathen religions beyond the rivers and trees of the Forest of Watchers. Just who was he talking to?

"Shouldn't you be demanding anything? You are a goddess, my friend. Goddesses usually go 'Build me such and such, and I'll make you rich!'. At least, I think so."

Teneia seemed to think. "Uhm, if you make me a hut, I'll... make your village really prosperous? Maybe? If I can do so? I don't really know what I'm supposed to do here."

"... That would be sufficient, yes." Kestka nodded. "This hut shall be built by the finest carpenters and it shall riva--"

"Uh, that won't be necessary."

"... Alright."

Kestka had no idea where he stood with the new mythology he was participating in, and his mind was making the preparations of throwing out everything he and his ancestors had learned, but he felt good because he learnt something new and met a very kind lady. Regardless of her attributes.

Teneia politely asks if the Guardians of the Forest (A group who believes that they need to protect the forest they live is a living being) could build her a hut, in return making their village gain better harvests, more births and general happiness for as long as she can give them the prosperity. She now lives in the village and unlike most Gods lives with the humans.

[micelus]

In this realm, Nothing existed. Along with this Nothingness was Darkness and Silence. The three forces together created a realm of inexistence, this realm of Oblivion.

In the realm the thoughts and dreams of mortals often leaked into it, soon surrounded by the shadows of the realm. The memories were unique, strange and...beautiful. They feasted on the memories of death, birth and life. For many an eon this happened.

One day thoughts of flame and sacrifice came. First came the eagle, burning brightly. It was smothered in an instant. Then a raven. Its flame was consumed as well. This continued with the other memories, until they were all but forgotten.

Eons passed, and the realm of Oblivion shivered and swiveled. The very forces keeping it together coalesced into one, becoming a smooth sphere. The sphere was silent and still.

More eons passed and the sphere shivered and changed. It thought. What is this?

Time passed and it asked itself more. What? Why? When? I?

Then the time came, and it remembered. The flames. The fire. The sacrifice. The baboon. The memories made it shudder with excruciating pain. The sphere rocked and tumbled and lit itself on the dreaming flame, burning. The thing tried to howl, but it lacked a mouth. Its screams were heard by none. It burnt in the imaginery flame for a time, then it all ended. The sphere stopped its movement and...hatched. Within It was born. The figure was darkness, like its birthplace, and knew nothing but the questions and the flame. The flame...it hurt and yet it enticed It. It wanted to feel...more. It wanted to know the memory and why such a thing happened. No, it needed to know more. But how?

The thing searched the realm but saw nothing; nothing lived here and nothing ever would. But the dreams still visited, and the dreams showed much. The things it saw in these dreams were...different, strange and horrifying. These things were...real? Living? It was not so sure. The dreams also told him of...sound. It heard things, a disturbing concept. It shriveled and shivered in fear.

In time, It looked upon many dreams and thoughts...learning much. It lost its fear of many a thing, and it knew that these things assigned 'words' to other things. What would it be called? Nothing? It? It did not know. It continued its searching for...something.

Time passed, and it discovered the memory. A memory of a burnt offering to a great thing called a 'spirit'. The sacrifice was a hairy tailed thing called a 'baboon'. The feelings of fire and pain returned. It was glorious. It reached into the dream, searching for more, grabbing at anything that would bring more sensation into It. It climbed into the dream, taking part in it. It was the baboon. It was on fire. It was in pain.

The baboon screamed and howled and shouted. The animal jumped off the altar and ran amok around the village. The women and children ran to their huts or behind the warriors, who for their part, grabbed their weapons and chased the animal down.

Shaman Breska was still in shock over the whole event and was still by the altar. I cut the bloody thing's bloody throat three times. How could....

"What does this mean?! Are the spirits angry? Is it a good sign?! Well, Breska!?"

His apprentice Aben was understandably...curious, and Breska would overlook his lack of respect for now.

"I-I don't know. Th-this has never hap-pened in our whole histo-ory, boy."

The shaman mused...is this creature special to the spirits? Is it their envoy? It might just be...

...

While the shaman thought, the warriors were chasing the abomination through the village, chasing the thing over and under the huts and into the river. The baboon just jumped into the river and never rose. Mutterings of magic and curses were said by the warriors. And so, they returned to the village, without the devil-creature and with fearful hearts.

...

It felt...excited? Great? even...happy? it wasn't sure, but that was the best it had ever felt in...well its existence. It didn't know what those tall things with things attached to their hands were, but it was sure that they were...entertaining. He had a feeling however that this form was disorienting them greatly. It shuddered and shuffled, leaving the baboon's corpse...which intrestingly dissapeared. It was the very form of the void itself, darkness. It shaped itself however to a form more familiar to those things...Humans it thought they called themselves.

It lumbered towards the village, course being unfamiliar with this 'life' it took It the day to find it. It was night already and It felt like it was back at...that place. It looked over to the altar. The flames and embers had gone out some time ago. There were still some flames lit near the huts and a large one where some 'warriors' gathered at night. He wasn't concerned with those ones however, all though they did give a good chase. It wanted to find the one who had made the thought that brought him here. It wandered and searched. It found the human-thing.

...

The day had been one of the strangest Aben had ever had in his young life. First a monkey rises up from the dead and leads the hunters all the way to the river and then when they came back, he had to check their heads for curses! And then Aben had  to do all of the shaman's duties for the day with Breska secluding himself in the forest. He wasn't exactly sure how an old woman's hair would cure a cough, but Breska said it would help. Aben knew that the rest of the year was going to be bad with Breska away...But for now, at least he could sleep.

Aben awoke late in the night, feeling that the hut suddenly got colder and quieter. He grabbed for a hide but it didn't help. Aben got up to borrow some hides off his family and then his heart stopped.

In front of him was pure blackness in the shape of a... man? It was close enough anyway. His mind was in complete indecision, not sure whether to scream to the heavens or be quite. Somehow, without knowing, he spoke.

"Wh-at are you?"

The thing rumbled and kept staring. Where it's head was, a hole opened and from it, words.

"I am...It."

What in the heavens does that mean?!

"What d-do you want?"

"To know. To...see."

"I-I don't kn-"

"You gave me...memory. I need to know more."

"Me-memory? I don't know wh-"

Before he could finish his sentence, the apparition grabbed his head and entered him. It was over in an instant, and the boy suddenly fell asleep.

...

The next day, Aben awoke, remembering strange dreams, but nothing more. He did what he usually did when he got up, which was tending to the idols. As he left the tent to do his task, he discovered that most of the village was awake, and around the altar. Even the old chief was awake. He rushed to see what the commotion was all about. Then he saw It. The dreams were real.

Aben asked why they were all gathered here and doing absolutely nothing. One replied that the dreams said so, or suffer the wrath of the spirits. As Aben heard the reply, It spoke.

"People of this village, many many days ago you sacrifced a baboon, as you did yesterday. You sacrificed so that you could acquire protection...or gifts. That I remember. Perhaps your spirits granted your prayers, but I don't believe they listened very well. Yesterday however, your spirits may have done something wonderful for you. They gave me to you, to protect and aid. I ask that you call me The Broker, for that is what I am in truth."

The people were not sure what to feel. Some felt terrified, others relieved, a few even thankful.

" Your people are hunters and gathers, sometimes planting a few plants of your own. To be brutally honest...your rather primitive. Its not very efficient to wander the forest and plains, looking for something to grab or kill. And so, I have decided to grant you...these!"

Behind the altar appeared several furred hut-sized animals. Quadrapeds the size of a hut and coloured brown, black and white. The animals were horned along their elongated heads and they had large tails. Their hoofs were tough and their bodies were clearly built for a long journey. Strangest of all, plants grew along there bodies, and readily as if the animal's very hide was fertile. These fruits differed from individual to individual, but they all looked healthy.

"They may look a bit odd, but they are going to help a great deal...no longer will you risk your lives hunting for dangerous beasts or small fruits, fighting nature for survival. Just look after these titans and prosper! They don't even have to eat, just make sure they're in the sun and you'll have a good feast every week! Just remember however whogranted these creatures to you."

Of course, more than a few people were skeptical of this, but many decided that if a spirit said it was good for you it might as well be.

"And if my people need any help at all, ask for me, and I shall appear."

With that the 'spirit' dissipated, only leaving the strange beasts, which were in time named kapyt(s).

The Broker, after going through the memories of every villager, appears to the tribe and gifts them with a number of  domestic plant-animal (called kapyts) that feed themselves via photosynthesis, ensuring no starvation and a lack of famine. Also be available for the villagers every day and night.

[Digital Hellhound]

For a moment, he thought the spear would pass too low.

But Toman was not known as the tribe's best hunter for nothing. His eyes were sharp, his hands steady, his aim nearly always true. The spear was not his own, true - it was an unbalanced, faintly curved piece of wood crafted by his father - but he could account for such things.

The stone spearhead slammed against the deer's neck, pushing past thin layers of hide and flesh to crush bone and sever the jugular. The deer took one step onwards, seemingly ignorant of its mortal wound, and collapsed. Blood began to flow in thick streams, cascading over the rocks like a mountain spring. Toman watched the animal's life-blood spill out in fascination. He'd always been intrigued by the last moments in any living being's life. Birds, for example, died so very differently from deer and elk. He was yet to witness the violent death of a man - illness and hunger, which had claimed his brothers and sisters, was so indignified.

With the blood flow trickling down to a halt, Toman moved into the clearing and hefted the deer's corpse over his shoulders. It would feed the tribe for the day at the very least. Perhaps now Syasa would see his prowess and lay down with him. He dreamed of the shaman's daughter every night.

Toman paused, catching movement in the corner of his eye. Up on the ridge overlooking the clearing, he could see the shape of a man, clad in a thick array of robes and cloths, despite the heat of the summer day. The man carried a thick piece of wood with him. Toman watched him as he sat down on a stone and began carving the wood with a sharpened rock. His movements betrayed his age, slow and careful. He did not look familiar - but he was no scout or hunter from another tribe. Perhaps they'd sent him out here to die in the wilderness. Such things happened even with Toman's own tribe. Certainly he wasn't a threat.

Leaving the deer be for now, Toman began making his way up the ridge. The climb was not difficult for him, though the slippery, jagged stones nearly brought him down more than once. He'd been climbing his whole age, in every region the tribe moved into.

The stranger was facing him when he reached the top. He nodded faintly before returning to his work. From here, Toman had to reassess his earlier gauge of the man's age. His features were regal and timeless, betraying no obvious signs either way. After a moment, he decided the man was about his father's age.

'Hello,' Toman said, cautiously. He had no idea if the man would understand him.

'Greetings, hunter. That was a fine kill,' the stranger replied, his voice sending shivers up Toman's spine. It reminded him of a crackling fire, ancient and strong. He noticed the bottom of the stranger's robes - made of some cloth he did not recognize - was slightly burnt.

'Err... thank you. Are you a hunter?' the youth said, motioning for the object taking form in the stranger's hands. His carving was quick, calculated, every blow right as it needed to be. It was much finer than his own spearcrafting.

The stranger smiled, shaking his head. 'No, I'm afraid not.'
 
'What are you making?'

This brought an even wider smile to the man's features. 'A gift,' he said. 'For you. It's a staff - or a walking stick, if you prefer.'

