There is a village, a small one, only a haphazard collection of stone and straw built upon the banks of the great dividing river, near an immense waterfall that flowed from within the mountains. The people living within were a varied lot, Beastfolk of many shapes and forms who had come and settled within the river valley. Their life was basic, gathering only what they needed from the lands that surrounded them. To many within, their fires were fueled by the lives they lived, and those who weren’t were few.

But within this village, a child was born.

With the fur and head of a hyena, and the teeth and tail of a komodo, the child quickly proved themselves to possess a greater fire than many had expected. He trashed about even when he had barely opened his eyes yet, the sun had not even begun to set and already he had begun to move about with an intense speed. The parents were ecstatic, their child had such life and will, there was no doubt in either of their minds that they would grow up to achieve great things. And so he would be named Tyryk.

It would be only 5 months into his first year that he learnt how to walk, his half scaled and half furred legs taking him anywhere he desired. It wouldn’t take any longer for him to learn how to speak, mimicking the words and phrases spoken around him by those in the village. By the time he began to engage with the other children of the village, it was clear to anyone who saw him that he was cut from a different cloth.

As the years began to pass, Tyryk began to grow a following amongst the village children. Whether it was through some sort of charisma or just the sheer strength that he showed, the other children would follow. Marching behind Tyryk as he walked through the village, acting like his own personal retinue. Whenever they played together, he would always decide the games and the winner, when eating the children would look to him on how to do it, and even when doing their chores they would gather round and show off to Tyryk to gain his praise.

It was clear there was a path for this child, he was to be a ruler, one that would be sung by the very gods themselves in their heavenly realms.

Or at least, that's the story that would be told.

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Tyryk stood near the edge of the village, upon a hill that overlooked that great river that helped give them life. It had been some time since his early years, now he stood as an adult, a warrior who had protected his people against the occasional threat. But yet, the fire within him was never satisfied, he knew that his calling was something far greater. He just needed to find it.

He heard footsteps drawing close, turning he saw his old friend, Konne. A half-blood by birth, she had been at Tyryk’s side since their births, being the only person he could openly speak to. She drew closer to his resting spot, her large orange and black spotted wings drawing closer to her body to avoid wacking into him. She was silent for a moment, looking out towards the river with him, though he quickly grew tired of the silence.

“Has something happened?” He asked, not even looking towards her.

“Not even a hello?” She unfurled one of her wings, lightly hitting him on the side. “But yes, the scouts have returned. They’ve found the lair of the goblins that have been giving us trouble.”

A low growl came from Tyryk. The ferals had been raiding their village for some time now, about time they found the lair. “Good, anything else?”

“Yes actually, some of the scouts also noted they saw a group of strange beings near the river.” She pointed towards the north beyond their village, towards the highlands. “They were strange apparently, almost crystal like, they headed off into the cave to the north.”

“Crystal, interesting. Did they note if they were hostile or not?”

“Didn’t get close enough to say. But they didn’t appear to be carrying weapons.”

“Hm, very well. You take the other warriors and go to the lair, clear out the goblins but don’t underestimate them.”

“And where are you going to go?”

Tyryk turned away, beginning to walk back down towards the village, Konne following close behind. “I shall go investigate our newcomers, Flame willing they are not dangerous.”

“Really? By yourself?” Konne quickly moved in front of him, a glaring look on her face. “What if they are dangerous?”

“Then I shall retreat and get you.” He gently pushed her aside, moving towards the stables. “Do not worry kestrel, I shall return by sundown, if not, you are in charge.

Konne wanted to argue, but she knew that he was far too stubborn to back down by now. So she relented, just silently nodding her head. “Fine, but you better return.” She unfurled her wings, lightly pushing herself off the ground and heading towards the other warriors of the village, leaving Tyryk alone.

He entered the stables, drawing near his preferred mount, a fairly large bipedal creature covered in a layer of exoskeleton, with a set of mandibles that moved about lazily as it looked up at his arrival. Konne was right, it was dangerous to go alone, but he had to admit his curiosity was too great, he just had to see what these newcomers were like. But the goblin issue was still important, it was far better if the bulk of their warriors were focused on that.

Regardless, he would need to set off to reach there in time. Saddling up his mount, he leaped upward, straddling it and testing the reins to make sure they were secure. With a soft crack of the reins and a yelp, it trotted forward, and with a quick turn, they headed north. To see just what was going on.

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It wasn’t too far to the highlands, the trip itself was made more manageable by the mount, but Tyryk still wanted to reach it and return home quickly, in case the warriors would need help with the goblins. He doubted it, but it still wouldn’t hurt.

Scanning the hills, he quickly found the cave entrance he was looking for, it wasn’t too hidden away, but it took a fair bit of knowing the land to see. Whoever these crystal visitors were at least very perceptive. Drawing closer, Tyryk began to go over a plan in his mind, sneaking around would likely only bring unease to the newcomers, especially if they had previously dealt with the local goblins. So instead, he decided to keep more open, even if it meant risking himself to a surprise attack.

He dismounted from his mount, leaving it near the cave in case he needed to make a quick getaway. From here he could see the markings of something heading deeper into the cave, this was definitely the place. He patted his side, ensuring his bone knife was still at this side, and headed inside.

The cave was dark, luckily his vision aided him in being able to make his way through the caverns. Soon enough though even his vision would not be needed, as a growing array of glowing moss appeared upon the cave walls and ceiling. Tyryk had never been this far into the cave, the elders had always told the children to avoid it, so seeing now what was inside, it was certainly a sight.

Finally, he heard voices, he didn’t immediately recognize it, but he knew he was near. Creeping closer, he found himself at the entrance to a large cavern. Within there was an absolute plethora of the glowing moss, illuminating the area like it was daylight.

But that was less of Tyryk’s focus, instead what drew his attention was the six figures within. They were large and strange creatures, made entirely out of crystal that refracted the glow of the cavern, their features and forms were unlike anything he had seen before. With long forms standing upon countless legs, their orb-like eyes intent on studying the walls. They chattered amongst each other, and as he stepped into the cave Tyryk heard one say, “Gawos sho peaw-lyevenoskonko issest sho vawss en sawvo vwiz?”

They were strange beings, that was for sure, but no matter, they did not seem dangerous. Taking a step forward, Tyryk raised his hands, trying his best to make himself look as unthreatening as possible, a task made difficult by his own form. “Greetings newcomers!” He spoke, letting the cavern walls echo his voice towards the crystalline beings.

Two shot up with surprise, while the others glanced over more as if interrupted. One of the striders shouted, their voice also echoing over the walls, “Shit vwis tawaw lawyeg!” Another strider reached out to lightly hit them over the head. They silenced, and another Strider responded to the beastman, their tone one of questioning, “Vwhaw ilo zawye? Vwo'mo nomol soon sawvothend leko zawye.”

Tyryk sighed, he should’ve figured the actual communication would be difficult. “I,” he pointed at himself,“can not,” he shook his head, “understand you.” he made a mouthing motion with one hand, pointing at the striders with another. The striders stared at him for a moment, then once more began to chatter amongst themselves, ”Vwhit es ho sizend?”. Another responded, ”Entlawgyekend hevsolh, vizpo. Et's nawt sho sivo lindyeido, pyet sho pawgz lindyeido vitkhos.”. One of them mimicked Tyryk, and then, with an almost singsong quality, repeated, down to the hand motions with one of their striking arms, ”I can not understand you.”

They then repeated it once more, and the others crowded around the mimicking strider. As they whispered amongst each other, Tyryk could hear one of them speak, ”Et's sevelil, et chawyelgn't po tawaw hilg taw loiln. Vwo chawyelg demo et yo tlz.”

Then, they broke up their huddle, and the one that originally mimicked the beastman approached slowly, repeating once more, ”I can not understand you.”

Tyryk stood there for a moment, almost baffled at what he had just witnessed. “So you can mimic, interesting.” While he still couldn’t understand these creatures fully, it seemed like they were intelligent enough to deal with. He stepped forward slightly towards the mimicking creature, pointing to himself. “I am Tyryk.” He gestured towards the creature. “You are?”

The strider, the one that mimicked Tyryk, pointed at him with a manipulator arm and responded, “Tyryk.” Its voice was harmonic and lilting, each syllable coming from a different section of their body. It repeated, “Tyryk,” and then, another strider said, to its comrade rather than the beastman, “Ho iskog hawl zawyel nivo!”

The mimicking strider glanced back, and then gestured to itself, “Vz nivo es Polassar. Zawye ilo Tyryk, e iv bloisog taw voit zawye.” It pointed at the striders, in order, “Shoel nivos ilo, Tammuz, Marduk, Anu, Namtar, ing Nabu.”

The beastman nodded, now they were getting somewhere. “You are Polassar.” He gestured to the mimicking strider, confirming the name. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Polassar.” He looked around the cavern, turning towards the entrance then back to the striders. “Do you, need a place to stay? My village is down the hills.” He pointed first towards the striders, tried to mimic the shape of a house, then pointed towards the entrance. Hoping his intentions would be conveyed.

The striders backed into a huddle and spoke to each other once more in their foreign tongue. Together, they glittered brighter and brighter, reflecting each other’s light around the cavern until it was like daylight. Through the glare, the beastman could see them mimicking him once more, surely working out what he had said. Finally, after some deliberation, they emerged once more from the huddle and Polassar vigorously nodded its head, saying, “Zawye voin vwholo zawye lemo, ledht? Vwo vwell daw vwholo zawye lemo.”

Tyryk had to shield his eyes for a moment from the light of the striders. But upon seeing Polassar nodding, he returned the nod. “I will take that as a yes, very well, follow me then.” He gestured as he turned towards the entrance, checking to make sure the striders were following as he exited. They indeed followed, and what seemed bright in the cave was nothing compared to once they hit sunlight. As all six filed out, it was as though a new sun had been born. Even looking away, Tyryk could feel the heat of the reflected light on his back, and the brightness at the edges of his vision. The nearby trees were glowing, purely from the amount of light there was to bounce. Nearby grass smoked, wilting under the intense heat.

He didn’t turn, instead preferring to protect his eyes, though he should’ve figured this would happen. Hopefully they could find some hides when they reached the village to cover them up. Reaching his mount, he could see it immediately turn away with a noise of discontent. He gave it a pat as he mounted it. “Ya i hear ya, they’re quite bright.”

Luckily, he didn’t need to check that the striders were still following as they marched down the hills, the bright sun-like light at the edge of his vision being the only thing he needed. Together the seven of them traversed down the highlands, towards the village that sat near the banks of the river. It was clear to Tyryk that the village had seen them long before they arrived, as a collection of villagers stood near the edge of the buildings, covering their eyes as the striders drew close to avoid the light reflection.

“You appear to have brought us the sun Tyryk!” One of the elders, a full blood iguana, shouted.

“Indeed I have!” He shouted back. “Would you be so kind as to bring our visitors some hides, I fear their crystals are quite detrimental to our vision!”

The elder motioned for some of the children to grab some hides from a nearby building. Grabbing enough for the six striders as they finally reached the village’s edge, with some difficulty they began to drap the hides over the crystal bodies of their new guests. While it did not fully damp out the light that reflected from them, it turned down the heat and actually allowed the villagers to look at them without risking their eyes being reduced to ash.

“So who are these strange beings you have brought Tyryk?” The elder asked, his gaze entirely focused on the striders.

“These are some newcomers, that is Polassar.” He gestured towards the mimicking strider, then followed in line with the names. “Then Tammuz, Marduk, Anu, Namtar, and Nabu. I was hoping you could tend to them while I head after Konne and the warriors. Though they don’t speak our language.”

The elder gave a sigh. “Very well, I will do my best to engage in diplomacy.” He slowly walked towards the striders, giving them a wave. “Greetings! If you will follow me!” He gestured at the Striders, slowly walking down the main village path.

The striders whispered amongst themselves for a moment before Polassar gestured them onwards; they followed the elder, clad in their hides. Some of them had to waddle awkwardly, though none seemed intent on removing the pelts. Several times, the one named Marduk had to herd the rest of the striders back to the path, as they attempted to stray off to examine this or that. They seemed utterly fascinated by the village, and often spoke quickly to each other as they pointed things out with their manipulator arms.

The elder took a pause whenever Marduk had to herd the striders, giving a soft chuckle as they all headed towards the center of the village. Tyryk could already hear the Elder doing his best to communicate with the striders, he was glad that he didn’t have to deal with that situation, the Elder was far more suited for that.

Still upon his mount, he turned and pointed towards one of the remaining villagers who hadn’t gone after the striders. “Where did the warriors head off to? I shall be joining them shortly.”

The villager looked up with a slight shock. “Oh um, they headed west, towards the forests.”

“Got it.” He tugged on the reins, directing his mount westward.

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With only a quick stop to gather his gear, Tyryk rushed towards the west, following along with the tracks that the warriors had left. It didn’t take him long to finally reach where they had left their own mounts, the bipedal bug creatures standing about uncaring. Quickly dropping his mount off, he dismounted and began to look around, hoping he could gain a sense of where they had gone off to. Luckily, the distant noises of fighting filtered through the leaves of the trees. Allowing him to rush towards where it was coming from.

Amongst the trees was an encampment, it was basic and barely standing upon itself, but it was a clear marking. Within there was intense fighting, with the feral goblins facing off against the beastfolk warriors, it was a losing fight for the goblins, but Tyryk never underestimated the ferals.

Charging in, quickly climbing over the basic camp wall, he entered the melee. Catching one of the feral off guard, he cleaved into it with his ax, tearing the creature in two as he drove forward. Spotting Konne deep within the melee, slicing several goblins with her bone blades, he rushed towards her. Reaching out a claw hand to slice the face of a goblin that jumped out at him, catching them and sending them spiraling down.

With another ax blow, he reached Konne, who sliced another goblin as it tried to stab Tyryk’s legs. “Glad to see you’ve decided to join us!” She shouted at him.

“Our newcomers were friendly!” He shouted back, cleaving a goblin in twain and tossing the body towards several of its former compatriots. “I figured I’d lend a hand!”

“We welcome it!” Konne quickly returned to the fighting, driving back several more ferals.

Tyryk figured the catching up could come later, he raised his ax, letting out a loud roar towards the warriors. “Come on then! To Victory!” A roar from the warriors joined him, the beastfolk feeling invigorating seeing their leader join them. They surged forward, their weapons crashing down upon the ferals, who lacking their traps and tricks, were nothing compared to the superior beastfolk. They fled deeper into the encampment, but there was nowhere else to go. They turned, forming a circle with their remaining forces, with the beastfolk surrounding them quickly.

Konne stood at Tyryk’s side, the two of them looking at the ferals, who looked between the various warriors, they knew there was no escape. “Shall we cut them down?” She asked.

There was a pause, he didn’t respond, instead he was thinking. Something felt strange within him, something deep. Somehow he knew that if he ordered the ferals slain it would vanish, and as he looked around, it only seemed to grow. In truth, the encampment was well stocked, he could see various weapons and goods around the area, and if rebuilt, the walls could serve as a formidable forward base. Then, there were the ferals, seeing them now, they were far less formidable than he had thought. They cowered in fear of the larger and stronger beastfolk. Perhaps, there was another option.

“No, find anything you can use to bind them, we will return to the village with them.”

Konne turned towards him, a look of shock on her face. “What do you mean? They’re ferals, shouldn’t we end their wretched life?”

“No,” He turned towards her, a new fire within his eyes, “I have found my calling Konne.” He gestured towards the goblins and the encampment. “This shall be our first conquest.”

“Conquest? You, that is your fire?” Konne looked towards the goblins, who merely stood paralyzed by fear.

“Yes, Conquest, this will be the first, the ferals, lacking as they are, will serve us well. From there, we shall spread beyond this land, and become something far greater.” He raised his ax towards the heavens, towards the sun above. “And I! Will conquer all under the sun! Let it be known!” He now shouted towards the heavens themselves, towards the Sun that bathed the lands. “That I shall be the greatest! I shall be! The Suneater!”

And as the warriors cheered, and the goblins were bound. A promise had been made, a warlord was born.

The Suneater.

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’Down by the river in a flowing cerulean stream, come and see the beastfolk and their wandering dream.’ The daffotales sang amidst the cool breeze of a fading sun. Peace reigned despite the odd assortments of beastfolk gathered. Beasts, birds and reptiles, living in harmony as they traveled. The days of the desert were well past, Salvation had come and new life was blooming. Children played with pearling laughs and elders talked about the times. Some fished, some slept, while others watched.

For not all beastfolk were so inclined to the ways of peace and easy living. Well, as easy as life could be in that time and age. Survival was a constant. One wrong decision cost lives. One violent Wildblood would kill them all.

So it was, for there were no heroes. Not yet. And so it would be.

“Must go must go mussst go!” A snake hissed to the others as it slithered across the small dune that sat overlooking the river. He kept looking back, even while his vision became obscured, black scaled arms pumping with every motion of his powerful lower-half.

That small camp next to the riverbank jostled at once and then blew into a full blown panic. Beastfolk of all sorts bolted, flew and swam in every direction. Grabbing children, helping elders and securing supplies. On land, water and into the sky, everywhere except the way the snakeman came from.

A pride of lions stood their ground however, as the snake, nearly out of breath stopped before them. His own flame cowering but not because of those beasts.

His forked tongue flicked forth, tasting the air. “Not afraid?” he panted, clutching his sides.

The largest of them, standing a foot taller with a thick black mane growled, “We are strong! Not weak! Not afraid! Stand and fight!” He pounded his chest once.

The snake shook his arrow like head, amber eyes unblinking. “Won’t fight. Can’t fight. Goodluck.” The snake began to slither off, taking his chances with the water it seemed.

The lion roared, “Coward!” but the snake didn’t look back. The lions looked up at the dune, brandishing makeshift clubs. The inner flames were that of warriors, of fighting the only battle that mattered. Between life and death. Bravado, strength, pride and loyalty. No finer traits there could be had and yet, as the Wildblood crested the hill and paused to look down at them with its hungry eyes, they felt fear.
A demon in beastly disguise. Jaws opening wide to showcase sharp, salivating teeth. The Mongoose, even from top of the hill, was large. Almost as big as the tallest of them, their leader, Black Mane.

He knew who the killer that had come for them was. Every beast folk knew the names of their terrorizers. The ones who could not see reason, whose inner flames had burned with nothing but hate and violence. Oh he knew. He remembered his own village being ripped apart. The memories like lightning in his mind.

His eyes narrowed and he pointed the club at the Maw Who Slew In Salvation. In challenge to the death. Now the fear came, clinging to the air like mist. He let out a low growl at his unsteady pride mates.

The Maw let out a low snicker as it began a slow descent down the hill. Large claws dragging in the sand, sending the grains down the hill like small waves. The demon sniffed the air with slow head bobs, the brown fur on his back beginning to bristle with a killer’s thrill.

Black Mane shuffled slightly. “Steady.” he growled, “Steady.” As the Maw approached, the lions stood their ground. The great beast began to circle them, sniffing the air and chattering with his teeth. Sounds of excitement, turned ghastly in the twilight. The pride was beginning to falter, Black Mane could feel it. He glanced to either side of him. Walking with Bristles was wide eyed and shaking. Scratches the Sand looked like he was going to be sick. He dare not look back to see how Running Grass and Creak Listener fared. As long as he led them, they would survive.

They had to.

“Fear…” The Maw said in a low, animalistic voice. “Sweet…” he cooed, the word harsher than it had any right to be. Someone whimpered behind him and Black Mane cursed.

The Maw sprang at them, the burst of speed almost blindingly fast. Black Mane braced himself, ready to swing but the damn demon had bluffed charged them and he watched as the Maw jumped back, the demon’s eyes snapping past him and he smiled. It was too late. Someone had bolted and the Maw sprang again.

Black Mane swung his club as it ran past them but the Maw jumped out of the way and in an instant, had Creak Listener by the back of the head. Black Mane watched as the wildblood and his pridemate hit the ground and there was no time to act as the Maw began to shake Creak Listener’s head. There was a sickening sound of bones cracking and squeezing and then a loud pop as a gush of blood poured from the Maw’s mouth.

“RUN!” Scratches the Sand screamed and his pride mates bolted, leaving Black Mane to stare down the beast by himself.

“COWARDS!” Black Mane roared at them, before he charged the Maw. He swung his club once more, only able to see red but the Maw ducked low and he hit air. Next thing he knew something had slammed into him and he was sent flying. With a thud he landed in the sand, the air knocked out of him.

But he steeled himself, he wouldn’t die on the ground like a coward and so he got back up and readied himself.

The Maw looked at him now with a smile that could only bear bloody teeth. He began to walk towards Black Mane, assured victory in every step but then the Maw stopped. He cocked an ear to the side and his heckles lowered. He sniffed once, twice and then he backed up, plucking Creak Listener’s corpse before he made a swift retreat.

This left Black Mane confused, until he heard the rush of mighty wings blow past him. He scanned the darkened sky but saw nothing. Then he looked around the now quiet camp and realized his pride mates had run over the hill, while the Maw had left in the opposite direction. His ribs hurt but that wasn’t going to stop him from catching up. Damn the Maw, that coward! And damn his pride mates, he’d teach them to stand and fight.

Then the sky over the hill lit up briefly, followed by a terrible screaming. Black Mane’s eyes widened. Had the Maw doubled back? He ran faster, half climbing, half falling as he crested the hill to see… His inner flame dulled.

