Print

Please login or register.
1 Hour 1 Day 1 Week 1 Month Forever
Login with username, password and session length

[Caesar]

Godhood IV

Godhood: A game where the players ascend to Godhood, creating a world from the Essence and the Void. An empty world with its lore written by players, yet filled with untold stories of its origins.

Related pages:
OOC Thread
Godhood Wiki (Managed by the players.)

This is the game thread for Godhood IV. It is reserved for ingame 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.

We expect a certain degree of maturity, writing skill (including proper knowledge of grammar and spelling) and sincerity. Players are required to use their common sense. (Which I trust they have.)
Have fun and treat the other players with respect.


Turn zero: Lore

In all of existence, there were two forces; The Void and The Essence. And in the beginning, they were balanced. The Essence and the Void were endless, and the Essence spiraled through the Void, shimmering brightly for eyes that would never perceive it. The Void and the Essence were opposites, but without one another, neither would exist. In the Void, there were echoes of potential, unfilled, crying for change. The Void was without form, without dimensions. The Void knew neither Time nor Space. The Essence seemed to be full of both. The Essence was constantly changing, morphing into new forms, never able to take a permanent form. The Essence and the Void were in harmony. The Essence was the shapeless liquid, and the Void was the mold.

In this perfect balance, there was but one place where the Essence was woven through the Void perfectly, creating a sphere. Within a seemingly finite space there was yet another infinite expanse, saturated with the Essence: Thus, the first universe was born. The universe was a balance between Void and Essence, allowing solidity and dimensions. Within this universe, time passed, and the first overgoddess was spawned from the Essence. This Overgoddess was the first of many Gods, and together they shaped the first universe to their liking. Little is known of the war of the Gods but the ending, where The Shapeshifter caused the destruction of the first universe and its overgoddess.

Like the surface of a fluid the Void rippled after the destruction, and this ripple upset the structure of the Essence. Perfection was gone, and instead of the perfect balance between Void and Essence, the spirals of Essence were twisted in grotesque new forms. As The Ripple expanded through the Void, new universes were formed, but never as perfect as the first. Some were finite, others were fruitless, bearing the birth of no gods, remaining forever empty. Some were so over-saturated with Essence that the birth of their overgod alone destroyed them, causing minor ripples.

Few Gods ever perceived the true forms of Void and Essence, fewer even survived it, and only one had the ability to travel through the Void to another universe. This god was Xarn, the traitor. Even I lost count of the universes Xarn visited, but I know exactly where his journeys ended.

The events of Xarn's final rest, however, sparked the birth of another universe, and with this birth, his only child. This is where my story ends, and yet another begins..

~The Scholar

Some Gods are born violently. Other Gods are born quietly. This Goddess entered her realm soundlessly. Unlike her predecessors, she did not slumber, nor did she create the planet she witnessed below. Underneath layer upon layer of clouds lay a world like many before. Green and lush, this planet had not required her presence to prosper. It did, however, need her presence now. After all, what meaning would the animals and the plants have, would it not be for mortals? Thus, she descended to the main continent, and explored it.

A goddess of her status could have simply taken the knowledge of the planet; but not The Daughter. Every forest, every desert, every wasteland- she traveled under the guise of bird, prey, predator and even fish. The planet had voyaged around its star hundreds of times before she decided she was done. In a deep cave on the side of a small mountain in the desert she founded her fountain, and in this fountain were born the first two humans. Earth and Water were theirs bodies, and from Air, Fire, and Essence were created their minds; Perfect physically; carrying no diseases for their children, but imperfect mentally. They were the first mortals, and The Tainted loved them, for they carried her curse. After they had laid eyes on her beautiful visage, she faded away, leaving them dazzled and confused.

These two nameless people ventured out of Kinaré's cave, setting foot into their own world. As in every world, the Essence of Time took over, and these two people formed a small clan, which then again divided into tribes. Eventually, these tribes spread over the continent, hunter-gatherers by heart. But as The Tainted had known, no heart is without darkness.  Wearing hides and wielding spears, some tribes developed a new philosophy. Their quarry eventually changed to their fellow men and women, and they assaulted other tribes, stealing their food, and killing their enemies if necessary.

Tribes won and lost. 'Why?' They asked themselves. In two parts of this divided world the same answer was found: We are favored by a God. In the deepest of jungles, one of these tribes invented the Lady. The Lady in Red favored them in battle. One of their warriors was bitten by a venomous viper before a raid. Instead of aborting the attack, he urged them to move on. And during the battle, none impaled more enemies than him. Thus, the viper was declared holy, the child of the Lady.

The other tribe turned to Alcinoe, Goddess of War. They lived in the forests in the North, hunting for a living. They endured multiple raids by the other tribes competing for their territory, and as hunters, they were slowly losing their struggle. While the hunters had sharpened their arrows and spears, every attack took able men away. It was at a clear night that the entire tribe slept uneasily, kept awake by a Raven and its endless cawing. Only when the men finally decided to kill the animal did it fly away, towards the forest. Instead of leaving it, the men followed, discovering a slowly advancing group of warriors. They ambushed these warriors, like prey, now that they knew where they were, saving not only their lives, but those of their entire tribe.

In the temperate Northwest of the continent lived a more peaceful tribe. Living in a valley, they provided in their needs mainly through foraging. Winters were harsh on them, but they managed to thrive nonetheless. Every spring, plants started bearing fruits again, and their foragers set out to collect these spoils. Following butterflies to the flowers of growing plants, they coexisted with the seasons. What they did not know, however, was how every spring, all plants came back to life as the snow started to melt. Eventually, they found the answer: Sei'imeri, Goddess of Growth, was her name. The butterflies were always there where plants were growing and where flowers blossomed. These were her groves, and every butterfly shared part of her spirit, spreading life to the plants around them.

Many a tribesman was visited by dreams. Some were about the future, others about the past. Some held meaning and others did not. In the pine forests of the Northeast a small tribe lived on the mountainside. They were fascinated by their dreams, and the strange meaning they had. On a cold winter night, one of the women dreamed of a silver-furred lynx. They normally feared this animal, as the lynxes on the mountainside had taken many victims over the years. This time in her dreams, however, the animal felt strangely comforting. The woman left the tribe the next day, looking for stray branches to feed their fires. Deeper into the forest, she hit an uprooted tree deep underneath the snow. She woke up when the sky was dark, her head wet. It rested on a rock. Dazed, she looked around. Nearby rested a lynx, watching her intently. Despite the pain, she tried to flee from it, but escape was not possible. Instead of attacking her, the animal remained with her, scaring off dangerous animals and bringing her food, until the second day, when her tribesmen finally found her. The animal had left her just before they arrived, and only a glimpse did the hunters catch of its silver fur. Later, the woman told the story. The silver-furred lynx was Mahet, God of Dreams.

Patience was the virtue of another tribe. They lived in the Southern plains. Instead of hunting by themselves, they stalked predators for days, waiting for them to make a kill. When the predator was satiated, they took what remained of the prey. Always they followed the buzzards, also patient hunters. They lived off the death caused by others, almost never striking a kill. They were thankful for their bounty and the buzzards that guided them. Eventually they gave the buzzards a name: Druw-Lrunhike, God of Death. He was the God that faithfully led them to food.

Everything comes to an end: Life, prosperity, even the seasons. A tribe from the dense Northern Taiga knew this. Always wary, they lived their lives waiting for the end. Cautious and careful they avoided their enemies. One night, the moon turned red, and the owls that always filled the forests had assembled around their village, their yellow eyes piercing the darkness. Some took this as an ill omen, and they left the village during the night. The next day, raiders attacked the village and killed those who had stayed behind. The others? They thanked Kath, God of the Moon, and his black owls.

While many tribes engaged one another in battle, few enjoyed the destruction like those who worshiped Lavos, God of Destruction. After many victories, they had decided to dedicate their conflict to this God. Painting on themselves the stripes of tigers using mud in the Jungle, none were stronger than them, or so they believed. They never planned what tribe to attack, so long as it was nearby. And every time, they left burning homes in homage of their God.

At the Western coast lived a tribe of fishermen. Wading into the water to kill their prey with spears, they observed many changes in the waters. At certain times of day, they were lower than at others. Sometimes the waves were high and the sea was wild. At other times the ocean lay calm and peaceful. They came to relate this lowering and raising of the waters to the chest of someone who was breathing. When she was disturbed, the waters would be dangerous. Anea, Goddess of the Sea, lay sleeping somewhere underneath the seas. When her dreams were restless, she would be scared, and her breathing would be stirred. During a storm, a strange and dissettling fish had washed ashore. They named this being the anglerfish, for its strange appendage. Surely this animal was hers. From that moment on, the fishermen sacrificed part of their catch to the waters.