Toman laughed at this. 'You've never even met me before. And what good would a walking staff be for me? I am one of the strongest men in my tribe! I can run faster and longer than any other!'

'Nevertheless, I want you to have it,' the stranger said, holding his work aloft for a moment. He'd carved the wood into a smooth, even piece, dark as the night. 'Ah. Nearly finished.'

Toman was about to comment when the man continued. 'Would you like to hear a story?' he asked.

As Toman watched, he moved two fingers along the lenght of the staff, their paths twisting around it like snakes on opposite sides. The wood hissed faintly as he touched it. Small segments opened up to the surface like flesh being burned.

'You are a shaman,' he breathed. 'I'm sorry, I should've known.'

'I must disappoint you again, hunter. I am not a shaman of any tribe. But the story?'

And without waiting for him to reply, he began. 'This is the story of the Rider, and how he was born of the great god, Unsobar,' he said, stressing the strange name. 'You know of the Phoenix, of course. But I fear the shamans of your tribe have not told you of Unsobar. He was known as the Great Serpent, and he was the Phoenix's steward of all lands in ages long past. But that is a story for a later day.'

Toman saw the staff continue to transform from the corner of his eye, but did not dare to look. He kept his gaze on the stranger instead.

'One day, one of an endless many in those times, the Great Serpent birthed three sons. The first child, poor thing, was born facing Yilmz, the eye of the Phoenix, and became blind evermore. The second child was born facing its father, and a great hunger for power woke within him, leashing him as surely as if he was a slave, for from that day onward he could only see the might he so lusted, and became as blind as his brother. The third child, however, was born facing the wide land, and understood that... well, this is not a tale of the third child. It is of the second, who is known as the Rider.'

The stranger closed his eyes for a moment, smiling at some half-forgotten memory. Toman heard a faint hiss from inside his robes, and realized with growing horror there was a large adult snake wrapped tightly around his left forearm. A moment later he saw a similar creature hanging from his right. The man continued seemingly ignorant of their existance.

'The Rider possessed much of his father's power, but this was not enough for him. The second child was a coward at heart, and did not dare to attack his own father or his brothers, so it crept out from the den of the Great Serpent, and into the mortal lands. There it found many a weak man to call its own and led many great chiefdoms - but always in the end, it brought destruction and ruin, and would lose all of its power once again. This continued until only one chiefdom remained. Its leader was a great and cunning man, and he knew the Rider would soon come to his chiefdom as well. The third child saw this, and descended to come to the chieftain's aid. Together, they came up with plan.'

The stranger paused, studying the staff once again. The burned segments were now clear, two intricately-detailed serpents wrapped around the staff and eachother. The staff seemed to pulse with an inner fire. 'Does your tribe have a chieftain?' he asked.

'What?' Toman blurted, snapped out of his fearful stupor. Chieftain? They knew of tribes that were led by one man, yes, but... 'No,' he said. 'The elders decide together what we are to do and where we go next. It has always been the way.'

'Indeed? Well, perhaps the time has come for your tribe to choose a leader,' he said, and in an eyeblink had placed the staff in Toman's hands.

'What? That's ridiculous. Why should we...' he started in reply, but hesitated. The staff felt good in his grasp, filling him with a strange confidence. Why not, indeed? Many had starved because the elders could not decide on where to go the last winter. And before that, in his youth, the men of another tribe had killed many while they cowered and hid. 'Nobody would ever dare to take charge,' he said instead. 'They all fear the elders.'

'But you don't, do you?' the stranger said. He held up a hand. 'It matters little. Don't you want to hear the rest of the story?'

Toman nodded, but his attention was on the staff. The snakes were incredibly detailed. He found himself wondering about the benefits of being chieftain - seeing all his rivals and even friends at his feet, having the right to choose any woman he wanted, even the haughty shaman's daughter... the very thought was exhilarating.

The stranger coughed to get his attention and Toman, blushing, turned to listen.

'The chieftain's plan was thus; when the third child would come, he would trick the proud Rider to gift him and his people with power, telling him that the destruction of his past realms had come because of the weakness of the mortals serving him. Then, when they'd have part of the Rider's power, they would betray him and attack, sending him fleeing back to the realm of the immortals. Then, with peace reigning and with power beyond any other mortal, they would sweep across the mortal land and claim it all for themselves.'

Toman nodded. It was a good plan. 'Did it work?'

'Of course it did. The Rider was banished and the chiefdom spread over all known land. And if the Rider ever returned, they were both powerful and cunning enough to send it away.'

'I see. That was stupid of him, then.'

The stranger raised an eyebrow. 'Hmm?'

'The third child, I mean. He gave the mortals enough power to combat any god. They could just as well use it on him, too. They probably did.'

The man was silent for a long moment, staring at Toman with a bemused expression.

'Ah... indeed. But now, I am tired. I thank you for your company, hunter, and hope you keep what I have said in mind. Perhaps we will see again,' he finally said, and stood up to leave. 'Farewell.'

Toman looked at his rapidly-disappearing back for a few minutes, and left back for his tribe with the staff in hand. He had... things to do.

---

Unsobar's Autarch persona lays out the groundwork for a possible manifestation of his Rider persona

Unsobar's Autarch persona creates the Staff of Power, an unbreakable artifact that creates an ever-increasing ambition and lust for power in its owners

[Lordinquisitor]

The fire was on him, within him.

It hurts. Why does it hurt so much? The raven screamed in pain. He flapped his wings, tried to fly, tried to escape from the fire, from the pain. But he wasn`t able to fly, his mind was occupied with pain.

The fire burned on, yet it didn`t consume him. He couldn`t die. Not again. He would find no release, no rest from the pain.

Please make it stop, it hurts so much. I`m foolish. I can make the fire go away; i don`t have to endure that pain.

And then the fire was gone, the pain was gone, and the raven was whole again- Albeit still covered in soot and ash.

The raven croaked, happily. Now i can fly again. I`m hungry. I should find something to eat. I should find my Undkindess again, i miss my brothers and sisters. The raven looked towards the sky, longing. For a long moment he stood there, staring, wondering, telling himself that he was a normal raven.

I`m not a raven. I was once a raven. I was never a raven. Now i`m something else, something new, something very old. His mind couldn`t properly express what he felt, what he experienced.

But if i`m not a raven, what am i? He looked like a raven, he sounded like a raven, he would probably taste like a raven. What made him different?

Change, he realized suddenly.

Yes, i`m change. Or i was born from change and i have to learn what i`m now. Or perhaps i`m still a raven, but i can become something new. But what?

The raven would find no answers here. Maybe someone can help me. Maybe the ones that burned me can tell me what i am.

The raven soared and for a single, blissful, moment he was a raven again. This feels so good. Thinking is hard, i want to be a raven again. But he never would be a raven again and his flight ended soon enough.

Perched on a branch he looked down onto the small village. The bonfire was still burning, although not as bright as it did when he was born from the fire. Around it the whole tribe was gathered, whispering, talking, shouting.

"It was a sign from the phoenix!" Bellowed a huge man- The shaman of the tribe.

"Probably you failed to kill the eagle properly and he decided that burning was no pleasant experience and that he would prefer to walk away." Jested a young, but acclaimed, hunter, which drew some laughs.

"No, it was something else, i saw a raven. It was a raven, not the phoenix. It was a new god." Claimed a young man.

God? Was he a god? He liked the word. He would like to be a god. He would become one.

The raven dropped from the branch and landed in front of the shaman. Suddenly all shouting stopped. The tribesmen saw that ash and soot covered his feathers and realized that this was the raven born from the fire.

The young hunter was the first one to regain his composure. "Honestly? You look silly with your open mouths and wide eyes. That`s a normal raven. A tasty raven." He snatched his spear from the ground, an ugly thing with a fire-hardened point, and threw it with a practiced and forceful motion at the raven.

In mid-flight the spear turned into water, turned into a torrent of raindrops which splashed on the raven and on the fire, making a sizzling sound.

The raven shaked the water from his feathers and croaked, annoyed.

The hunter stumbled backwards, struck dumb. A cry of dismay went up in unison. The shaman knelt down immediately and spoke to the raven: "Are you.. Are you our god?"

"I am..." The raven croaked. But he didn`t know how he should continue. I am.. who? He would need a name. But what name? Nihilus. Why Nihilus? Did he remember that name from a past life, from another world? Was it a sudden idea? Or was the name simply pleasant to his ears? Nevermind.

"I am Nihilus." He croaked again. This won`t do. I sound stupid.

And in a flurry of feathers and a flash of iridescent light the raven vanished and a man appeared.

Afterwards some tribesmen would claim that he looked like one of them, a mighty hunter with black hair, garbed in their traditional pelts. Others would claim that he looked like an old man who had outlived his natural life span, without teeth and only some grey hair remaining. Some would swear that he indeed looked like an hunter, but would vouch that his hair had been brown and that he wore outlandish and strange pelts. And one or two saw feathers instead of hair.

All of them were wrong. All of them were right. Nihilus changed every second- But humans can`t comprehend the avatar of change and will try to rationalize everything they see.

Some of them couldn`t handle it, he saw. Some ran away, full of terror. Others cried out in surprise. But most of them were struck by awe and fell down to their knees.

"Are you a god? Are you the phoenix?" The shaman asked, almost whispering.

"I am Nihilus. And i`m a god, but i`m not the phoenix." He said, his voice high and clear. Was he lying? Was he a god? The phoenix. Is the phoenix a god? He did remember a phoenix. Did the phoenix create him?

It didn`t matter, he realized. He realized so much in that single moment. He was no raven and he was no man. He was something else. Like as not he was a god. And if not he would become one. He was change.

"I`m change. I died in a fire, and i was born in a fire, i dreamt in a fire and then i was born again in a fire." That made no sense to him, but it sounded important and cryptic. A god should sound important and cryptic.

An Unkindness of ravens passed above the village, oblivious to the events below. If i can change myself, then i should be able to change the world around me, too.

He called to the ravens and they answered. They changed their course and gathered around him, occupying the village. Some landed on the huts, some decided to perch on the branches of the trees around them. A few bold ones landed amidst the villagers, their eyes fixed on Nihilus.

The villagers were pretty disquieted by the ravens, but compared to the stuff they had witnessed already today this was tame.

The ravens croaked. And croaked. And croaked.

Until they didn`t croak anymore.

The croaks turned into words, and the words turned into sentences, and the sentences became tales. Tales of events happening nearby and tales of events happening far away.

"I grant to you a gift. Those ravens are my very own Unkindness. They are my eyes and whisper into my ears. Those of you, who believe in me, will be able to speak with them, too."

Changing the ravens had been as easy as taking a deep breath. Did he even need to breathe? Probably not. A moment ago they had been ravens, but now they were more. More but not quite as much as i. They became intelligent and were granted the ability to speak.

"Nihilus!" The ravens cried out in unison and took to the skies. Nihilus joined them in his raven form. It is time to go. I have much to learn and the tribesmen much to consider.

***

Hours later Nihilus sat on a tree, still in his raven form. Another raven landed next to him.

"Are you a raven, too?" The Raven asked, tilting his head.

"No." He said.
Yes. He thought for a second.
"No." He said again, firmly and with some sadness in his voice. It was easy to be a raven. Being a god will be harder.

The raven didn`t understand, not really. But he decided against inquiring further and instead began to tell Nihilus about the things he had seen today.