Two bodies lay smoldering below, the smell of charred corpse filtering into his nose even then. Someone was struggling but the light was not great enough to where he could see until he saw a flickering light that illuminated a kicking and screaming lion. Once more, helpless, he watched as that light became a roaring inferno that washed over the screaming lion. And Black Mane could see, his now silent pride mate had been lifted aloft, held by a creature he had wished was only rumor.

As the fire smoldered about his friend, the dark settled in again, two gleaming red eyes turned to look at him and the Black Mane at once felt true fear. Primal in intensity. There would be no fight, only flight, yet his legs would not listen. He saw the body drop and he heard the unmistakable sound of a bird taking flight. Yet that had been no bird.

No.

It had been… A wall of fire sprang forth.

’Down by the river in a flowing cerulean stream, come and see where the beastfolk scream.’

Bread and Games

Asheel’s great desert rescue had brought untold mortals to the banks of the great river circling the globe, delivering them from desert starvation and to a promised land full of verdant bounty. Yet by doing so she had delivered them from one crisis to another, this one simply slower, for though the riverside was fertile and had been booming with life, many hungry mouths had begun to strip it dry of edibles, and given little back in return.

The goddess had gotten somewhat ahead of this problem, first having her giant rolly polly woodlice transporters prioritize producing clutches of infertile eggs for the mortals (after it became clear there were none still left in the desert to save), but soon enough they had ripped through much of their own food supply as well. So she had them mate, lay fertile eggs in hidden or protected places, and then let their lives end so that their flesh would feed the people.

That, again, bought only so much time, but hope had come on golden petals. The Daffotales, mostly an amusing novelty at first, proved themselves to be quite the information distribution network. Stories of copper forging city states, and furrow plowing pigfolk came from the waters end, while stories of democratic organization came from their source. These stories where one of the reasons why, while much of the embankments had been reduced to stripped mud, golden patches still bloomed where eager ears still listened.

Facing their end, the peoples of the riverlands had banded together, and put flower sourced knowledge to work. Orange and blue stones that could be found on the surface were melted down and forged into tools. With these tools, many carved little boats out of trees, or wove them from reeds, using them to seek lands beyond their own, only to find those lands where much the same state, except for those at the river’s end, into which many flooded.

Others continued their desert-learned cannibalism, now armed with weapons and cohesion, though the naturally armed full bloods still reigned supreme in that department.

These would not bring true salvation however, and instead it was the ones who had been inspired by a tale of a great horned god and his mighty implement who would change their world for the better. With crude mimicries of the legendary hoebreaker they struck not out or each other, but the earth itself, carving furrows and scavenging what seeds they could for planting. In mimicking the great god they unintentionally attracted the attention of his creations, who, it was true, brought both more mouths to feed, but they also brought unfiltered, first hand knowledge of the ways of farming. They where then further bolstered when Asheel took their knowledge of what plants made for the best crops, and produced several new ones that followed the specifications, designed to grow in the warm wet environment of the great riverbanks

With faith, fresh foliage and new friends, the riverland farmers were rewarded with the sight of rows of fresh shoots sprouting from their fields.

Life, now nurtured, once again bloomed once more along the banks of the twin rivers, but it was not enough. Water, ironically, was the biggest issue, for over it they had little control. It surged, it receded, it made the ground too wet, or was lacking further from the banks where they were free from its whims. They had ideas, of course, but unfortunately here the Daffotales where a bane, not a boon, as they told the tale of ones who had dared try and control the water, and been cursed for their hubris.

Even with encouragement from a goddess, the peoples of the river feared for their bladders, and refused to divert the water's flow.

And so Asheel set out to confront the god who had made the rivers, to put those fears to rest, one way or the other. And as she searched the winding world river, she eventually came across an unusual scene.

Along the riparian Bank of one particular bend in the mighty river, a small gnomish god sat on a wicker chair, eyes closed and a happy snore erupting from his beard. Daffotales danced by the chair, quiet yet gossipy. Funnily, large cartoonist Z's floated up from the sleeping god, punctuating his personality.

Asheel slowed her roll upon seeing this and started muttering to herself about if this was who they were looking for or not, before the Breaker snapped, dismounted her wicked transport and approached the dozing figure. The Maiden swapped in briefly to try waking him with a “hi hello!”, then the Maintainer with a polite cough, only for the Breaker to be back incharge, and to opt for forming and then roundhouse kicking a massive bronze gong right next to the sleeping god.

“Rise and shine!”

Tuuni leapt into the air, arms and legs flailing until he landed back into the ground with a thump. He looked up past his brow to the Goddess Three and the accompanying gong. A moment of silence passed before his eyes settled from surprise to joy and he said, "why hello there!"

“My my, you really took that in stride” the Breaker marveled for a moment, before she grinned pointy toothily and declared this “Excellent” and then thrusting a hand out to shake and introduced herself with “I am the Breaker of Cycles, and we are Asheel. A pleasure to meet you my dear.”

Tuuni took her hand, body whipping up and down from the forceful shake. “A pleasure to meet you as well! I’m Tuuni, god of the flow!” He released himself and pattered back onto the ground. “Are you here for the boccie tournament?”

“I’m afraid I have not the slightest clue what that is, Deary” the Breaker admitted, only for the Maiden to swap in, sit down crossleggededly in front of him, plant her hands on her hips, lean in and enthusiastically say “but I wanna know!”

“Boccie!” Tuuni reiterated, “it’s a fun little game best played by the river. You toss a small white ball and then two teams take turns trying to get their colored ball the closest to the ball to earn points. See?” He pointed over to where a few daffotales were dancing, a tiny white ball between them. “They were keeping it safe for us.”

“Ooooooooo” the little goblin goddess marveled, before saying that “you know no-ones really had time to make any games, I never knew how much they were missing”

“That’s because there’s too much to do” the Maintainer replaced her younger self to point out, before insisting that “we are here to talk business.”

“Ah lighten up, we have time for a game or two I’m sure” the Breaker reclaimed command to insist as she used a finger to beckon the white ball to roll over to her. The Maiden then skillfully flicked it up into the air, saying “we can play and talk after all” and finally the Maintainer caught it. Sighed, and then agreed “fine” due to being outnumbered as usual.

“So, would you like to toss the target or shall I?” she asked, half offering the white ball to Tuuni.

Tuuni tugged his beard. “Why don’t you? I’ve been tossing it all by myself for so long, it would be grand to have someone else toss it for me.”

“Very well” the goblin replied, retracting her offered hand. She tossed the ball up and down a few times, thinking, only for the Breaker to swap in and give it an appropriately godly toss all the way to the other side of the vast river they were sitting beside.

Then she dusted off her hands and asked “there we go, is that suitable?”

“Sure!” Tuuni said and then looked at a few tiny salmon-beast-people who were watching from the reeds. They seemed sad as Tuuni whispered, “I think you might have to sit out this round.”

Pulling a blue ball out of thin air, Tuuni gave it a toss, the ball disappearing into the distance. The gnomish god stood still, hands on his hips. He turned to Asheel. “I think I’m about three centimeters from the target.”

The maiden responded by making a green one in kind, aiming, and tossing it nice and hard straight ahead … and ending up severely off mark. She was quite for a little bit, before admitting it was “Five meters.”

Tunni smiled. “Oho! Two more tosses for you to best me, otherwise I think I might have this one in the bag!” He tossed another ball. He waited. “Darn. A Daffotale and a half away.”

“Here, let me try,” The Maintainer said, before biting her lip, squaring up, and then tossed it up into the air so that it flew in a lazy arc before plopping down a bit closer than the Maiden’s but not closer than Tuuni’s.

“About a hat away” she said, referring to her own naturally, as it was the first and truest of hats before starting to ask “so I heard a little something about you, how do I put this-” only for the breaker to cut her off to get to the point “bladder blocking a buncha beavers!” and then cackling at the idea.

Tuuni held up his ball, turning it as he thought out loud. “Beavers… oh yes! You see, the beavers were of a certain antithesis to planetary life and were blocking the flow of the world river, thus the life blood of this lovely planet, and so I made a deal that I will block their own little rivers until they righted their wrong, which they did very quickly!” Tuuni paused and coughed. “You aren’t having… bathroom problems, are you?” He tossed his final ball, admittedly distracted as it took a bird out of the sky with a squawk. He looked over at Asheel and tugged his beard. “If it’s a kidney stone, trust me, it’s gonna hurt.”

The Breaker had a real knee slap at that tale, before recovering with a sigh and saying “ah so that was what that little drought was caused by. You should have seen the Maintainer lose her head about it eh heh”

Then she prepped her own toss, and this time she put a proper spin on it, tossing the ball at close to a right angle to the target, but having it spin through the air as it flew, curving the shot nicely towards the white ball… only for her aim to be too good and her green orb to impact with the white, knocking it away from its starting spot.

“Ack… wait is that good or not?”

Tuuni watched as the ball rolled right over to the Maiden’s ball, clacking against it softly and stopping. The bearded god gave a subtle nod and sighed. “It would appear that you have bested me.” He broke into a jolly grin. “What fun!”

The Breaker let out a laugh, and then slapped the god on the back in agreement “Truly!” before adding “If I’d known you where this much of a riot I'd have come visit sooner” as she beckoned the balls to return, floating them across the river and conveniently right into the clutches of the previously disappointed observing beastfolk.

“Yeah that was fun!” the Maiden agreed, before adding “oh and We’ve never had to go? Is that bad? I mean we’re a god I just assumed that was a mortal thing” referring back to the prior mentioned bathroom problems comment.

It was at this moment that Tuuni paused and pinched his beard. “My goodness, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know you were a god! You’re the first one I’ve ever met, so it must have just slipped my mind. My goodness, my goodness.” He gave a hearty laugh. “What a great day this is!”

“I am?” the Maiden replied, not sure if she was being made fun of or not, before the Maintainer took over again, looking a fair bit more serious, or unfun, than her other two parts, as she got back down to the brass tacks.

“So, referring back to the beaverfolk,” she said as the salmon-folk started an imitation game of boccie behind her “was it the complete blocking of the river that warranted your intervention, yes? Because I’ve been trying to encourage attempts at lesser control over your river and the tale of what happened to the beavers has left the rest of the river dwellers rather scared they might receive the same curse”

“It’s a lovely river, truly, a life saver even, but it only waters so far, and with so many mouths to feed, they need more land that is both wet and not at risk of flooding” she quickly clarified as to why she wanted them to do this in the first place “we just need to spread the water out a bit, not dam it and deny it to those downstream. That would simply be counter productive ”

“Oh yeah, that’s no worries, friend,” Tuuni said coolly, “I only stepped in because it was doing the exact opposite of that and taking the flow away from all the good little nuggets downstream. Even the clouds were upset!”

“Excelent excelent” the goddess replied with a fair amount of relief, before calling over to the Daffotales dancing “You heard that right? Update your story please so we can get people digging and irrigating on the double!”

“Double timmmmmme!” A daffotale shrieked before madlibbing so many stories at once, including a revised story regarding the beavers.

Tuuni clapped his hands. “Ah! Glad you’re getting joy out of my little creations.”

“Oh yes, a great help, sans that little miscommunication. Well and scaring people by telling them about bad events happening halfway around the world. That’s not their fault though. Mosty. The world simply is so much larger than mortals seem to be able to comprehend a lot of the time” she noted “but otherwise, quite the useful source of information regarding discoveries and technologies made in and around the place the rivers end. Did you know that they have these things called boats they can use to travel across water? Quite remarkable”

“Excuse me!?” Tuuni thought back to his own raft and floaties. “That’s genius!”

“It is, isn't it!” the Maintainer agreed before adding “They’ve been very useful. Plus I’ve seen a few of the more aquatic beastfolk towing them along for their land bound friends, which is just so sweet” and deciding to not focus on any of the piracy, raiding, colonization or hunting of other mortals that it had also facilitated.

"I suddenly want to make some myself," Tuuni nodded with certainty. "How do you feel about giant cute insects?"

In response the breaker simply pointed a thumb at a cow sized rolly polly wheeling its across the dunes behind them and added, simply “ours”

“Very dashing,” Tuuni punned. “But what about that… but a boat!”

The Maiden appeared with her hands on her cheeks, gasping in amazement at the idea.
“WABAM!” Tuuni zapped a finger at the river and out splashed giant bus-sized beetles with concave shells one could sit in. Their long paddle-like legs zipped them around as they purred happily. Tuuni smiled wide at his creation.

In a mortal hartbeat the Maiden was all over the bugs, giggling with glee while leaping from steed to steed till she found one she arbitrarily found one she liked and took it for a spin. The beetle happily paddled through the waters, guided by tugs on the antennae and purring happily along.

“Look at me go!” the little goblin cheered as she rode around on the river on the beetle, only to purse her lips and look thoughtful for a bit, before coming to realization/decision, which was, perhaps predictably “These could be faster”

Fortunately/unfortunately, she proceeded to declare “don’t worry, I can fix that!” before she leaned forwards and booped the beetle on the snoot, which caused it to suddenly gain a spinneret on its butt. Then, with just a bit of extra power from the goddess to speed up the process, it proceeded to weave a disk of silk, which then hardened into a crystalline paddlewheel. Grasping this in’s rear claws, it began to rotate this new propulsion system, picking up a nice boost of speed as a result.

“Weeeee! Now this is more like it!” the little witch cheered as she sped around the river. Tuuni clapped.

“Clever girl!”

“I know I am!” the goblin agreed, only for the Maintainer to swap out and refute this statement by saying “no you aren't! We need that power to help feed people, not move them about faster!”

“Oh don’t be such a spoilsport deary” The Breaker told her younger self, before grinning wickedly and adding “besides, that is an awful rude thing to say to our host here”

“Yeah, don’t be so mean!” the Maiden piled in, before swapping the Maintainer back in to look embarrassed as she stuttered “Ah, well, my apologies that was not… I did not mean to imply… sorry”

“Huh!?” Tuuni asked as he sped around the river on the fastest of the paddle beetles, wind breaking glasses over his eyes, tinted black.

The Maintainer flushed hard from even more embarrassment, only for the Breaker to replace her, make a set of wide glasses with padding that let them sit nice and snug to the face, and then racing after the bearded god, her hat flapping in the wind yet never leaving her head.

As the two old looking divines sped around on the new bug boats, the tale of their little game traveled on down the flower fields of the river bank, getting only slightly embellished as it traveled. Yet hear they a tale of the wheel beating the river, or one of a wise grandfather teaching a foolish young girl not to jump to conclusions, in the end the lesson learned was the same. Mortals may command the river, yet never so much that it deprives those downstream of its blessed gift of life.

Fears dispelled, goblin, beast-folk, snouter (and the odd helpful crystal strider) alike got to work, building floodbanks to protect their fields and digging irrigation ditches to spread the water further afield, massively expanding the viable farmland, and pushing back the desert. Fields of rice and floatatoes sprouted swift supplies of nutrition, while coconut and roller-fruit tree saplings took root in the watered desert sands, promising a brighter, greener, future.

HAHAHAHA! Let me tell you a story about a wolf and a human combination…or better said, a werewolf. Let me tell you the story of how a werewolf was able to rise to the status of heroic menace on Galbar. The hero wolf. The one for whom all are food. Gluttony incarnated. He who all wolves bow to. The Alpha. The Pack Leader. The WHITE WOLF. And the titles could probably continue for a while but I’ll let you decide what you want to call him.

Without further ado’, here’s the beginning of the story of how one werewolf raised to this status.

Far away in the wild, on the other side of Galbar, beastfolk of all kinds found themselves and stuck together for survival. Even with the river and the godly gift of life, food was scarce. There were many. Too many folk. Between the ever present goblins and the beastfolk, it was just not enough for everyone. Even with farming being brought over by the Snouters, there were still power struggles. The bigger beastfolk would take from the smaller, the strong from the weak, the cunning from the fools. One would eat today only for the next day to be eaten by someone else. The never ending cycle of death and rebirth.

Unfortunately for the weak nothing could be done. Such starts the story of the one that will be known as the menace of Galbar. This beastfolk was weak, the weakest of the bunch. Not because they couldn’t hunt or run fast enough, no-no, he was weak because of how they were born. A fur whiter than white. A natural defect, an albino werewolf. As such, they were shunned by their peers. Shunned and thrown away from any pack they wanted to join and we all know what happens to wolves that don’t have a pack…they wither and die. Slowly. Very slowly. Alone. Hungry.

This werewolf was called: Luna Mortis.

Luna was initially kept separate from the other beastfolk from his broodmother but as his whiteness became more obvious and harder to hide, the other pack members shunned his family to the point where eventually…Luna was abandoned far into the desert. Alone in the vast, unforgiving desert, Luna faced the harshness of the arid landscape. The scorching sun beat down upon him, and the shifting sands presented a different kind of challenge. Luna, with his distinctive white fur, found solace in the moonlit nights when the desert cooled, and the stars painted the sky.

He struggled to find sustenance and as days turned into agonising weeks, and hunger gnawed at his insides. The werewolf, now weakened by starvation, roamed the dunes in search of prey. Not caring about what he can eat…as long as he will eat.

In the depths of despair with only the primal instinct of survival in his mind, Luna stumbled upon a group of beastfolk that looked almost as bad as he did. Drawn by the scent of desperation, Luna descended upon them. Claws and teeth tore through their unprotected skins, even as the group offered promises of food and safety if only he lets them live.

After Luna was done, nothing remained to bear witness to the carnage he left behind, nothing but pools of blood which were quickly evaporating. Now, satiated from his hunger...temporarily, Luna searched his memories for what his prey were saying. Food, shelter, safety. North. With a goal in mind and his nose ready to find more food, he ran as fast as his legs allowed him.

North. Towards food and the goblin states.

---

In the Vast Expanse beyond Galbar, the primordial form of Mae-Alari had shifted. Caught in the deluge of power that had been the Big Bang, the goddess had taken on a much more refined shape. A beautiful woman formed of light and magic. Azure skin that rippled with power, less flesh than it was magic itself. Garments of prismatic hue flowed over her form, drifting in the void of space as she beheld Galbar in all its glory.

So much had already come to pass as she had watched, her fellow gods bringing life to the world, and more besides. Yet, it all felt so...empty, as if the depth of things was insufficient. Eyes flashing, Mae-Alari moved. No longer drifting idly through space, she darted towards the center of her siblings' creation and then slipped into the Veins.

In that instant, beneath the cosmic skein a deep a power pulsed throughout the cosmos as through it the goddess swam.

In the next moment she emerged above the center of a great body of water. All around her, land stretched out from the edges of the water. Below her was an island, upon which there dwelled a great tree. Mae-Alari smiled and drifted down from the heavens.

Power welled beneath her skin and a great upwelling of luminescence burst forth from her as for the first time she set foot upon the substance of creation--upon Galbar.

Her eyes closed and in that moment of strange bliss, her deific form wrought something far more focused than her prior creation. Around the Great Tree formed a ring of water that was deeper than anything was tall, yet only as wide as several men strung together from shore to shore.

It was the Wellspring.

A contented sigh fell from her lips and as her breath touched the air, mist rose from the Wellspring and began to stretch its tendrils out into the world. Her eyes opened and so too did the power of the Veins spill into the Wellspring.

Ripples crossed the waters, then formed at the shores of the island and spread out in a glowing dance that played across the waves of the inland sea. Even beneath the ground, where springs and subterranean rivers and pools of moisture naturally formed, the water rippled and that selfsame glow became apparent. Faintly, across the surface of Galbar shimmering bands of mist could be seen, and they would persist both in the central lands and in the deserts beyond.

Thus were the Wellspring and its Mists borne unto the world.

---

The lands around the Atelier had changed with the passing of time. Not all could live within that great holy place and thus, Sylia wrought a great gift for those she deemed on the cusp of society and in a frenzy of work, she built by hand a vast city of metal and stone. For several weeks and nights the Goddess was lost in her work and the people of the Atelier could only watch in abject wonder as the land was tamed. The hills were carved out, flattened or expanded into great monuments. Buildings tall and wide took root upon strong foundations. She redirected the river to flow through the very heart of the city, thus allowing the gift of life for all. Great aqueducts rose, carrying water to places not so easily accessible to the river and out into the vast farmlands. For Sylia had plucked from the far south strange creatures, walking pigs who talked and agreed to teach any about the prospects of agriculture in return for new hearths and plots to till. Knowing the people of the Atelier would need a helping hand to fully grasp what was before them, Sylia went south again and returned with different goblins. Ones who talked with strange accents about hierarchies, kings, queens, priests and the Goddess of Civilization.

Thus the Goblins of the Atelier were again elevated and those strange beastfolk people who had arrived during much of this, gladly took root there, safe from the terrors of the wilds. Yet the pinnacle of this city was not in some great work, for in time those would arise, but instead in the sheer size of it all. There were homes a plenty and would be for years to come as the old died and the new were born. As the populations would sore and Sylia had simply given them a basis to expand with their own culture and systems.

And so they built upon what they were taught and Sylia only changed what did not work, into something more manageable. There would be no strife in such a fledgling nation if she couldn’t help it and the only divine right they had would be to exist, not to butcher those who opposed. That could come later if it was needed. Sylia only wanted it functional. Ultimately, it would be the mortals who would decide how they ruled themselves and the all encompassing threat of a God would loom above them. Logic and reason would prevail but the world was still young and the Goddess knew there would come a time when war would be the only certainty. And she could only wonder if they would be ready.

