Kho

Divinus: The Deity Roleplay Mk. VI

_{KhoZee productions present}

DEATH DANCE

_{Mish-Cheechel the Avenger}

_featuring

_ROSALIND

_{RAGING ROSA | THE DANCE-DEMON | FEVERFOOT | LEAPING LINDA}

He was an old bjork when he arrived. The oldest bjork who lived, in fact. The place was cold and of incredible size - so great that he could spy it five hundred leagues away across the flat plains of snow and ice. He was an old and tired bjork, in some ways a wise bjork, and by the standards of the Revengers he was a good and virtuous bjork too. That said, he was not a happy bjork. Not a sad bjork, mind you, but by no means a happy one. Happiness is made of different stuff, and one can learn perfect contentment even if happiness does not ensue. Even in his darkest moments, he long ago realised, he had been able to find cause for happiness. Aye, he had scorned it and brought it to ruin, but fate had not taken from him more than it had offered. When he sat in silent contemplation on the nature and manner of his pledged vengeance, the visage of Zima often came to him and brought him to smile. If he shed a tear sometimes, he did not hold it against his eyes. For the likes of Zima it was right that tears should fall, and for the ruination he had brought upon her it was right that he should suffer unrelievable remorse. These were the sorrows and burdens that mortals and immortals alike had to bear, and though Mish-Cheechel the Avenger did not bear them happily he bore them with solemn contentment. The act of bearing without complaint was his silent penance.

The great gates of the palace - lovingly sculpted double ice doors that seemed of boundless height and etched with all the majesty of old - lay open and half-broken as the mightiest of the bjorks passed through. His eyes trailed across the remnants of ice statues, broken figures of what could have been and once well-kept pillars of white and endless shades of blue. Some etched and sculpted in reflected faces. And for all the silence and sorrow that hung over the place, there was a palpable lack of stillness.

For death hung clearly in the air. Death and great sorrow, for the broken pillars and cracked ice, some great ravines that led down into the abyss of the world, strewn ever on in that straight path. A room lingered ever closer, far greater and more boundless in size than any gate could hope to be. For this was where gods once dreamt only for nightmares to thus burst forth. The throne room’s air permeated with the stench of old decay. It was obvious why. Hanging from the walls, chained from the ceilings, pinned and impaled upon pillars as many more lay broken and upon the floor- were demons. If it was not for all their wounds, the frozen blood pooled like black discs, the stench, the frost upon their many eyes, their broken claws and shattered teeth- it would have been like looking at something alive.

Further along, near a throne made of red stained ice, lying precariously next to a large chasm that jutted straight and out of the palace, there lay a woman. Dead she was, pierced by a weapon so potent it thrummed at his presence but did not move. Her eyes were closed, a gleeful peace upon her lips. Her hair was thick and lustrous as molten gold, revealing two pointed ears at the sides of her shapely face. She had died in rags but even still, the frost and snow had never touched her. It could have been that she would open her eyes at any moment and light up that vast space with a smile, but it was not to be. The bjork let his eyes rest on her for a long time, leaning back on his tail and resting as he took her in. He chuckled ruefully and shook his head.

“So… you do die after all.” He murmured to himself. He wondered if the Green Murder was likewise lying somewhere, serene and deathlessly beautiful. He had never abandoned his pledge, had meditated on it by dawn and dusk and in the long hours of the night and by the midday sun, but he had expunged all the anger and hatred. Only the duty, in its serene calm and beauty, remained. Were the Green Murder to manifest before him at that very moment his body would have forthwith cut her down - aye, he had prepared himself daily for just such a moment. But it would have brought him not an ounce of pleasure. His eyes remained on the golden-haired goddess. “It is a shame.” He finished, and bowed his head sadly. It was a mockery that such beings should die thus, that such reifications of the quintessence of reality should fall and pass away like all things. “Unwept, unhonoured, and unsung.”

He bent down towards her and felt something stir around him. His eyes snapped to the side and he was immediately alert, tail narrowing and hardening in battle-readiness. “Peace, Bishadnik.” It was a double-voice, both male and female.

“That is not my name.” He spoke, rising. “I am the Avenger Mish-Cheechel.”