Howling. A small clan of hunter-gatherers were haunted by this sound. Every day, every night, the wolves howled.. And did nothing. Keeping on the move, these men and women tried to escape the wolves that pursued them. Sometimes the canines attacked, and mutilated one of them, never killing. Why? They did not know. In the end, the only solution seemed to attack the animals. Armed with their spears they followed the trail of the pack, only to find that at a certain point, it simply vanished. Beaten, they continued on their migration, waiting for the wolves. They never came.. But they always heard the howling of Droth'allor's children.

The hawk was a smart animal. The tribe had followed it for days, but never did they catch it. The plains were devoid of game, and the hawk was their last chance. Walking steadily, but starving, they followed it, until they reached a black mountain. There the animal rested. Near the plains on this mountain, the tribe found game, finally. Even more important, however, was that they had made a discovery. Many of the pebbles near the mountain were black, and when carved into arrow tips, their prey never survived the wounds they inflicted. This stone they called obsidian. Thanking Altail and his Hawk, the tribe set on hunting the abundant game with their superior arrows.

On their path, they left vultures. This tribe lived on the plains. They hunted not for food, nor for skin, because they had plenty of both. They hunted for enjoyment. And the corpses they left behind, were for the vultures. Their God was Chlorine, and he too enjoyed the destruction of life.

Ten Gods were created by the mortals that worshiped them. An eleventh watched from the shadows. She was pleased, and curious. Her influence had been in the tiniest of acts, but it had been there nonetheless. From the shadows, she watched, waiting for her brothers and sisters..


Kinaré enters the Universe.
Kinaré discovers the World.
Kinaré creates Kinaré's Cave.
Kinaré creates humankind.
The Lady is born.
Alcinoe is born.
Sei'imeri is born.
Mahet is born.
Druw-Lrunhike is born.
Kath is born.
Lavos is born.
Anea is born.
The Tribe of the Hawk discovers obsidian.
Altair is born.
Chlorine is born.
Kinaré watches.

All gods have one tribe of followers.

Code: [Select]

Altair: 1
Alcinoe: 1
Anea: 1
Chlorine: 1
Droth'allor: 1
Druw'Lrunhike: 1
Kath: 1
Lavos: 1
Mahet: 1
Sei'imeri: 1
The Lady: 1


[Evergod41]

Altair had led these people far from their homeland, He took them on a pilgrimage to a place that is more fuitful than from where they came. And there, they had materials to craft and the abilities to invent, they know only of His hawken form, but even that would be more than suitable for a simple demonstration to bestow afflatus upon the people He has taken under his wing.

Sometime during the day, when the people were at gather; Altair flew down from the mountain, cawing, He landed upon a large rock, the same useful material used to improve the simple stone-head arrows, but too large to be used as such, and pecked at it a few times, eventually whittleing it down to a size that would fit in a hand snugly.

He carried the stone and placed in the center of the village, pecking it once more to create an emblem of a hawk with it's wings spread and with a bundle of arrows in it's talons, glowing like that of his left arm. He left the stone there, imbueing it with the ability to unlock the deep down ideas of the person who holds it.

Altair, then flew back towards the mountain, claiming it as his home and dissapearing amungst the clouds.

Altair creates The Stone of Ingenuity, it's an obsidian stone with a glowing emblem of a hawk carrying a bundle of arrows.

[ragnarok97071]

Lavos Watches.

I am Destruction

I am the Flame, burning to ash.

I am the Ice, Cold as death.

I am the Earth, Crushing your breath.

I am the Wind, Tearing down stone.

I am the Light, Blinding your sight.

I am the Dark, Monstrous night.

I am the Blade, Hungry for blood.

I am the Flesh, Tiger's claw sharp.

I am Destruction.

I AM LAVOS.

The Tribe of the Eight Blades, Named as such for what were remembered in legend as the words which were heard as their God came into being, were collected around a roaring fire, created of the village of a neighbor tribe. They sung songs, guttural and warlike, rising above the roar of the fire and the screams of those found by the Blades who had been sent as watchmen for the dishonor of causing the least destruction.

At the head of the circle, a man, crippled from a broken arm during the fight, stands. His voice raises high above even his fellows' song.

My fellow Blades! We have brought the fires of destruction to another village. Some of our warriors have accepted Destruction into themselves and perished, and are even now enduring the Death Rites. Others have done so and survived, having proven themselves favored by Lavos.

Here he pauses, his wounded arm lifted to the sky in proof.

The Tribe of the Eight Blades was, other than their proclivity toward warfare, a peaceful society. There was little crime among them, and all were seen as equal, so long as they could fight and hold a weapon. Men and women, young and old, all were the same among them, and the injured of battle were seen as the greatest of them all, having not only brought the Destruction Without, that of destroying one's enemies, but also to accept the destruction of their own bodies, and thus proven, they are given great respect.

As the blades continued to sing, a small child wandered away from the camp.

This child is named Ahyra, the daughter of a warrior who had been positioned as watchman. She left the village, driven by some strange compulsion to travel to the nearby mountain.

Within an hour, she had reached its summit. Here the top of the mountain had been blasted away, leaving a smoldering crater, filled with magma. She found here a man, clothed in an armor of flames. He turned to her.

Child, know that you have been chosen to lead your people. Know that, in time, you shall forge an empire which will spread it's influence to the four corners of the World. Know that, by this, you shall be the arbiter of Destruction which shall rise above all.

[Karnewarrior]

The Tribe of the Vulture hated sunrise. It was an abomination that the sun, so hot and firey, would touch the ground, so full of wonderful burny things, and yet not set it aflame. Long they had attempted to catch the sun, and long it was always just out of grasp, a bird just out of range of the far-flung arrow.

It was a blood red sky, laced with thin wisps of clouds that yet rumbled like thunderheads. The Tribe of the Vulture cowered in their tents, waiting for the flames that were sure to come, but nothing happened for some while, until the Tribe bagan to think that perchance the forecasted flames had not caught, that they would live to pillage and destroy again.

There was a man in the clearing. The furs he wore were like no other, smooth and silky, not in tufts. It was more like a leather, but it was not leather. It buckled over the shoulder in such a way as to make it like a robe, and yet it was not a robe. The sleeves were too thick, and tough to be made of cloth like a robe. On his head he wore a strange set of sticks, and a lens was grafted onto one, the lens magnifying his eye. The eye held a strange gleam, one that the Tribe of Vultures had legends of but had never seen. The gleam of someone who truely, with the full fiber of his being, enjoyed pain. his pain, others pain, it mattered not.

The Tribe of the Vulture looked upon Chlorine, and Chlorine said unto them with a voice like a inferno; "I'm hungry. Let's have breakfast, hmm?"

He struck down a man from the tribe and flicked his wrist, sending the man tumbling into the pot. It began to simmer, though none had lit the flame. The Tribe of the Vulture dined upon the sacrifice with their god, who was sated, and claimed the dead mans tent for his own. He claimed rulership over the tribe, and as a token of his gratitude, he would lead them to unparrallelled levels of destruction and technology. He would gift them with weapons that could strike a man dead from a hundred feet, and so quickly there would be no arrow to catch, only death. He would build devices that would light fires to consume whole towns, villages, cities, and the surrounding countryside. And in return, they would bring him slaves, new worshippers.

And food.

Chlorine indulges in canaballism and takes direct rulership of the Tribe of the Vulture
Chlorine demands more worshippers through breeding and slavery.

[forsaken1111]

Death is a quiet thing. Cold and patient, but ever vigilant. None slipped its grasp or eluded its gaze, and none were above its law. A hushed stillness marked its presence as it watched this foolish deity fell the man of the buzzard tribe, and Death drew the soul into its grasp as it escaped the man's broken body.

All belong to Death, in the end, regardless of belief or morality. Even gods could die, in time.

Invisible but for the breeze stirred by its passing, Death stalked among the living and reaped His grim harvest. Each soul gathered was tucked carefully away into His voluminous cloak, lined with endless pockets. His job was endless, but He was tireless in His duties.

His harvest done, Death stepped across the veil to release the gathered souls into the place of the dead. This was his charge, for all eternity.