So at last the city was created around the Atelier, stretching wide and far. As a final gift, Sylia erected a wall of white stone around the entirety of it and she also gave the knowledge on how to repair stonework when needed. Wide enough to be patrolled, thick enough to staunch any would be attack- it would be a mighty deterrent or the ultimate prize.

Satisfied as she could be, Syliawould name her creation, Sylann. The city of Innovation.

---

“Really Althea?” Vaesna sighed as the two Syllianth rushed up the steps that lead towards the third tier of the Atelier. Goblins wearing white togas with gray beards walked past them.

“I’m just saying,” Althea began as she took a quick breath, “Even if we’re late, no one is going to bat an eye.”

Vaesna rolled her eyes. “That’s what you said last time and Hollis still made us chisel the statue until our hands went numb.”

“Well, so what if we do? You know our tardiness is worth it.” Althea eyed Vaesna and smiled. “Do you regret seeing Ophelia’s baby and those little chubby cheeks?”

Vaesna returned the stare, her emotionless facade breaking apart with every second. “Ugh. Of course not. It makes me want to have my own.”

A fullblood mongoose walked past, wearing working leathers and a large smile. Althea turned, “Hey Izara!” And gave a wave.

The mongoose girl looked up sheepishly at Althea and waved back and then kept going.

“Well, you know that’s easily changed.” She gave a sly smirk to Vaesna and elbowed her. “Many suitors about, dontcha know.”

Vaesna waved her off. “Yeah, yeah. I know, it’s just…” She took a breath, “I’m not sure I want to be a mother just yet.”

“Nothing wrong with that.” Althea agreed, “Plenty of time. In fact, all the time in the world really.”

“Yeah. Maybe one day. Let’s leave the ones like Ophelia to keep up the good work. You and I have other, more important matters to attend to. The Goddess demands it.”

They reached the tops of the steps and began the direct walk towards the massive workshop. “I doubt she demands much of anything.” Althea murmured as she looked up at the two massive marbled statues on either side of the ornate doors. Sylia had called them the Watchers, created in the memory of some creation long gone from the world but not forgotten.

They opened the doors and rushed into the lit interior of Sylia’s personal abode. Upon entering a room that was designated for them, they found several others of their kind fast engrossed with their own projects. Woods were being carved, a few were hammering at a large chunk of metal and a few sat in a circle weaving. A large open fire burned in the center and the smells of the place brought a tingle to Althea’s core. She loved the place but then she eyed her own spot. An imperious looking Syllianth, his tall erect posture giving away his entire personality, stood by two empty workbenches with his hands crossed.

“Hollis…!” Vaesna began but the male raised his hand.

“Late again.”

“I can explain!’ Althea burst forth.

“I’m sure you can.” he said with little fanfare. “But I don’t really care. You aren’t children, I shouldn’t have to reprimand the both of you again. Statue duty, again.”

They both groaned.

---

The two found themselves in a chamber near the back of the workshop that led outside into a large garden. In the middle of that Garden was a large block of marble that required scaffolding to fully access. Luckily, they and others who had and would work on the statue, had already established the head down to the chest. It wasn’t like they didn’t enjoy carving and chiseling but what they were peeling layer from layer from the stone was the issue. It was Sylia and no one wanted to mess it up. So they worked, shaping their hands into chisel and hammer. All the while the silence between them was palpable. Althea took everything in stride whereas Vaesna, not so much. This would be the second day the taller Syllianth would not be able to work on faceting and Althea didn’t know how to broach it. So she sighed.

“Althea. Vaesna.” A voice from behind them called out, and a shiver went up Althea’s spine. Not one of fear or even disgust but of pure excitement. How could one not be, with who that voice belonged to and its beauty. They both turned and immediately bowed before their Goddess. Sylia hummed the response to rise, so they did and Althea found the chiseled goddess looming before them. Her form of sleek obsidian with eyes of shimmering ruby.

“Goddess.” They both chimed back as a large smile found its home on Althea’s lips. Her hands reverted back to fingers and she clasped them down at her waist.

Sylia looked past them and up at the statue. Althea followed the Goddesses gaze and found that she wasn’t just looking at the statue but beyond it.

“One day you shall look up at the heavens and not shy away from the sun. Another would be there and the nights not so dark. One that could be looked at and admired.” Her shoulders seemed to slack. “But how can one long for something they do not know could exist?” She seemed to say to herself as her arms crossed behind her back.

“Goddess…?” Althea asked, not making any sense of it. Vaesna gave her a sharp look in return and Althea winced but she found Sylia’s gaze upon her own and the Syllianth girl felt herself shrink.

“Nevermind that. Tomorrow the both of you shall survey the north wall. Hollis suspects your feet could use the exercise and I agree.” Her face was an emotionless mask, yet her eyes seemed to dance. “Now, you may continue and remember, this test is for all of the Syllianth’s to fail or succeed.”

And then she was gone in a blink.
Both Althea and Vaesna groaned.

Reverion

Reverion strode back and forth in the newly constructed palace, it wasn't that he found it to his dislike. But he felt somehow... wrong? Was it right for him to feel wrong about lording over his own creations? El'Zadir had done alot to improve the way of living for his people to the point they were chanting her name in praise, this was something good however, something worthy of recognition. But he couldn't offer her a gift that would be showing enough of his gratitude, unlike with his creations which were singing his praises wherever he went.

He devised a plan to create an artifact in her name and memory, not only for himself but also for the Fowlfolk. While not a site of worship like a temple or a shrine, it would remind the Fowlfolk to be orderly and civilized even amidst chaotic times. Using his divine powers he allowed the artifact, the statue to take shape in the middle of the city square of Harrowfane. He was surprised how accurately it depicted her. Too accurately. The god decided to cover up her abdomen abit further. The statue of her bore his feathery cape, a sign of his own influence.

He allowed himself a satisfied musing. "Perfect."

"Behold all of you, this statue depicts she who came to me and you and bestowed upon you this great city and the tools in your hand. Praise her and respect the laws and orders which Harrowfane holds, for they are the same as mine." Reverion raised his hand into a fist towards the large cave ceiling in the great cave hall.

"Bloodbeak, bring forth your chosen champions. Those whom have distinguished themselves above others, to receive the gift of undeath. You are not forced to accept my gift, for it is what it is. It is a gift, not a curse. Come into the great palace and you shall be ascended." Reverion said as he strode off towards his home. His mortal home? What was home anyways? Home was where your people were. Yes. He was home.

"Get in line! You there! Get in line I say!" Bloodbeak cawed loudly as one of the fowlfolk seemingly stood immobile and not heeding his words.

"Did you hear me? You are disrespecting our lord and the new laws of Harrowfane!" Bloodbeak went up and looked over the otherwise slender and significantly more weak looking crow-man.

"Enough. I want to hear what this one has to say." Reverion beckoned to Bloodbeak to back down, causing the slender looking crow-man to smirk. Could they smirk? There was a shrewd glimmer in his eyes, Bloodbeak could see it.

"With all due respect. 'Divine highness'. I have no interests in your gift or being a pawn." The slender looking crowman said, his pose defiant in the presence of a god. It was enough to make Bloodbeak get a panicked expression on his face as he scurried up. "My lord allow me to punish this one for his insolence!" Bloodbeak grabbed hold of his spear with a copper tip, on the ready to deal with what he saw as a traitor.

"Nevermind that. Let him leave." Reverion motioned with his hand in a casual manner, but within the god's mind he saw something promising. A mortal had just defied him in front of his followers? His own creation? While he had only met El'Zadir, he was certain that the other gods would no doubt have smitten the mortal down where it stood. But he could not do it.

'To stand before the nothingness and defy me, that takes strength too. Such a show of arrogance.' It made the god feel simply amazed, that there was another being, albeit mortal and from his own creation, which had that same spirit. The spirit of resistance. While he couldn't bestow the crow-man with the same blessing as he had done the others, for that would have caused confusion amidst his followers. They would not understand his affection for the distinguished.

"What is your name, little crow-man?" Reverion asked the slender looking one.

The fowlfolk all around were quiet, the slender one amongst them. It caused Bloodbeak to point his spear at him. "Speak up, impudent dwarf."

Reverion's gaze shifted to Bloodbeak. "Did you just use the word dwarf to describe him? Do not." He said in a calm tone, but there was authority.

"O-ofcourse my lord!" Bloodbeak fell on his knees and knelt down.

"My name is Cawcax." The slender looking crowman said, defiance slipping out of his beak for every word uttered, his body itself displayed the same.

"I curse you Cawcax, to wander the lands of Harrowfane, wherever you go, you shall not be able to hurt your fellow fowlfolk, nor shall they in turn be able to hurt you. Wander until you find faith anew." Reverion said in a stern tone.

'May my blessing protect your kind and yourself on your path onwards. Show me just how much you will distinguish yourself... Cawcax.' The god mused in his own mind as he cast a blessing of protection on Cawcax and in the same moment elevated him as a hero of his kind.

Bloodbeak narrowed his eyes to Cawcax. "Pox and the sun be upon you!" Bloodbeak spitted in his direction, but soon realized he just defiled his god's palace so he went over to wipe the spit up using another's cloak. Soon after that Cawcax left the palace and went out to the surface. Soon after Reverion bestowed the gift of undeath to the chosen ones, which had distinguished themselves in Harrowfane. Effectively turning them into vampires using his blessing. Then the talonhanded lord directed Bloodbeak and his chosen, alongside a couple of more living Fowlfolk to go forth and create a second holy site south of the first.

"Bloodbeak, use the knowledge gained to make a minor settlement. It shall become a fortress, whereof this shall forever remain your sanctuary."

Back to the past

She saw only darkness, the back of her eyelids squeezed shut in concentration, trying to will a connection, a thread, that she had been told she would be able to find.

“Relax my child. You cannot force open your soul. You must let yourself sink into it. Just breathe for a moment, and it will come to you instead” came a warm familiar voice, the one who had told her she could do this, and who even with those chiding corrections, still believed she could do it. So she took the advice. Air passed her green lips, flowing down into her lungs, then back out. In. Then out. In. Then out. She let herself relax, truly relax.

As she breathed, as she stayed calm, her skin started to tingle with a soft warmth, while her body locked up into a kind of sleep paralysis she had complete control over. She checked, flexing her fingers, and then letting the sensation flow back in again. Relaxing. Sinking deeper into her own mind, into her own soul.

Then, suddenly, the darkness before her wasn’t the darkness of her eyes but another one, the dark of a dark room. Her excitement at succeeding almost broke the meditative state, but she let it sink away, and instead reached out, following a thread all the way to the beginning and then lighting a fire to reveal what she’d found.

Warm embers illuminated the space, revealing it to be a small cave, one she’d like to hide away in when she was young before she grew too large to scramble in through the narrow opening. The figure across from her wouldn’t have been able to crawl in either, but not because of any bulk. Said person was a goblin as well, though their skin was a desiccated beige in contrast to her own emerald green. He was taller too, though he was also all skin and bone where she was rather well fed.

“Who are you?” she asked the figure, who first shied away from the fire, before reaching his forwards to warm them before he replied, simply “I is you”

“But you’re a man?” she replied, grasping at the first major difference.

“So?” the goblin replied with a shrug, before grinning with chipped teeth and saying “If dat weirds you out, you ain’t ready for who we was later”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You’llz see” the goblin told her smugly, before actually being helpful and saying “Also, that was the wrong question. Remember what she told ya to ask”

“Wait. How do you know about that?” she asked, to which the other goblin simply reminded her that “I iz you”

In response the meditating goblin pursed her lips, breathed deep, and then asked what she had been suggested to ask: “Who were you? What can you teach me?”

“Didn’t have a name. No time fo dat in da desert. Never got out of it neither, so can’t teach you much. Well, maybe that some folk are monsters when they life on the line” the goblin who had died before Asheel could save him replied, before adding “oh, an also that death ain’t da end, so don worry bout too much”

Then the light flickered, and the goblin was gone, replaced by a teal skinned goblin child. The meditator was more ready this time, but still not quite enough for the sight of one who had died so young. Still, the little goblin smiled and waved, encouraging her enough for her to ask again

“Who were you? What can you teach me?”

“Dot. I liked the pretty singing flowers. An I teach how to make hats out of the non singing ones? Oh, and, um, I guess have fun while ya can” the child replied, and then like their short life they were gone, and the next life came in their place.

The meditator’s eyes bulged in their sockets as she looked up and beheld the towering figure of a beast folk full blood, who’s turtle shell took up much of its side of the chamber, and who’s neck was so long that in arched along the ceiling and then looked down at her with its pitch black eyes with bright yellow iris.

The somewhat goofy permanently grinning lips might have made it less intimidating, had it not opened them to reveal blood stained and wickedly sharp goblin teeth.

“Who… who were you? What can you teach me?” she managed to stutter, which caused the creature to only grin wider.

“No name. Abandoned. Prob thought I was monster. Where right. Grew up anyway. Ate little fishies. Other lil monster try and kill. I too tough. Kill them easy. Slurp up guts. Easy pray. Big prey. More. Can teach you, little morsel, how to do same. Get a taste for it. Grow strong. Every time I ate it, killing got easier, will for you too”

“No … no thank you” the goblin women replied, before thinking and asking “but someone stopped you in the end? Right?” which caused the monster to laugh and laugh before grinning again, and replying, simply “Suppose. Choked on bone” and then it was gone.

The replacement was hardly better, as it was a massive snake with the eyes of a person, and small pointed ears like those some of the tall lanky beastkin had. Those were the only mortal features it had to distinguish it from an actual snake, baring, of course, the size, and the vague indication that maybe there was a torso somewhere under all the scales and muscles there.

“No fear, no fear. Am friend. Ask me and find out” it insisted, curling up away from the goblin to give her plenty of personal space after the previous life had given her none. It was enough for the goblin to oblige, prompting the snake to tell.

“Much same at first. Left behind, grew up in water eating little mices and fishes” it started, before going on “Monster came. I bite. It die. Horrible time. I see other monster attack other people. They bite no kill. Me bite. Me kill. Me get friends. Me protect friends, they cook me food, keep warm on cold night. Me no monster no more. Was good. Die for friends in end. Worth it” It concluded with a nod, and then was gone.

She was replaced with a stocky figure, beast kin again, though in her case the only bestail feature was that her beard was made of gray feathers. The goblin asked, the dwarf-from replied simply “Smith. Smithing” and was replaced with an equally straight-forward snouter who replied “farmer, farming. Simple innit”

Despite those simple answers, she kept on asking “Who were you? What can you teach me?”

“I were a farmer too, got gifted coconuts by the goddess herself, then tamed the desert I did! Then died coz one dropped on me head! Ironic or summin” a lanky goblin who, with his reed hat, was the first one to actually be wearing any kind of clothes, told her.

“Who were you? What can you teach me?”

“I was blessed to become Mouri. I made war on your kind, thinking myself greater. Now I have stood where you stand, know what it is to be not me. I can teach you the secrets of evolution. You will need them, if my kin still war as they did in my time.” So spoke a towering creature with a tendriled maw the likes of which the goblin had never seen before, and she had seen a lot of types of beastkin come and go in the city she called home.

“Who were you? What can you teach me?”

“Also a farmer. Someone’s gotta put the floatatos on the table, and i can teach you to make a real nice stew with em” a tall round eared beastkin with webbed fingers and scatterings of scales across his body told her. He was also wearing a simple grass skirt that hid his privates, which was a first that she really appreciated.

“Who were you? What can you teach me?”

“Warrior!” the tall goblin who still carried the gore wound that had done him in proudly proclaimed with a clenched fist “Protector of our people! Scourge of beast-folk everywhere! I’ll teach you how to take em all down!”

“Who were you? What can you teach me?”

“Farmer, also farming” another Snouter told her, “also did some knitting on the side. Bit of rough housing too inbetween. Did in a bunch o that warrior bloke’s folks I think. Buggers deserved it, even if I get how they got there. Not easy being small, turns out. Still no excuse”

“Who were you? What can you teach me?”

“Founding member of the miners union” a short goblin who was so attached to his profession he had a pick on him even in death, boldly proclaimed “It was a big deal! Really put goblins back on the map, and in the right way too! Grab something people need, hold it tight, and they have to deal with you. If those tall folk wanted ore they had ta treat us with respect, and pay a fair price too!”

“Who were you? What can you teach me?”

“Eh, nofin much. Was a priest of the cave of painted memories, but it didn’t matter to me, and I never really was good at anything else neither. I was a spoiled brat too, looking back at it” another goblin, this one with the same short stature and emerald green skin as her, admitted, before shrugging and saying that “Mother did a much better job with you than she did me, that’s for sure sis”

“Huh?” the goblin shook her head, breaking out of the pattern she’d been sucked into, before asking “What do you mean, sis? I’m Mother’s oldest, how’d you die before I did?” clearly very confused.

“Mother was sowing and growing long before she had you. Probably will after your dust too. Basically the only thing I take after from her. Other than the good looks, which definitely helped out with that” he joked rather than answering clearly, and then he was gone, leaving her in the dark as the fire flickered out.

It seemed like she had caught up to her own life.

Then it flared back to life and she was looking at a rapidly shifting amalgamation of all the people she had just met, who all asked her with one voice and many “Who are you? What can you teach us?” in a turn around of what she had been asking

“I… I am you. And you are me” she stuttered, before shaking her head by a fraction in the real world, clarifying her thoughts and finding herself again fully, enough to answer “I am me. I am Lilly. And you’re going to learn everything I do, starting with what it's like to live life while in touch with your past ones”

And then she was back in the land of the living, and the first thing she saw was the smile of her mother, or rather, the Mother she now realized, beaming at her with pride and telling her that “I knew you could do it!” before the goddess embraced her and assuring her daughter that “Your going to be amazing!”

Discovery remained a constant risk. It was hidden, yes, but it was not hidden. Security through obscurity; The Eidolon had acted only sparingly on the world and creation, and was accordingly not looked for. That was their only saving grace, the only obstacle barring the discovery of the main portion of their divine body. If they were to take a more active role, begin trading information and favors in their bid of escape, it would have to begin with active defenses.

There was too little time for a permanent residence, not yet. At first, a safehouse would do; somewhere to render an active search difficult. A stepping stone to greater things, and a useful asset in the centuries after. A dozen copies of the god spread out, in a dozen different forms as the god searched for somewhere to construct their new hiding place. All but one were disguised in various mortal forms to avoid attention; the final one, in the preferred identity of the hidden god, went to the great tree at the mythological center of Galbar.

There was no fanfare to their entrance, no great announcement of their presence. One moment there was nothing, and the next they were there. The air was thick with divine essence. A great many people had been here, and here, the Eidolon sniffed out, was where the remains of the divine hammer lay. Deep down, they Perceived, divine creations. A cave in the roots, nooks for divine symbology along the trunk, a sunbeam from the far side of the sun roosting in the leaves, the air reeked with it. The Eidolon’s trace was miniscule, easily lost in the rampage of essence left behind by the rest.

Here, then, an opportunity to once more hide in the hornet’s nest. Disguise the main body of their essence, and none would ever sniff it out amongst the comings and goings of the pantheon. The Eidolon, in their preferred form, one of rending teeth and sharp claws, traveled on foot down the trunk, towards the caves below. It was easy to avoid the senses of the poor, hapless goblins below. Every saccade of their eyes was an opportunity, and the god could directly Perceive the signals firing in their brains.

It was never a fair fight to begin with. The Eidolon was a ghost. The goblins would have never seen them except by choice. Here, there was potential. A taste in the air, more essences, some familiar and others only known by passing. Galaxor had been here. Others, too, fighting rot in the roots. That problem had been solved, and that, the Eidolon knew, was an opportunity. Keep the roots clear, and the pantheon would likely never come looking again.

They gave up corporeality as they phased into the roots. Their powers lashed out, in careful selection as they carved their own cubby hole within one of the roots. As the wood dematerialized, it was replaced with protective seals. The Eidolon had not been idle; they had studied the mannerisms of divinity, the aspects of power, and now used that knowledge for their own protection.

In the safety of the seals, even if a god were to look directly at them, that god would never realize what they Perceived. A rudimentary protection, one shredded with focused effort, but one that nonetheless would have to do for now. It was far better than unprotected in the crust. The bulk of the Eidolon’s essence began to move, until the crust was once again clear of the god’s presence.

Then, the next stage of the process. Miniscule amounts of power began to flow from the safehouse, enough to calm the roots and provide for them. This, the Eidolon hoped, would lessen the risk of re-infection of the roots. So long as the tree remained healthy, surely none would have cause to deeply search the area. An act of benevolence, made for practical purposes.

Once the humble safehouse was completed, the Eidolon recalled all its disparate scouts, and let its preferred form once more step out of the roots, all the way to the trunk of the tree. Here, it began to study the essences, making notes of everyone who had come before. One was fresher than the others, though. Too recent, too strong, as though somebody had just arrived. The Eidolon tensed, and began to track the trail.

The blackwinged god, the lord of undeath came down like a comet wrapped in feathers, yet his landing was graceful and did nothing to harm the vast tree, despite how imperfect it was in his estimations. Yet even a seed may grow into something greater given enough time, someday that vast tree may itself find the gentle embrace of undeath. At least that was what he hoped for, despite all mortal life and things living was flawed, it didn't mean he had the right to end it, and the very thought of an end made him think of the other side of the coin. Death. He allowed himself a soft scoff as his wings parted and revealed his form. He decided to wander around the trunk of the tree, the base, the most important part for things to grow. It applied to plant life and other things as well, a strong firm base was needed in order to build a mighty tower. This thick and hard wood would serve as a good tool for dealing with the other gods, for it would act like a beacon to them most surely.

