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Godhood - A Tale of Deities

I had high hopes coming into it, but regardless, I don't think this is for me. Too many people, too much talking, and now in limbo. I'll be around.

Godhood - A Tale of Deities

I've posted again, a short piece as I still try to find where I fit in this story.

Godhood - A Tale of Deities

Dust's eyes shimmered, reflecting a pool of crystalline light as he stood transfixed before the portal. Others pushed past around him. Without conscious thought, he lifted one foot after the other and approached. His right hand gripped the hilt of his sword tightly in the loop at his right hip while his left moved forward slightly, palm down, fingers extended as though steadying himself while moving forward. He had never seen snow before. He knew of weather, and seasons, and climates and hemispheres and currents of the wind and the seas. But he had never explored. The rest of the world had never been an option. Dust had never even considered leaving his soulless, blasted land for another. And here he was, a door to the heavens open before him, snow falling upon flushed Featherwind trees, cosmic dust streaking across the infinite golden sky surrounding an amber Aun. He stepped through, brilliant ripples curving around his small frame and welcoming him home.

Godhood - A Tale of Deities

Dust stepped unhurriedly through the archway and into the light of Aun, his drake-like feet barely making a sound on the warm stone floor. He offered a cursory glance around the room. Aett, Ceyr, Hades, representatives of all, preening and dancing around one another with their powerful words and furtive gazes. Dust recognized Danives, who sometimes accompanied him on his endless path; and another, Hiraga, one of the oldest gods whose pitying eyes he felt on him in centuries past. He turned away and took a seat, his short stature making his legs hang some ways from the floor. Dust drew his ashen sword from the loop in his belt. He turned it in the light of the sun, the cracks weaving an intricate pattern in the burnt wood, glowing as the cooled embers within reflected the light without. He thought of the time, ages ago, when he found it in the ruins of a castle from a civilization long-dead. It was a curious thing, short enough for him to wield and in one piece, burnt to ash as it was. He knew its history of course, as he knew all blasted vistas and desolate ruins of his wastelands, but much of it was for him alone, as a keeper of the dead places of his world. He placed it sideways on the table before him as a silent display of disarmament. They were there to discuss the fate of the worlds, hopefully without weapons in hand.

Godhood - A Tale of Deities

I'm taking my sweet time (heh) but I'll get around to another post in about nine or ten hours. It feels good to get back into things.

Godhood - A Tale of Deities

Elsewhere, Ceyr The black storm raged. Winds tore across the land and torrents of dust and sand roared through the sky. A single speck of light, far below, tried in vain to create a path through the gale. A lone camel-drawn carriage inched its way across the cracked earth. Blown glass lanterns on each corner were the only light visible without. The reins that stretched from a slit through the front of the carriage pulled taught as the two camels reared and nearly stumbled. A door was thrown open, and a single figure wrapped in heavy protective cloth leapt from the stalled carriage. It turned in several directions, seeking a sign and finding none. It reached inside the cloth and pulled a fragment of amber on a string and held it out in one hand, the wind nearly pulling it loose. Nothing else happened. The figure turned, frantically, the wind dying slightly as its roar settled into a resonant boom. The necklace slacked and hung almost loosely. "MIRNA!" A covered head shot out from the door of the carriage. "Mirna! Is it working?! Did it show you?! Which way do we go?!" Mirna pulled the heavy cloth from her face and let it drape around her neck. "Damn damn damn. It's no use, Borah," she sighed. "Gods' blood, it's no use. Tell mother not to worry, we'll be there soon." She ran the back of her free hand across her face and put on what she thought was a smile. "How's dad?" Her brother's face screwed up at this. "The same," he replied. "He's asleep, and breathing fine for now. Mom stopped crying, which is a good sign. Water the camels and come back inside. It could start again at any moment." Borah threw her a large canteen and bucket and pulled his head back in. They had been traveling through the wastelands nearly three days. Mirna sighed a long, heavy breath and stuffed the amulet into a pocket and walked around to the camels. Five days since their father fell ill. The village's mystic called it a terrible curse, but Mirna stood firm and insisted it was a sickness, one that could be cured in the city. The nearest hospice, in the city of paved roads and lanterns at night. Days of journeying away, but better than sitting home and waiting for a sickness to take him. The people of the hamlet on the edge of the desert told them to avoid the wastelands, as all life disappeared within. A small and gray and incredibly old priestess smiled with her one remaining tooth and told them going through was days faster than circling around. She even offered to sell them a pathfinding amulet. A very expensive one, a stick of charcoal encased in a beautiful triangle of amber, blessed by the local priests and instilled with the power of the gods. All the money Mirna had. Days faster. Three days. Mirna stroked the camel's head as it sucked nosily at the water. She struggled to hold back a sob. They would die out here. "No death here." A moment passed. Realization dawned and Mirna's breath caught in her throat as she spun around, clutching the bucket to her chest. Nothing. She looked down. A tiny figure in a tiny brown robe, barely as tall as her waist, looked up at her. Even in the gloom she could see its face was ashen gray, with a large nose and shimmering brown eyes that contained an eternity of sadness. Though she had only read of them, she recognized it as a goblin. It looked very young, possibly, but at the same time very, very old. "W-What?" "No death here," it spoke again in its odd tremoring voice. "No life. Only dust." Mirna caught herself and lowered the bucket as respectfully as she could. She had heard of bandits, but nothing had prepared her for this. She hardened her gaze and pulled herself taller. "Forgive me, uh, sir. Madam. Goblin. We're lost, you see. My father is gravely ill and we're looking for the city and to be honest w-we've been sidetracked, you could say, but we have no money, no money at all, and if you would kindly show us the way we'll gladly--" A sword was pointed at her. At least, Mirna thought it was a sword, burned to ash as it was, and tiny as it was, even in the small creature's grasp. The goblin turned and stretched its arm to the right side of the carriage. There was a deep, nearly humming boom, barely audible, and a flash of golden light in the distance. Mirna gasped slightly, her eyes frozen on the warm, welcoming light beaming through the dust and ash. "MIRNA!" She jumped again, and turned to see Borah sticking his head out the window. "I think it's starting again! Are you finished with those spitting bastards?" "I--the camels? Yes but, this goblin..." Mirna turned to where the goblin stood. It was gone. The ashen land stretched away, no footprints in the sand below, as the horizon darkened and the winds closed in once more. ... Tower of Broken Dreams, Ceyr Ashes swirled through the marble doors of the Tower and gathered on the floor. Dust rose to his feet in the flickering gloom, gathering his cloak about him and placing a hand on the sword at his side. Traveling as a cloud in the presence of others would expend energy, and he saw no reason to hide himself in the company of gods. His large brown eyes followed the staircase as it spiraled upward, shrinking and disappearing into the distance. One thousand one hundred eleven steps. Dust took them without haste, with the same measured pace of ages past. He walked.