Death performs his duties, facilitating the transfer of souls to the realm of the dead.
Death saves his power for now, spending no acts.

[Atilliano]

Standing in a field, Shaella looked around to see if she could spot anything, but as always when they looked for the wolves, there was nothing.
She and her hunting party, counting three well-abled tribesmen, were scouting the area around where the tribe would rest for the night.
'There is nothing here, we should go back.' One of her hunters said. Quickly she turned around and grabbed the arm of the man.
'Do you think the wolves will just vanish when we do nothing, no, we need to know there won't be an attack.' She answered, staring at him angrily.
'But we never know it when they attack, why would we now?' He asked, while squirming his arm out of Shaella's hand.
Suddenly, she felt something from inside of her. The feeling was great, but at the same time terrible.
'Hehe... humans... so weak, yet so brave...'
Shaella stood still, not able to move and look around.
Hehe... you young ones are entertaining... I have a challenge for you eh? do I? Yes I do!
Go into the woods to the north, and kill at least one of the wolves which are there... If you succeed, your tribe will be safe, and able to live on without the wolf threat...
But there are rules to the entertaining game you will soon play, you know...hehe... You must go alone, no hunters to help you... You can do this can't you? If you do, I will grant you a gift, you will see...hehehe...

It was easier than she thought to send the hunters back home, all she had to say was that scouting was indeed unneccessary work, and that she would come after them when she had checked on something. Still, why didn't they hear that voice, it was strange, but she couldn't tell them about it. Oh, she would do anything to stop the wolf attacks on her clan... Suddenly she heard someone, or something, thrashing around. Quickly she hid under some bushes, and then, when the thrashing kept going on, she crawled forward. she passed one more bush and suddely she was at the edge of a small clearing. Within the clearing, there was a pack of five wolves.
Silently, she grabbed the spear on her back, then, she crawled a few inches further and- one of the wolves spotted her and let out a howl, but it wasn't normal, it was...different. Quickly she jumped up on her feet, holding the spear firmly in both hands. The wolves ran to her, ready to tear her apart.
Lightningfast, she dodged one of the wolves leaping to her, and stabbed another in the shoulder. I let out a howl of pain, then rushed at her again.
She dodged and stabbed, but although she is a very experienced hunter and fighter, she could not win from a whole pack of wolves.
One of the beasts leaped at her and forced ehr on the ground. The wolf scratched and teared into her, but she fought back. Grabbing her hunting knife, she stabbed it in its claws and right shoulder, then, in the neck. She quickly threw the dead wolf away and jumped up to face the other ones, but they were just looking at her, staring.
'You did it! yes you did! hehehe... Now I will grant you a gift don't I?
Alright, you will be safe from the wolves, because these ones will listen to you!'
'what do you mean?'
'I mean you are safe now, because you will guard the village, with the canines here, but they will not be normal, no... they will be special, oh yes!'
Suddenly, the wolves changed. barking and growling of pain and anger, they turned into horrific monsters. Their bodies grew until they were roughly twice their usual size.
On their back, all kinds of thorns and stings grew, giving them a ferocious appearance. Their teeth turned larger and sharper than ever. Their skin became covered with yellow/purple veins, and their eyes turned yellow.

'From this moment oh yes, you will protect your tribe as a Wolfmaster...


Droth'allor gifts a huntress named Shaella a group of four horrifically mutated wolves to protect her tribe from danger. She is the first Wolfmaster, a man or woman who has proven him/herself as a great hunter or warrior to Droth'allor, and therefore granted the gift of leading a group of Fufor Wolves.

[Iituem]

"Tell me the story of how you got the bite, Father!"

Utsu glanced at his daughter.  He turned one of the javelins whose tips he was hardening in the fire.  Above it, skewered and resting on two forked sticks, was a roasting asp.

"I have told you that story before.  Many times," Utsu added with a smile.  "There are other stories I can tell."

"But I want to hear about that one!"  Utsu laughed and tousled his daughter's short black hair.  She crossed her arms and pouted.  "At least tell me a Lady story."

"Very well, Elti, a Lady story."  Utsu scratched his chin and brought one of the hardened javelins out of the fire.  He picked up a flint blade and started sharpening the head of a new shaft.  "You know that we knew of the Lady before now, not as our patron but as a sort of spirit of mischief."

"I do."

"You know that on that day, years ago, when we fought a battle with the Sunrise Forest people, I was bitten by a scarlet viper."

"I do."

"And you know that though our tribe said we should fall back for my injuries, I said we should press on, and that day we were victorious.  You know that because of this the scarlet viper is sacred and must be never be harmed."

"I do, father, but you are skipping through the story."

"Then did you also know that I saw the Lady?"

Elti's eyes widened.  "You saw her?"

"At the end of the fight.  We were resting our injuries, the Sunrise Forest men had retreated.  I saw her between the trees, a fair-skinned woman with burning red hair.  She wore red snakeskin instead of furs.  She watched me, seemed to acknowledge me, then left.  I tried to follow her, but by then the venom of the viper's bite had grown far more painful and I lost her tracks."

"Did you ever see her again?"

"Twice more.  Once, when your mother was pregnant with you.  I was hunting alone in the forest and I saw a scarlet viper.  It fled quickly and I followed it until I lost sight of it, then came upon a clearing where I saw that red-haired lady once again.  She sat waiting on a fallen log, as if she had been expecting me.

'Do you know me?' she asked me.

'Yes, Lady,' I said.  'Do you know me?'

'Yes,' she said.  'You have a name.'

'Utsu, Lady.'

'Yet I do not.  Would you give me a name?'

'I could, Lady.'

'If you did would that name be mine, or would it be yours?'

'It would be yours, Lady.'  She seemed to like that.

'Then name me, and never speak my name again, for that name shall be mine and mine alone.'

So I named her.  We sat, we spoke, we lay together.  I loved in that moment, even as I loved your mother.  When I left I asked her if we would meet again.

'Twice more,' she told me.  'Twice more before you die.'"

"And did you meet her again, Father?"

"Once more, some years ago.  We met, we sat, we spoke, we lay.  It was every bit as perfect as our first meeting."  Utsu sat back against one of the logs by the fire and smiled, staring into the middle distance.  "To think, I have her word that one day we will meet again."

Father and daughter sat in silence around the fire.  Elti turned the roasting snake, nodding habitually in honour of the Lady.

"What name did you give her, father?"

Utsu did not respond immediately.  When he did his voice was lower than before.  "You must never speak it, daughter.  Can you promise that?"

"I can, father.  What is her name?"

Utsu drew a breath and let it out.  "Her name is Astra'lath, and she is our Lady."


Elti toyed idly with the ribbon of scarlet snakeskin she wore on a thong around her neck.  Why had she been dreaming about that day, of all days?  It brought back the memory of not long after, when her father's body had been brought back to be burned.  He'd been found alone in a forest clearing, a snakebite on his arm, a scrap of scarlet snakeskin in his hand.  Elti remembered the pyre, the tribe gathered around to venerate the loss of their great hunter.  She swore at the height of the fire she had seen an unfamiliar face in the crowd, copper hair and pale skin, but when she had looked again after there had been no trace.

She had spent the day pounding palm starch with a heavy stone, making the rough powder that everyone ate.  All the women and most of the children who weren't old enough to go hunting pounded palm starch.  Elti always smiled at the fact that they mostly ate palm starch, but everyone always cheered when someone brought home a big kill.  She was tipping the starch she had pounded into one of the woven-leaf baskets by the side when Boda entered.

Elti had lived in Boda's hut - her father's hut, in truth - for five years now.  Boda was called a good hunter.  He rarely fetched a kill, but he brought back big kills and so he was praised.  Hunters who brought back little kills all the time were not praised because, well, that was so ordinary.  Like pounding starch.  So Boda and those like him were praised and that was the way of things.  Elti did not begrudge this.

"Another fruitless day?" she asked.  "I do not hear cheering."

"Not so," said Boda, passing through the hide flap that covered the hut's entrance.  He held a forked stick at arm's length, the fork of which held a trapped red serpent, hissing angrily and wrapped around the stick in a struggle to escape.

"A scarlet viper?  That is good fortune."  Elti gave the snake a wary glare, then picked up the pounding stone to continue preparing palm starch.

"I shall show it around the village.  It shall be roasted and I shall eat of it, and everyone shall know it was me."

Elti frowned.  "You should not harm a scarlet viper, you will bring ill favour on this house.  The Lady does not permit such things."