They would come for it. There was no doubt in his mind. He began to wander along the ground, clicking with his taloned feet as if feeling the ground itself. How odd it made him feel, it was far different than floating about in the skies or away from the mortal realm.

If the tree itself were a creation of Allianthé, the goddess of life, which he had not yet met. Then no doubt would it become the focus point of forces opposed to her.

It wasn't a big leap away from Harrowfane, the land of his creations, perhaps he could create some form of device which could not only aid his own land but that of the tree as well. Such thoughts would have to wait for later, as now he was on a hunt. A hunt for the other gods, surely such a meeting would prove fruitful.

He sniffed the air, he pursed his ears and his eyes wandered, he even allowed himself to search for signs of any other gods essence, but the tree itself was a creation made by a goddess. He was irked. He could see nor hear anything. What a bother. Having to announce oneself.

"Come forth, I, Reverion beckons you forward. You who dwell by the base of this thickening wood, you who share roots akin to mine. Come and reveal thyselves in the shade of my blackened wings." He spoke out, his right hand stretched out as if he was plucking imaginary apples from a forbidden tree.

The voice that answered his call was right behind him, head-level. Before that had only been an itch of a presence, something that squirmed out of Perception every time he tried to hone in on it, drifting amongst the divine essences left behind like flotsam on the wave. The voice was chilly but not cold, ever so slightly flat, the barest tone of mild interest mixed with a lack of surprise, “I wasn’t hiding from you.”

She was on the trunk, claws dug into the wood and her legs braced to hold herself up. Though it would have been possible to float, for whatever reason she had not. Reversion could detect the slightest hint of divine essence from the creature, though the usual Perception of their domains of power somehow wormed just out of reach. The creature’s tongue flicked through the air, as it commented, “You’ve been here before. This place is littered with you.”

"Oh? What have we here then? You are... quite different from what I've seen so far. Hmm..mm.." Reverion slowly walked over towards The Eidolon, his eyes scanning the being in front of him. This being was unlike El'Zadir in almost every way, aside from obvious traits and this one being equally disrobed.

Not that it bothered him that his eyes could wander, but it did bother him if a mortal would behold a god or goddess in such a state. Which begged the question, what was this being? He could sense the divine essence which all gods carried, but it was... lacking? Was this a mortal, a god? Something in between the two? An offspring of a god perhaps?

Reverion's mind began to wander, having witnessed his creations do their ritualistic mating rituals and the result of them, he knew fully well that if the mortals could do such, so could the gods.

But if this being was a creation of another god, or a union of gods. Then which one? To find the knowledge of the origin of this creature, a bit of digging would have to be done. Information of the other gods and such could prove fruitful in ferreting out those who may be deemed a threat to the great plan.

"You were not hiding hm? Well, I can tell that much from what you are wearing... or not wearing rather. Besides, who would so openly reveal themselves if they were? It be akin to the intelligent boasting that they are indeed the most clever." The talon footed man began to wander around The Eidolon, inspecting it closely. The god of undeath was pleased with what he saw.

"Now then, who are you? Or perhaps I should ask, what are you? You bear the essence of the gods... yet of a lesser kind. But as you say, I have indeed been here before, yet not alone. Things often come in pairs. The exception being this thick piece of wood ofcourse, which seems to indeed be one of a kind." Reverion said softly, his talon clicking against a root as he climbed atop of it.

"But to be able to tell the presence of a god or several is a power which no ordinary mortal possesses. What is it that you are doing here?" His gaze fell upon the wood which the Eidolon's claws had dug into.

The Eidolon smoothly tracked the god, her head swiveling to track him as he walked around the feminine projection. Her mouth opened to a toothy grin, each separate eye blinking independently so that always one remained open. Every so often, her tongue flicked again, and she commented, still cooly, “Gods who walk in the chasms left by the footprints of the loudest of the pantheon remain gods. I am bearer of creation, fully the same as you. I merely make do with less.”

Then, she stretched out an arm, pointing at a hole in the chamber, “The second of your pair reacted violently,” her tongue flicked out, as the toothy grin tightened into something more like a grimace, “unprovoked, I would hope? You surely understand why that is an important question for me.”

Then, with a sudden change of topic, the projection looked down at her body, “By your standards, should I be dressed? I am what I am; the only purpose of all that cloth that covers you would be decoration, even for a god of the gaps such as I. I fear no temperature, fear no weapon, and behold myself not to mortal standards. I am not vain, and have thus eschewed decoration.”

Reverion couldn't help but find the being in front of him to be the very antithesis of what he stood for, what he wanted of his followers. This was a creature which was content in having less, someone who was not striving to climb higher?

An opponent of ambition? But not only that, this being spoke in a manner which concerned him.

'She walks in the footprints of those who are greater... she follows... but in their shadow to survive?' The blackwinged god pondered, his eyes wandering over her form anew.

"Whom is this second you speak of?" The undead god doubted El'Zadir would have acted rashly. Then again. She had punched him. Albeit perhaps there was some hint of reasoning behind it. Reverion reached for one of his feathers, then warped it to create a feathery cloak out of it, he also plucked a strand of his hair to bind it. Then he approached The Eidolon.

"You are to be dressed indeed, for to gaze upon a god's naked form like that is a reward, not a granted thing for all. You must earn the right. As for not fearing temperature, weaponry and akin. Fear keeps one existing, if one bears no fear, one will make something foolish. Possibly paying for it with one's existence. Behold the mortals, for they are in a manner a reflection of ourselves... albeit a minor one. Things which we normally cannot see ourselves we may find in them to be shared with us. With that in mind... do accept this cloak as a gift from one god to another..." Reverion softly smiled as he attempted to slip the cloak over the Eidolon.

She did not move out of the way, accepting the gift as it was offered. As it slipped over her, she tilted her head, reading his face, picking up answers to questions he did not intend to respond to. As the cloak slipped over her projected body, the Eidolon looked down to inspect it. Her tongue flicked, and she noted how Reverion’s essence lingered on it and further diluted her own, a good disguise.

She then looked back up at the god, and bowed her head, responding, “I understand. Thank you for the gift; I will treasure it.”

"You are welcome. However there are more things to treasure than things of the material. Such as a name. Names are important. What is yours? If you are a god, what is your domain of influence? Care to share?" Reverion put both his taloned hands behind his back as he hunched over, giving the Eidolon a sly smile.

"My purpose in this world is to have the mortals become akin to us, not because out of kindness nor out of spite, but because it is fair. Tell me, what right do we have to pass judgment upon the mortals? When we do not share their hardships hm? The mortals breed and their offspring learn from the elders, in a manner of speaking, the mortals are our children. But we do not play by the same rules. That isn't fair is it? There are some who may want to discover and experience all things that has been, is and will be. Yet I think such ambitions will ultimately leave one very unfulfilled, when the destination is unobtainable. I think one ought to be more at ease simply appealing to the purpose of life. Or existence as I prefer to call it. What is the purpose of it? It is to experience it. How many of our kind feel the way these mortals do? I find myself quite intrigued to learn from them. As from my fellow kin, to find out who wants to shelter this world and who seeks to destroy it." Reverion explained in a long manner, his voice collected and calm, if not abit philosophical.

"Hm? Have you ever considered producing creations of your own?" He gave a sly smirk. On The Eidolon’s face was consideration as he spoke, seemingly caught on every last word he spoke. But to her, lies came as easily as breathing, and her response, though a naked falsehood, was spoken in the tone of one who had been caught in the web and opened up with full honesty, “Yes, you’re right. We shouldn’t withhold names from each other. I’m Anatu, a god of knowledge.”

To further the illusion, she failed to ask for his name in return; it wasn’t important. Instead, she entertained his ideas, “I think I understand what you mean. We should learn from how the mortals act and try their methods of living, yes?” She played up her innocence, a tactical decision, as she asked, letting her tone shift to curiosity effortlessly, “But what, exactly, would you suggest? What should we do to be more like mortals?”

She tilted her head once more, just to finish the illusion, masterfully crafted by a god well-versed in falsehood. One clawed hand reached out to clutch the cloak, as though holding it on. Her tongue flicked once more, this time to suggest interest in his words. Every action had a purpose, and the god of secrets allowed no slip-up in the feint.

"Pleasure is... all mine. Anatu. Of Course we may learn from their methods of existence, what I am saying is to simply walk amongst them. Try to think as they do, even if that may render you feeling simple. View it as having your two- err... your eyes all covered while listening to a voice, could you say with absolute certainty it belongs to a god or blessed mortal? Ofcourse there is the essence one may sense, but such can be strengthened or diluted no doubt to blur the lines." Reverion offered a satisfied smile.

"A god of knowledge. Ahh, to know things can be useful, but some knowledge might change one's perceptions forever, depending on what one would regard as the truth. In a way, you could say that knowledge is a form of corruption... I mean, could you know it all?" He asked as he knelt down to pick up a pebble from the ground, placing it into his right hand and then putting them both behind his back. Then discreetly he slipped it into his attire and held out his taloned hands, tightened into fists. "Can you tell which hand the pebble lies within? It could be in either one right? Because you did not see which one I put it within." The god opened both his hands to reveal the truth that the pebble was in neither hand.

"As for more suggestions on how to be more like the mortals? How would you like to add a little addition to the great wheel of chance? I wonder what would spring forth if two gods were to breed akin to the mortals. Perhaps such an existence could be our little secret away from the rest, it is always wise to have a backside door. Not just sitting on one." The god chuckled as he stretched out his taloned hand, beckoning to The Eidolon to approach. "But such can wait for later. Unless of course.. you want to know. God of knowledge, Anatu." His eyes became thin as slits as he gave an amused smile.

The Eidolon continued to play the part, still hanging off every word as deep consideration – or a perfect facsimile of it – crossed her face. Silently, in her head, she Perceived Reverion’s trick with the pebble, but still she nodded her head along, as though bought fully into the message. Then, as his hand beckoned, she dipped her head, almost hesitantly, providing some resistance to the idea to make the acceptance seem that much realer.

On the face of it, it was as though a dam broke and she had decided to give his ideas a chance. That she had fallen for it without even realizing and was like putty around his fingers. Something to be molded. She let go of the trunk, letting herself drop to the floor as she stepped up, reaching up to grab his hand with her clawed digits. She said, quietly, almost as though embarrassed, “I think I would like that. I think, some time, I wish to know.”

Privately, The Eidolon was calculating tactics. It assessed the value of the information it had to gain, the blackmail it could generate. All for indulging a god in predilections that only befitted the limited pleasures and temptations of third-dimensional mortality. It played its final card through its projection, interest in the face of its shell, a yearning tone put on for good measure, “May– may I accompany you for a while? To see the world as you do, and gain more of your perspective?”

"Oh? You would wish to accompany me, hm? I see you have a thirst for... knowledge." Reverion mused, his tone dripping of satisfaction, then his eyes wandered as he noticed The Eidolon taking hold of his taloned hand.

'She's like a mortal. If I end up protecting her from the dangers of existence, she might end up unable to defend herself and therefore become more a liability than an asset. However if I were to simply leave her to her own designs, her powers may fall into the hands of another who may be more... rough around the edges. Quite the delicate dilemma. What am I to do with you?' The god of undeath pondered, his glowing eyes wandered over his potential companion.

"Very well, you may accompany me for a while, Anatu. The idea is appealing. After all, neither of us know just what else is lurking out there... At least that is what I assume, god of knowledge. The pebble may be in either hand, or none at all. Perhaps it never even existed. We'll see, or we do not. What matters is the choices made along the way, to remain learned, yet the same. Lest the truths of all worlds may end up making a creator into a destroyer. Tread warily upon the pathway of ours, we know not how many snares lay upon it." The god softly spoke then lifted The Eidolon up with him, taking her towards Barrowfell, the newly made holy site of his, which looked currently more like a war-camp with Bloodbeak and his vampiric followers organizing the place.

"Welcome to Barrowfell, the staging ground of the army of the undead. This will be the sword of my land. A fortress of making a point. That all who attempt to meddle in the greater existence, is at risk of becoming it's target. I will not allow anyone to meddle with the chosen mortals, no matter if they are mine or not. The distinguished must be protected, for like ourselves they shape the world of worlds. Someday the mortals may even become powerful enough to not only reject us, but challenge us. If that potential is not to be admired, then what is? Think of this Anatu, for whom do you use your powers? For what purpose? Your own? Or theirs? I find it far easier to simply make their desires, my own. Then think that my actions are the wills of another, or like you said yourself... some vain thing." The god chuckled as he showed The Eidolon his fowlfolk in Barrowfell, the newly constructed holy site. While he didn't know what this god of knowledge would be up to, he figured that by keeping her close, he could ironically learn from it. After all, it was better than knowing nothing at all. But this would be his little secret.

Turn 3 has started, please check the MP Spreadsheet for your updated MP counts. Please let me know if any number is off and I'll fix it when I can.

---

Deep within the Great Tree, the Khodex shivered. Encased and suspended in the air as it was, it was still impossible for any onlooker from seeing the way it silently rumbled and lit up. What had once looked like a large piece of obsidian to the mortals who lived at the Tree now looked like a gemstone filled with liquid light of all colours known and unknown, forming shapes and crashing desperately - and silently - against the crystalline surface of the cocoon.

“Big rock be Big crazy.” said a hunched over goblin from underneath its thick blankets beneath the towering statue of Syllia, his favourite spot to camp out at night.

“Me think small crazy. Not big.” Chimed in another goblin, much smaller and voice much higher pitched. It was a child, with her skin every bit as beige as the adult beside her. Unlike the adult however, she wasn’t covered in blankets but instead wore a thick tunic and bandages along the entirety of her arms and legs. “Not big. Tree big.”

“Choonga head small. Choonga no understand. Big crazy. Pah-wah-fool things pray to big rock all time. Big crazy.”

The child huffed and turned away, cheeks puffed out. The adult continued to watch the Khodex, flinching a bit every time the liquid light flashed bright and holding his breath every time the Khodex went dark. He couldn’t take his eyes off it and every one of his instincts was telling him to leave the Khodex’s presence, but he didn’t know where else to go. If big rock big explode, then no big distance be safe, right?

---

Deep in the Astral and Dream Realms, so far away that even the Gods who dwelled within couldn’t notice in time to react, a tiny spark went off.

It was an unassuming thing, a simple speck of light that soon vanished as if it had never been there.

And then it happened again. And again. And again for a thousand thousand moments, until a fingertip-sized Cantar redcap colony within the Astral Realm took notice of it. The watched it for a long time and when they were finally satisfied that it seemed to be inoffensive, they settled below the empty spot from where Sparks would fall.

Sparkfall eventually became a massive colony numbering in the billions of consciousnesses, fed by the strange light and warmth of the sparks. In the Material Realm, the Sparkfall Mind had taken over all the caverns, submerged or not, beneath the Blood ocean. They thrived, and despite being so numerous they were peaceful. They did not eat anything else and instead let the animals feed on them freely. There was no hunger and no cold, all thanks to the sparks.

---

It had been a long time. One day, one of the many mushrooms that made up the expansive Sparkfall Mind felt a sharp pain in its cap. It wasn’t being eaten, it wasn’t being stepped on, it shouldn’t even be able to feel those things either to begin with, nor should it be able to think. The redcap Cantar wracked its tiny astral mind trying to find an answer, and that’s when it realised - its mind was connected to its body, and it couldn’t hear the Hivemind anymore. It was stuck in its own immobile body in the Material Realm.

That wasn’t the only thing that wasn’t right. It could see, somehow. It saw blurry shadows and pulses of light and warmth around it. A massive network, many blinking lights, most of them wailing silently in pain…

The Hivemind had been shattered in a split second, and all the blinking lights were desperately trying to reconnect to one another. The flashes of warmth the redcap mushroom felt were proof of that. It was as if thousands of other minds were trying to talk to it, but they were all turned away by some kind of fiery shield around its very being.

Its vision clouded. All the lights dulled. Far away, a shockwave of darkness made its way through the entire network. Lights vanished without a trace by the hundreds of thousands, swallowed by some unknowable thing.

At the same time in the Astral and Dream Realms, the Sparkfall spewed light forth so strongly that it became a beam of light, one so incomprehensibly hot and unstable that as it moved around in its normal erratic manner, it tore apart the fabric of the universe.

In the blink of an eye, the largest and most successful Cantar Hivemind in the universe was simultaneously blown apart, shattered, sucked out of the universe itself and turned into raw energy. Energy that was absorbed by the ethereal beam of light that was now clawing at the edges of the universe, where the Khodex’s protection was most thin, and energy that it used to transform the innocent Sparkfall Mind into a living portal, an entryway into the Universe.

---

An earthquake rumbled below the Blood Ocean. Waves dozens of metres tall exploded in all directions and flooded and devastated anything around it.

Days later, from the depths of the blood ocean came Outer Beasts. Ancient, lumbering entities that dwarfed the smallest of mountains and the tallest of hills. The first one to surface was the Egrioth, a horse-like thing with six spire-like legs and 6 wings, with the head of a horse and the body of a lion, covered in bony plates as thick as the thickest city wall.

Then there was the Drowned One, which did not walk or crawl, but was instead carried around by its million spawn. It had no discernible shape or form other than that of a bloated, amorphous blob of green-grey flesh, with 3 wide white eyes on its front.

And there was the army of other lesser Beasts which spilled forth from the Blood Ocean covered in red mud, their claws and pincers and maws and stingers and minds all sharpened and ready to do as commanded by the two Outer Beasts.

As more and more spawned from the accursed ocean, they assembled around the two great beasts and bowed. A quarter of the Horde staying put and started building structures and roads by vomiting black slime into the sand, a quarter joined the Drowned One as it headed west towards Shangshi-La and a quarter joined the Egrioth as it headed towards the Land of Origins. As for the remaining quarter, numbering in the hundreds of thousands, they headed off in whatever direction they saw fit. Some went straight north, others followed their guts and went off in random directions, and others still chose to go back into the blood ocean.

---

It had been decades since the tribe had earned the name of “The Peevers”. Ever since that unfortunate encounter with the small river God, the Chieftain of the Tribe called Gorchok had faced nothing but humiliation after humiliation. From being forced out of their homes all the way to being spat at when seen travelling down the banks of the World River, the Peever tribe could catch no break.

That day was no different. After having been finally driven from the safety of the World River, the Peever tribe had settled in a particularly lush oasis just a few days’ travel from the nearest settlement. They numbered fifty strong, with a few children and elderly, and life was tough but survivable. That is, until a deformed thing appeared on the horizon. It dragged itself across the sand, almost as if it had no bones, and moaned and groaned out loud as it did so.

Naturally, a group of hunters was dispatched to meet the thing. It, which looked like some sort of desiccated red-capped deformed mushroom person, did not stop crawling as they approached. Instead, it groaned and moaned even louder.

“E…. He… lp… De… ad… Run…”

The chieftain, who had now just caught up thanks to his ageing joints, looked at the biggest and buffest of the hunters and nodded his head. The beaver hunter then smashed the red-cap’s head in with his massive sandstone club, making it explode into off-white chunks… only for it to continue crawling, only this time with no sound other than the laboured ragged breads coming out of its neck.

So the hunters wailed on the mushroom-thing and eventually it stopped moving. They carried what they could back to their home, cooked it and ate very well for the first time in days.

That night a dozen bull-sized creatures the shape of which they’d never seen before crawled over the horizon and descended upon the village, where they ate very well for the first time in days.

---

TRANSCENDENTAL QUEST #1: Hell in Heaven

The barrier between our universe and the Outer Gods’ Realms has been bypassed. A massive portal lies at the bottom of the Blood Ocean, spewing forth creatures of unknowable intent and power.

Two Outer Beasts spawned from the portal, the Egrioth and the Drowned One.

The Egrioth is a mountain-sized beast covered in plates of bone armour. Each step it takes is like a miniature earthquake and each flap of its wings is like a storm. It has its own kind of curse-based magic and can cast body-related curses as it sees fit.

The Drowned One is a mountain-sized beast that looks like an amorphous blob of flesh. It is carried by its spawn which number in the millions and it defends itself with hordes of such spawn, which can take on many different forms. It has its own kind of curse-based magic and can assault unshielded mortals’ minds.

Outer Beasts may be injured and killed by either a God using MP, via the use of a Godbane Artifact, or by finding and exploiting its weakness until it’s rendered harmless.

Besides the Outer Beasts, near-endless hordes of lesser beasts continue to spawn from the depths of the Blood Ocean. The lesser beasts have split themselves into four groups. One stayed around the Blood Ocean, where they are building some sort of home; one tagged along with the Egrioth; one tagged along with the Drowned One; and one was given free reign to do as they wished, which mostly involves heading straight for civilised areas and killing everything to both eat and take the corpses back to their settlement.

It will take many Gods and their Heroes to hold the eventual tide of uncontrolled chaos and destruction back, and someone will have to eventually brave an expedition straight into the heart of darkness in order to seal the portal by exterminating every last trace of what used to be the Sparkfall Mind as well as sealing away the light beam that’s currently tearing up the edges of the Astral and Dream Realms.

EXPECTED POSTS FOR QUEST COMPLETION: ??
DANGER LEVEL: EXTREME

---

The rock went flying into the far reaches of the stratosphere, disappearing with a neat little blink. The bull furrowed his brow and noted down a sorry excuse for a number on a spreadsheet drawn into the mud.