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Nihilus appears to the tribe that burned the raven, long ago.

Nihilus creates the "Fire Ravens" by changing an Unkindness of Ravens into them. Those ravens have red beaks, are intelligent and able to speak. The ravens will talk to Nihilus, informing him about the happenings in the wide world. They will also speak to those who believe in Nihilus and will act as his messengers. At the moment there are only several dozens of them, but they will breed at a faster rate than other ravens.

[Atilliano]

He opened his eyes, flames danced around in front of them, leaving only a small line of sight. A great pain filled his body and mind as he realized his skin was on fire. He began rolling over the ground. The pain didn't stop and he couldn't take it anymore. It had to stop, but how? How could he stop it? He did not know. The flames began to make him angry. Angry because he refused to believe he was afraid of something. Fear was for weaker beings. But were there weaker beings than him? He decided there were…

He had to distract himself with something. Looking around he found himself in a clearing in the middle of a forest; a big group of large plants. Why did he know this? It did not matter for it had nothing to do with the pain. Looking into the forest he noticed a creature, small and thin with four legs, hopping away from him. It was scared. Frightened. Of him? Of course it was. It had to be…

He felt an irresistible urge to pursue it. To kill it. He began running after it and the creature fled further into the forest. He quickly caught up with it and smashed it against a tree. The unmistakable sound of broken bones spread around when the creature smacked into the tree and fell on the ground. His first kill…

Chasing after that creature felt so good; he decided to eat it. With one bite half of the creature disappeared, with another the only thing left were bloodstains. He lay down to rest for a minute; however it seemed he could not. Suddenly he remembered the fire and the flames and with those came the pain again. He quickly got up and ran further on, trying to find more of those creatures. He had to find more creatures…

After killing a bigger beast that he had found called a bear he knew for sure that hunting and fighting were the only things that made him forget the pain. Why they were called hunting and fighting didn’t matter, he just knew already. He travelled further and further through the forests hunting down and then killing anything that crossed paths with him. He doesn’t remember for how long this happened, but it must have been a while. Eventually, when he neared exhaustion, he came across something unique…

In a large clearing he noticed strange wooden structures. They weren’t of any importance to him so he didn’t waste his time by studying them. More important were the strange but vaguely familiar creatures that walked on two legs and apparently lived inside the structures. The pain came back again and when it did he knew exactly what those creatures were going to be.
Prey…


He recognized his surroundings. They were almost there. Soon they would be on their way home again. To his wife and child. Tagaln and several of his tribesmen had been making their way to the Broken-Claw tribe to trade some of his tribe's fish for their fine pelts. This trade happened every year. They need extra food and we good clothes to survive the winter. It has always been a way for the two tribes to remain good friends. The Broken Claw and Flowing-River tribes have been allies for as long as Tagaln could remember.

''Tagaln!'' It was one of the younger tribesmen, the one he sent to scout out ahead. ''Tagaln! The Broken-Claw have been attacked!''

What was this? Their allies were attacked? ''By who?'' He asked.

''I don’t know. Their bodies fill the entire village and they look like they are torn apart by something with unimaginable power!'' The scout replied.

''What if it were the spirits that took revenge on them for something?'' Another of the tribesmen suggested. A heated discussion erupted about what could have happened to them and what to do now.

''Quiet everyone!'' Tagaln shouted.

''We will go there and find out what happened.'' He hoped the scout was wrong…

Sadly, he was right; the bodies of the Broken-Claw tribesmen were everywhere. They must have been torn to shreds by something incredibly strong. What could have done this? Spirits? Or maybe something else? Whatever it was, this did not bode well. The Broken-Claw, which mainly lived off the creatures of the wilds, had many good hunters and fine warriors among them. His thoughts were disturbed as a small group of people, three adults and two children, ran out of one of the huts. They quickly stood before Tagaln and kept shouting ’Veh-nor’ at him. He quickly recognized the words as 'Burning' and 'Bear' in the Broken-Claw tongue. Now he noticed the strange footprints that could be found everywhere in the village were the same as those of a bear. A bear that is twice the size it’s supposed to be…

Not realizing he could easily change into a form that doesn't burn, Vénorr distracts himself from the terrible pain by hunting creature after creature in the wilds. He does so for a full week, killing countless animals. The rampage ends when he comes across the tribe that burned the grizzly bear so long ago, the Broken-Claw tribe, and spends the last of his energy killing almost everyone there. The survivors are found by a group of traders from a nearby tribe called Flowing-River.

[Fortis]

The earth whispered, and the phoenix cried.

Hardrunm heard the whispers of the earth as his mind slumbered. Gentle murmurings of the great tides of the vast sea flowing molten rock far below. Ever the moon and sun stirred it, never letting it rest or stagnate. The whisperings of the earth had been his sleeping mind's companion for a long time. But there was something else too. Often, as he slumbered amid the sounds of the planet, he could hear the cry of a phoenix, burning with fires hotter than those found within the world's molten heart. Long has his dreams envisioned this phoenix, but as times bore on, the dreams had been gradually changing. The murmurs of the earth slowly faded into the distance, while the phoenix drew ever nearer and nearer. But this dream, it was different.

Gone were the earth's whispers. Here was the phoenix that cried.

Before his mind's eye, Hardrunm at last saw the phoenix he had long heard. It was a majestic bird, with wings stretching from one horizon to the other, or so his dreams saw. The murmur of the earth was drowned out by the sounds of crackling fires dancing along the bright plumage of the regal phoenix. It bore a beak of razor edge, gleaming like gold from beneath the earth. It's eyes were affixed on Hardrunm, with a gaze that could shatter diamond. It's talons put steel to shame, and dug great furrows in stone as it clawed at the ground. Mighty though Hardrunm knew himself to be, he knew the Phoenix was older than he. The phoenix of his dreams reached out with one talon, and gently touched him in the center of his chest. A lance of pain shot through him, and he bellowed as the phoenix's flames engulfed him.

The long dreaming ended.

Hardrunm did not know where he was. He didn't know why he was there. He didn't know the frightened people around him. All he knew was the pain. A burning, searing, overwhelming pain. Rearing up from the sacrificial pyre, his body acted on instinct. His mouth opened, and let forth a deafening bellow fueled by agony and surprise. His hoofed feet pounded, propelling him from the flames, into an unknown future. His chest heaved, his lungs drawing in air for the first time in his existence. Even as the frightened people of the tribe watched, a great ox, larger than even the finest beast of burden, leapt up from the dancing flames and charged away into the forest, flames still licking at its back.

For a long time, Hardrunm ran. But as time wore on, the pain faded, and the flames died out. Though the fire burned hot, his skin was unharmed.  At length, he stopped, and took the time to think properly and consider his situation. He was unhurt, despite the pain. He was alive and awake, for the first time in years. And there was a village of... what? Hardrunm thought back, remembering back to his time of long dreaming. He had heard of the earth whispering about those strange ones. ...Humans. That is what they were. They were humans, and he was an Ox. Was he though? Oxen should not be this durable or intelligent. No matter, the truth will come to him in time. Turning around, Hardrunm began making his way back to the tribe he had fled.

It was well into night by the time he arrived. The excitement from the sacrifice had given way to a need for sleep. Human and work animal were bedded down for the night. That wouldn't do. If he was an ox, he was also one of the work animals, or so he thought. He had left work undone, work that needed doing. There was much to do, loads to haul, food to carry, and more besides. Or so he had thought. As he walked quietly through the camp, he saw the work had already been done. The tribe had already finished it. Still, there was more that he could do, and food to grow. He felt the earth beneath his feet, heard it's faint whispers, and knew that it would listen to him.

Hardrunm's  bovine mouth lowed, but the earth heard the command woven into the animalistic sound. Stone began to rise up from the ground. At his bidding, it reshaped itself into a blade made to dig into the earth. Ropes formed from strands of fiber, and a yoke grew from wood. Hardrunm came near to the stone blade, and breathed on it, giving it the breath of life from the earth. With but a thought, he commanded the yoke to fasten itself upon his strong shoulders, and the ropes to tie him to the plow. Pulling with his vast strength, he began to furrow the earth, and the earth responded. As the soil was turned, the breath of life on the plow in turn acted on the soil. Following the massive ox's footsteps, the soil was nourished, and plants began to spring up in his wake.

Again doubt entered his mind. If he was but an ox, how could he do such things? Would the earth understand and listen to a mere beast of burden? He must be something more. But at the moment, it didn't matter. Hardrunm simply relished the use of his strength, enjoying the feel of the soil beneath his hooves, and the smell of fresh life springing from the earth.

Hardrunm awakes, and beliving himself to be an ox, returns to the village. There, he makes the Stone Plow, a magical device that enriches and enchants the soil it turns.

[Ardas]

Pain. So sharp, so brilliant, so pure. It filled every corner of the being, preventing any thought from arising. There were no ideas or no identity. The pain was it.
To be so full of it, to be one with it, yet to reject it and suffer because of it.
The moment of creation felt like eternity, never-ending and undisturbed, but slowly subsiding, just like the pain and the brilliant whiteness that filled everything ceased to be.

Shapes, smells, sounds and air, all assaulted the young mind simultaneously, leaving no room for respite or single thought. All demanded to be processed, observed, understood and ordered. Chaos submersed the being, as it desperately tried to sort itself out, to get to the bottom, the equilibrium. A long time passed, a second eternity, before shape gave rise to vision, sounds gave way to hearing and smells gave rise to taste and air to voice.

It is then that the being became aware of its body, its surroundings and its situation.
The fire, that gave rise to the pain, seemed to be also its point of origin. Around fire crowded two legged beings, which looked in amazement at the unfolding wonder.
Finally becoming aware of its body, it slowly became aware of its mind. With the equilibrium between inputs and their processing established, pain was gone and what remained were increasingly complex questions and thoughts, that begun to circulate in the mind of the being, free to gain attention of unoccupied internal eye of the mind.
“Who am I? What is this? What is that? Who are you? Where Am I?.....”

The being sat at a nearby tree, only realising after a moment that it used its wings.
The two-legged creatures were humans. As it begun paying attention to its surroundings it became aware of the place, situation and things.
Mere moments later, it was inquisitively looking at the tribesmen, who now either fled, or fell to their knees where they were and started stretching out their hands in the direction of the being.
He suddenly recognised what they were doing, and finally understood the entire situation. He was a sacrifice that became alive. These people were praying to a god.
Was he a god? He very well could be, if these people thought so.

The latest sense that became awake and active was the spark. The fiery spark of power, and with it, the memory of another bird. A fiery bird, which burned hotter than the sacrificial fire from which He arose. Another pulse of pain, that slowly grew into felling of pleasure, and then power. He was bursting with energy, and felt finally complete. He stretched his wings again and took off high into the sky, soaring above the forest. He saw a village, where the people came from. His sharp eagle eyes allowed him to see every detail of their life. How they constructed tools, cooked their meals, cared for their families. How simple they lived, taking from the forest what they needed, but not devastating anything. He took great interest in these people, their lives, their prayers, their thoughts. They asked for health, for good hunt, for strength to defend their village and for wisdom to understand. It was another torrent that assaulted his mind, touching his divine spark.