Godhood - A Tale of Deities

I finished my intro. Or side story, I'm not sure yet.

Godhood - A Tale of Deities

I added connections to those I think Dust would most likely cross paths with or have direct knowledge of before the story begins. Besides that, everything else is the same. Nearly all pictures of goblins I can find are either too ugly or too Warcrafty.

Godhood - A Tale of Deities

Name: Dust, Minor God of the Desolace Age: Upstart Appearance: He takes the form of a goblin. He is thin to the point of malnourishment, tiny by human standards, with unkempt black hair and a large nose and slightly perky pointed ears. He has large, watery, dark brown eyes. He's probably green-skinned beneath the dust and grime. He wears a very worn, dull brown hooded robe that is several sizes too large and held by a simple hemp cord at the waist. He would be easily mistaken for a mound of rags if it weren't for the small wooden sword at his hip. The sword itself is simple, a training device or possibly a child's toy, but burned to the point of charcoal, with cracks along its surface that glow amber when he summons his power. Nature: Independent Personality: He has spent countless ages alone and normally does not seek out humanity. When he speaks, it's with a small, raspy, nasally voice that seems to apologize for intruding upon the world. He has knowledge of life beyond the nothing of his land, and of the war that raged between the gods long ago, but no desire to become explicitly involved in either. Skills and Abilities: As a minor deity born of barren wastes and long-dead ancient ruins, he has some control over fire and ash. His wooden sword can spout light and flames at will, and he can summon (or even transform into) whirling clouds of ash and dust to shield himself and confound opponents. He can't be harmed by fire, whether natural or magical, and will simply burn to ash and reform himself. Backstory: Black winds howled and ashes roared throughout the desolate land. A war, or possibly a blistering drought, or maybe unfathomable and unholy magics, had torn all life from it countless ages ago. The intelligent races avoided it believing it cursed with the hungry souls of the dead, and all other life refused to enter its borders. In the very center of the wasteland, witnessed by no mortal or immortal spirit, a golden light flickered briefly through the ebon storm. The everlasting clouds parted, a single ray of sunlight breaking through for the first time in thousands of years. Dust breathed in, the cinders filling his lungs and opening his eyes. He looked up just as the light faded and the clouds churned across the sky once more. He looked before him, mountains barely visible at the limit of his vision. He walked. Connections: Danives - In Dust's wanderings, he is occasionally visited by the shadowed god of assassins. As they wander open wastes and lifeless ruins together, Dust never responds to the cackling stories of death and bloodshed, but he never pushes the god away either. He likely feels comfort in their similar abilities, and Danives would almost resemble a "friend," if Dust would ever consider anyone as such. Hiraga - Though in many ways the opposite of Dust and his realm, he accepts Hiraga as a far more extraordinary and powerful guardian than him. Dust has felt her gaze on him as ages pass, and he respects her domains and never forces his lands into hers. Anything that becomes waste does so without his command. Agimar - Dust knows of him, and of his lust for creating life, and senses a wrongness in the dark god's nature. Dust is one with the lifelessness of desolation and he believes the idea of forcing life into something unalive is objectionable. Religion: He was likely born from mortals' idle thoughts of a lonely god haunting the desolace, but has no followers of his own. He leaves the higher gods to their petty disputes and wanders the land alone. Nation: His land has been dead and its history lost for centuries, and has no name beyond "the desolace" or "the wastelands."