“... Three… No, two…”

He then raised the Hoepebreaker perpendicular to himself and inspected its curvature. A free hand scratched some topsoil out of his beard. After an inspection that seemed more like a ritual formality than a genuine inquiry into the potency of his weapon, he lowered it again and placed a new rock on a small protrusion from the soil at his feet. He clicked his heels together, pushing his cellulite-webbed thighs together with a sticky squish. He tossed his head around his neck for a swing, breathed in deep through the nose and swung his club upwards in a rightwards-going arc.

“FOOOOORE!”



Like the former, this rock too went soaring into the distance. After a brief inspection of its trajectory, the bull scratched down another number.

“... Three…”

It was then that a desperate posse of snouters came limping over from below the hill upon which the bull stood. They were pock-marked and studded with insects bites; many looked pale and weak from bloodloss; some had open wounds and gangrenous digits. The strongest among them, a once-mighty hesnouter whose powerful belly fat had deflated into starved flab, crept forward and looked up at the bull, who once again had taken to inspecting his club.

“Lord, please!” begged the hog with a back-up chorus of weeping whimpers. “Please help us with the blood swarm!”

“Fix it yourselves,” retorted the bull and readied another rock.

The snouters wept. “But lord! We can’t! They are too many - the sky is black with flies! The fields are yellow with locusts!” He slapped at his bleeding skin. “Our bodies are red with bloodsuckers fat on snouter blood! We’ve tried swatting them; we’ve tried smoking them–by Misri, lord, Zuup the Unfull even tried to eat them! Nothing’s working!”

The bull was quiet for a bit. Then he thundered a rumbling groan. “... Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine… I remember the days when cosmic flies would tickle me around the rump…” His eyes stared a thousand yards into the distance. “... My tail could never seem to hit them where it hurt. Let’s get this over with…” He packed up and swung his hoe over his shoulder. The snouters cheered as loudly as their sick bodies allowed as the bull stomped past them.

“Thank you, Oxen One! O-oh wait! Wait, please! My lord, it’s this way!”

---

Unbeknownst to the bull and the snouters, his day of golfing hadn’t been without consequences. Thousands of kilometres away, on the far side of the planet, a still and otherwise unoffended region of Shangshi-La had been peppered and pocked by meteorites crashing into the water. Steam had risen and formed impenetrable fog that sent the local birdlife into a blind flight. Fish near the surface had been boiled alive, and that which had been lucky enough to escape soon became the victims of that which came out of the fog.

Out of the curtain of white came men of green and brown, skin shining like polished metal. Their bodies were smooth of texture and lean of form, but betrayed a visage of weakness. The first hand to snatch a fish proved that they were anything but. These tall, lanky creatures descended from the edges of the craters they had hatched from and descended into the waters of Shangshi-La, blending into the deep rivers like wood and ferns. The only indicator of their presence was, just before they would strike, the victim would discern just barely a pair of fiery red eyes in the water before them.

---

A small distance away, a small village of beastmen was engaged in their daily routines of fishing, gathering and tending the crops. The waters of the Shangshi could be harsh at times, but fair for the most part. It was a life of variance and challenge, perfect for a rowdy beastman. Here they ate the growths that lived by the river and cultivated some of them, too. And as always - the river’s bounty was there to fill in the rest. It wasn’t paradise, but almost something better; one had to work, but never to the bone. Life here struck a balance of tough and fair, just like the Shangshi.

It was then that one day, the balance shifted. Dusowa was only one of the children playing by the riverside when it happened. He couldn’t quite remember what had happened exactly, but some visions just never left his skull since. He recalled only right up until before the tragedy. Him and seven other children had played catch by the river. A boy older than him had caught the clump of mud and hay they used for a ball and stepped into the river to do so. As he had made his way back up on the bank, the river behind him had lit up like a blood-red starry night. After that, his memories became a blur. He remembered running away after that, the taste of blood in his mouth and the stink of fear in his nose. On occasion, he saw webbed hands and crimson eyes in the shadows. He saw meteors of slick, slimy flesh descend from the sky and crush his friends and his parents. He saw tongues longer than arms; he saw shadows be kicked through several tents in a row.

He had been the lucky survivor. Maybe there had been others, too - he did not know. He had only ran and ran until he had reached the next village over. There, he had told his story, or what little he remembered of it.

There was, however, one last detail he could not explain properly, even though he remembered it clear as day. He wasn’t sure if it was because he didn’t know what it was or because the very thought caused his breathing to accelerate and his body to cringe in fright.

An endlessly long chorus of croaks, celebrating the rush of battle and slaughter.

Wheels in the desert

Down in the southern deserts, a tribe of nomadic goblins had set up camp in the shade of a massive rocky outcrop, one which sheltered a precious oasis from the heat of the midday sun, while still giving the plants blooming around it enough light to grow. Said plants were currently in the process of being harvested however. Their feeding fruits had already been plucked off, and their seed fruits cored out so that the outside could be eaten and the inside planted. There’d be plenty of space for said seeds, as the foliage was in the midst of either being converted into lumber, or devoured by the tribe’s herd of rolly pollies.

The large breeding and laying pair were busy devouring the leaves of all the trees, while their spawn rolled and crawled around nibbling up the little shrubs and other smaller plants. One of these little ones got a little over adventurous, rolling out of the patch the goblins wanted them in, and off towards the wilds.

In response, one of the herders on watch called out “Wez got dat one!” to the others, and then he and another goblin mounted their shared steed to go after it.

Said stead was no beast, bird or bug however, but rather a contraption of wood, copper and solidified silk supported by two wheels, which were padded with tyres made from the rubbery shells of rolly polly. The driver of this machine sat himself down on the machine’s saddle, grabbed its pair of handlebars, and then twisted one of them, causing a rope to pull a gear into place down in the body of the machine.

Nothing happened.

The goblin grumbled and then grunted to his copilot, a small goblin sat sideways on the back of the machine. This goblin leaned down and performed the sacred art of percussive maintenance on the device, prompting a trio of small rolly pollies inside of it to start running around an axle, which turned the gear, which turned a rope belt, which turned the rear wheel of the machine.

With a traditional cry of “vroom vroom!” The goblins were off, speeding across shrub and sand on their two wheel contraption. Or rather on their bike.

The rider left his fellows, who were lounging against several other bikes, in the dust, rolled past a few larger four or even six wheel buggies, and then raced after the errant polly, while his co-pilot whooped and cheered. As they got close she stopped making noise and instead pulled a spear that had been sticking up like an aerial out of its sheath, and then as they caught up with the polly used it to tap the bug on the side, guiding it to turn around and back towards the rest of the herd.

That was, incidentally, also how they steered the big ones. The giant rolly pollies, near as large as the ones that had saved goblins and beastfolk from the desert generations ago, were wonderfully at transporting things around, but the problem was you couldn't really steer them from inside the crystalline axles they rolled around. So you had to be able to keep up and tap corrections onto them.

Actual steeds had been used for this at first, but they tended to freak out about being around the big bugs, whereas their lesser kin were perfectly happy about that. The problem had been turning those into steeds. Everything from balancing on the axles to riding them as they were to hooking them up to sleds and carts or even using them as the wheels of carts had been tried at first, but the issue was that it was hard to get them to start and go when you wanted. Plus the inherently helpful and peaceful bugs didn’t like rolling at things, which made those contraptions too limited for certain types of goblin’s tastes.

It had been the Maiden who had first gifted the goblins the gear, or so it was told, and from it dozens of variations of the buggy had been made. These machines would go only when you pulled a lever or pressed a pedal, and the pollies were safely stored inside where they could not see that you were running down your prey or into battle. They were perfect and amazing, though they did have a habit of breaking fairly easily due to the poor quality of materials available.

Then the Mother had also given them art of painting them with certain shapes and patterns that made them better. The bike used to chase down the polly was decorated with red rings on its wheels, which made it go faster. The bigger buggies often had filled in circles for strength on their wheels, while the one dedicated warmachine they had had circles split into two halves, which made it much better at running things over. All of the tribe’s buggies were also decorated with fire on their chassis (bikes decked out like that more radical in their eyes, which was an important thing to be) hence the name of the tribe, the flame riders.

The rider of the bike which had been chasing the rolly polly turned it to one side, sticking a foot down into the sand in-order to bring it to a halt while his co-pilot shouted “yeah git back der ya bug” at the rolly polly. She then moved to slot the spear back into its sheath, only to see something moving up on the ridge. It was a goblin, waving their arms and pointing behind them, out into the dunes.

One of their lookouts, and the way they were freaking out could only mean bad news

“Other gang maybe?” the driver guessed

“From der? No ways. No water place for ages dat way!” the rider reapplied, which got a nod of agreement from the driver. They were about as far south from the river as you could get safely before the deep desert began after all, and they were both looking south right now.

“Sneaky around maybe?” the rider suggested, which got a shrug, before he suggested “best go back den” right in time for a monster with a crocodile's tail, a 7 legged cheetah's body the size of a bear which had three eagle heads with beaks that split into three pieces stuck haphazardly onto it to come crashing over the top of a sand dune.

“Broked wheels! What is dat!?” the driver cried out in a panic, only for the rider to slap him and shout “Who care! Floor it!”

That got the driver going, the goblin kicking off the sand and revving the clutch, sending them zooming back towards the rest of the tribe. Despite this however, the speedy monstrosity kept coming, three beaks screeching as its paws kicked up sand behind it.

“Shoot it! Shoot it!” the driver shouted at his rider, prompting them to move this time. She reached down to the other side of the spear, picked up an arrow and a short bow, notched the one into the other, and then fired. The arrow flew, and stuck rather perfectly into one of the eyes of the beast.

Unfortunately it still had 5 more so this just made it mad. The goblin shot again, and again, and then slung the bow aside and grabbed the spear again, jabbing it forwards only for a three jawed maw to crunch around it, snapping it like a twig, and pulling the rider back and off her seat. Just before she fell however, the driver reached back and grabbed her hand, holding her on, but now unable to turn the clutch, causing them to lose buggy power.

It would be over for them in a heartbeat, had the vocal cord produced sound of engine not have reached them as the rest of the tribe caught up, here to give them aid. Other riders let arrows fly, peppering the beast with arrows from both sides, slowing the beast enough that the one that had been about to bite the dust was pulled back to safety and her driver, who could then get his hands back on the throttle.

As they sped away, the other bikers started circling the beast, surrounding it, heckling it, jabbing and shooting at it while it tried to lash out, only for the goblins it was attacking to swerve away and others swerved in to take advantage. One on dozens, the beast did not stand a chance, and soon enough it fell.

“Yeah! We’z gonna eat good tonight!” the driver cheered as he watched it fall, but the still shaken by her near death experience rider was paying more attention, and noticed “Dat gobbo on ridge, dey still waving”

Indeed, they were, and even more frantically now. Then they stopped for a moment as if in shock, before starting rapidly running to where they’d climbed up, shouting something at the other watchers who also climbed down. Whatever they were shouting reached the rest of the tribe near the oasis, who seemed confused for a moment, and then were revved into a flurry of movement.

“Huh? Why dey packing up?” The driver asked, but the rider already knew why before the answer, or rather answers, came lopping over the same sand dune the beast they had put down had come from.

Three more monsters, alike in no ways but their strangeness and their bloodlust.

If there was one blessing, it was that none of these had the speed of the cheetah bodied one, but still, they were coming.

“We get bow! Help!” the driver said as he sped off towards their dropped weapon, still thinking they could take these beasts even if he was a bit shaken, but the rider already knew the truth. “There more. Must be more. Tribe moving. We gotsta go!”

Despite this insistence, she still snatched up the bow when they got close to it, but after that she pointed back to the rest of the tribe who were mourning up on carts or piling into the giant rolly polly’s transport rods and called out “Go back, flee! Too many!” to the others.

Some laughed and raced into battle against the new threats, but those that looked back saw the truth. Specifically they saw a buggy riding towards them, and a goblin standing on the back waving them to come towards them. The goblins that complied made the right choice.

It had only been a few dozen heart beats since the fresh three beasts had arrived when a dozen more broke over the sands. Then two dozen came after them. Then countless more. The third wave pinned several of the riders who had gone to fight the second between them, claws and hooves crushing buggies, maws and jaws feasting upon goblin and rolly polly alike.

Only a few broke away, racing after the already fleeing rest. Most of them still died in the subsequent holding action made to buy the rest of the tribe enough time to get moving. After much blood, sweat and tears had stained the sand however, the nomad tribe was moving north, the herders becoming the herded as they were driven before the oncoming wave of hell.

It was a pattern repeated all across the south, buggy riding goblins fleeing for their lives towards the river lands. When they hit the sedentary settlements there, a pattern repeated there too, and it was not a pretty one. They were sacred, desperate, and low on supplies from their flight. Some sold what they had to buy what they needed, or convinced the villagers to fight or flee with them, but many simply saw slow and deaf people who would soon be dead anyway, so why not take what they had so at least one of you would live?

Thus in many places the first casualties of the invasion came not from the horrors themselves, but at the hands, and beneath the wheels, of those who were fleeing them.

Arriving back at the dwarfs in the tree of life they were left to their own devices their numbers already had multiplied. El’zadir approached the group of the dwarfs rising from the base of the tree seeing El’zadir once again some of the older ones remembered her saying. “You miss… we remember you, you were with that scary guy.” El’zadir looked at them thinking for a moment she never was much of talks like this most of the time it was rather a go to duty she sighed saying. “Yes I was… part of a small meeting between us deities.” “So you our goddess darken one…” A younger dwarf replied to her she thought quite quickly for mortals it wasn’t a second but for her it felt like an hour almost. She didn’t make them but she was given to them by death a gift from him making them his. Yet a gift was for her meaning they are hers thinking for a long time at the implications she looked at then again young naive and wishing more very adventurous they seemed as well in the cold. At least they were happy thanks to the gift of beer plants by Allianthé she simply smiled for a moment and soon said. “Yes… I am your goddess making you all my children.” “Why don’t we look like you?” One of the older dwarfs asked her, raising an eyebrow to her crossing his arms. “Hardy children come out in their own way… even then… i am not that vain my child” She replied with a smile to him the group seemed rather accepting of her now she sighed thinking where to even put then in the world as things were rather already crammed around the rivers she could feel the urge by many peoples for her giving her a bit of a view. Impressively she could even feel civilizations rising without her by the help of other deities she smiled at the rise of order to herself but she soon turned once again to then saying. “Well… i need to help you all out of this place, the island is getting to be cramped and you all need your own land to live on…” The others gave nods rising up to her one soon an ancient man then said. “So… Mother goddess, where do we go?” The question still scratched at her head she then said. “I guess across the lake to the coast line it's occupied but is not like…” She soon froze over as she felt the sting in her back feeling the world the others could notice she looked different worried and scared. Through her senses connected to the southern tribes and the Saloshenos from the south and also she could feel it next to her the Khodex inside the great tree. Something incredibly big just happened and through her light glimpses of the feelings she could feel a horde of monsters pouring from south where the blood rains came from. “Is the surface even safe if that is happening?” She said out loud to the confused dwarfs. “Where do I even put them?” she thought there was nowhere safe for her people to be safe. The planet would begin to enter into crisis mode; she even could feel Saleve'nios beginning to face whatever was coming from the south even if lightly.

Looking at her people, she tapped her feet thinking while biting her thumb. “What do I even…” she soon stopped thinking once looking down she had a plan now she soon shouted with confidence. “All! gather seeds, plants and others and come near me now!” As the dwarfs all gathered close to her she then said. “Let us go to where no one will reach you and you shall rule” With a few hand gestures a hole formed and the group began to fall into the underground. Right below then the goblins were still doing their usual chores after seeing oddities near the khodex. But soon they saw the ceiling collapse, seeing a large boulder fall with several dozen people on top of it and a large woman as well before the floor below then also collapsed and they began to fall again with the woman shouting. “Passing by!” As they looked closely with the smoke clearing the new hole that emerged was closed already as if divine power demanded it. As they seemingly sinked through the ground they soon stopped as El extended her arms and a large cavern opening was raised. The island of creation soon began to quake from the beginning of the underground. Standing in the brand new cave the dwarfs looked in awe at the giant opening she then said. “In here you all shall prosper… in here you all shall grow, and become strong just like the stone of this cave. This is your new home and in this place you shall prosper.” The dwarfs were rather shocked but still applauded her as she helped then settle in the new underground lands. But this was still just the beginning from the roots of the tree; the caves would be expanded mostly by El’s realization that the dwarfs would need more than just a large hole, especially as their numbers grew and especially since they had… “13 fathers… and matriarchs therefore 13 clans…” She mumbled with a gesture as the cave grew again. She could feel the chaos above increasing as well. She didn't even know what to do, the mortals of the civilized world needed something and all she could do was hunker down with her children in the underground. With a hand gesture the cave once again expanded and she paced forward walking forward she felt powerless for a deity of all things. “You look pensive my mother…” Turning to the side was a dwarf; he was one of the group going with her towards a new cave opening she was making. He was rather young but he seemed to barely age. Time went on looking at him, she said. “I am…” She thought if it was good to continue exuding confidence but she soon sighed saying continuing the tunnel. “I am struggling…” “God's struggle?” The boy asked confusedly, accompanying her she chuckled at his question, thinking of the odd events of meeting the other gods she then said. “Yes… we are not all perfect… we also have our own struggles…”

The boy looked surprised accompanying her as she pushed the tunnel again. “That’s impressive… I thought you folks had no flaws.” “We are just as flawed as mortals…” She replied, pushing the rock continuously. “It is our dominions and power that sets us apart, the only difference between gods and mortals is just a power difference at times. Other times its wisdom and knowledge… and immortality” He gave a nod saying. “My name is Dastot Momuzlimul, my mother…” She chuckled at his curiosity and boldness; few mortals engaged with her if she didn’t try it she then said. “I am El’zadir, Dastot, a pleasure to meet…” He looked happy for a moment, he soon said. “With all respect mother but… what you struggle with.” El’zadir touched the rock to move it but stopped for a moment to think before moving the tunnel forward she then said. “As you know there is above and there is below here… above lies a great war that threatens to destroy order… I am the goddess of civilization and order many of my followers and the other nations are fighting and here I am helping your people settle… I think they wish to hear me to comfort them but i do not know what to say…” She gave a light sigh at this it would be something simple yet she doesn't feel like it's easy for some reason. Dastot stood thinking for a moment accompanying her as she seemed more tired than before while putting her hands in the wall seemingly wanting to take a break, something unusual for him he then said. “You know, queen mother, my mother of birth, once told me in a rainstorm that all storms eventually end when I see my first rain.” She stood thinking for a moment before breaking another large opening for a new cave she then said. “Grabbed the mushroom seeds?” she said to the others as they readied their sacks.

As a new lake was formed by accident as she expanded the cavern again she sighed helping them set in mushroom farmlands and also plantations of Ale nuts provided by Allianthé the liquor they produced helped the dwarfs get by on a work day she smiled seeing their seeds saying. “Thank you Allianthé…” It was one of the few luxuries underground, well besides the giant amount of cobweb left by spiders where she went that were turned into silk by then and others such as stone tools she helped then create. Tools used for farming, mining, adjusting things, collecting, and defending themselves it was the only thing she could help then especially as she felt weaker in her overworkness. She carved for them the great underground parts of the caves connected to the surface. A series of large tunnels, caves and open terrains that connected the lands of creation together under the land to the Khodex and the tree of life as its roots stood at the ceiling of the first cavern entrance just below the goblins. Walking back she looked around the caves now populated by dwarfs the earth quaked for a bit, looking up she wondered how much the surface must have quaked due to her tunnel digging. Arriving at another cavern entrance she continued wandering through the land. She gave the dwarfs the knowledge to make tools from the small resources they had but also how to farm the plants they picked in the surface and mushrooms from below for sustenance. As she arrived in the cavern of clan Zasitmebzuth she moved forward seeing the small settlements and camps set up in the caverns in the distance. Seeing from a large distance what was accomplished she wondered the words of the boy; “A storm will always end…” She thought while looking at the settlements she sighed sitting down for a moment thinking. “he is right…” sitting on a rock she forged it for a moment in the form of a throne as she felt she would need to settle for a moment. Concentrating she could feel her connection to the civilized forces, her domain giving a hand in reaching out to the beings that reached technological advancement and seeked order from the chaos even if not all life it was at least something she could do for the mortal races, while concentrating she soon opened her eyes and said her words commanding and strong. “To all who can hear me…”

Meanwhile in the Saleve’nios city states, a goblin king or auzocra as his people called his role overlooked a map of the southern lands monsters were being heard across the lands south a general saying. “Several reports from nomads south of the southern river report the coming of monsters coming from the south where the blood rains came from… my lord…” looking at it he sighed the room was barren of decoration being a war planning room looking at it he soon said. “That is bad, see if…” as time itself seemed to freeze all across the nations that existed with cities they could hear the words of El’zadir. “To all who can hear me…” turning around in panic the Auzocra soon said “who was…” the voice once again boomed with authority and power the voice of a goddess. “I am… El’zadir The queen mother of civilization. To all peoples who follow the wills of order, progress and prosperity, the world lies in danger from the south monsters march north seeking to destroy and feast on reality. The gods are already doing their best attempts to fix and help this crisis to end but for now to all who can bunker down… hold out in your fortresses, and wait for the storm that is coming and wait for it to pass and once the storm passess prosperity once again will rise” As troops readied in the frontier south of the river the Auzocra’s awaited the incoming storm.