But he subdued those too, his new-found power rendering the task easier than batting an eye. He landed, sitting on a large branch of a tree just at the edge of the village. With his body and mind complete and in balance, he was able to think of himself again. Who he was, what he was.
Aradan. This was the first thing that came to His mind when he asked those questions of himself.
He was a god. A god that battled with Chaos, which spread tranquillity, which fostered Order wherever he appeared or acted. Just as his being came together, he felt compelled to order the world around Him. That feeling became Him, yearning to put things in their place, obsessively looking for a problem or disorder to sort out. And he was eager to sort out the lives of the villagers, who sent a constant stream of prayers and thoughts his way.

At first, he did so directly, forcing tribesmen to act in ways they were afraid or unwilling to. He learned that this was not the best way to do it, when people started speaking of being “possessed”. He lacked subtlety. But Aradan’s divine mind begun to quickly learn, and soon enough, the problems of villagers were solved by a series of happy “coincidences”. Soon after that village begun to grow. Hunting was easier, less children died of disease, and people quarrelled less, as the tribal council begun to take on more and more responsibilities, among them the arbitration of disputes.
None of this was directly influenced by Aradan, but he watched, and removed all unstable elements from the life of the villagers. He kept them healthy, fed and happy. He removed all chaos from their lives, introducing tranquillity and prosperity. He watched over them, and in return, they burnt offerings at the village altar, praising the “resurrected eagle”. He felt the goodwill and embraced the gratitude that flowed from the altar, carried upwards in the smoke of the sacrifices.

Aradan is born and becomes aware of himself and the villagers. He begins to respond to their prayers, bringing prosperity to the village, and safeguarding their lives from random and unwanted occurrences, like disease, quarrels or lack of game.

[Iituem]

The spider burned.  She burned and burned and burned forever, and she wanted desperately to scream, but she could not.  Spiders could not scream, could never scream.  She knew what screaming was because she heard it always; the desperate, terrified scream of a bird.

The spider burned, and she ran.  She ran and ran and ran forever, but the flames would always be there waiting.  She ran for eternity until there was nowhere left to run, then she ran still more for the furnace was always behind her, screaming with the Pheonix cry.  This was the spider's dream and it never, ever stopped.

Until one day it did.

The spider ran and ran and ran and for the first time felt something other than the fire.  Cold, terrible air swept around her, the uncomfortable tread of earth beneath her legs, the sound of shouting and chanting mixed in with the Pheonix scream but still always, always the fire.  She ran until the fire was behind her, then she let forth a long strand of silk which was caught by the rising air and rode it into the sky.

The world stretched out beneath the spider, and every new and strange thing terrified her beyond words or even screams to measure.  She tried to scream, to scream and scream until the fear went away, but even beyond the fire's reaches she still could not make herself do it.  Instead, the Pheonix cry screamed for her in her mind.

The cold wind slowed and stopped and the spider's strand of silk bore her down into the deep and dark forest below.  The spider crawled away into a dark hole and lay there until the terror of the dark dulled into a gnawing fear.  Hunger overwhelmed fear in time and she forced herself to emerge or else starve to death in that hole.  She spun, she caught, and though the strange winged thing within her web frightened her with its alien appearance hunger and desperation drove her on.  The spider killed, the spider ate.  The fear of the dark and the creature did not fade, but the spider found that the objects of her fear were not, after all, invincible.

Time passed.  The spider found that food could be caught with relative ease, though often it struggled, and she observed that creatures both great and small were afraid of her - even more than she had feared them.  She ventured out into the strange forest, still nervous but insistent that she should see more of the world than stay hidden in such a hole.  At last she came to the edge of the woods and there she found a camp of ape-like creatures, living and hunting and gathering, and within them she finally found not merely a fear, but a drive to match her own.

The creatures beyond the forest were terrified of it, so much so that they never set foot within.  The spider would teach them, first fear and then to overcome it.  Nobody should live afraid in a hole, even one so wide as their own.  But there was no reason to teach her lessons kindly...

***

Marius of the Latia stared at the first rays of dawn on the horizon and considered his tribe's next move.  The raiders were still on their tail, he was sure of it, but could they risk another migration before winter?  Nobody wanted to risk moving into the forest, even if it would provide better protection against the raids; tales of beasts and horrors abounded.  No, he would have to tell the elders it was time to pack up again.

"Hello," a very quiet voice said.  Marius spun around, his worn robe of rushes following him stiffly.

A young woman in a robe of what appeared to be shimmering white rushes - no, spiderwebs - faced him, save here and there where the robe was burned and sooty.  Long grey hair covered her face completely, but Marius could not escape the notion that the girl was staring at him through her locks.

"Who are you?" asked Marius in a low voice.  His fingers creeped toward the flint knife tied to his waist with some rush-rope.

"One that was sacrificed," said the girl, and her tones were as silky and smooth as her clothing.  "Long, long ago, when eagles were few, your father's father's... distant father chose to sacrifice a spider.  They worshipped, once.  They were so afraid."

Marius felt the hairs on the back of his neck prick up.  Something about the woman was deeply unsettling to him, as if she was some terrible Other.

"So you claim to be what, a goddess?"  Marius laughed, trying to cover his fear with sarcasm.  "Should I be bowing down and kissing the ground you walk on?  Because my back doesn't feel up to it."

"That can be arranged."

A searing pain shot up from Marius' ankle, driving through his knee and up into the small of his back.  It felt as if his whole leg was on fire and he found himself collapsing to the ground, first to his knee and then fully flat onto the dirt before the woman.

"Better," said the girl.  "My name is... Valeia."

Marius' mind cut through the pain with a thought about that name; The Strong.  As his eyes sought desperately to distract him from the burning agony, Marius caught sight of the source of his pain; a fat milk-white spider crawling away from the spot where he had been stood.

"Marius," grunted Marius, "of the Latia.  What do you - aagh - want?"

"A little place of my own, perhaps."

"Y-yes, of course!  I will have a tent erected for you at-"

"No.  Something stable.  Something permanent.  You will have your finest woodworkers build it, you will dig its walls deep into the ground to ensure it remains standing, come wind or rain or raid.  You will keep it prepared, and you will keep memory of me there alive for when I return to claim it.  And just in case you should forget..."

The goddess gestured towards the fat orbspinner.  Marius caught sight of the tiny movements inside the spinner's abdomen, too late to do aught but watch for by now the poison had all but paralysed him.  The spider burst like a grape and hundreds of tiny copies spewed out, setting immediately to the task of eating their mother.  When this was done, Marius watched in horror as the spiders split into two groups - one fleeing into the forest, the other toward the camp.

"They sleep so soundly, your people," remarked Valeia as the spiders began creeping into the huts.  "A shame my children are so small, so scared by the slightest thing.  It is the nature of frightened things to run... but when there is nowhere left, they fight to kill."  Valeia turned her head from the camp back to Marius.

"They will never forget this day.  You will make sure of that.  But know that there is nowhere left to run, Marius.  If you run to the plains, the raiders will kill you.  If you run to the forest, I will.  But if you walk to the forest, if you keep your wits about you, then you might just find salvation in that which you now most fear."

Valeia tore a small scrap of woven silk from her dress and pressed it into Marius' hand.  With that she turned and walked back into the forest.  Marius' neck no longer even had the strength to turn his head to look, so all he could do was listen as the screams in the camp began, first of desperate men, women and children -

And then, impossibly, of spiders.

Valeia creates the Screamers, a breed of spider, and releases them into the Latium forest and neighbouring tribal camp.
Valeia also strongly implies to the Latia that building her a shrine would be a good idea.

Spoiler: Screamers (click to show/hide)

Screamers are capable of creating a sound akin to that of a screaming woman when afraid and have poisoned fangs capable of paralysing larger animals.  An adult human so poisoned will recover after about a day of intense pain without lasting physical injury, but a small child will probably suffocate from paralysis first.

Finally, the Screamers have a unique trait regarding webspinning.  Although female Screamers spin ordinary orbspinner webs, male Screamers do not spin crossed webs but instead draw long lines of silk between branches or surfaces in a sort of very thin mesh.  This silk, unlike ordinary spider silk, can be collected and separated by humans for silk-weaving purposes.  It has the same strength and thread-count properties as normal spider silk, making it a very desirable material for weaving.

[Phantom of The Library]

Sparks upon wood…

The womb…

Flames…

Life…

Fire…

Birth…

The Pheonix…

Father and Mother…

The Golden-Furred Monkey…

Both Mother and offspring in one…


=================


Screeching, the golden-haired monkey flew from the flames, its eyes glowing red and orange as the flames from which it had been born.  It leaped to and fro among the trees in chaos and confusion for untold hours until it came to rest in a small clearing.  The creature sat there, breathing heavily, its eyes and mind still full of fire.
 
“Hah, hah, hah,” It breathed, making the same panting sound over and over again until slowly, the hahs stopped being merely breaths and began to have purpose, “Haah, haaaah… jaalaah…  Ha-Jalah…” 


Ha-Jalah.


The moment the name was spoken, the flames that consumed the creature’s mind changed.  To say that they subsided would be inaccurate, rather, they became more ordered and coherent, forming patterns but never predictable.  Its eyes too subsided, fading into a coal-black.

The monkey that was Ha-Jalah slowly calmed as the vision of the phoenix left its eyes.  It climbed up a tree and hung there by its tail contemplating its existence as its mind became ever more complex, layer upon layer building up to something more until only one memory of its previous life remained: the face of a man, his hair slicked back with sweat, and eyes shining with joy that he had caught the golden-furred creature unawares.  Now his tribe would still have a sacrifice even though they could not find the eagle which would represent the Phoenix when its plumage erupted in blazing glory.

Ha-Jalah considered the face for a moment then decided that he liked it.  His physical form changed to match it.  Unfortunately, his newly reborn mind did not realize that a human does not possess a tail and so he fell from the tree. 

He dusted the dirt off of his body and looked around.  The grove was small and rather uninteresting overall to the naked eye.  However, Ha-Jalah quickly discovered that he possessed more senses than he used to, he could sense the insides of the trees, feel the life force flowing throughout the ground and grass.  A small mammal taking advantage of the fact that a predator was away from its home stood out most clearly to him, nearly as clear were the many insects crawling along. 

There was one other thing which stood out to his expanding senses.  A metal object of some sort buried in the dirt directly underneath him.  He turned his attention down and focused on it preparing to dig it out of the ground, but before he could do so he felt his own consciousness reach out and grab hold of it, pulling it up through the soil.  It burst out of the ground in a spray of dirt and flew into his hand. 

It was a ring of keys.

Made of some form of bronze or copper, they were tarnished with age and large clumps of soil still clung to them.  They seemed to resonate with the young god on some fundamental level, and as he held them they began to glow.  Dirt, rock, and patina all burned away in a burst of golden flames as the keys light built up to the point where it would have blinded a mortal, but was no more than a small annoyance for a divine being, even a newly born one.  When the light died away it revealed that the keys had changed, each one was now unique, some were gold, others silver, some were ornate iron, and others were simple brass.  There seemed to be no end to them, yet if you did not look closely at the ring you could swear that there were no more than ten. His physical form changed in reaction as well.  A large keyhole appeared where his sternum should have been, or rather should have been were he a human. 

With this final transformation he was finally as he was meant to be; everything was now in its proper place and form, like new clothes that had finally found their proper niches to rest in, his physical form now seemed natural. 