"What care I for the wishes of your Lady?" Boda scoffed.  "I have captured her!  I have beaten her.  And perhaps I shall capture another lady tonight as well."

The knuckles on Elti's hand whitened around the pounding stone.  "You do not even pretend, now?"  Boda's smile grew scornful.

"Why should I?  If there is any pretense now, it us being together."

"How can you say that, Boda?  In my father's house!"

"In my house.  Five years, Elti.  Five years and not a child.  You will not bind me with you, keep me from having a son."

"How dare you!"  Elti stood, hissing her words.  "Especially as you cannot know that it is not you who are barren!"

"But I do know."

Silence, save the serpent's protestations.

"Who?" Elti asked.

"Jerta.  Daga's daughter.  She is starting to show."

Silence again.  Boda turned to leave.

"I must show my prize to-"

The pounding stone connected with a wet crack, leaving a heavy dent in Boda's crown.  He crumpled soundlessly to the ground.  The forked stick fell, freeing the scarlet viper who for Elti's efforts bit her in the ankle before escaping.

Elti sank to one knee from shock and pain.  She gathered her thoughts, fighting the burning sensation spreading up her leg.  If Boda was dead, the tribe would kill her.  If Boda was not, he would kill her.  Her hut was on the edge of the village and she knew the region but so did the hunters.  Did they know it better?

No time to think.  She stumbled to the hut's entrance, trying to keep her weight on her good leg, and slipped away.  The pounding stone fell unregarded to the floor.


Elti lay on the forest floor, clutching her leg and willing herself not to scream.  The burning had only grown worse with time and now the exhaustion of hours of stumbling through the forest had acught up with her.  She could hear the occasional shout in the distance as the villagers grew closer, but she could run no further.

A scarlet viper slithed into view atop a stone.  Elti craned her neck to look at it.

"Help me, Lady," she croaked.

The serpent did not move.

"Help me!" she managed, a little louder.

The serpent turned and began to slither away.

"Help me, you bitch!" Elti cried.

The serpent sprang forward and wrapped itself around Elti's neck.  She struggled feebly with her fingers as it constricted.  The snake hissed and behind its hissing Elti thought she could hear a woman's voice.

Serve me.

"What?"

Serve me.

"Yes, yes!"

Swear it.

Elti gasped for air.  "I swear!"

The viper released her grip and slithered away into the brush.  Elti took a few desperate breaths and, hearing the shouts grow closer, struggled after the snake on her elbows and working knee.  She followed the serpent through the tangled jungle floor until they reached an ancient, wide tree.  The viper slithered into a gap between the roots of the tree and Elti could see that it was hollow, rotted from time.  She crawled in after the snake, forcing herself through the tiny gap until she was all the way into the tree.  There was space inside the trunk, though only light from the small gap by the roots made it inside.

Exhausted and agonised, Elti fell into a deep slumber.


Days passed.  Elti remained in the tree for a time, eating the grubs and beetles that lived there until she was strong enough to leave.  She travelled east thereafter, hunting small creatures or gathering grubs to survive, moving faster as her leg healed.  Now and then she would see a glint of red and follow it.

One day she sat to rest in a clearing and found the copper-haired woman sat waiting on a log, garbed in red snakeskin.

"Lady," said Elti, prostrating herself before the woman.

"Elti," said the Lady.  "Do you know why I chose you?"

"No, Lady."  Elti raised her head and sat on the ground so she was lower than the Lady.

"Strife.  You have lived it.  The uncertainty, the growing separation between you and the one who might have loved you.  The anger, the desperate wish for peace.  And in the end your decision to take action to resolve it.  All strife must be resolved, though it will rise again in time."

"Lady, I do not know what you wish of me."  Elti stood up.  "Where will I go?  Astra'lith-"

The Lady moved with lightning speed, her grip tight as a serpent's coil around Elti's throat.  Her eyes seemed to yellow and her pupils slit, and in her panic Elti could no longer tell where snakeskin clothing ceased and flesh began.

"Who are you, little girl?" the goddess hissed.  "Do you think you can know me?  Do you think you can own me, that you can be familiar with me?  How big do you think you are that you can address me at your pleasure?"

Black spots appeared in Elti's vision.  She found herself dropping to the ground again.

"I- I serve," she managed.  The Lady's grip tightened for a moment and Elti wondered if her windpipe would snap there and then.  The grip released and Elti tumbled to the dirt.

"Yes," said the Lady.  "You do."  The Lady sat back down on the log.

"As I said, strife.  People ask favours of me.  They ask me to help them put a stop to their strife, or they ask me to help them start it with another.  Your village asks these favours all the time, and sometimes I grant them.  But it is noisy.  It is so terribly noisy."  The Lady's eyes hardened.  "Not to mention presumptuous.  People feeling that they can control me, that I should serve them.  It will not do.

"But you asked where you must go.  Do you know of the jaguar?"

"Yes, Lady."  Elti had recovered enough to speak freely again, though she remained knelt and her head bowed.

"Slay one.  Hunt it, use the skills your father taught you.  Think like a viper."

"Lady, I have not hunted in a dozen years!"

"If you cannot, I have no further use for you.  Begone."

"Lady, I-"  Elti raised her head to find the Lady gone.  Her hand fell to her side and brushed against a sharp rock.  She flinched and glanced down; it was old knife, buried in the ground over the years.  She fished it out, cleaned it, felt its contours and the weight of it, and all this confirmed what she knew the moment she had seen it.  It was Utsu's.


Five fire-hardened javelins were strung across Elti's back, threaded through cut holes in her furs.  She had cut a rough belt for the knife, which she wore on one arm.  Ahead, a deer.  The creature lapped water quietly, apparently unaware of her presence.  She had stalked the doe for days now, feeding on small grubs rather than lose the scent.

A faint rustle betrayed another presence.  With great care, Elti moved to look to her left.  About a hundred paces distant her real quarry was stalking through the brush towards the deer.  The doe continued to drink.  Elti carefully slid one of the javelins from her back and readied it.  The jaguar stalked closer.

The doe lifted her head, suddenly alert.  Elti and the jaguar froze.  After a moment the jaguar continued to stalk forward.  It closed fifty paces, forty paces, thirty paces.  The doe broke into a run and the jaguar gave chase.  Elti hurled the javelin after the jaguar - a miss!  Elti started running as well, chasing the jaguar chasing the doe.  She drew her second javelin and hurled it - a glancing hit, scoring the rear flank of the jaguar and bringing it to a halt.  She stood her position and drew another javelin as the jaguar turned to look at what had stung it.  She threw, the javelin striking the dirt where the jaguar had been as it bounded towards her.  A fourth javelin drawn, the jaguar nearly ready to pounce - a hit, striking one of the front paws!  The jaguar pulled up suddenly, roaring from the unexpected pain.  It brushed past a tree, knocking the javelin from where it had lodged and started to pounce.  Elti had drawn the fifth javelin by the time the jaguar landed on her chest, one set of claws digging deep into her shoulder.

The jaguar reared back suddenly, roaring.  A scarlet viper had bitten it in the leg.  Elti thrust her last javelin through the great cat's chest and struggled against it, trying to keep the creature away.  She drew her father's knife from its belt and drove it again and again into the jaguar's throat, spitting and wincing as hot blood sprayed across her face.

The cat sank, defeated, and Elti pushed it away with an effort.  She cut another scrap from her clothing, though she found her wounded arm quickly growing stiff.  She bound the wound with the scrap of fur.

"You will be ill from that wound," came a voice to her right.  The Lady was leant against a tree.  "I suggest you skin the creature now whilst you still have strength.  I'll see to it you live through the sickness, though."

"Why did you have me kill the jaguar?"

"Proof of your strength.  You will continue heading east to your old enemies the Sunrise Forest people.  You are strange to them, and that would make them fear and hate you.  But if you go to them draped in the jaguar's skin they will fear and respect you.  I did not save you so you could live your life alone."

"What would you have me do when I go there?"  Elti reached towards the jaguar's claw wounds.  Her arm was stiff now, she could barely move it.  She would have to skin the beast one-handed.

"Join them.  They will take in a strong warrior, especially one favoured by Ogdi."

"Who is Ogdi?"

"The Jaguar god of the hunt."

"I have never heard of him."