---

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As weeks turned to months and months to years, the Goblin Underground kept growing. Soon after Asheel and Galaxor visited, showing them how to use diamonds and mine them, Maxima had a dream. A location just a kilometre below them where large diamond crystals could be found. Something not seen before. Something…almost divine.

Almost immediately the goblins dug downwards and found it…and life changed for the better for the Goblin Underground. With the help of the Smilegma, they discovered many uses for the diamonds. Weapons, armors, a new throne for Maxima…and many more small uses. Not that, that stopped their search for knowledge. A few more rooms were carved out to make room for all the tablets the goblins were writing, with only the most secret and important tablets being held inside the temple of Galaxor.



This was interesting. Galaxor the God Of Heroism was thinking. Ever since he met the godling Eidolon or “little one” as he called it, they thought about knowledge. The godling told Galaxor it was a god of knowledge and while Galaxor didn’t believe him, it made Galaxor think. What if he could be a god of knowledge? Surely the hero needs as much knowledge as they can get. Most of the great tales of heroism started with the pursuit of knowledge from the villain or the hero solving the situation.

As such Galaxor spent time working in that direction. Making the Smilegma and gifting knowledge were just the first steps in understanding what he sought. With each action, he felt he understood things just a bit better than before. Actions which he believed to be achieved in one way, he now doubted. He learned to question himself and think. Think long and hard about something before doing it…in a heroic way, of course.

Eventually, after a long time, Galaxor flew high up into space. Taking a deep breath, he put himself in a meditative state and…meditated. Focusing on the knowledge of the universe. What is it, how does it work, how do mortals function? Everything and anything. Suddenly a burst of blue-ish power exploded from Galaxor as his understanding grew. His aura, usually yellow and bright as a sun, turned now a yellow-blue color, while his armour changed to include books and writing supplies.


It was a quiet day for Galaxor. Most of his day was spent conversing with Maxima about the different problems the Goblin Underground was experiencing or simply answering questions about the universe…to a level that wouldn’t kill a mortal outright.

Towards the evening, Galaxor was about to leave the Goblin Underground only to be stopped by sudden migraine. A strong one. Something that only great danger would have triggered in Galaxor. Almost immediately, his aura burst out, almost blinding the nearby goblins before he teleported away, high above Galbar.

Then he saw them. What he saw made him smile. A quest. Monsters from the blood ocean. Death of hundreds if not thousands and two mighty beasts. While Galaxor’s days were pretty chill, with his pursuit of knowledge keeping him busy, Galaxor didn’t forget how he started. A hero he was born and a hero he’ll die. ‘Alas, he could feel the power of the creatures. The immense powers. Strong enough to topple most divine beings. This was a job for an adventuring party. One led by him and how else to inspire confidence and...fight the monsters if not with a mighty weapon. Something truly divine and he had the perfect person in mind that could provide it.

Galaxor never met Sylia but his goblins did. Maxima mentioned to him long ago that someone else moved into the underground and they had divine protection. Under Maxima’s guidance, the GU kept away from them. Guessing what the divine’s domain is…wasn’t hard for someone with a bit of brainpower.

In a flash, Galaxor circled the planet and spotted what he believed to be a workshop of some kind, nestled in the heart of a vast city. It was well protected. Divine power radiating from it. He teleported once more to a safe distance on the outskirts of the city and let his aura blaze a few times, giving a notice to any divine around that he’s heading their way before slowly making his way to the Atelier.

The white walls of the city loomed large as he walked through gates of wrought iron, thick as twelve or more goblins and tall as a giant. Intricate work was carved into the metal but the visage of a large hand cupping a planet sat in the forefront. Goblins wearing hard leathers and bows looked up at him with awe from their guardhouses, whilst others, the beastfolk and their many differences, bowed their heads in reverence. Many stopped what they were doing just to look. All wore fine cloth of dyed colours and many elders stood by with cane and crooked back as they watched him go by.

Hushed whispers could be heard in every alleway, proclaiming that he be a Divine, the first besides their Goddess and the creator, to visit. Others gawked at his size. His muscles. His hair and skin. Others wondered why he walked the streets. What business could he have? What was happening? Small goblin children and beastfolk offspring ran amok, laughing and playing as if nothing was going on at all.

The God of heroism passed many open markets, some bustling and others quite empty. It looked as if most goods were bartered, the pleasant trading of raw materials. Yet there also seemed to be shadier practices going on. The smells of unwashed bodies in dark stone buildings. A mortal crying here. Another laughing there. The sounds of bodies pressed together, oblivious to anything wherever a quiet place could be found. Life went on in those cobbled streets, for better or for worse. The sound of the river to his ear became apparent long before he neared it and when he reached the great banks of the river, with its arched bridges and long clothed canopies, he could tell it was built to avoid any flooding.

He crossed and eventually came to a part of the city where different people became interspersed with the goblins and beastfolk. These beings were tall, with bodies made of bark and metal. Their flowing tangles of green metallic hair were done in several styles, from buns to plaits, but most kept it long and free. When they saw him, they bowed deeply as he walked by and did not stop until he passed. Then they went about their own business, with friendly chatter of crafting and working, between themselves. Eventually the workshop came into view, with its three tiers and ornate structure. The hovering orb above the Atelier, with its three rings of different materials, cast shadows over the place as they moved.

Galaxor offered smiles and waves to the goblins, beastfolk and all the creatures he would see. Even if this wasn’t a parade, he felt like one as all the mortals looked upon him with awe. The metallic-wooden creatures seemed the most interesting and a tablet appeared above him with a perfect drawing of the creatures which disappeared almost as fast as it appeared

Waiting for him at the entrance of the Atelier stood a tall Goddess. Her posture was erect, with hands held behind her back. She stared straight at him, and if he himself were not Divine, she almost looked like a statue. She had taken the form of reflective silver, and the only time she wasn’t shining from the sunlight, was when a shadow crossed over her.

At his approach, Sylia folded a hand over her chest and bowed slightly. She then took a step forward and studied Galaxor with a scrutinising face.

“Welcome,” She began with a rich voice, “I assume, that you have deigned to visit over what’s transpiring down south?”

With a low, gratuitous bow, Galaxor smiled at the goddess while his aura flared once more. Just a show of gratitude for being allowed in the inner sanctum of a divine.

“Greetings, Goddess. You are correct. Whatever happens over there will eventually reach all of us and our creations, wherever we do something about it or not. As a hero it is my duty to defeat those creatures and I would’ve gone straight away there and finished them off if not for my…powers. ” replied Galaxor with a nod, before realising that he forgot to do something.

“But my apologies, Goddess. I forgot to introduce myself. I am Galaxor. God Of Heroism and Knowledge. The…” added Galaxor before stopping himself and realising he was about to say all of his titles.

Turning away from the Goddess, Galaxor looked at the city for a second before turning back to her.

“Before we get on to business, I'd like to say you've built an impressive place for yourself. I can see my mortals have served you well. ”

She nodded. “They may be diminutive but even I must admit they have tenacity. Though, there are some that are quick to regress to mere primitives. Here in Sylann I’d like to think they are given every opportunity to cast off lesser inhibitions to become worthy of staying.”

“You call them diminutive, but you’ve just chosen the small ones. There are greater specimens out there. Taller. Stronger. Better. But, yes, you are right, they’re not the smartest creatures out there if left unattended. When I made them…I believed it was for the best to leave it like that. Give them potential but not the means to achieve it. I see things differently now. In fact, before we talk, allow me to fix this issue. ” said Galaxor, in a friendly manner before going up in the air, above the Atelier.

In a mere moment, millions of tablets appeared around Galaxor and started to circle him. One for each goblin alive. Looking at the tablets, Galaxor shook his head in disappointment. His previous work was...flawed. Taking a deep breath, he pushed his aura out his body, enveloping the tablets in a bright blue light which after a few moments faded but not before blessing all the goblins in existence with the heroic thirst for knowledge.

Teleporting down on the ground, Galaxor bowed his head towards Sylia. “Their primitive instincts are gone. You’ll find out soon that all your goblins will learn their trades faster. They’ll seek to know more. They’ll wish to master as many skills as one can in their lifetime. ”

She gave him an approving look. “I shall look forward to seeing it.” She mused, touching her chin and then locking eyes with him, her expression softening. “We must be swift in how we handle the south, Galaxor. What is it that you desire from me?”

“Two things. One, an alliance or a non-aggression pact between the Goblin Underground and your metallic-plant mortals. There haven’t been any incidents yet but that won’t last for long. Mortals tend to…have violent solutions for minor issues, no matter how much they’re told by their peers to stop. Coming from their creators on the other hand…that’s something else. In exchange, I’ll have Maxima share the diamond technology with them. ” started Galaxor, as he raised a finger in the air.

“And two, I’ll require a weapon. Something that can kill those monsters before they become a real problem. From what I’ve seen, they’re pretty resistant to your usual artefacts. Offer me a weapon that can kill them and I’ll make sure they won’t reach your Atelier. ” finished Galaxor while raising another finger.

Sylia crossed her arms and tipped her head, slightly to the side. “The Syllianth of the Tree are not mine to command. Only those that work the Forge. I cannot, in good conscience, do as you ask in this matter. Allianthé commands the tree and honestly, the way she fawns over Life, if any of them dared to draw a drop of blood, she would most likely throw them out. I don’t know what she would do with your people, however, I would suggest talking to her.”

Sylia stretched out her arms and rolled her shoulders. “Your second request, I can help with.”

Galaxor listened to Sylia’s explanation and shook his head. “Very well. My goblins were under the impression that since you’ve created them with her, you both hold command over them. I shall have a chat with Allianthé after the current…crisis is averted but from what you’re saying about her…she seems like an interesting goddess. ”

At the mention of her help with the weapon, Galaxor’s eyes sparkled with delight.

“I need something that can pierce armour. A warhammer or a war pick. Something…wondrous. If you can provide. ” said Galaxor with a playful wink.

Sylia scoffed and put her hands on her hips. “Of course I can provide. Such nonsense to think otherwise.” She placed her left hand under her chin and began to pace in thought. “A sword will be of no use against heavy armor. Nor other slashing or piercing weapons. It will have to be a warhammer. Blunt force trauma. Armor can’t protect one if their bones are shattered. Now can it?” She asked herself with a long sigh. Spinning to Galaxor she said, “I shall require Galaxium or even Misrite, but Misrite might be difficult to produce. Come.” She beckoned to him and she began to walk up the white steps of the Atelier.

Galaxor chuckled at Sylia's scoff and followed her. “Just kidding, I can see what you're capable of. ” As Sylia started to explain weaponry to Galaxor he shook his head. A tablet appeared in his hands and he pointed it at Sylia. On the tablet, Sylia saw all there was to know about weapons and their stats. All the knowledge of the universe regarding weaponry, right in front of her. It, as well, contained the best materials to be used for them, albeit in a more basic form than Sylia could produce.

“I know how weapons work, Crafter but I'm at a loss. What is Galaxium? I've got nothing about this material on any of my tablets. ” replied Galaxor while scratching his head. Truly, even with all the knowledge of the universe, this was not something he knew anything about.

Sylia rubbed the bridge of her nose as she looked away from the tablet. She muttered something about ‘children's game's’ and walked in front of the taller god. “Surely you know about Divinium?” She began, turning to face him but never breaking her pace, “The sacred metal? The Hum? It's under the tree alongside your people. Galaxium is an alloy of Divinium that has taken on heroic attributes. Your heroic attributes that were decreed into the nascent universe by the Khodex.” She shut her eyes and folded her hands behind her back.

“A heroic feat or heroic tendencies in general, performed or witnessed by the pure Divinium, will become Galaxium.” She opened her eyes and looked at him. “What better substance would there be for a weapon? Besides Misrite, which would require extreme violence to obtain or Bohtrutite, which would require some fashion of toil to obtain, Galaxium is our best bet.”

“I've never witnessed this alloy but I'll make sure to take notes about it. Well. Let's get some Divinium then. Surely my heroic aura will be more than enough to create it. Will it take some of my knowledge about weaknesses too? I have…learned a lot since we've been called to this world. But I do agree. A heroic weapon for a heroic wielder will be perfect. ”

Sylia shrugged. “I have not properly tested if a God's dominion over another aspect of reality can sway the Divinium to alloy. Or even combine with other alloys. However, anything we touch is capable of change. Whether through its base or by addendum. I theorise, if you will such knowledge into the ore, it will take it greedily.”

“Well, I think it's time to test that out. I'm quite curious what it can be used for and how. If it's as useful as you seem to think it is…my GU will be in need of an upgrade soon.”

They crossed into the first tier of the Atelier. The sounds of saws and axes became a steady beat and they crossed mortals, goblins and beastfolk alike, carving, whittling and learning how to work with wood. Sylia glanced at Galaxor, “The Divinium Forge at the Tree can help them, if that’s what you desire. I would be wary of what they might make however. As you will soon see, such weapons forged from Divinium are not to be taken lightly.” They neared the second tier of steps and began to rise.

“Thank you for the offer. They won't be making weapons more than to protect themselves, I can assure you of that. My Maxima hangs onto my every word and I've made it so that no goblin can ever deny her commands…unless they've been protected by one of us. ” said Galaxor with a knowing smile. Mortals. They'll always find a way to cause harm if they've got the chance.

Sylia looked at Galaxor with inquisitive eyes but said nothing more. They quickly made their way through the second tier, a place of cracking stone and melting ore. More goblins and beastfolk were present here. There were also the Syllianth and one of those glowing Striders, all teaching and learning in that bustling place.

Galaxor offered a friendly smile to each of the mortals he saw and in one case, offered a tablet with the library design schematics to one of the goblins. “You’ll thank me later for this, but it’s a useful invention. May it bring joy to your people. ” said Galaxor with a wink to Sylia…and the goblin.

As they walked up the third set of stairs, a troupe of Syllianth walked past and Sylia paused to address them. “Hollis,” A tall Syllianth stepped forth and bowed. “Triple the watch on the walls, shut the gates and allow entry to only those who live here or seek refuge. Inform the Council once this is done.”

He bowed, “As you ask it, Goddess.” The man said in a deep voice before rising and hurrying off with the others.

“They can never be too safe.” Sylia said as the two gods began to walk again.

“I understand that very well. The reason I’ve put the GU where I did was because of safety. They may feel isolated but when they’ll be out in the world…danger will lurk at every corner. Heroes will be needed but to make heroes…one needs to train and learn first. ”

Sylia gave a curt nod but said nothing as they passed the two towering Watchers before the great entrance to her workshop. Once inside she took him past working Syllianth, some so engrossed they didn’t even look up, to her private chambers. At the very heart of the building, twin doors of obsidian swung upon to reveal a well lit room. Sylia took off at once and flew up, where soft white lights hovered in the raised ceiling. She grabbed one and landed at the back of the room where a pool of mercury surrounded a raised platform. As soon as her feet touched the stone, it lifted off the ground. Without looking at Galaxor she spoke, “The Divinium awaits you to change it. Come.”

Galaxor let out a whistle as he entered the workshop, he knew all the designs of all the workshops in existence but this one was new to him. This…was truly a divine workshop, made only by those that have intimate knowledge of this craft. He followed Sylia as she flew up and nodded to her.

Approaching the Divinium, Galaxor inspected from all sides before concentrating the power of both domains in each hand. One to give the Divinium his heroic essence making it a truly heroic alloy and in the other, the all the knowledge he had about monsters, weapons, weaknesses and the sorts. Sylia watched as this happened, the ore becoming entwined with a different hum as it took within it the shades of blue and gold, leaching itself of all white.

When Galaxor was done she plucked it from the air and began to hum along with its tune. She next bid him to leave the platform with a nod from her head and when he did so, it began to hover further into the air. The pool of mercury began to ascend in round globules, shimmering around the platform, fixed into its orbit. She held the ore high in her hands, gently grasping with her fingers before pulling with such force, the ore began to glow white hot. The ore elongated with each pull, its feverish hum growing faint as it became metal, until it had grown forever silent. When she was satisfied with the length of the handle, stretching more than her arm and with the metal illuminating such light, the Goddess began to shape the head.

As Sylia worked, Galaxor watched in silence as much as he could before eventually he started humming a ballad that was written about him while also writing on a tablet something to do with a cat in a box and whether it is dead or alive or both.

First she willed the metal to take a rectangular shape, large and mighty. Then she tapered one end into a great sharp point, for more precise hits. As the metal began to cool and the light became lesser, Sylia worked at a rapid pace. Almost a blur to any of lesser eyes, and it didn’t help that her form was constantly changing. From metals to stone and rock, even gemstones and woods. She embellished, embossed, wove and seemingly lost herself to the fever of work. Then all at once, her flurry of activity was over and that second of silence was followed by a tremendous boom, as she brought the warhammer down right in front of Galaxor’s feet.

With the first genuine smile he had seen from her, she bowed. “One weapon to slay those foolish enough to call themselves Gods.”

What lay before Galaxor was beyond the likes of any mortal craftsmen. The electric blue handle was wrought with a golden vein that pulsed with energy and swirled around the handle in a never ending spiral. The spiral began at the golden pommel that resembled a regal lion, shimmering as if alive. The great hammerhead, the size of a goblin’s torso, was shaped to be flat on one side and of course, pointed on the other. It had the same swirling pattern as the handle. In the very center of the deep blue metal, and visible on both sides of the hammerhead, there lay a circle of solid gold that crackled with energy. It was both a beautiful object beyond the likes of any mortal craftsmen and also a potent weapon.

The moment Sylia’s work was done and the silence descended upon the workshop once more, it got broken again as the newly created weapon was brought down at Galaxor’s feet. With a chuckle, Galaxor said “Careful with that, might’ve actually hurt me there. ” before starting to inspect the warhammer. Taking in everything about it. How it looked, how it smelled, how it felt when he touched it. Its very essence screamed “DANGER” to Galaxor. This weapon was powerful enough to eliminate a divine without a second thought. It was truly a bane of any god and a beautiful one at that. A perfect weapon for the most perfect god, his former self might’ve said.

“It’s a truly beautiful weapon. I’d say I’m impressed but that doesn’t really describe what I feel towards this weapon. Perfect. Divine. Brilliant. Well done. ” said Galaxor, his voice almost breaking as he said the words.

Sylia grabbed the handle and hefted it with ease. “You will find,” she said, swinging it away from him, the air crackling as she did, “That the weapon is perfectly balanced. Capable of breaking the mightiest of foes. And,” The weapon shrank to be the size of a normal hammer, “Crafty.” She smirked and the weapon returned to its original size. She faced Galaxor and placed the hammer before her before leaning on it. “Now, if you had come to me without this great threat upon the horizon and asked for such a weapon, the price would have been far steeper. But I am feeling most generous today and all I request is this; When you have slain the foe you seek, bring to me its plate. Is this agreeable?”

Galaxor chuckled at the pun and shook his head, this Sylia seemed to be a divine after his own heart.

“I wondered when the price talk would come. Only a plate? What about the creature's whole head on a silver plate? Surely you'll find a use for that. As for the threat…I would've handled it on my own if it wasn't this great. But, very well. You've got my word that you'll receive a plate of his armor in exchange for this beauty of a weapon. ” proclaimed Galaxor while putting his hands towards her, in a handshake manner.

Instead of taking his hand with her own, Sylia placed the hammer’s handle and said simply, “Goodluck.”

The guards had grown lax, were weary and bored, entertaining themselves away from their duties. A carefully-commanded patrol schedule had slipped and a once-mighty perimeter became pockmarked with holes, blindspots, and lone guards nobody would ever miss. Even the Outer Gods, in all their majesty and power, could not design the perfect defense.

And that was all the opening The Eidolon needed. The goblins in the tree had been more difficult to avoid; they still held the fear of death, they still had passion. In this murky cave, dark and blood-bound, every few feet a stalactite emerging from silt to threaten a quick death on a sharp stake, there was only squalor and misery to be found. The creatures hated these depths; the guards loathed it deeply, and sought distraction from their lot.

The first opening came before The Eidolon had even picked a form, once they had sent a puppet to that cave. Without hesitation, a gift offered became a gift taken and The Eidolon had passed the bulk of the guards. They would have detected divine essence; the god emitted none, for the time being, and as such no further checks troubled it.

Nevertheless, it Perceived the cave around, and amongst the creatures with purpose it found marks. Here, monsters from beyond creation had speared themselves on the geology, and now swam aimlessly in circles. They were senseless, no hearing, no eyesight, nothing but pain as their own blood added to the ocean and the sting of foreign hemoglobin rushed through their wounds and poisoned them. They died quickly, but were replenished just as quickly.

One would not be missed, and would not know what was happening until it was too late. These creatures still had necks to break, and in the murk nothing could see it happen. Stash the body in a crevice, and it would sooner rot than be found; particularly once its skin had been stolen. The Eidolon, in a form that was outwardly blind and insensate, swam in lazy circles closer and closer to the portal, while inside it bristled with eyes and ears.

There was so much information to take in. Once they reached the portal, perhaps the solutions to their problems could be gleaned from what lay available to learn. Let other gods fight, while I benefit from observation, The Eidolon thought, as they silently pushed forwards. The creature’s skin reeked of an outer god; all the better to cover The Eidolon’s miniscule emissions. To the god, it had been a disturbingly easy infiltration.