Finally settled into his physical form, Ha-Jalah cast his awareness out further than before, delighted at the ease.  Eventually for him, mere fractions of a second in our measurements of  time, he saw it.

An opportunity.


=================


Emik crept through the underbrush slowly, trying as hard as he could to keep his footing.  He stumbled and fell as another wave of hunger pangs gripped him.  Neither he nor his family had had anything to eat for a week, or was it longer?  The hunger had grown too great for him to even remember the simplest details of anything. 

He continued to struggle forward, crawling on his belly.  Somewhere, there had to be something they could eat, every bush he had come to was devoid of fruit, every root already eaten, and every animal just out of reach.  There had to be something somewhere.

“You really do look pathetic, you know that right?” Said a voice from above.

Emik looked up slowly to see a man hanging upside-down from a thin tree branch, the laws of gravity appearing to have no meaning to him at all, as the branch neither broke under his weight or bent at all, and his hair remained seemingly glued to his head. 

 “What seems to be the matter friend?” The man said, cocking his head to one side.  Emik merely groaned in response.  Now the hunger had taken away his sanity too.

“If had to guess, I would say that you were hungry, of course, I have no need to guess as I already know, that’s the benefit to being omniscient: You know everything.” The man rambled on, seemingly forgetting that Emik was lying there.

“What are you?” Emik groaned, having decided that talking to the hallucination would not make the situation any worse.

“What am I?  I suppose you would call me a god.”

“A God?”

“Yes, that is what you call an immortal, divine, nearly omniscient being of higher power than yourselves, is it not?” He glanced up. “I appear to be upside down.  I should probably correct that.”  The god flipped over and, letting go of the branch, flew through the air gracefully landing in front of Emik.   He helped the man to his feet.  Dragging the man over to a tree trunk, he propped him up and began to speak again. 

“I should formally introduce myself; I am Ha-Jalah, god of Opportunity, and I am here to show you the possible choices you have in your possession, maybe even give you a few new ones.”  Saying so he drew a key off of his ring, Emik looked at it warily, never having seen such a thing before.

“Your first option,” said Ha-Jalah, sitting a plain key of red gold down on his lap, “Is to give up and die.

Your second option” He pulled out a lightly decorated steel key, “Is to continue struggling on in vain hope that you will have the strength to kill an animal, which you will not, and die.

Your third option,” A rusted iron key with sharp edges, “You could kill your family and eat them, saving yourself at their expense and live with the guilt for the rest of your life before most likely killing yourself from the shame.

Your fourth option,” A tarnished copper key covered in patina, “You could kill yourself and feed yourself to your family, assuming they would let you, which they most likely will not.

All of these end in your death, which is no choice at all, so I give you your fifth option,” He pulled off golden key with a stylized monkey arched over the handle, “Is to allow me to guide your actions for a short time, I will save you and your family, and in return you will spread word of my existence to the world.

Make your choice mortal.  Choose the key.”

Emik considered for a moment.  Death.  Sweet release from all of life’s pain and suffering, but then he would cause his family grief, and that he could not do.  The choice was obvious.

He grabbed the golden key.

“Excellent,” Ha-Jalah said with a grin, “Let us get to work!”


=================


Ha-Jalah took control of Emik’s body and guided it to a small glen filled with animals, the god’s strength coursing through it, Emik’s body leaped into the air and killed a deer with little effort, not even using his spear, but instead his bare hands. 

Ha-Jalah, then guided the man back to his home and as it came into sight, left his body, fading into the essence.

“Tell them Emik,” He whispered, “Go out amongst the world and tell everyone how Ha-Jalah saved you, and if they keep me in their minds, whether they have many opportunities or none, that if they give me their prayers, I may just give them a few more.”

Ha-Jalah saves the Hunter Emik, and in exchange tells him to travel and spread word of him throughout the land.

[Caesar]

Alandios creates a crystallike plant, Alandium, and gives it to a tribe, explaining how it functions. – One act

Spoiler: Alandium (click to show/hide)

Alandium grows when planted in the earth and left before the sun, and can record words when heated. Once it has cooled, turning it around three times makes it repeat the words it recorded. To get rid of it, one has to simply submerge it in water, where it will dissolve after a few hours.

Teneia starts living a mortal life with a tribe called the 'Guardians of the Forest'. Her presence makes the village prosper. – One act

The Broker appears to the tribespeople from whose flames he was born, and gifts them 'Kapyts'. – One act

Spoiler: Kapyts (click to show/hide)

Kapyts are a domestic animal-plant hybrid, capable of sustaining itself with naught but water and sunlight. Its meat is sweet.

Unsobar's Autarch persona lays out the groundwork for a possible manifestation of his Rider persona by telling a tale about the Rider to Toman, a tribesman. – Zero acts
Unsobar's Autarch persona creates the Staff of Power, an unbreakable artifact that creates an ever-increasing ambition and lust for power in its owners. He gifts it to Toman. – One act

Nihilus appears to the tribe of the Raven. – Zero acts
Nihilus creates the "Fire Ravens" by changing an Unkindness of Ravens into them. – One act

Spoiler: Fire Ravens (click to show/hide)

Fire Ravens have red beaks, are intelligent and able to speak. The ravens will talk to Nihilus, informing him about the happenings in the world. They will also speak to those who believe strongest in Nihilus and will act as his messengers. They tend to breed quickly.

Vénorr rampages through the wilds, driven by pain. Eventually the rampage ends when he slaughters almost all of the villagers of the Broken-Claw tribe. – One act

Hardrunm awakes, and believing himself to be an ox, returns to the village where he was born. There, he makes the Stone Plow, a magical device that enriches and enchants the soil it turns. – One act

Aradan is born and becomes aware of himself and the villagers. He begins to respond to their prayers, bringing prosperity to the village, and safeguarding their lives from random and unwanted occurrences, like disease, quarrels or lack of game. – One act

Valeia creates the Screamers, a breed of spider, and releases them into the Latium forest and neighbouring tribal camp. – One act

Spoiler: Screamers (click to show/hide)

Screamers are capable of creating a sound akin to that of a screaming woman when afraid and have poisoned fangs capable of paralysing larger animals. An adult human so poisoned will recover after about a day of intense pain without lasting physical injury, but a small child will probably suffocate from paralysis first.

Finally, the Screamers have a unique trait regarding webspinning. Although female Screamers spin ordinary orbspinner webs, male Screamers do not spin crossed webs but instead draw long lines of silk between branches or surfaces in a sort of very thin mesh. This silk, unlike ordinary spider silk, can be collected and separated by humans for silk-weaving purposes. It has the same strength and thread-count properties as normal spider silk, making it a very desirable material for weaving.

Valeia also strongly implies to the Latia that building her a shrine would be a good idea. – Zero acts
Ha-Jalah saves the hunter Emik, and in exchange tells him to travel and spread word of him throughout the land. – One act




Turn One: Legends

It is many cycles ago that I committed myself to this world through an act that may very well have been my most important act, the first stage of my plan, my promise. Know, mother, that this world is mine. Proud like the flames from which the gods were born, I will defend it. In my own name. In my father's name. Tales become stories. Stories become legends. Legends become myths. And as time passes and tales grow into myths, so will the gods of this world grow to become more and more powerful. My father bested you alone. I will best you with an army, an army serving only itself, unified by a common goal. It is only a matter of time until you shroud this world in darkness again, until our strength is at its greatest. And when the time comes, I will be ready. I promise you, mother. The world will be ready.

As in many stories before, and many stories yet to come, the gods acted. Each of them laid their divine mind to Nativa, and influenced it. Some knew very well what the intentions of their actions were. Others acted blindly, following their instincts. All of them acted, and like from the wings of a butterfly a hurricane may sprout, so did these acts twist life on Nativa's skin. Humanity, spread far and wide across the main continent that made up most of Nativa's surface, learned about the world that they lived on. Not only did the birth of the gods sprout legends, but humanity seemed to grow and prosper, progressing faster than ever before, like guided by divine hands.

"And this, they were. For now, many, many of Finnwa's cycles later, we still tell tales of these legendary gods, and the proof of their works is often right before us. These legends have spread across the entire world, and not a shaman will forget about these actions. It is said that some tribes received more favor than others, and that one of the ten spirits which were born from the fire watches over them. It is with glee that I can show you what our patron spirit, Alandios, has gifted us. My great, great-grandfather was given the honor to speak with this god, and he was gifted the Alandium crystal. He named our tribe after our god, which is why we refer to ourselves as the 'Alandians'."

A creaking sound, then silence. The warm fire kept the night at bay.

"The object I am showing you is this crystal. You have dreamed the Cry of the Phoenix, son. This happens to everybody, when they reach the age of eighteen. It is said that it is the only dream the spirits can dream." The old man sighed, looking silently at his son. "I do not think I will live much longer, and when I die, the task of spiritual guidance- A great responsibility- Will fall on your shoulders. Like tradition has been since Alandios ever appeared to us, the secret of how to use his gift is well-kept. The crystal is like a plant, growing under the sun. If you heat it, it will listen to you and remember your words. After cooling it, turning it around for exactly three times will make it repeat the words it remembered. Now- If you ever want to destroy it, throw it into the water. The water spirits will devour the crystal and its memories."

The old man spat into the fire, then handed the crystal to his son. Without a further word, he got up and walked away from the fire. Little did his son know that it would be his father's last walk. After his father left, the son turned the crystal three times.

"Every legend and every tale I have heard, or that your grandfathers have heard and told me, is stored on this crystal. I will tell you all that has happened since the birth of the ten gods that roam this realm. The story of Alandios is one that you know well, but little do you know about the rest of this world. Most tribes remain secluded, some do not. We do."

The orb remained silent for a while. Just as the soon-to-be-shaman wanted to put it away it buzzed softly again, and began to speak.

"In a far away place a goddess named Teneia appeared in the form of a black cat. Unlike the other gods, she thought nothing of her divinity, and she desired to live with us, with mortals. This went well, and as long as she stayed in the village, it prospered. Eventually, however, she started feeling drained and tired. She became forgetful and sometimes did not remember the names of the people around her. In the end she retreated into her abode. Little did she know that the Chieftain's son, Yonah, had planned to ask for her hand, a bold move, coming from a mortal being. She was, after all, a goddess. When Teneia finally succumbed to her exhaustion and fell into a deep sleep, Yonah fell for her beauty and decided that the day that he would become chieftain, he would have her hand in marriage. The shaman warned against this, but the deed was still done and Yonah married the goddess Teneia in her sleep.

Yonah's nights with the sleeping goddess bore its fruits, and she became pregnant. Their child would be half a goddess, and Yonah was nothing but delighted about this news. On the night she would have her child, however, she disappeared. A pregnant cat made ran into the wilderness, unconscious like the sleeping goddess had been. It is believed she gave birth to her child there. Yonah died childless and heartbroken. Ever since, people have disappeared in the forests. It is said a woman stalks between the trees, with eyes and claws like a cat, hunting for her father. Ruthless, she has slain almost every man she came across, while women are left unharmed. It is said that the spirit asks women she ambushes whether they are her mother. It is also said that men who survive an encounter with her find themselves drawn back to the forest, longing to find her. Those who return to the forest, however, never meet her again. The spirit in question is called 'Lilith'.