"He does not exist.  He is me, but he is not me.  He is a mask to wear over my face.  Do you understand?  They will see you, with your jaguar pelt, and you will tell them of Ogdi.  Then they will ask Ogdi favours, they will burn offerings to him - they will think he should serve them, and they control him.  But they will be wrong.  You will know the truth, you and those of your line.  You will choose from their prayers which ones should go to me, and you will burn the offerings and say the requests for them that are... most deserving, perhaps.  Or just the ones you think would please me."

Elti thought for a moment.  "Of my line?  But Lady, I am-"

"You are not.  Boda was the barren one.  Jerta's child was never his."

"Oh, Lady!"  Elti prostrated herself again, tears coming to her eyes.  "Thank you!  Thank you, Lady-"

"Remember; skin the jaguar, wear its hides.  Find somewhere safe to lie until the sickness leaves you.  Go to the Sunrise Forest people and tell of Ogdi to them.  Keep the truth to yourself and your children, and always keep faith with me."

"Yes, Lady.  Yes, I will."  Elti raised her head and once again the Lady was gone.  A scarlet viper slithered away into the brush.

Elti picked up Utsu's knife and began, one-handed, to skin the jaguar.

The Lady is named by a lover, Utsu.
The Lady saves that lover's daughter, Elti, from her people and from a jaguar.
The Lady instructs Elti to travel to the village of the Sunrise Forest people and preach the word of a false god, Ogdi.
The Lady instructs Elti to relay those prayers that are worthy to her.

[Digital Hellhound]

A decaying field of corpses. A mountain, withering away under a blizzard of epic proportions. A child chased through a crowd of featureless people by something always on his heels. Endless images, emotions, visions and worlds, changing faster than any mortal eye could follow.

Mahet moved from dream to dream, striding across the minds of mortals, his presence sending unforgettable ripples across the night. They did not remember the silent, masked man, but they awoke nervous and unsettled nevertheless.

He was enjoying the experience, but it still felt... lacking, somehow. The dreams of these mortals were one random image after another, rarely making any sense whatsoever. It was chaos, pure and simple. Though he was reluctant to admit it, his realm lacked any order or sense, and he was too weak to do anything about it.

Mahet paused, staring at the landscape unfolding around him. The ground was frozen mud, and had been locked under ice for years. A howling blizzard was lashing out at the desolate world like a trapped animal, seeming actively malevolent against all life. Cruel, high-pitched laughter echoed around the landscape, and Mahet caught glimpses of thin, humanoid creatures circling a jagged stone like cats playing with their prey before killing it.

The dreamer did not want to be seen, by the creatures or anyone else, but it was impossible not to notice her. The dream flowed out from the girl, her subconscious drawing the frozen world into existance. She was leaning against the jagged rock, seeking any protection from the raging storm. But deep inside, she knew it was all useless, the creatures were closing in, the blizzard was only getting stronger...

The amount of despair stemming from the girl surprised even Mahet. Though strong emotions were common to dreams, he rarely saw anything of this level.
She was bleeding, both from wounds inflicted by the weapons of the creatures and the wrath of the storm. The blood had frozen the moment it had left the wounds, leaving black ice all over her naked skin.

He couldn't help but to feel sorry for the girl. He had nothing against nightmares in general, but she had done nothing to deserve something as terrifying as this. With a flick of his wrist, Mahet shattered the dream. The frozen landscape broke into a thousand pieces, which scattered all over a now-spreading void like broken glass.

The girl seemed relieved, though not surprised. This was just another dream for her, and she had experienced a sudden change in her surroundings a thousand times before. Mahet wove a new dream around her, manipulating the images created by her mind to fit his own vision. It was better just to alter existing dreams than to create new ones, to avoid waking the dreamer.

The girl - or young woman, really - was certainly pleasant-looking, but few would've called her beautiful. Dark brown hair framed a smooth, rounded face and a short, wiry frame. Mahet formed a luxurious throne room around him, and placed the girl at the far end of the room. Her memory was telling her she had been bathed, fed and introduced to luxury beyond her imagination for hours before this moment, but those were just images Mahet had introduced to her mind.

The girl looked around in open amazement. Most of the things in the room - like the glass windows, or the extragavant silver throne - were things she could not have seen ever before in her life. The real world was still primitive, but the imagination of mortals was not.

'Please, take a seat.' Mahet proclaimed, standing up from his throne. He summoned a fine goblet of wine and offered it to the girl. She ignored him, though that was not surprising.
'I know it might be difficult, but please, focus.' he said, putting one hand on the girl's shoulder. She stumbled backwards, eyes widening in surprise. Mahet knew her mind was finally recognizing he did not quite... belong to this dream.

' What... w...who are you?' she stammered. Her mind was trying to change the hall behind him, but Mahet forced it back to it's original form.

' I have a gift for you, girl, if you are willing to receive it.'

' I... Thank you.' the girl's answer was surprisingly clear, but then she thought of him as her host here. Mahet hesitated, then removed his mask. Some trust between them would be necessary for this. He summoned the powers inside him and drove them into the girl in a sharp, focused form.

She collapsed with a gasp almost immediately and disappeared - leaping awake wherever she lived. He had wished to talk to the girl a little longer, but she would be back and the information and abilities were there. The first Dreamwalker was born.

Mahet grants a young woman the ability to manipulate and walk between dreams freely, and tasks her with teaching a lesser form of this to all who listen, spreading knowledge of Mahet in the process.

[Ghazkull]

Rast had been successful. The Everdreaming must have blessed him, for he had caught a odd dozen fish among them an enormous tuna who had been washed ashore. The other members of the tribe gazed in astonishment for Rast had only been a mediocre fisher up to now.

Have you already sacrificed something of your haul to Anea?

Embarrased Rast looked at Iort the village elder. He was at least two-generations old and had seen many a winter, some in hte village whispered that he was especially blessed by the Everdreaming, but Rast accounted it to his habit to eat sea-plant which were washed ashore. Now the old grizzled man looked in dismay at him.

Begone you fool , lest you anger her. Offer her the largest fish to soothe her!

Rast was not a man who was easily scared but everybody of the tribe knew that Anea had a light sleep and her dreams were ever-changing. Quickly he plunged towards the coast
____________________________

Anea was rolling restlessly around and this caused sand to be raised. If somebody would look upon her young face he would see that a concentrated frown was passing over it.

_____________________________

The Sea had lost its azure blue colour and the waves were rising slowly. The sky seemed to change in few minutes from clear blue to a blunt grey. Rasts eyes widened at the sight fo this. He hurried towards a large cliff the clan used to sacrifice to the goddess.

________________________________

The girl could see a cliff. No...she was standing on it, looking out to the sea. It was restless and the waves were rising ever higher.  The sky was had taken the grey it always did when a storm was emerging. The girl looked out towards the sea watching for something...
__________________________________

Rasts feet were bleeding. In his haste he hadn't been careful. The scrawny man hurried ever faster up the steep cliff. The tuna was slick as slcik as the wet stones he was scrambling upwards. Severalt imes he nearly lost it but through sheer luck and despair he managed to keep his pace. Finally his head jerked over the cliff and he nearly lost his grip on the wet stones as he gazed in astonishment on the person standing with its back towards him. She seemed to wear a flowing white dress and wasn't very large. But what stranger would climb upon the sacrifical altar of the Everdreaming? Rast was silently standing up before calling out to the stranger.

Who are you and what are you doing here?

The girl didnt seem to respond, she just continued to look out to the sea.
Rast was now clearly nervous. The Stranger seemed ever more odd. What were her clothes made of? They seemed like they were made from water...but this was impossible. He took a few steps towards the strange person before repeating his question a bit louder. At the same moment a slight grumble could be heard from the skies. Rast winced, fear showing on his face.

WHO ARE YOU! I request that you answer me! You are on holy grounds and clearly angering Anea!

Now the stranger turned around and Rast could finally see that it was a girl. Her look was completely empty although her eyes had a tint like the sea behind her. She cocked her head but her eyes remained empty, her lips a small thin line.

Rasts eyes widened. He was now shaking.

WHO...WHO...
The thunder was drowning out his voice.
The waves now crashed with immense force against the cliff splashing meters high up were they hit it. Rast kneeled and began to pray loudly.

Oh Anea the everdreaming...

By the mentioning of the name the girls eyes entered a glint of awareness. With renewed interest she watched as the man in front of her whined loudly and lifted a tuna towards the skies in a gesture of pleading.