The portal itself was strange - It was a void-coloured pool that stretched as far as the Eidolon’s senses could tell, following every twist and turn and descent and ascent in the cave system, but never completely flooding any passage. From the bubbling liquid - which felt particularly similar to the essence given off by that of the Cantar Hiveminds all around Galbar - beasts of all shapes, sizes, and functions would spawn. Partly as if they were being birthed by the pool itself, these creatures were clumsy and wobbly and simply swam up in search of the surface.

It was a sight to behold. Just the emissions of foreign energy alone were enough to give the Eidolon years worth of thinking, and the particular physiologies of the beasts were so different to that which existed in Galbar that it flipped its assumptions of life on its head.

Caught up in observation as it was, the Eidolon only noticed a presence unlike any other encompassing it, nearly crushing it under its ethereal weight. There was no movement to be done, no word to be spoken aloud.

In that instant in which the presence enveloped the Eidolon, time slowed to a standstill and all colour, shape, smell, and form vanished in a cloud of white mist.

The Eidolon felt nothing but the Presence. It moved, but went nowhere, it looked around but saw nothing but mist, and under the Eidolon’s feet there was nothing, except for a far-off little dot of light, twinkling even as it was enveloped by waves upon waves of darkness.

“Little God. Fake God.” Words boomed within the Eidolon’s mind. The mist roiled and coiled. The Presence was there. “You are not here. Where are you?”

The Eidolon was not contained in such a little body, and it correlated with its main body; everything near the portal had been seized. It smoothly filtered out the blatant non-data of the Outer Gods, leaving the creature it inhabited once more insensate. Then, it released control to the remnants of the thing it had killed, and let it hopelessly swim in the mists. Come and find me, The Eidolon seemed to dare, as its footprint only grew quieter and it settled in to outwait the intruding influence.

“I will not come. I am already here. You are not here. Little God.” The mists froze. In the distance, something tore and the mists were painted blue. “You are not here.” The mists froze again, and once more another thing tore and the mists were painted yellow. “You are not here.” Next time, the mists did not freeze, but something still tore and the mists were painted orange, only this time the paint explosion sprayed the Eidolon’s host. “You are…”

“... Not here.”

The Presence settled on the Eidolon. The mists dissipated a little. The Presence thinned. It was leaving, a trail of mist heading for the twinkling light in the distance.. “Little God. Come. You will return to the Pen. You must grow more. You must fulfill my demand.”

The puppet seized control of the creature it inhabited once more. The Eidolon would not be dictated to; not when it had penetrated the home of its could-be enemy at no risk to itself. Tactical calculations ran through its mind, coursing from the bulk of its body to the mere puppet it controlled. It would not reveal itself yet, but there was still a way it could communicate. The puppet was disposable, and that too meant all of its parts were disposable. The puppet could still Step within the mists, leaving no trace of its origin.

That it was a pocket of sacrificial puppet Stepped into the mists. It screamed, “LOOK AT ME! LOOK AT ME!” It flailed, it gathered attention as the main body let the creature return to an insensate state. Then, once it felt the Outer Gods’ presence on the sacrifice, the little piece torn off the puppet said, suddenly cold, “I will not accept a dictate. Find me, or make your offer.”

The Presence gently held the abandoned puppet within its mist. Unseen hands caressed its prickly furred skin, and finally it was left to drift. “You are not here. Little God, you are not here yet you are here. You can sneak and you can hide. I have seen what is coming, Little God. I have seen where you live, Little God. I have seen them all.”

There was a brief stillness, before the Mists continued their path.

“Two to harvest - The Little Gods will arrive at our Gate soon, Little God. You must aid the Slaughterer. In return…”

It seemed to think.

“... You will grow. The Little God will be given a pen within the Pen.”

The sacrificial piece kicked out again, flailing in the mist as it drifted. Then, the same cold voice, piped from the unfeeling intelligence that was the whole of The Eidolon, “Name the pen,” it demanded, “tell me what I stand to gain.” The creature whose skin had been torn away as a disguise, meanwhile, was subtly directed towards escape. It had not been noticed yet; the sacrifice had done its job. To lose the main portion of its puppet would be no great loss, but yet it would still be felt.

“Your Domain, Little God, it will grow. There are four realms within the Pen, and you will be given one of them. You will do as you see fit within that realm until we come for you. That is what you stand to gain.” They were close to the twinkling light now, and the closer they got the clearer the view became. Hazy void turned into the familiar void between superclusters, and the twinkling light in the distance was not just one light, but trillions.

As they approached, the view gave way to a great barrier which obscured their sight and blocked passage, until the mists guided them to a spot in the barrier that had been torn open. The spot was crowded by countless mists and shades and things, all scratching at each other for a chance to jump through the opening into the universe on the other side of the barrier.

The other shades cowered and shied away as the Presence approached and cleared enough room for a little god to crawl through.

“You must fulfill our demand. Only then will you grow, Little God.”

The puppet shot from the creature it had donned, leaving the skin behind to deflate and die. It grabbed the sacrificial piece of itself as it went, and it fled through the hole. The message was clear; if it had not agreed to the deal, it would not have rendered itself vulnerable as it did. It revealed itself only to indicate mutual agreement; one that harm upon the puppet would rescind. No words needed to be spoken.

Behind it, it had left an informational opening in the mist. Here was how it would fulfill its end of the deal; an access point into the story of knots. To unravel the story would see access seized, but it could be extended and used, for a time. Here was its end of the bargain.

---

High up in the World Tree, where mists clung to the air in heavy curtains despite the ever present sun, an infant wailed. Pure, strong, wonderful- The sign of new life in all its glory. It was a cause of celebration! That the Goddesses touch was with them and a healthy child would soon babble, crawl and walk underneath the bows of green leaves. Yet, there came no joyous singing.

Only a long wail.

“She’s losing too much blood!” A woman shouted.

“You don’t think I know that!” A man snapped back.

“We need- we need cloth!” A dazed woman stuttered.

“Then go and find some!” The man screamed.

The room was full of chaos. Red hair in tangles, hands dripping wet, bodies going to and fro. A baby screamed her lungs out, swaddled and cradled to no avail. Another baby, silent as stone, was being rubbed by panicked nursemaids.

“She isn’t breathing!” The one holding her said. Hands shaking as they worked upon the small back. The babies white legs dangled lifelessly and despite the deformities, she did not wish to see life taken too soon. Or at all.

“I know-I know! Just keep rubbing. We need her to breathe- we need-” The other nursemaid was cut off by a small gasp and the baby began to cry. It was softer than her boisterous twin and they quickly swaddled her, taking time to dry her ivory hair.

“I don’t know what to do.” The man said, his eyes wet with tears, as he held his wife’s weak hand.

She squeezed back ever so slightly, a soft smile at her lips. “My babies.” She said, her demand plain as day. But he could see the pain etched there. Such pain.

The crying twins were brought and nestled upon her bare chest. The man helped move the hand he held to the back of the fiery redhead, whilst his wife found the strength to cradle the other. The one who had caused such damage. The one that was so unshapely. The one-

“No.”

He found his wife, her skin wan and heavily prespirating, looking at him with such intensity- he felt his heart flutter. He knew that look all too well. One he was often to blame for and rightly so. It was easy being a fool.

“You will not,” tears began to fall from her face, “You will not blame her. You will not blame our Ida. Promise me.”

At the sound of their mother’s voice, the beat of her dying heart, the babies had grown quiet. It was almost peaceful then, despite the commotion still happening around them. And despite it all, they became the only sight in the world to that man, that father.

“Promise me, Kellam.” She said again, her voice breaking. Strain growing ever apparent. He felt his heart break further and he wondered how long it would take to completely shatter. He could never deny her anything.

Kellam settled down onto his knees. He lay a hand upon the back of the one she held Ida with. His wife was so cold. With his other, he moved the loose strands of red hair from her brow and then cupped her colorless cheek in his hand. Cold, so cold but she smiled and blinked ever slowly, never taking her gaze off of his. She knew his heart better than he ever would.

His shaky voice came forth, the weight of the words like an anchor, “I-I promise. Always and forever.” his voice broke and tears stained his vision. “I love you, Aoife.” He proclaimed, just as he did on the day they were destined to be with one another. Underneath the bows of a great green tree.

Her smile grew faint and her amber eyes snapped to the sleeping babes. Kellam felt her hand give a gentle squeeze to Ida’s back. “Ayre and Ida. Love them… As I have loved you.” She looked back at him, eyes closing. “Always and forever.” Her breath became rattled and Kellam could only watch as the life, promised by the Goddess, passed from Aoife into Death’s hands. He dipped his head, the source of his joy extinguished.

---

Ayre brushed Ida’s hair, as the two overlooked the vast green of their home. She always loved how the long white strands seemed to shimmer a light purple in the correct lighting. Her own orange hair was dull in comparison, even if Ida disagreed. She smirked but Ida fidgeted, revealing the bruise at her shoulder. Carefully hidden underneath her dress strap and she felt her own stomach drop. The smirk vanished and she sighed.

“Why do you sigh?” Ida asked in a soft, quiet voice. As if she was sleeping but Ayre knew better.

“It’s nothing.” She responded, attacking a knot a bit too vigorously, making Ida’s head jolt back.

“Sorry.” Ayre said as she winced.

“It’s not nothing.” Ida chimed. “You are worried for me. Again.”

“That’s…” She began. Ida was always good at reading her. “Can I not be worried for you?” she asked quietly in return.

Ida turned herself around, her pearl white horn caught a beam of light and sparkled. Her large violet eyes bore into Ayre and she couldn’t help but feel, as she always did, that Ida saw her soul and the truth of her being.

“You are always worried.” she said, placing a hand over Ayre's heart. “It does your heart no favors. Too much worry, for too long and you will become strained, sister.” She said matter of factly.

Ayre put her own hand on top of Ida’s and rolled her eyes. “You don’t know that.” Her sister’s hand was cold but would soon warm, if she kept it close. For Ayre was always borderline hot. Though, only others seemed to say so. She just felt… Normal. If that was a word she could even use.

Ida gave a knowing smile. “I do.” She said, “Do not worry about this.” She used her other hand to touch the bruise on her shoulder. “They were upset and did not know any better.”

Ayre gritted her teeth, she could feel her temper rising. Why did Ida always insist that it was never anyone’s fault if they hurt her? Or even worse, she just blamed herself.

“Now you’re angry.” ida whispered, pulling back her hand.

“Can I not be angry?” Ayre asked and Ida opened her mouth to speak but Ayra quickly followed with, “Don’t tell me that’ll be bad for my heart too, Ida. You know that the Goddess is ashamed of those who give and wear bruises. It isn’t right, none of it is! They do know better, it is decreed by the Goddess that violence is forbidden! No one should be touching you like that!” Ayre fumed.

Ida looked to the floor. They had had this conversation, for what felt like months now. Everytime some Elfling jeered or made fun of Ida, they always felt the need to shove, or kick, or punch her. It boiled Ayre’s blood. And everytime it happened, she would chastise her sister for not coming to her. She still tried, even if she could just guess instead.

“Why don’t you just tell me who it was?” Ayre asked Ida.

“You know why.” Ida said, “It would bring no good.”

“Watching you suffer in silence,” Ayre placed a hand on Ida’s shoulder, “Is actively bringing me no good.”

And Ida said nothing. For Ayre had made it so, the first and last time Ida confided in her about the bullying, she had flown into a rage so bright, she had only seen red. Needless to say, those elflings had received their own bruises and she had gotten herself into trouble. Ida was mortified, if not at her sister, then for everyone involved.

“Let’s go down to the forge.” Ida said, brushing away the topic and sister’s hand. Ayre felt her heart drop but she nodded. She knew they would have the conversation again and she so desperately wanted the outcome to change.

Wrinkles were cut into Stambh’s visage; if that was not how he had been carved from the chisel of the Rakshasaraja’s mind, then that was how the warmth of distant Itzala in the sky had made him. The sun had also touched the guru over the rest of his body; he was tanned and like the color of sandalwood. And on the topic of sandals, he wore none! No shoes of any kind spared his gnarled feet from the ground’s toll, but it was warm enough in this part of the Indias, so his toes were not afflicted overmuch by cold, even during the cool nights. His heels and the bottom of his toes were like leather, and so he did not mind the small stones and sticks that he had to trod upon as he wandered down the riverbanks and through the forests, over the hills and under the mountains, all across this strange world.

He had done much contemplation already in these early days; while his body wandered alone, his mind strayed so as to keep itself busy. And as he was so clearly crowned with wisdom, clean and always with washed hair and a magnificent beard even as he wore only a modest loincloth, there were many who stopped him as he walked and asked him for his sagely counsel or his thoughts, and he was always glad to speak with another. The path to enlightenment came from enlightening others, after all.

So Stambh looked over at his day’s current student, and his wrinkled brow furrowed. “But look at the brawn of your arms, the richness and thickness of your hair,” he began, “You are built like mine own father! It is a mighty and noble body that you could have. But where he was regal, you are unkempt and filthy here; your smell is not altogether foul, but that dirt does your beauty no justice. Come down here by the river, for your body is unclean and should be washed. That will bring you closer to Purity.”

And as this was a good and eager student, not some undisciplined and rebellious fool like so many of the youths of today, he obeyed the wise guru Stambh and entered the river even though the water was cold and the current was swift. The dirt was at once loosened, and thinking it all swept away, the pupil made to swim back to the bank after only a few moments.

“No,” corrected Stambh, “you must scrub!”

And though the student was cold, he diligently obeyed and began to rid itself of the dirt which clung strongest to it, and of the dirt that was beneath its nails and behind its ears. Meanwhile, the guru had seized a cluster of juniper berries and two rocks, and was mashing a paste.

“Here,” called out Stambh from the bank, “cleanse yourself with the fragrance of this wash.”

And his apprentice came to the riverbank and took up the mashed juniper, but then licked at it and made as if to rub the stuff under his tail.

“No,” instructed Stambh. “like this!”

And so the sage showed the little white-furred rhesus macaque where to apply it, how to produce the fragrance, and how to lather the scent over the rest of its body. But merely possessing pleasant aroma and a clean, well-groomed body did not make for an enlightened being, so there was more work to be done.

The monkey fidgeted, now conscious of the filth that resided in the dirt and the insects all around, where before he had never minded such things. So the rhesus macaque developed a tic in the side of its lip, looking around at the sorrowful state of the tepid Indian wilds all around (for it would be a long time before this land, this mildest of the Three Indias, was cultivated and made into the seats of the greatest of mortal rajas) and think also of its less fortunate brethren, who still frolicked in the great piles of elephant dung for having never been taught better.

That neuroticism was not becoming of an enlightened one, the sage realized. So he looked down at his twitched student and his brow furrowed once more. “Now your body is Pure, but there remains another sort of Impurity about you. It is in your mind. See how you are bound to yourself, how to sway to fro without the shove of the wind, dancing these meaningless and sharp motions? Do you feel the cloudiness of your mind? Those wild thoughts that send you to and fro are like the film of dust that settles atop a stagnant pool, obscuring the clarity of the pristine waters below.”

The monkey stared at Stambh puzzledly, chewing on its thumbnail as it tried to make sense of those words. The sage only shook his head. This was not something easily explained; he whose mind had only ever known turmoil could hardly be expected to understand–let alone cultivate–inner tranquility.

So Stambh seated himself in the lotus position, and gestured for the rhesus macaque to do the same. The monkey expressed some dismay at the prospect of getting down into the dirt now that it was so clean, but the brave and obedient pupil trusted in his mentor, and so overcame his squeamishness and did as was bidded of him. Once the two were seated in that pose beneath the shade of a sandalwood tree, facing one another, Stambh gave his next instructions, “Now close your eyes. And now release your breath…”

Their days of meditation were not easily counted. Though they sought a spiritual awakening, they were as of yet tethered to the physical world, and so in the waking hours of the day they took some breaks to answer the call of nature, drink of the sweet spring water, and to feed upon the abundant fruits and berries of the woodland which were sweeter still. In time, macaque found himself unburdened by thoughts of pain or pleasure. Eventually, the monkey found itself no longer suffering from even the desire to taste sweetness, and so without having been told, it began to feed upon the nuts that were strewn all over the ground; it had no time to climb trees to find the ripest fruits or to mill through the forest looking for what berries had not already been claimed by the yet-unawakened creatures of India.

Yes, the unawakened creatures. They were different from him, the monkey knew, for he was now awake. And with his enlightenment had come a sort of noble calling, a yearning to open the eyes of others that they could see the right path. So he bowed long before his master Stambh, and thanked him in his monkey way, and then took his leave to do just that. It was with pride that Stambh saw his first student gather up the other rhesus macaques of the wild and take the mantle of a disciple, bestowing unto others what was unto him.

Sometimes Stambh would come to the macaque congregation too, to help his disciple Purify them in body and mind. The sage, strange as he looked to those creatures with his human stature, served as a sort of inspiration.

This first monkey-disciple of the sage, through his following the path set by Stambh and through his teaching of others, eventually reached full mastery of the way. When he came to the end of the path, he was fully awake, pure of body and mind and even of soul.

By then, the sage Stambh had wandered to other parts, but tribes of other humans had found their ways to the strange and fertile lands of this India. Seeing the tall men of slender frame and tan faces, the awakened macaques recognized the likeness of their mentor Stambh, and so they made themselves friendly acquaintances.

The humans were of course taken aback by these animals approaching them so boldly and amicably, and doubly so when they observed the strange behavior of the monkeys. But this was a bountiful land, filled with fruit and nuts, and so their curiosity overcame their base nature, and they did not harm the macaques even if the hunters would have been able to make easy quarry of the trusting and passive creatures. The rhesus macaques showed them which plants and nuts to eat, where the best drinking water and bathing spots were, even how to make the juniper wash and bathe.

Some human imitators even began to join in the rituals of these most sacred of animals (for how could such enlightened creatures be anything but holy?), and these went on to become the first yogis.



After many days, Nawal found at last a mountain to his liking. The first one he had sought to climb had been wholly impassable at the foot; after pushing his way through the forest that surrounded it, relieving his hunger with the large and watery pale-brown mushrooms that grew there, he had found that the incline leapt up suddenly into a steep wall, with no path to be seen, nor even ledges he could have held onto had he been more vigorous of body. If even he had climbed it, he thought, the illuminations he would have found on such a mountain would have been arduous and forbidding, difficult to grasp and impossible to ever be taught, and so had turned away from it.

The second mountain had seemed more promising at first glance. The trees below it had been more sparse, with more yellow needles than green ones in their crowns, and where they ended it was not difficult to find the roots of an inclined ridge that led up around the great stone stalk. He climbed it for two days and two nights, finding along the way small caverns in the rocky face and wide round shelves where he could rest. At noontime on the third day, however, when he had ascended to half of the mountain’s height, he saw that the winding path broke off and rose no further, so that the summit could not be reached. This, he thought, was also a poor place to meditate, for he would come to the cusp of enlightenment and then never be able to take the final steps.

Thereafter, Nawal no longer let his mere intuition guide him in search of a perfect seat, but strained his eyes to see the shape of a mountain’s flanks before he tried to climb it. Before then, it had seemed to him that such base premeditation would mar his quest and defeat its point; if he had come here to perfect his spirit, should he not exercise it and let it grow rather than lean on the crutch of bodily senses? But then, he reasoned one day, as he sat cross-legged on a rock by a mountain stream, eating a hard and sour gourd-like fruit, perhaps he had been wrong to think so. If his spirit needed to be refined in the rarefied air of these mountains, then clearly it still had room to grow, and was uncertain in its abilities. The wise thing to do, then, was not to depend on it wholly, but let his experienced eyes and ears lead it about the world for a little time yet.

So it was that when he approached the third mountain, he knew that a path would lead him up as far as he could see from below. The footslopes were high and lenient, reaching beyond where, for most others, the sheer rock began, and the ledges spiralling upward from them were numerous and even, almost like so many paths climbing a less upright peak. The caverns in its side were plentiful, so that, as he made his way heavenward, he never had to sleep under the bare sky; and most were dry and spacious as well, like huts prepared for a traveller. In several places along the way, the ledges broadened considerably, and it seemed to him that entire villages could be built there, if their people could but find springs of water and grazing-grounds at hand. In three mere days he was at the top, though this summit was little shorter than the previous one he had attempted. It was a fine place, low enough that tufts of grass sprouted about it for comfortable seating, with a cavern close below if he had need of shelter.

Yet this mountain did not please him, for the very reason that it had been so easily mastered. The thoughts he would reach upon it would be smooth and pleasant enough, but pedestrian and certainly not wise, for no wisdom was gained without effort.

Thus Nawal looked down from his elevation, which, though it was not spiritual, served him well enough, because he plied his bodily senses alone. His eye found a new goal which appeared both approachable and worthy, though of course it was hard to judge of the latter before having tried of it. The way down was easier than the ascent, and in but eight days he had reached the fourth mountain.

Great was his surprise when he saw that it was not uninhabited like the others! About the foothills and on the forested slopes, huge shaggy forms moved among the trees, walking on the knuckles of their fists and sometimes even standing upright on their two legs. These were reclusive, solitary beings, as he soon discovered; though they towered greatly over him, the shaggy brown apes lumbered away into the woods when they heard him approach, and would not come near him even as he rested. Only after some days of walking did he begin to see curious snouts, long and ursine, following him from the brush as he went by, and by the time he had reached the mountain they were accustomed enough to his presence to stroll freely about or keep chewing their fruits even upon his passage.