A god calling itself the Broker appeared to one village, dressed in the guise of a baboon, the animal which that village is told to have sacrificed to the Phoenix long, long ago, during the last eclipse. This god gave the village the Kapyt, an animal you yourself have never seen, but which has spread well past the boundaries of the village in which it was once contained. This animal is as much an animal as it is a plant, overgrown with a lush layer of plantlife. All it needs to survive is water and sunlight, and while its meat may be a bit tough, it is easily accessible. The tribe grew beyond what it had been, since the Kapyt ensured that the villagers always had enough food to survive, and quite often even a surplus. In their greed, however, the village decided not to accept a single offer in trade for the Kapyt. Since several years had passed already, the tribe had grown beyond what it had been before, and the chieftains and tribal councils of several surrounding tribes came together.

Around a fire in the darkest night they forged a plan. Together they possessed the same amount of warriors as the village with the Kapyt had. What these villagers did not know, however, was that they had made this many enemies. It was under Finnwa's waking eye in the sky that these conspirators decided to act. One tribe attacked, trying to steal several Kapyt. Outnumbered, they were quickly forced to run, yet almost without losses. And when the men were gone, the other tribes attacked. The village burned in the night, and neither children nor women were spared. Some were taken as a prize, others were killed. The Kapyt were left away, and when the warriors of this village returned they found their homes gone and their families destroyed. These warriors are rumored to have committed themselves to death's embrace, in hopes of being with their families again in the realm of the spirits. The Kapyt is now a widespread animal.

The spirits are not always kind, not always forgiving. One of the ancient spirits was born from flame and in rage. This spirit was 'Vénorr', Ember of the Wilds, a bear more formidable than any you might have seen before. Many a brave hunter has set out to slay this beast, for it massacred the famed 'Broken-Claws' tribe, the tribe whose fires gave birth to him. None of the hunters returned with their prized prey, and the beast has become one of the most elusive spirits known so far. It is believed that it was driven by rage in its actions, and that one day it will return to continue its carnage. Some, however, believe that the Ember of the Wilds will return in a different form, like many of the spirits have shown to possess. In my dreams, I have heard the actual truth. Vénorr rests in a cave far, far from here, a place it reached after its carnage, a place where it could recuperate from its rage and its pain so that it might return intelligent, and perhaps even more dangerous. Vénorr is the god of the hunt, of the battle between wills and strengths, a battle fought with both patience and quick thinking.

Now, the night I tell this orb you hold in your hand all the tales I have learned about the gods and spirits of this world, I have dreamed of this god again. I have seen its dreams, and its dreams were full of the Phoenix. I have seen where it rests, and I knew instinctively where it was. No other than the Phoenix itself has carried him to the site of his initial carnage. His back is permanently scarred by its touch, something only a spirit of great power could ever achieve. So mighty is the Phoenix in its dreams that I could feel the heat, and the burns on its back represent no less than the power of the mythical bird of prey. Now, it rests, and I feel soon, very soon, it will wake up and show the world what it really is."

The orb was silent, and the shaman's son stared into the sky. The night was bright and the stars shone down on his face. He murmured his own name; "Feinor". His father had named him after a god, after 'Vénorr'? Had his father not always told him how strong he was, how his name could very well stand for the hunt? How he fought every battle in his life with both passion and patience? Now he understood it. Rarely do tales of the outside world reach the village, but his father had been a gifted man. He knew things no mortal man could know, and Feinor trusted his father's every word. Never had his father quite dedicated himself to one spirit, and now he understood why: His father had held great respect for all of the spirits, and with this faith, he had collected his wisdom. Feinor looked back at the orb, and as if his father had known exactly how long his considerations would have taken, the crystal spoke, vibrating softly in his hand.

"Sometimes, my son, great men are forged not by their own accord or by their rightful heritage like yourself, but by a gift of a stranger. Toman was one such man. It was during the hunt that he was born the man he would become, and it was during the hunt that the man he became would end. Toman had both the fortune and the misfortune to meet the Autarch. The Autarch told him the tale of the Rider, a figure whose ambition and greed would eventually lead to their own demise, and gifted him the Staff of Power. The Staff of Power crawls with the very snakes that whispered into his dreams at night. At first, this was a blessing for the people around him. Upon returning home he overthrew the indecisive tribal council and married the shaman's daughter. He became the tribe's chieftain, and he named it after himself; Toman. His decisions were always well thought-through and quickly made, and Toman was a thriving tribe, growing quickly under his rule. He was deemed among the wisest chieftains in the area, and the outlandish staff he held was viewed as a symbol of power and wisdom.

This staff, however, overcame Toman and created a man hellbent on achieving power, on becoming greater and known across all the tribes of this world. He grew tired with guiding just one tribe and looked outwards. What he found was a world of tribes which would best be unified under his rule. Foregoing his own wisdom and intelligence, he turned to violence, becoming the very Rider for whom the Autarch had warned him. Toman conquered two other tribes, unifying them under his rule. The tribe grew beyond the power of any tribe previously known, but Toman was not satisfied. Toman thought of himself as a god, and what better way would there be to prove his superiority than by besting one?
So it was that he set out into the wilds to find the Ember of the Wilds, and to slay any bear that came across his path. Any other person will tell you that Toman, a man who was once a hunter but became a leader, died fighting a normal beast of the wilds. The real beast he fought was himself, was his own arrogance. The staff that was his heritage passed on to his son, and to his son, and again to his son, but none managed to achieve anything like Toman had, even though they managed to keep the two tribes their ancestor had bested under their rule. The only thing they really had in common was that they died early and reckless deaths, driven and blinded by ambitions."

Feinor bowed his head, thinking. He himself had often been an ambitious man, hunting for the greatest prey, hoping to become like his father. Had he been better than the Rider, than Toman? Perhaps not. He sighed, looking into the darkness that had devoured his father. He would have to ask him, to seek his wisdom, like he one day would have to share his with the tribe.

"Not all stories are built on rash thinking and rushed actions. Some spirits thrive on labor, and the spirit called 'Hardrunm' is the greatest example of these spirits. Hardrunm was an ox, an animal often killed for its meat if the hunters managed to kill it on the plains. Hardrunm did not know who he was or what he was, but he acted on instinct: He labored. When the village rose to greet Yilmz' light, they found an ox doing something they had never seen before. Behind him he carried a large object cutting through the land, and wherever it went it left edible plants in its wake. The villagers called this object 'Hardrunm's Stone Plow' and they started copying the object, using oxen to carry it through the fields. They quickly learned that by planting the seeds left by Hardrunm's plants in time these ploughed land would grow edible life as well. Ironically, they did not know that the very first ox to carry the plough was Hardrunm himself.

In his honor, Hardrunm was sacrificed to himself. Now, he dreams the Cry of the Phoenix, waiting for the moment on which he too will rise again. I know that moment will be soon, and I know that he will awaken staring into the Phoenix' eyes. The villagers have burned the surrounding forests and turned the lands into 'farmland', living on the fruits of their labor and the water brought by rain. I believe this style of living is one which will soon surpass all others, and I believe that we too will one day profit of Hardrunm's gift as we will work the lands to not catch but grow our food. Learn from this lesson, son, and if presented the opportunity, work the lands like these people do."

The fire crackled, and Feinor threw some wood onto it to keep it burning so it would keep the night at bay. He felt the darkness creeping on him, and suddenly he felt afraid, hugging to the flames. He had always been afraid of spiders, and strangely, he felt as if one could jump out of the darkness and onto him at any given moment. The orb spoke again, startling him.

"Fear is strong, my son. It is a power as strong as love and anger, it is a power that is patient, but always finishes its victim with one sudden strike. A fear does not have to come true to cripple a person. Its mere presence does its work for it. There is one story which finds itself dedicated to fear- to the goddess of terror; Valeia. There is a people called the Latia, who had always lived a life in fear, since they were nowhere as strong as the surrounding tribes. Living on the plains, they had always been travelling, trying to avoid the tribes that tried to expel them from their lands. In the end, they had failed and were driven to the forest. At the edge of the forest they had halted, hesitant, overcome with fear. This is where Valeia came from their fire, and beset them with the screamers, a breed of spiders so poisonous that its venom can paralyze a man for days or kill a child. These screamers crippled the tribe, but the tribe survived and fled into the forest. Little did they know that their fear of these spiders was also what saved them, for their pursuers were scared off by the corpses of their victims.

The tribe hid in a cave for several days before they decided to come out, starving and thirsty but alive. They managed to thrive in the forest after having faced all their mortal fears and in due time, their shaman decided the cave that had kept them secure and forced them to face their fears was to become Valeia's place of worship. Every time they made a sacrifice to the Phoenix, they carried one burning piece of wood to this cave, and the tribe's strongest men sat around the burning piece of wood as the darkness slowly crept on them. There, they waited in the dark. All those who left the cave found themselves stronger men, having faced fear and emerged victorious. It is said that the darkness in this cave has grown beyond natural darkness, and that even in the mouth of this cave the darkness is impenetrable by any light beyond that generated by fire. The screamers were attracted to this cave, and they are known to bite those who succumb to fear, surrounding the victim with the screams of frightened women. Those men that come out alive are prized for their resolve, and the Latia are among the most respected warriors and hunters for they never surrender, never succumb. Fear, when conquered becomes a strength."

Feinor looked into the darkness and straightened his back. No longer did the darkness creep on him. Instead, everything appeared quite clear.

"Another god was born in the tribe that calls itself Aradon. His name is Aradan, and it is said that he seeks an order unknown to the world. He is as majestic as the eagle as which this spirit appeared, and he is thought to be that tribe's protective spirit. Now he rests, like the other gods, but the tribe still believes his influence protects them from harm. In that same way they have taken to a heresy few other tribes have ever proclaimed, and that is that the Phoenix is the source of all evil, of all misfortune. The Cry of the Phoenix is to them nothing but a threat, a dark promise, and they believe Aradan is the god who will best the Phoenix and clear Nativa of the mischievous spirits that plague it. It has been prophetized by their shaman, several generations ago, that the Phoenix will send an army to destroy any who follow Aradan. I know exactly what to think of this, but it is up to you to find out for yourself.

There is but one more tale which I want to tell you, and that tale is one of opportunity. Few spirits have ever given mortals the choice to decide their own fate. One spirit, on the other hand, did exactly that. Ha-Jalah is the spirit of opportunity, and his story was told by Emik, a hunter. Emik spread the word of Ha-Jalah in return for a catch which would save his family. It was under Ha-Jalah's divine influence that people turned to him and listened to his story. Few worship him as their patron spirit, but many know of him and it is in their most dire times that they hope for an opportunity to escape, to change the situation and the world. Oftimes, they take matters into their own hands and shape an opportunity from the fire, like once Ha-Jalah had done for Emik.

And when they find themselves grasping opportunity and escape the most heinous situations they sacrifice their prey or foraged food to this god, sharing that which is most valuable in a display of gratitude. The mere existence of opportunity is Ha-Jalah's greatest power, for it creates a resolve in mortals that they might not have otherwise. If it is not Ha-Jalah who forges opportunity, is his existence, it is the possibility that things go differently that makes them act. Remember that, my son, and remember that now, after all these years, it is your turn. For this is my final lesson to you, the last dance I will dance with you. I am an old man, and you are young. My knowledge is now yours, and you must use it wisely. Take this opportunity to become the man you can be."