As Rast looked up a wave which crashed against the cliff covered the girl in a cloud of water drops. as it vanished the girl seemed to be gone. As Rast finally figured out what he had seen a lightning struck the sea followed by an mindnumbing thunder. Panicking Rast fled, leaving the fish on the cliff. Behind him the waves became meters high, a storm raging farhter away but coming fast towards the coast. They had seens torms before but nothing like this. Rasts feet were pounding from pain but he ran anyway. Screaming he reached the village.

RUN YOU FOOLS RUN FOR THE CAVES! A STORM! A STORM!

But his screams were unneeded the tribesmen were already packing up and heading for the secure caves.
_________________________
Two days passed as the panicked tribesmen hid in the caves the storms ravaging outside. Finally it calmed down and Rast was shoved outside. He had told them what he had seen and all agreed that he had disturbed the Godess in one of her dreams. Outside the sun was gleaming and the sky clear blue. Rast was quickly followed by some of the more nosy clanmembers. And finally they reached the coast. It was covered in fish. Fish of all sizes, colours and species...

Anea's lively Dreams cause her to take shape on the Sacrifical Cliff of her tribe
    Her Dreams are influenced by a simple fishermen and cause her to invoke an enormous storm...

[Humaan]

It had been time since Kath had seen the true nature of the world. The mortals whom he had helped… no, they were not as such. He had only delayed their destruction, nothing more. Why had this happened so suddenly? Had they not the means to defend themselves, or at least the knowledge on how to do so? No… it was much different than that. They had fled with a warning associated with himself, yet he could not recall making such a warning. Is he still too young to understand, to try and interpret the world. No matter, for he knew that he was called on to protect this village from attack. Yet he would do more than that, he HAD to do more than that. The tribe which he guided was not going to just survive, they would thrive. They would learn to rule themselves without the control of Kath. They would rule themselves in time.

However, Kath only had a simple village, with simple people, which are unready in the case of raiders. If that could not be solved, he would remain just a guardian, nothing more. He knew he was more, yet he had little time to prove that he was more than such. He had to descend down into the darkness of the night.

His descent was uneventful. He thought it strange, to take his first true steps into the world. Maybe it was destined to remain like this. No matter, he had business to attend to. He had moved one step after another, to a small amount of the populace still awake in awe of the moon. Kath himself could not resist but to look up toward his symbol, making him wonder about its nature, its beauty. No matter, he had his own things to do.


Dente was one of the few which had done mass worship of the moon god after the raid was avoided. Unlike others who survived the attack, which occasionally prayed for the god and watched for his signs. No, he had focus himself on dedication to this lord… his lord. Others in the village had scoffed at the attention he paid toward the god, saying that he should worry more about hunting, about food than the entity which watched over him and the village. What would that make him? He did not care. The moon was full this particular night, so he paid full attention to the god above him. Could it be that he should end his prayer, for no sign would be revealed, like many nights before. He lifted from his meditation soon after, his old bones aching under the cold night. He was ready to go and rest until the morning sun vanquished the night. How the night surrounded him, how he could see little in such but the object which he had observed every night… it was his life.

He halted his gradual walk and turned his ear to the wilderness around him. He had thought he heard a stick cracking in the wilderness beyond. He did not see the owls which warned of the imminent danger. He did not notice changes to indicate animals. No, all he saw was darkness. Yet he did not know that the darkness was staring back at him.
What Kath was observing was not as amazing as he once thought.  What many people shrank to one and the mighty observation was just a simple gaze of an old man. Yet the man was doing something which he had not felt any other do. He was in a true prayer. He had truly tried to understand his power, his strength. He turned, at least in his mind, to be more than a guardian, a force. He was a god to him. So, the old man would have to do. His approach to the camp was now focused on this one individual. He would begin his new life here, with this man.
Dente was wary of the noise which came from nowhere. Who was it? What was it? He could not tell from looks alone. However he still heard sound from the direction approaching. He had backed off a bit, toward the fire which had kept him warm during his prayer. He could still not see much in the night. He had felt a need to pray more to the Moon and his influence. When it reached the edge of the light, the light had disappeared from the creature. He thought of a monster, a beast which sought his death. He had a fear for his life at that moment.

“Worry not, mortal, I have come here with no intent to harm,” said the darkness before him. Dente’s thoughts had beckoned him to wonder the deep voice which had spoke to him. Had it spoke? He was surer that it had talked to his mind, for he saw no moisture from where the mouth would be in the darkness. “I am known by your people as Kath, God of the Moon. I feel as I could help you in better ways than warn you. You shall hear these words tonight and will have to alert the tribe in its entirety of what I shall tell you now.”

“Wait… you are the Moon above? How can you be here…?”

“That does not matter, human. For what I tell you today is my wish to help your tribe prosper. To extend your life, to extend your world, to extend your knowledge.” At the point Dente was speechless to the thing… his god… before him. What was he saying, what was the thing he was going to tell him?

Kath had repositioned himself to prepare to finish his speech to the mortal. “I expect no less from you than what I say now.” He had initially started his speech to the mortal to be delivered. “First, you must go beyond fear of these raiders which come to destroy you. If you do not become like the owl, a predator, you will inevitably be destroyed by those who seek to destroy you. Do not let it come to that. To test your courage, raiders must not even consider you a target”

“Second, your tribe must come to pass that those around, other tribes, do not have a benefit you do; myself. They worship none, seek only to hunt and do nothing to access the world around them. Their defeat and integration to your tribe is needed to help fight off the dangers of the world. Your tribe is to prove its worth by taking these tribes to be as yourself; whether this method is by warriors or by peace is beyond my control, but it is to be known that they are to learn about me… and to gain my secrets. However, be warned, for there will be consequences if you attack a tribe which relies on someone else to guard them, other powerful beings.”

“Finally, I want your tribe to do something only you yourself have done. You must think, and consider the world around you. If your spears are weak, figure out how to improve them. If you seek to remember, find a way to record your thoughts. If you seek to guard food, figure out a way to do so, without relying too heavily on the men around you to do so. This test is a test of intelligence, a test whether you have truly separated from the animals you hunt by your own skill.”

“Finally, as a parting gift, you will find your tribe gaining a gift to overcome a weakness which you all have. Once you have finished these tests, to develop yourself to a greater potential, I shall return with more gifts, yet more tasks.”

With that, Kath began to leave the mortal, his magic being used for the first gift. He had soon left the fire’s light, and soon would began his oversight again. He was not sure whether the race would act, but he knew its necessity if they were to survive.

Dente had heard the words thoroughly. He had little cause to, from that point on, think that this being was not Kath himself. It still seemed strange that the god would come to him and him alone. But it had happened, and he took in every word which was said from the meeting and made it into the deepest part of his mind. He had to sleep, but when he blinked, the darkness around him was not black, but clearly in dawn! Confused, he looked for the sun. He did not see it. There was no source of light, no way to tell the difference in the world. He had gasped. The one who talked to him was the lord Kath, god of the moon. The gift, the ability to see in darkness, in albeit minimally. Was this the thing to aid them in his tasks?

He did not go to sleep, for he had much to tell the world.

Kath talks to a man who worships him in the tribe, Dente.

Kath give 3 tasks for Dente to tell the tribe.

Kath gives any worshipper of himself limited dark vision, to make the night seem more like dawn.

[Fortis]

Quietly in the mountains, an elderly man sat staring out at the horizon, facing the southwest. He was a wry man, thin but still hale, with a crown of white and grey hair, though bald on top. He was dressed simply, a simple loincloth made from long grasses, with sandals of woven reeds upon his feet. In one hand he held a long pipe made from a hollow reed with a clay pipestone, from which a thin wisp of smoke rose with a faint odor of smoldering herbs. The elderly man had discovered, along with many others of his tribe, that the smoke of these herbs had a way of clearing the mind and clarifying thought. (Though only a little smoke, too much would cause one’s mind to pass into the dream realm and see that which didn’t exist in the mortal world.) Today though, he needed the clarity as he sat pondering upon a boulder. Bringing the long pipe to his lips, he breathed in a wisp of the smoke, before releasing it again. His only companion was a small butterfly sampling the nectar of a few hardy mountain blossoms.

The sounds of reeds upon loose stone alerted him to the presence of another visitor. The old man turned his head, and behind him, he saw another one of his tribe coming up the thin trail. This one was a young man, fresh into adulthood. He bore similar clothing, grass loincloths and reed sandals, one needed little else in the warm days of summer. “I thought I would find you here, Job,” The younger man said, addressing the elderly man and coming up next to the elderly man and sitting by him. The elderly man, Job, just chuckled, and offered the younger man a draw from his pipe.