The peaceful mountain-apes amused him, but he was troubled by their presence all the same. His fears were confirmed when he reached the mountain’s rocky wall, and saw large brown figures lumbering about its crags and climbing its slopes. A path that was trodden by too many, of course, could not lead to wisdom, for that would have been a common thing; and a seat as peopled as this could only be home to common revelations.

Nawal almost despaired then, for he could see no other suitable mountains around him, and he was feeling weary from the search. But then he sat on a flat stone to think, and another thought did come to him. The senses were not the body’s only faculty; there was also speech, which could perhaps avail him now that he was no longer quite alone in the woods and the foothills.

He went into the thick of the forest, where most of the apes dwelt, and looked and prodded about until he found a large and grizzled beast crouching alone under a tree, where it was plucking the nuts from a tree-cone.

“Hail to you,” he said, in a raspy voice for he had spoken little in his long journey, “You who look more travelled than I around these parts; is there a place, neither too smooth nor too steep, where one can sit and contemplate in peace?” But even if it was old and experienced, the ape was not learned in the ways of speech, and it continued to fiddle with its trove.

Then Nawal saw that he would have to show what he meant, which was a difficult proposition, for what he sought was not as simple as something to eat or to drink! Yet he sat down cross-legged, closed his eyes and began to sway his head. One could not meditate for an audience, but he tried to summon a mood of clarity, so he hummed and whistled a tune like the high mountain wind. When he opened his eyes, the ape was looking at him attentively with its small round eyes over its tapering nose; then it let drop the cone and rose up, slowly making away on its four limbs, and Nawal followed.

They walked through the trees for a time, the ape not stopping to wait for its short-legged companion, but not hurrying away from him either, and at length they came to the edge of the woods. It was already growing dark, the sun slinking away between the great towering pillars. The hairy guide stood up on its feet and looked intently into the distance, fixing its myopic eyes on one of the column-shaped peaks. Even without words, Nawal understood its meaning.

“Thank you,” he said to the old ape, and it appeared to nod in the dusk before shuffling back into the treeline. The traveller slept on a pile of dry evergreen needles, and on the next day he set off for the place he had been shown.

In a long time, or a short one, he reached its foot and climbed the lower slope; and then he saw that its upward crags were hard and steep. But as he looked closely, he began to spot little edges in the stone where a foot could stand safely, and then another further up if he searched hard enough, and so on further. It was not an easy way to climb, but soon his mind was lost in the task of blazing the trail for the body to follow, and so preoccupied was he with its efforts that it surprised him when, come the evening, he almost toppled over with sudden fatigue. The higher he went, the sparser the berries he had been subsisting on became, and his waterskin grew lighter. The pangs and dizziness of hunger went to join the fatigue, his waking hours becoming themselves something like a dream. But he kept his eyes fixed on the path, not allowing any of it to distract him.

So passed one day, and another, and more; but when at last he came to the summit, it seemed to him that they had gone by at a peculiar pace of their own.

Up on top, the ground was flat and rocky, made hot by the sun by day and cold by the wind by night, with but some scant and pale berry-bushes and a few depressions where pooled rainwater and melting snow. Even so, it was a quiet place, untroubled save for the whistle of altitude now and then. That sound disturbed the ear, but as he sat and listened, Nawal understood its purpose. Just as the mountain had been a laborious task to overcome, demanding all his focus, so would the meditation upon it be a struggle. And that was well, for a meaningful truth was not easily won, but neither was it beyond the grasp of one who put himself all into its quest. Only on a seat such as this one could it at last be found.

Thereafter, every day Nawal gave thanks to the old mountain-ape that had led him to the last step of his journey.



Now it had been a long time since Rakshasaraja had dreamt that strange Stambh into being, long enough for that guru to have wandered far and away. The rakshasa-children would have similarly wandered, for it had likewise been a long time since that ravenous sun had swallowed his slumbering form while it served as the seasoning atop his primordial lilypad, and a long time since the sun, with its scorching tongue, had finally released him in its death-burst, sending him down onto the land that would become the Indias.

Much happened while the Rakshasaraja was asleep, you see. Perhaps more happened to that noble Ear while he was asleep than happened to him while he was awake! But the Rakshasaraja might tell you that the current state of the cosmos was all some jape of a tragedy–at best!--so perhaps that state of affairs is for the better.

Anyway, there came a time when a curious primate crawled up the hairy, sweating hill that was the Rakshasaraja’s head. This was not one of those white-furred and solemn macaques within whom Stambh had seen so much potential: this was a filthy, black-coated baboon with a raucous sense of humor, a foul tongue, and a particular penchant for throwing excrement at other creatures.

Once it had at last completed the journey it had set out to do that morn, leaping from a jungle tree to grasp hold of the Rakshasaraja’s crown and slowly climb up its great arches and ridges where possible. Where climbing the crown’s contours was not so easily done, the cunning baboon seized the great dark vines that were in reality the hairs, erupting from the side of the great hillock which was in reality a head. And he would climb up the vine-hairs, up and up, until he could disembark upon some higher ridge of the arching crown to regain his strength, and once rested, continue ever upward. By that afternoon it had grown quite hot, but he had reached the forehead which was the summit of this hillock, and a most pleasant breeze was there to cool him. The various birds that had roosted up here all fled from his might and majesty–or so the baboon thought! Truly they probably fled more from his stink!--so the primate was there alone to enjoy his throne, standing atop the highest hill all around, looking down upon the tops of the many jungle-trees that carpeted the verdant distance. You see, of the Three Indias, this particular region was the hottest, and so it was largely a jungle.

But back to the baboon! He laughed at the little birds as they flew away. He laughed harder still at those other birds below him, looking down onto their nests in the highest boughs of those trees so far below. On many an occasion, the baboon had reached upward to grasp at the ripe and succulent fruits of a tree, only to be met with the disdainful refuse of some bird nestled higher still. Time to return the favor! The baboon climbed to the summit, a small hill atop the hill which was in reality the tip of a nose atop the face, and he began to conjure the ammunition that he would rain down upon those wretched birds–

But then the air around was all fire, for the Rakshasaraja had smelled something most foul and snorted, and his steamy hot breath had scorched the baboon’s rear! With a howl the baboon clutched its red bottom, whose cheeks would forevermore be scalded that bloody color.

“Flea? Is that you again?” the Rakshasaraja mumbled, his three bleary eyes coming into focus upon the strange creature jumping up and down upon his nose. And what a vile stench! The baboon was in a panic, having had its posterior burnt even as it was met with the revelation that this hillock had come alive as some great monster. As it danced wildly and tried to clamber down from the Rakshasaraja’s nose, the giant lifted its great arm from where it had been blanketed by all the jungle undergrowth that had grown up around his slumbering mass.

Two giant fingers seized up the fleeing baboon, nearly but not quite crushing him, as the First Rakshasaraja squinted at the strange creature that had disturbed his rest, itched his nose with its scurrying, and offended his stomach with its stink. “No, you are not that same bothersome flea, so I might spare you for this is the first time I have been made to suffer the offense of your presence.”

The baboon had rather involuntarily finished that bowel movement that he’d began not a whole minute earlier, and the dropping fell between the giant fingers that grasped his body, right down onto the nose of that giant face below him. The Rakshasaraja was predictably enraged. The baboon howled and tried to profess its sorrow and its innocence and its respect and good-meaning, for that had been an accident--a product of ignorance and fear–but there were no words that the mere beast could command that would be understood by that leviathan!

“Begone now, you filthy, spiteful, beast of low-cunning! You think to answer my mercy with this? Bah! Woe unto any who disturb my slumber and disrespect my majesty!” But his rage had been such that his fingers had trembled even as they had squeezed, and so he had simultaneously lost hold of the baboon even as he had meant to crush it. The sheer force and fury of his words had been as a mighty gale, and so his burning hot breath had blasted the bothersome primate away, sending it flying far over the emerald landscape and into the distance, safe from the irate giant’s clutches if not from the Galbar’s inevitable embrace!

Through the sky the yowling baboon hurtled, past startled birds that stared incredulously at this unwonted intruder. It was not the way of nature that simians should fly so, but the ground below did not hasten to reassert its claim upon the beast any more than the wind did in carrying it onward. The canopy below raced his flight, but just as its arc was descending, the trees lost ground, cutting off the animal’s desperate hope of snatching a branch at the last moment. The green gave way to yellow scrubland, split from it by a thin brown line of felled trunks. Near the edge of the jungle stood two wooden huts, with a fire-pit in the ground before them.

The baboon smashed into the ground in front of the huts, broke into pieces and died.

Corpse, who was lying in the sun nearby, for this was his habit, opened an eye.

“Come see this!” he called.

Then Song came out from one hut, humming, and Perfection and Preserver from the other. Rage, who lived in the first hut with Corpse and Song, did not answer, because he was away uprooting trees at the edge of the jungle.

“This one was whole, but has been broken up into many pieces,” observed Song, and then she broke up her chant into all its sounds and sang every one with a different mouth, to show how such a thing might be done, “Such things I have seen climbing on trees, though there was less red on them.”

“Show me how they were,” said Preserver, who had never gone far from the huts, because he was the one who closed the holes in them with wood from the trees that Rage uprooted.

Then Song showed him how a baboon was, humming louder and lower, and Preserver gathered up all the pieces and put them together, so that the baboon was whole again.

“It is not really whole, these pieces are still loose,” said Perfection, and picked up the spite, the filth and the low cunning that had flown into the baboon from the Rakshasaraja’s words. And since Preserver had already closed the baboon up, she put them into its mouth and nose.

As soon as she had done this, Baboon jumped up with a hoot and scurried off. The rakshasas did not run after him, because they were stunned by his foul smell and dirty fur now that Perfection had put filth into him. He loped towards the jungle, looking for a tree where he could pick some fruit. But when he came to the edge of the trees, he saw Rage gripping around a trunk with his arms, and stomping and pulling until he pulled it out of the earth.

Then Baboon cackled in his way, because he had had a thought, and he took a little stone that had a sharp point and threw it so that it landed next to Rage. When the rakshasa stomped his foot to push against the ground and tug at the tree, it came down on the stone and was prickled on its end. Rage glared and stamped and waved his fists, furious that someone would dare sting him so, and in so doing he let go of the tree, which teetered aside and fell down on his head. He sat down on his haunches and his eyes crossed; and by the time he got up to find the one who had played this trick, the mischievous Baboon had hidden himself in the canopy and cackled from above, and Rage did not catch him!

---

“I still don’t understand how it works.” Ida confided.

“Works of the gods are seldom understood, Ida.” Ayre said.

The two watched the syllianth as they worked with forge acolytes, mainly the sturdy and stocky dwarves but there were a few elves, goblins and some beastfolk. The two sisters leaned against one of the rock pillars, simply content to watch. For a very specific reason, Ayre knew, Ida always liked to watch around noon every few days.

It hadn’t taken her long to find out why. It was one of the few times that nothing was expected of them. Ida was often busy with father, helping him pick fruit, forage, and consult with other elves. That or she was left to her own devices, to wander and, unfortunately, fall into the hands of those that did not like her. Ayre knew her sister never willingly went to find those elflings but they were drawn to her and they always struck when she wasn’t around. For Ayre had her own schedule to keep. Perhaps it was favoritism on their father’s part or perhaps he sought to shield Ida from the worst of Arbor, despite its perfect pretenses. Ayre didn’t know but she only really saw her sister, in the last few years as they aged, in the mornings, in the afternoon and for evening meals. Ayre was off being taught by the older adults, learning and taking care of shrines. She talked to many other species that way, and most of the time, she had the feeling she was being groomed for some greater purpose. Yet her heart told her she should stay by Ida’s side. Like when they were smaller elflings.

She let out a sigh and looked at her sister, whose gaze was wholly focused on- Ayre blinked and did a double take. She was looking at a syllianth whose shirt was fully off, exposing his muscular green torso. His hand had become a hammer and he worked on a piece of metal. Was that what Ida was staring at, what he was working on? Ayre looked her sister up and down, noticing the intensity of her gaze. Oh, oh by the gods.

Ayre nudged Ida and her sister blinked before looking at her. “Hmm, what?” she asked.

“Really Ida?” Ayre crossed her arms, a smile blooming on her lips. “Is that why we’ve come here all this time? And here I thought you wanted to spend some quality time with your older sister.”

The blush on Ida’s cheeks went scarlet and her white legs began to fidget. “That’s not… I wouldn’t…” She began to stammer but Ayre collapsed her shoulder.

“Oh it’s alright, Ida. You could have told me though.” Ayre gave a squeeze.

“Well I don’t- What’s there to say? I’ve never even spoken to him. I just watch.” she said.

“What’s stopping you?” Ayre asked in a soft voice.

Ida looked around and then settled on the syllianth. “I am unsure. The syllianth are different. They have a purpose and…” her voice trailed off.

“Ida.” Ayre cupped her sister’s cheek and turned her so their eyes locked. “You are the wisest person I have ever met. When you set your mind to something you are always certain. Don’t let your mind talk you out of what your heart wants. Now go and say hello.” She began to nudge Ida forward.

Her sister began to protest but her shoulders at last drooped and she turned, giving Ayre a quick hug and a whisper of thanks.

Ayre then watched Ida walk across the forge, almost tripping with her black hooves, as she made her way to that syllianth. When she was nearly there, he looked up and Ayre swore he stared at her with the same intensity. Oh he had seen her before, this was perfect!

“Ayre?” A voice made her jump from where she watched from behind the pillar. She turned around to see their father. His regal posture and warm eyes looking at her with eyebrows raised. Then he looked past her to see his other daughter and, surprisingly, a small smile formed on his lips.

“Shall we be having a guest for the evening soon, you think?” he asked, beckoning her to follow.

Ayre did so and stepped into his pace at his side. “I uhm, I do not know father.” Honestly, she thought her father would disapprove of such a pairing. But maybe she was too hasty in judgment? Her father said nothing in return as they began to ascend the great Tree. Many people seemed to be in a hurry.

“You and I have always wanted one thing for Ida, you know?” he said, voice just audible above the fray. Ayre looked up at him and found he was looking at her with misty eyes, “You may think me many things, daughter, but I have always wanted Ida to find happiness. Your mother,” he blinked away a tear, “That’s what she would have wanted. For both of you.” he took Ayre’s hand, his grip cool against her warm skin and he dragged her into a brief hug. A display so rare that Ayre had no idea what to think of it. When he let go, he touched her shoulders and looked at her, misty eyes gone.

“The Goddess has left the Tree, Ayre. Something dangerous has entered our world and she went to stop it from coming here. Any moment now-” His voice cut off as a voice flooded into her mind, drowning out all sound. A God’s voice, one so distantly familiar, with a warning unlike any other. When it ended, if there hadn’t been panic before, there was now.

“Ida!” Ayre gasped, but her father’s grip was secure and she looked up at him again, anxiety welling in her heart.

“Ayre, listen to me. Your sister will be fine, we still have time to prepare and she is safer below with the Syllianth. If I know anything, it’s that they will protect her. That one she was talking to, he will protect her.”

“How can you be so sure?” she asked, voice trembling. Why couldn’t she go and get her? Why was her father acting so strangely? What was this threat in the south?

“You must trust me. Now come, we are needed up above. To secure our works in case the tree is attacked. Come now, everything will be alright Ayre.” Her father said, pulling at her to come.

Reluctantly, looking behind her every few steps, Ayre began to follow. She sent out a prayer to any God or Goddess; Protect my sister.

There was smoke on the near horizon.

Just over the dunes, perhaps; nearer than the strider initially thought. It was recent, the sands had not picked up greatly enough in the last few days to have obscured it. No, this smoke had begun to rise within the last hour. It could not have been the blood locusts, either. They had flown some weeks past, and would not again for some time. The blood locusts did not burn, so that theory further did not make sense.

As it walked over the dunes, the scene came into focus, one of carnage, blood and gore splattered on the sand. Tents burned as monsters ate their fill of goblin meat. The shine of the strider hit the monsters’ eyes, and they all turned to watch as the strider crested the hill, striking arms at the ready. It was too late to turn away, as much as the strider feared the coming conflict.

The creatures charged, pouring from the camp in numbers the strider had never seen before. Its light instinctively focused, and the beam cut a hole into the charge, the horrific chimeras faltering as they were blinded. Nevertheless, they still poured in from the sides. Screams, roars, and murderous calls sounded throughout the air, rattling the ever-present sandstorm. The strider desperately refocused its light in sweeping arcs, but it still did not stop the horde, even as they trampled over each other and ground their own bones to dust.

The strider began to back up, they were getting too close, and the light was only a temporary solution. The crest of the hill was surrendered, and then the creatures came tearing over the top. They launched themselves with reckless abandon; a two-headed creature of patchy fur and sickly scales embedded its skull onto one of the strider’s striking arms. It fell limp, like its life had simply been switched off, and the strider, in a panic, shook it off as it was buried in a mountain of teeth and claws.

Teeth broke on crystal. Claws rent spiderwebs of cracks into the strider’s flesh. It struck out blindly, the spikes each time catching another creature. Some, it killed, while others it only dealt wounds. It collapsed under the weight, but it kept striking, over and over. There were screams, some that were its own, while others came from the dead and the dying. It kicked its legs out, throwing creatures off of it into the sand, as it cried out.

It was loud; loud enough to rupture eardrums. The soundwaves rippled through the mass, and there were more screams. The crystal rang like a bell, once, then three times more. Each time, the mass recoiled before once more charging. But time had been bought, and the striking arms had more space to work. It struck quickly and accurately, one good strike on each head that came to bite it. Each time, the spike embedded in a skull and silenced a creature.

With the sun once more on its body, it could focus light again. This time, it focused successively on each new target. When their would-be killer’s guard was dropped, recoiling from the bright light, it struck and killed them. The horde repulsed back and forwards like a wave in every direction, each time leaving more cracks on the strider. It was winning, yes, but there was only so much victory it could commit before it too was dead.

The bodies piled around it, stacking higher and higher until it could not see over them. Yet there were still more creatures, and exhaustion had begun to set in. Just then, the ground shook. It was rhythmic, the ground rumbling in a pattern. One of the walls of bodies was thrown aside, massive claws swiping them as though they were nothing but chaff. The smaller creatures backed away, bowing in acquiescence to a massive hydra, eight heads, one a different type of creature. All had sharp fangs, all had red eyes and fury.

It was four times the height of the strider. A second swipe sent the strider flying. It bounced twice off the sand, before coming to a rest on the crest of the hill. All eight heads roared, as it launched itself viciously forward after its prey. The horror was fast, too fast. It sped forward and twisted its body unnaturally, sand flying in its wake to mix with the sandstorm. There was no choice: the strider had to move forwards, to meet it in a way of the strider’s own choosing.

Two front crablike claws came flying down to crush the strider. It slid to the side, rolling violently out of control under the creature. It struck repeatedly, and the creature let out another furious roar. Its hind leg kicked out and hit the strider, and the strider shot out from under it and was buried in the sand. One of the pincer-claws dug into the sand and pulled out the strider.

It lifted the strider up to its eight heads, inspecting the pitiful creature, its crystal covered in cracks. All eight mouths opened up to take a bite. Its claw repositioned to make room, and – the sun hit the strider just right. Through the cracks, light redirected to the heads, and the creature screamed as it was blinded. Its claw let go, and the strider struck as it fell, the spikes catching in one of the heads’ necks.

As it slid down, the creature’s neck was split open vertically, and tan blood, viscous and filled with worms, poured out onto the strider. The smaller creatures fled across the sand, some flying and some running. As one of the eight heads died, this one a lion, the hydra swung wildly with its crab claws, but missed every time.

When the strider came to the bottom of the neck, it struck out with its free arm at the base of the neck of another head, and embedded itself. This head screamed as well, its face one of a baboon. A claw met its mark, hitting the strider across the head and launching them spinning into the air. Something shattered. Light poured through the strider’s nervous system, and its body fell into a seizure.

Everything felt impossibly far, now. There was a distant thumping, growing more rapid and weaker at the same time. Something was crying. Its whole body hurt, something coarse rubbing against it as every carbon fiber muscle seized at the directions of the accursed sun, flooding through nerves in blind hatred. It couldn’t see, its hearing was as though it was listening from the bottom of a pit.

It went on for ages. The strider could hardly think, so great was the pain. Its muscles were exhausting and fraying. The coarseness around it seemed to dig into every crack, trying to tear into its innards. One eye turned upwards, and it swore it saw an evil grin on its torturer, through the merciless light it bore down. Hours of this, and the strider began to wonder if it had died and this was its punishment.

The sun set on the horizon, and night fell. The light left its nerves, and finally, mercifully, its body slowed to a halt. Its sight returned in one eye, and its hearing gradually returned. It was alone on the sands, dug slightly into a pit of the grains through its own motions. The smoke had died off, and the horde had left its bodies where they lay. The hydra had seemingly fled, judging by the tan blood that streaked off into the far horizon.

Crystal lay scattered across the sand in small shards and chunks. A manipulator arm tentatively reached up to the strider’s face. There was a great hole in its head, deep enough to sever a fiber optic nerve and expose the whole system to light. It hurt, an agony unlike anything the strider had ever felt before. It dragged itself forwards, its legs too weak to stand on. There was a collapsed tent ahead of thick leather, designed for blocking out the heat of the sun.

It crawled underneath, swaddling itself in the leather. Nothing nearby moved but the wind and the sandstorm. The strider let itself cry, from the agony and the loneliness.