The orb went silent, and for several long moments Feinor looked at it, then put it away in the sewn pockets of his clothing. His father had been a wise man and he had raised him well. If anything, his father had been perfect. Now- This was his final dance. Had it been any other person, Feinor would have protested. But his father deserved his rest, deserved the calm embrace of the end. The only thing he wanted was to be there when it happened. Feinor got to his feet, kicking dirt over the fire to extinguish it. His eyes were attuned well to Finnwa's sparse light in this night, and he followed the trail that his father had walked before, tracing his footsteps like he had often traced them when tracking prey.

The trail was not quite as long as he had expected, and he ended up by the river. His father was sitting there, watching him in silence, yet very well aware of his presence despite Feinor's caution. Feinor approached him slowly, until he stood just before his father. His father reached up with his hands and Feinor reacted by taking them. His grip was warm and welcome. These were the hands which had held him, which had protected him in his youth and taught him how to hunt and craft. Feinor looked him in the eyes, and the old man spoke. "You have always had the eyes of your mother, son. The eyes of a mortal, so fiery and full of life, full of love. Your mother was always there with you, no matter if you knew it. Your mother gave me the task to raise you, and that I did."

His father started to get up, and Feinor reacted by helping him. "you will cast the crystal into the water, my son. Remember these tales, and in time you may teach a new orb what you have learned tonight. Now, let me tell you one final tale." The old shaman reached into Feinor's pockets, taking the orb. He closed their hands over the object, and started to speak.

"The last story I will tell you is that of the fire ravens. Only by their will to live are these red-beaked ravens not extinct. They were created by Nihilus, the final spirit who was born from the fire. It was many years ago that he changed an unkindness of ravens into these beings, and they still exist despite the suspicion with which they are hunted. I myself no longer hunt these beings, for they are not only messengers, but my friends. I am the only one who trusts them, and I am their only listening ear. All these years, they have told me what happened in this world, and I listened. Nothing did they ask of me in return but what I already did; I thanked Nihilus, god of change, for his creation, for the knowledge I was given. Soon he too will awaken in the form of a raven, among his kindred. They will tell him what I told you, and if you put faith in him like I did, the ravens will talk with you too."

He took a step back, leaving the orb in Feinor's hands. "All of the gods will awaken in their animal forms, son. Be strong."

With this, red-beaked ravens descended from the trees, both cackling and speaking, circling around his father. Within a moment, they passed to the sky again, and the shaman was gone. A single tear welled up in the corner of Feinor's eyes, and he cast the orb into the river. He would keep this promise.

Had one been there to watch him, they would have seen that his eyes burned with a dedication so strong that it lighted up the sky.




The people in the tribe affected by Alandios start calling themselves Alandians.
While the crystals (Alandium) are used by the tribe, the shamans refuse to share either the wisdom stored or their use.

Teneia's influence has made the tribe she lived in grow quickly.
Teneia eventually feels drained and tired from her life among mortals in the village, and succumbs to sleep.
Yonah 'married' Teneia when he became Chieftain, enchanted by 'the sleeping beauty', against the Shaman's warnings.
Teneia disappears overnight from the village on the day she has have her child. Her daughter grows up in and roams the nearby wilds.
Teneia's daughter is called 'Lilith'.

The tribe which was gifted the Kapyt prospers.
The tribe refuses to trade the Kapyt.
Other nearby tribes band together and raid the tribe, destroying it.
The Kapyt spreads quickly to other tribes.

Vénorr's flames are doused over time and his pain subsides.
Vénorr enters a deep sleep in a cave deep in the wilds.
The tale of the monstrous bear called Vénorr spreads around Nativa's many tribes.
Vénorr receives the title 'Ember of the Wilds' because of his initial manifestation.
Many a brave hunter sets out to slay Vénorr, but not a single person can find it.
It becomes common practice for every important figure in any tribe to slay at least one bear in their lifetime.
When Vénorr wakes up again, he finds that his back is permanently burned and he is back on the site of his earlier slaughter, which is now an empty clearing in the forest. The burns appear similar to marks left by the claws of a bird of prey, and are of a divine nature.

Toman overthrows the tribal council, coronating himself chieftain.
He names the tribe after himself; Toman.
The tribe prospers under his effective rule, but in due time the Staff of Power corrupts him and he grows unsatisfied.
He manages to force two other tribes into submission, greatly increasing the territories owned by the Toman tribe.
His arrogance eventually causes his demise when he decides to assault a bear in the forests by himself, thinking that he is fighting Vénorr.
The Staff of Power is passed on for several generations of effective rulers, but all of them meet an early demise.

Hardrunm's Stone Plow is not only put into use and turned into an object of worship, but it is also copied as the villagers make normal plows.
The villagers start clearing surrounding forests and plowing the land.
Hardrunm is treated as an animal of burden until the villagers decide to sacrifice him, ironically, to Hardrunm.
This event returns Hardrunm to dreaming the Cry of the Phoenix.
Hardrunm awakens looking into the Phoenix' eyes in his dreams. He finds himself awakening in the body of an ox in the village which he helped prosper.

The screamers severely thin the Latia's numbers, but the survivors escape into the forest.
In a desperate attempt to hide from their pursuers the Latia hide inside a cave deeper into the forest. After more than a day in the darkness they come back out.
Years after the previous events, the shaman declares the cave a holy place, calling it 'Valeia's Sanctuary'.
Every time the tribe makes a sacrifice to the Phoenix, they carry the still burning woods of the pyre to Valeia's Sanctuary, allowing it to only stop spreading its light when consumed by the darkness in Valeia's Sanctuary.
Over time, the darkness in the cave grows unnatural, and a large amount of the screamer spiders migrate to the cave.
The Latia grow into fearless warriors and hunters.

Aradan's village grows and prospers, and they name the village after him; Aradon.
Aradan receives their worship and the village grows quickly until his influence finally fades as he succumbs to slumber.
The tribesmembers continue to accredit good events to Aradon and bad events to evil spirits controlled by the Phoenix.
The Cry of the Phoenix is interpreted in a bad way, and the shamans of Aradon craft a prophecy wherein Aradan will face and defeat the Phoenix after destroying its armies, banishing all evil spirits from the world.

Emik spreads Ha-Jalah's word rather quickly.
Tales of Ha-Jalah spread quickly between tribes.
While Ha-Jalah gains few worshippers, the world's tribes start making sacrifices to him if they manage to avert disasters.

The Fire Ravens spread quickly around the main continent of Nativa.
Most tribes grow superstitious, and slay any Fire Raven they come upon.
The species manages to remain sparse but widespread.
Nihilus hears every tale about divine events.
Nihilus' ravens find a new disciple in Feinor.

Feinor, shaman of the Alandian tribe which worships Alandios, becomes a historical figure.

All of the gods awaken in their animal forms near the area of their last act.

Code: [Select]

Valeia: 1
Ha-Jalah: 1
Unsobar: 1
Nihilus: 1
Vénorr: 1
Hardrunm: 1
The Broker: 1
Aradan: 1
Alandios: 1
Teneia: 1

[Fniff]

Teneia slept, and was awoken yet again.

In the forest again, alone. Darkness surrounded her yet again, as the creatures in the night prowled around. In a blink, she was human yet again. Teneia considered things as she walked with the lightest steps upon the ground. She could remember glimpses of what happened. She definitely remembered the parts before she fell asleep, and whatever she was (She wasn't confident enough to say she was a God, but she definitely would have qualified as a pretty high-level spirit), hanging around humans would tire her out more then anything else. Teneia felt a glimmer of sadness when she realized that she'd probably be unable to enjoy the things humans enjoyed. She shook her head; that wasn't a good thing to contemplate. She was alive, she wasn't in immediate danger and she was relatively mentally sound.

The shifting of bushes caused her to look over at it. She immediately thought it was an owl of some sort, but she didn't think it was likely... too big. Almost the same size as a human, in fact.

Two cat-like eyes glinted in the moonlight, staring directly at her. Teneia looked closer, and saw it belonged to a woman covered in a low quality, handmade quilt made out of pelts. A terrible feeling came over Teneia, and then

Yonah took the clothes off the sleeping goddess, her scents so mild yet so beautiful, and he breathed in.

"Teneia... I love you..." He whispered in her ear.

Somewhere, down in the depths of her sleep, she remembered those words...

Teneia blinked, her face a mask of utter realization. Then disgust. Yonah, she remembered, was dead. Died by heartbreak, the replacement shaman told her while she was sleeping. Good for him, what a wise idea, worthy of a shaman's usual intelligence, because if not for that fact that he was already dead, then he would have been obliterated by now. Gone, struck from the face of the earth, burnt to ashes, his family line cursed so much that the entire world would be against the very idea of Yonah's spawn, and... And Teneia didn't really want to do that.

She felt like an utter failure, not even able to raise a finger to strike out the bastard who defiled her in the first place, and now not even able to do so in a fantasy.

"Are you my mother?" The shape asked with the cat's eyes glowing in the black.

Now there was this remnant of the dark deed. Her memory of giving birth to this was as clear as day now. This abomination, a fusion of spirit and man, couldn't be her daughter. Teneia knew she should had said no, she was not her mother, who are you? But in those eyes, inside Teneia's soul, she felt a thing that bond by all spirits, gods, and humans.

This is my daughter, and I love her.

Teneia smiled. "Yes, I am."

***

Teneia and Lilith sat across from each other, after Lilith explained what she had been doing while Teneia was asleep. Lilith looked confused, Teneia was frowning in a combination of horror and disappointment.

"Right... let's get this straight." Teneia sighed. "You murdered a large amount of men for no reason."

"I had a r--" Teneia held up her finger as Lilith began to explain.

"Don't need to hear it. Lilith, nice name, by the way, do you have no concept of morals at all?" She stared at Lilith.

"They kill. Why can't I?" Lilith frowned at Teneia.

"Because humans kill because they need to. You just straight up murdered them because you were bored! What separates you from... a..." Teneia grunted with frustration. "A straight-out killer!?"

"... Well..." Lilith trailed off, seemingly in the process of wondering what to say next.

"Right." Teneia stood up, and stared at Lilith. "I wish I was awake when I gave birth to you... you are completely without morals."

Lilith stood up and growled, "I didn't wait for you just so I can be yelled at, and talked down to!"

"What did you expect, a pat on the head and a 'Well done, young Lilith, you're really good at the murdering thing!'?!" Teneia rolled her eyes. "... Look, we are going to have a very very long talk, Lilith..."

Lilith looked nervous, darting her eyes around. "What... what do you mean by that?"

"... I'm not going to kill you, Lilith." The goddess in black smirked. "I'm your mother, and I still love you... But, and here's the thing, it's not unconditional. You're going to have to make some sacrifices..."

Teneia put on a thoughtful face. "By the way, how do you know how to talk?"

Lilith sighed. Another thing Gods, Spirits and Humans share is that teenage sigh.

Teneia teaches Lilith about morals, and how to become a proper human and not a psychotic murderer. Teneia feels disgusted by the murdering aspect of her daughter but still loves her, and Lilith feels confused that what she was doing was wrong.