“Of course, of course. You know I like the serenity of the mountains. How fares your family Mibhar, and Sei’imeri’s blessing upon Natana?” Job asked as the younger man, Mibhar accepted the pipe and inhaled a breath of smoke before handing it back.

“Quite well. Our child grows and Natana is still healthy,” Mibhar answered. “Though she asks for the strangest things for the meal of evening respite.” Job just chuckled smiling at a fond memory of days gone by.

“Let me give you some advice young reed. Don’t argue, just fetch what she asks.” Job said. “It will make your life easier. But don’t you think, with Sei’imeri’s influence upon her womb, that she gives her these strange hungers for a reason? Even if that reason is simply her amusement at seeing the young men running about for the strangest things.”

“Perhaps. But if that is what Natana wants, then I’ll fetch it for her.” Mibhar said. “What of you, Job? Normally you sit gazing east towards our valley and home. Today you face the west and south.”

“Astute, we’ll make a watcher of you yet Mibhar.” Job said with another smile, nodding at Mibhar. He took his pipe and pointed it towards the southwest. “Tell me, what do you see? What do you feel?” Mibhar stood, and gazed in the direction Job pointed, his eyes squinting as he tried to notice what the elderly man had seen.

“I cannot see anything, and I feel only a cold wind from the west.” Mibhar said after a moment, shrugging. Job just sighed.

“And what does that tell you?” Job asked. Mibhar pondered, though it was clear he was puzzled. “Ah, I suppose I should tell you. Perhaps you haven’t noticed it, but when it comes from the west, it brings water with it. If it blows from the east, it will be dry.”

“Why does the west wind bring water?” Mibhar asked.

“You haven’t seen what lies to the west and south, have you? There is much water there, a vast plain of it. It’s not sweet like our river in the valley though, it is bitter with salt, and it flows in two directions, in and out, instead of just one. “ Job answered. “But I think… yes, the water will be here before the new moon. And much of it, something stirs the sky like a hornet’s nest. It will storm and cause the river to flood.” Mibhar stood suddenly at this news, and looked at Job worriedly.

“But the new moon is but seven days away!” Mibhar said anxiously. “We’ve got to move the tribe! And it will destroy the plants in the valley, they haven’t borne fruit yet!”

“Come now, we have time. Moving the tribe won’t be hard. As for the plants, trust to Sei’imeri.” Job said. He pointed his pipe over at a cluster of hardy mountain plants. There, upon one of the blossoms, the small butterfly was resting its wings. “See? Sei’imeri was listening. She heard our concerns. Ever has she cared for us, and given rebirth to the valley after every winter. She will not let our people starve. Come, help an old man up, I’ll go with you to the village.” Mibhar reached down and Job grasped his arm. The young man easily pulled Job to his feet. Taking a moment to extinguish his pipe, Job walked with Mibhar down the mountain path and back into the valley, their home.


For a day and a half the storms from the sea came inland and had rained upon their mountains and valley. This in itself wasn’t so troublesome, aside from the cold. No, what bothered Mibhar was the river. It had collected all the waters from the mountain, and had swelled to many times its size. No longer was it pure, clear, and gentle, it was brown like mud now, and roared with a ferocity humbling any lion or panther. It flooded over its banks, and thundered over the dry ground, tearing down even trees in its path. Mibhar was worried, much of their food supply had been destroyed. He and the other gatherers would have to roam farther afield to find food, putting them at risk for becoming lost or becoming prey to panthers or wolves. Even now, as the river was slowly receding over the days, Mibhar and Natana walked over the land the flooding had claimed. There was little vegetation left, only the hardiest of trees could resisted it’s hammering. The ground was covered in a layer of moist silt that left deep footprints as they walked.

“So much lost…” Mibhar murmured, looking over the empty silt. “We’ll have to look beyond the white peaks for food this autum.” Natana, meanwhile, was looking up. Even as she watched, a small butterfly flittered down and landed on her shoulder. It rested its wings for a moment, before flying off over the silt. Mibhar and Natana watched the butterfly leave. “Why would it fly there? There’s no flowers for it that way anymore.”

“Come, let’s find out!” Natana said, grabbing Mibhar’s hand in one of her own and pulling him along as she followed the butterfly. It was flying upriver, towards one of the areas where the flooding had first receded from. The butterfly gently landed upon the wet silt, drank a little water, and rested its wings. Mibhar and Natana looked around for anything of note. “Is there anything here?” Mibhar asked. He knelt to look closely at the ground.

“Not yet, but there will be soon,” Natana said.

“How do you know? I don’t…” Mibhar asked, looking up at his mate. However, his words soon trailed off. He saw perched upon Natana’s skin were many more of the butterflies. Some were resting on her arms and shouders, others upon her hair, and even one upon the swell of her pregnant baby. She looked at him and grinned.

“The flood was not (Here it sounded like she said ‘her’ and ‘my’ at the same time, two voices overlapping each other.) doing, but she/I decided to put it to good use. She/I blessed the soil it brought, it will feed the plants and grow much food for you. It will flood again, this time upon next year, and again for many years to come, with the rains of the seasons. Make use of it, you’ll need it.” Natana said, her voice carrying a faint echo. With a flurry of tiny wingbeats, the butterflies all flew away at once in a swirl of color in the air.

Sei’imeri modifies the river to flood annually, and to deposit layers of thick, fertile silt on the floodplain much like the Nile river.

[Digital Hellhound]

Isra idly studied the mountain range they were passing below. A vast expanse of green stood out from the midst of the peaks, a verdant valley somewhat out of place in the mountains. Swarms of butterflies arose to meet them. It did not make any sense, but dreams never did. The landscape was a strange mixture of memory and imagination, pulled into the existance by the dreamer on the floor of the bubble. The dreamer's eyes bounced around his skull wildly, and he stared at the roof of the bubble intensively. He was not dreaming properly - he was under the effect of some kind of drug, but the dream was stable enough for her needs.

Isra was clad in fine, smooth robes - the material was wholly imaginary, but she detested the skins and furs she had to wear in the real world. She lay upon a low, feather-covered bed, stroking the hair of the dreamer with one hand. Sensing the bubble waver, she smiled, turning to see her master.

The lord of dreams looked the same as the day she had first met him. Mahet stood unwavering on the edge of the floating bubble, his ever-alert eyes seemingly staring straight into her mind. Perhaps they did. Did her master like what he saw? Isra's thoughts were cut short by Mahet's voice, though.

'Greetings, Isra.' he said simply, and Isra muttered back a thankful response. She tried to fall back into the role of the humble servant, though the extragavant robes and bed ruined it somewhat.

A few moments of awkward silence followed. No matter how much she tried, Isra could never feel fully at ease in the presence of the dream-god. She knew Mahet did not fully trust her either, but atleast he was not wearing that detestable mask.

'I see that you are heavy with child.' Mahet noted, and Isra smiled sweetly in response. She had been trying to hide the fact, but  was not surprised her master could see through the illusion.

' Yes, my lord. The father is one of the young men of my tribe, Eltak.' she said. In truth, she did not know or particulary care about the identity of the father of her child. All the men in the tribe belonged to her. While dreaming, their minds had been wonderfully vulnerable. They still remembered the vivid emotions and images she fed them there when they awoke again. It had only taken a few weeks for them to fully fall under her sway.

And after a while, when the rumours had begun and the women of the village had begun calling her all kinds of names... well, they had soon realized the error in their ways. And those that proved more resistant to her methods than others she had scared into silence. Everybody had secrets, and if not, she had made sure they would spend the rest of their lives eternally afraid of the night. She had quickly learned external horrors were nothing compared to the fear and despair she could manipulate into existance inside their heads.

She did not particulary enjoy the torture or the manipulation she had inflicted upon her people. It was simply necessary, helping her along the path to the power she deserved. She was destined to rule - if not the entire world, then her homelands, in alliance with others like her. Why else would Mahet have given her all this power?

'I trust this won't interfere with the tasks I have given you?'

Isra smiled. 'Of course not, my lord.'

She had given little thought to her mission. Teaching others the art of Dreamwalking, even if a lesser form? They would be potential threats to her power. Still, as long as she trained them personally, Isra was confident they would remain loyal. But not yet. Her villagers were not yet ready.

'Excellent. I look forward to meeting your pupils in person.' Mahet said, then added; 'As soon as possible.'