[Shootandrun]

He had not slept, but he had been relatively inactive for too long. He had watched and listened, and he had learned.  He knew there were other things to this realm than mortals, the phoenix and himself. He was not alone. There were others calling themselves gods; he had not seen them, but he felt their influence. The world was changing, awakening. It was time for him to act once again. He had gathered his strength and he was ready to use it. His time had come, once again, to influence the world of mortals. An owl woke up in a tree, above a tribal village, and listened to the stories told by an old man to his son..

Upon his first awakening, he had been confused and in pain, placed into a situation which he did not understand. He had understood soon enough and he had learned what he was and where he was, but he had been young back then. Now, he was still young by the standards he had set to himself – and, he thought, he would be young forever, as the immortal being that he was – but he was older than memory by mortal standard. All the time that he had spent resting and watching, he had thought. His mind was clear of any interference, of any thoughts that could divert him from the more important questions that he had to examine. He was, one could say, mature.

His mind was strange by mortal, and, he supposed, godly standards. It was growing. He did not desire to forget any information, even information that could seem irrelevant to mortals. It was against his way of being. And so it grew, storing knowledge and information, but he limited his consciousness to a certain part of it. He did not actively need all of that knowledge, but he could instantly go over it if he so desired, if he was looking for one particular information. It was an unending storage of knowledge belonging to a mind feeling an unending desire for knowledge.

And so, he knew that the mortals who had received his gift, the Alandians, had betrayed his trust. He had wanted his creation to go far and wide, to be shared by all the tribes and to allow even mere mortals to have access to past knowledge forever. But these mortals were greedy and those who knew how to use the crystals kept that knowledge to themselves. He knew of their betrayal, for his name was Alandios and knowledge was his domain; and he did not forget.

He felt no anger. Anger distracted him from important thoughts and decisions. He did feel a kind of disappointment, although it did not absolutely apply in the strict mortal sense of the world. He was not frustrated, nor sad, nor angry, but he learned that mortals could not always be trusted, and he stored that information into his mind, like all others. He decided that he should give them a chance, although this time he would be wary.

His current mortal form was that of an owl. His previous mortal form had been that of an owl too. It did not take him long to understand that there was a connection between him and this animal. He studied the facts for some time, and eventually he had an idea that generated thoughts into his mind that mortals called amusement. The fact that the single most distracting him he could feel – having a mortal form – was bound to happen to him every so often was a quite ironical situation that generated the afore noted amusement. It was a beautiful ensemble of thoughts that made him happy, a state he rarely felt.

He suppressed these thoughts, because they were distracting him from important ones.

His mortal form flew, and it called in the night for other owls. Soon enough he assembled a full parliament of them, and he changed them. He made them smarter, capable of speaking, carrying objects and learning he knew another god had made a similar experiment with another race of flying creatures, but he did not care. These, he made easy to tame and naturally benevolent. They would help mortals as best they could, and they would learn soon enough to be able servants. He set into their minds the desire to spread knowledge in all its forms, but mainly in the shape of important discoveries and stories.

He had not abandoned his decision to bring assistance to the mortals. If the mortals could not take care of themselves, then he would have to bring knowledge to them through other means. These newborn creatures – they lacked a name, he realized – would accomplish that purpose for him. He contemplated them for a while, and then named them, simply, Alandian owls in his honor.

He gave them all an Alandium crystal and the knowledge necessary to use it and the mission to teach humans how to use it. The crystals contained the original words that he had transmitted to the tribe that had created him, long ago, and he hoped that this time this marvel would spread, and that humans would learn to use his gifts – both Alandian Owls and Alandium – with wisdom. If they could not, he would have to take care of it by himself.

Alandios creates Alandian Owls (see description) and gives them all an Alandium crystal with the original recording he gave, long ago, to the tribe that created him. They know how to use the crystals. He tasks them to present their use to the different tribes.

Spoiler: Alandian Owls (click to show/hide)

Alandian Owls are a very intelligent subspecies of owls, capable of speaking, like Fire Ravens. Unlike Fire Ravens, however, they are benevolent and easily tameable. Humans learning to use them appropriately could have them carry messages or objects to other humans.

Wild Alandian Owls will generally act like normal owls, but they will help humans they find in need if they can – ie by leading the lost back to the tribe or by warning the traveler of an ambush. They breed quite quickly and give a good amount of meat and feathers when killed.

[micelus]

"Mr Wishgiver? Do you think you could help me?"
"Child? What is it that you want?"
"Well I was out playing with Ashtru and Kap an hour ago...We were playing with Kap's new bow...You know just testin' it out and stuff. Then that big bully from across the river came and stole his bow! Could ya go and bring it back?"
"Of course child, just remember to...remember...hahaha."
"That wasn't very funny, spirit guy..."
"I know...I know. Well, best be going now."

...
That was a good memory, a good dream. It still remembered that time, when it lived among mortals and tended to their needs...But the days and years passed, and eventually it grew tired. It said It's goodbyes one day and returned to Nothing.

There it had slept and dreamt. Thinking of the information, of the faces. It had growned accustomed to Existence and all its trappings.The corporeal landscape. Life. People. Thoughts. Ambition.

Ambition was something he had found in all minds, great and small...And all where will to risk something for their ambitions. Usually they risked food or an object of pracitcal or sentimental value. Sometimes they risked their lives. It was all so interesting to It what mortals would do. It could not wait until it had awoken from the Nothing and could return to the world of Life. For now however, there was the dreams.

...

Eventually It awoke once again. Time had taught him what to expect. The people praising the return of the 'spirit' and giving out offerings, as well as the people going for their weapons. Time however, had not saw it fit to teach It to expect what It saw.

It awoke on the altar, expecting It's people. It expected offerings at the altar and a prosperous town of great halls and huts, with pastures filled with his Blessings. It found none of those, only ruins of the past. The altar was in ruins, defiled with the blood of villagers and broken into many. The huts had been torn down, and the materials scattered. And even worse, there was not a human in sight.

"Wh-ere is everyone? Shaman? Chief? Anyone?"

Nothing but the wind answered. The being wandered through the village, or at least its ruins. The forest had retaken much of it, with several trees growing where huts once stood. It saw several groups of his Blessings throughout the ruins, although they seemed...feral? They did not seem at all domesticated. It touched one of them and stroked its mind and body. It felt...different. Its foliage was rough and course, and its fruit was smaller than he would expect. Its mind too felt different. It felt fear, not ignorance. Wild, not tamed.

It let go of the creature and wandered the village some more. So many people he knew...gone. From what he knew from the minds of those he looked through, only violence or famine could have caused this. With the herds of his kapyts the tribe could never really starve. Tire of the same food day in and day out, but not starve. That only left violence. The humans ofen raided eachother for materials and resources, he knew that...But why? This village had nothing great about it only th-

It's line of though was cut off as he saw a human. A man with a spear, crouching down at a pair of chipped stones. It glared at the human's back, and then rushed him. Before the man could react to the spirit, It had already put its hand on the mortal's head, and entered his mind.

The man was of the village. He was a warrior; the tribe had long ago lost any need for hunters besides the occasional pelt. He had had a family and an ever larger extended family, all living in one great hall. The man had a single duty: to protect the tribe and all its wealth. This meant protecting the herds against outsiders, for the most part. The kapyts were the sacred blessings of The Broker and only the tribe had deserved It's blessings. If any other had, then they would have had their own kapyts. One day, a tribe had the gall to try and steal some of the kapyts. They were easily routed. Even so, the warriors had given chase, hoping to destroy them completely. When they came back to their village, they found it burning and all its inhabitants dead or taken away. The kapyts too had been stolen, or at least allowed to run into the forests. The man, as well as others, since then has been trying to take vengence, or die trying.

It let him go. The village had died because of its Blessings, his divine aid. All that was left were a few men, ever ready to die. It noticed the man was speaking.

"-ker. We were told stories of you, when we were kids. We prayed to you every day, and gave thanks for our blessings. And yet, you were not there when my home burned. My family died. They all died. Why?!"

This man was clearly not thinking properly. And yet, The Broker sympathised. It knew itself at fault.

"Child...if I could have saved them, I would have...But even I sleep. When I sleep, I hear not one word. Nor see a flame."

The man was angry. And at the verge of tears as well. He had been visiting the resting place of his wife and child.

"Is that all your going to say? Not going to help me? If so, just end me so I can be with them in the afterlife!" The man pointed to the graves of his loved ones.

The Broker thought. What to do....he had to do something. Killing this man would accomplish nothing. Even more, It had failed its task of protecting the tribe. Failure was a new concept. However, with failure comes vengence. And an idea.

"I shall not end you...it is not time. Instead, you shall have your vengence. I shall gift you a power to do what is needed to those who have wronged you...on one condition."

"Anything."

"Very well. When you die, you shall serve me. Your soul shall be bonded with me, as well as your body. Care for your family in the afterlife as much as you want, just as long you serve."

The Broker was not sure if an afterlife existed; he was not mortal after all. He expected it to be similar to the Nothing, just with the presence of others.

The man looked at the Broker, in thought. Finally he spoke. "Yes. Give it to me, now."

The broker took the man's hand and brought to his own body, its corporeal shadow. The man fainted and slept. Now it was time for The Broker to work.

...

When the man awoke, he felt different. He felt stronger, faster, and more quick, in the mental sense. He also felt determined...and he had a feeling of direction. He felt in his mind several 'itches' directing him to different places. One 'itch' felt northwards. Another south, and others to the east and west. He was not sure how, but he felt that he knew what these itches were. They were directions to those who he were to kill. Yes, he would do so.

...

The Broker watched as his new creation sprung up and ran. He had gived the man power; strength, agility, intelligence and the Itch. That Itch would allow him to finish his goal, which in this case was the killing of the warriors who had slaughtered his family. He knew that the man would finish his task...and once he did so, he would die. He had not filled the man out on that; it was of secondary importance. Once he had finished his task, he would fall and die. From his body, his soul would drift to the Broker, ready to be used for It's own purposes.

The Broker knew however that one man in the state would not be able to tell anyone about his pact. The Broker would have to enter a few more dreams and meet with some more tribesmen...
...

It had met with nearly all the tribesmen and nearly all had accepted the transformation. They had all been turned into..Hunters. Yes, that was a good name, It thought. The Pact of the Hunter. Yes...that was a good name.

Of course, once the tasks of the Hunters were carried out, no knowledge of the Pact would exist. Which is why the Broker had also entered the minds of several shamans, several out on their spiritual journies. The Pact would exist for some time, for whatever purpose.
The Broker transforms a man into a Hunter, a being much stronger, faster and intelligent than a normal human. They also posses the ability to determine where their 'goal' is, wherever it may be. Once they finish their task, they expire and their soul is sent to The Broker to serve It for eternity. The Broker performs the Pact of the Hunter on other men of the now dead tribe, and enters the minds of several shamans so that the Pact will be remembered.

Spoiler: Pact of the Hunter (click to show/hide)

While the first few rituals were undertaken by The Broker itself, most transformations are now handledthrough a simple ritual. An aspiring Hunter must gather one fruit from a kapyt and a hair from a baboon and set them alight at roughly the same time. Then he (or she) must then say, "I ask for help in this task, in my mission. I offer myself now and the life ever-after." The applicant must then describe his/her goal. He or she may then know if his/her prayer has been answered if kapyt fruit splits into two and the hair screams, as if a full baboon.