Isra's simply nodded. Mahet was no fool. He knew she hadn't yet ventured out of her home village at the foot of the mountains Mahet's own people apparently lived. The dream-god had assured her this was a coincidence, but she doubted that. Now she would have to leave, though the loyalty of her tribe was not yet fully assured. Then again, she did not need to be present to keep them in line. It was a risk, but she feared the dream-lord would take away her abilities if she did not do as he said. She practically lived here now, and had no wish to return to the bleak, primitive reality. In comparison, losing control over the village would be nothing. She would leave as soon as possible.

Isra, the first Dreamwalker, ventures out of her village to teach Dreamwalking to anyone willing to listen.

[ragnarok97071]

Ahyra tilts her head. This was a strange man, of the same kind as her people, but somehow... greater. She opens her mouth to speak.

Excuse me, but... What do you mean, rule?

Nothing, for now. Right now I will merely give you a gift, a weapon beyond any currently wielded by any Blade.

Extending his hand, Lavos calls upon his power. From his hand, streams of fire and wind intermingle, forging a blade sharper than any mortal-wrought. Curved in the shape of a crescent moon, it is shaped to grapple and constrict the foe's movements. This blade is attached to a shaft, roughly a meter and a half long, flexible and yet still as hard as iron, and carved with scenes of destruction.

As he finishes this act of creation, he disappears in a burst of flame.

Lavos Watches //End//

Lady of Flame
That day, the young girl would return to her village, dragging the scythe behind her. The sound of it scraping across the ground would be heard a short while before she reached the town, and as her tribe sought her out, they see a sight which chills them.

A survivor of the battle was standing behind her, holding a knife, about to drive it into her back, and she turns, raising that odd blade before her, swinging it up to slice the man from stomach to smile, splitting him in two. She turns back to the tribe and continues walking.

Lavos creates Destruction's Edge, a warscythe that is sharp beyond human means, and cannot be wielded by any but Ahyra.

[forsaken1111]

Death performed His duties tirelessly and without complaint as he ferryied the souls of the dead across the Veil to the realm of the dead, yet it was an existence without fulfillment. Death paused now and again to watch the other gods as they went about their petty errands, creating this and killing that, and He felt that He too should contribute to the world; But what to create?

Something for the mortals perhaps?

No, He did not care for mortals beyond His duties. Though many whispered His name in fear or awe as their lives were touched by His peace, He did not regard them as worthy of attention. They were brief, inconsequential.

What then?

Death paused again in his labors and gazed out at the realm of the dead. It stretched on as far as He could see, a misty grey expanse broken only by the souls collected thus far, which drifted aimlessly about like gossamer on a soft breeze.

The dead... they are worthy of His attention. They are power, discarded by mortal bodies and forgotten by the living. All around him, he could feel it... the power of hundreds of generations of forgotten souls.

It has always been this way. Death collects the souls and crosses the veil to release them. Perhaps it is time for a change.
Yes... it is time indeed.

Death strides through the realm of the dead, His dread presence barely stirring the tendrils of grey mist. He throws aside His cloak and raises the Hand of Darkness, willing His peace unto the plane. The air roiled in response as waves of fell power sweep the mists away, billowing out in a cloud of darkness which obscures all. The drifting souls are unable to resist the inexorable pull as the yawning darkness draws them in and Death consumes them.

Such a waste they have been, floating in torpor since their deaths. They are tools to be used, energy to be harnessed, and He will put them to work. The maelstrom of energies reaches its peak as more and more dead souls are drawn in. The darkness coalesces around Death, forming into a wall enclosing a bare patch of ground. The souls of the dead are compressed, used as mortar for bricks of solidified darkness. Black ramparts spring into being along the top of the wall, decorated by baleful looking humanoid figures styled to look as if they are hoisting the wall upon their backs and holding it up. In all directions carved human faces stare out at the grim desolation that is the realm of the dead, their eyes hopeless as their graven muscles strain under the weight of the wall. Within the wall’s embrace, buildings are constructed as rapidly until a dark fortress stands upon the grey fields.

Pleased with His work, Death dons His cloak and enters His citadel, taking His black throne. From this place He can guide the souls of the dead to their final destination without attending them personally. It is much more efficient, and far less tedious.

Death’s Citadel is born, a place of suffering and remorse, using the countless souls of the dead as building material.
Death's Throne allows him to guide souls into the realm of the dead from afar.

[Acanthus117]

Alcinoe stared down at the tiny village, watched its inhabitants go to and fro.

It was like a single tiny candle, guttering and sputtering in the yawning darkness that stretched out in all directions around it.

In the goddess's heart, she felt a growing sense of wonder as she beheld her sole tribe of worshippers. These mortals had managed to survive against all odds, against the wrath of nature and of fellow men. They were strong, and they were wise. But yet, they were only mortals, whose time upon the base earth was brief. They needed help, her help, if they were to ever climb out of their ignorance and into glory

Alcinoe smiled as she imagined their descendants a thousand years from now. In her mind's eye, she beheld a vast empire of soldiers and artisans, creating towers and armies and citadels and cities. She imagined an army, burnished plate mail shining in the sun, marching out into the darkness, carving their own destinies out of the uncertainties of the world.

They shall be warriors, the goddess thought as she fingered the hilt of her longsword. But first...

Alcinoe descended, her form hidden to all but to the other gods.

Silent as the night itself, the Goddess crept into the hut of the village chief, a man named Ivor. The man slumbered, his wife and child nearby. Alcinoe bent over him, and with her divine powers, examined his soul.

He wasn't the strongest man in the village. He could not throw his spear as far as Nuran, nor was he a skilled archer like Darann. He could not stalk deer like Andun, nor did he have Vant's sharp eyes. He had been chosen by the elders because of his wits. By far, he was the smartest man in the entire tribe.

The goddess nodded in approval as she examined the man's memories; he organized the hunts, lay traps and set up ambushes for the wild animals that haunted the woods. He was also the village's arbiter; he settled the various squabbles and petty arguments with a fair hand, and generally kept things under control.

He was also the village's strategist, ever since that fated day when Alcinoe had first blessed the Tribe of the Raven. He was the one who had led the counterattack and he was the one who had planned the ambush.

Alcinoe nodded again, certain that he was the right one for her Blessing.

She bent over the sleeping form, and breathed over him.

---

In his dreams, Ivor was leading the hunting party, tracking down a particularly elusive deer who had been eluding them for days.

He clutched his spear tightly, his heart pounding. The man crouched behind the bush, and prepared to strike.

But when Ivor leapt from the underbrush, no deer was in sight.

Instead, the village chief saw a woman.

She was beautiful, with flowing golden hair and green eyes. She wore robes of the deepest blue, robes that would have made any of the womenfolk in the village green with envy. Over her dress, the woman wore a strange-looking metal shell that covered her chest. In her hands, the woman bore a sword, its shimmering blade glinting in the light.

"Who... who are you?" Ivor clutched his spear tightly. The hairs on the back of his neck rose as the woman smiled.

"I am Alcinoe." The woman inclined her head towards the chief. "I have been waiting for you, Ivor."

"How do you know my name?" Ivor frowned, and subconsciously shifted into a half-crouch. He was already forming a plan of attack in his mind when the woman laughed again.

"Do not worry, my son. I am not here to hurt you." As if to demonstrate her point, the woman set down her sword, laying it on the mossy earth.

"Why are you here, then?" Ivor still held his spear tightly; he knew better than to trust outsiders.

"To Bless you, Ivor."

Before he could respond, the woman raised her hand, and began to speak in a tongue totally alien to Ivor's ears.

In his dreams, Ivor's body burned as Alcinoe's divine magics surged through him, altering his very soul.

The chief couldn't even scream. His body felt like it was being burnt to ashes.

As the goddess's magic surged through him, Ivor's awareness was heightened. Ivor could see it all. From the sparrow perching on the branch behind him, to the bees buzzing around a patch of flowers. He could even see the strange woman, and watched as she furrowed her brow in concentration. Ivor felt distant, as if the pain was happening to someone else.

Without warning, it suddenly stopped, and Ivor collapsed to the ground, utterly spent.

"It is done." The goddess remarked, as she withdrew from the natural world, back to the nothingness outside it.

Alcinoe blesses the chieftain of the Tribe of the Raven, giving him and his descendants almost unnatural physical prowess and mental acuity. The chieftain is still mortal, but is much more resilient against disease or injuries.