“Be you who you may, bring her to me.” The double-voice came again. The bjork let his eyes scan the space, but found no identifiable source for the voice.

“Perhaps I will. Perhaps I will not. Show yourself and we can speak.” The manbjork responded.

“Follow the door behind the throne. Bring her to me. Up the stairs and into the tower. Bring her to me. Why have you come here, Mish-Cheechel? Bring her to me.” The voice faded, and at last he spied a single dancing snowflake, circling gently and never landing. It danced by the crimson throne. The bjork bent down towards the golden-haired goddess, but then paused with his eyes on the golden chain whose serrated blades were dug deep into her chest. He leaned back and considered the odd thing. He had never seen its like, but he had seen enough of the gods and the strange corruptions they foisted upon mortalkind to be wary. He leaned back and with gentleness weaved the world around the wound so that the divine flesh loosened about the terrible blade and allowed it to slip out slowly. The blade hissed and the chain seemed to coil like a snake, deathly energies swelling forth. But for all his weaving, he could not remove the thing from her form.

Clenching his fist, he stepped forth quickly, eyes sharp, decision made, snapped the chain up with speed - it was barely as heavy as a leaf - and flung it with all his power and strength through the great hole. He watched it descend earthward and clenched his teeth. He almost let out a pained breath, but only furrowed his brows and flared his nostrils as his arm fizzled into nothingness and decay. It mattered little, he had returned from a speck of flesh before.

He turned back to the dead goddess and hauled her over his shoulder with his remaining arm - she was light and even in death moved with surreal grace. Even her hair fell elegantly. Even her arms dropped delicately. Even her face fell to the side with easy charm. “Pah. Where were you in life?” The bjork muttered to the divine corpse. “I might’ve been a different bjork if I’d known you.” But there was no response, and he carried her past the crimson ice throne and followed the dancing snowflake through the open door.

He ascended the long narrow set of stairs with slow care, one eye on the snowflake and another on what waited beyond. With each upward step he took, the distinct lack of stillness he had felt on stepping into the palace grew only more poignant. Everything seemed alive with motion. The stairs seemed to breathe. The air seemed to roil around him like invisible waves. The goddess on his shoulder seemed to pulse with some unstilling life. Even his feet and his eyes and his heart seemed unable to resist the dance into which he had wilfully walked.

His body was carried on the air, his toes only barely making contact with each passing stair, until at last he was on the landing. His eyes fell on the open door across the small hallway, and his breath caught in his throat. The world beyond the door was awash with tremendous light and motion. It was like staring into the Gate of Nebel once more, only there was no darkness or death here, but a certain zest, a certain tap and beat, a certain roiling… fever.

_Tip.

Like a droplet on the surface of a lake spun from stillness.

Top.

Like the gentle awakening of that first and most perfect of waves at the centre of it all.

Tap.

Like the beatific rising of a vermilion mushroom, searing surge after undulating surge into the fabric of the world.

It pulsed powerfully, each pulse a rhythmic tap, definite, clear, and loud. Tip-top-tap. He was at the door. Tip-top-tap. He stepped into the nebula of light and movement. Tip-top-tap. Where earth was or heaven began, he did not know. Tip-top-tap. He whirled in circles, and those circles whirled. Tip-top-tap. He was aware of hair, black as dusk and endless as the universe, circling like the thousand arms of an impossible galaxy. Tip-top-tap. Yes, he had always known of galaxies, for he had beheld the dance of the universe. Tip-top-tap.

In the heart of the galactic swirl of dusky hair, he at last saw the twin silhouettes at the heart of it all. Their feet flowed in union and eyes blazed; each shoulder carried the wide horizons and each arm seemed strung to springs - now whirling, now swiftly, stiffly, strictly returning, now rising bent, now extending, now flying and now turning. Stamp, forth they came, stamp back they went, tip-tap-top, tip-tap-top, tip-tap-top, with the floorless space they played. Eyes widening - I see you, now fear me, come hear me, I’ll free you - heads turning (you’re worthless; off with you, won’t see you, won’t know you). Hips twisting, gyrating, skirts flying, vibrating - stamp, stamp, stamp, tip-top-tap, tip-top-tap, tip-top-tap-

Rosalind and Aurora whirled and pulsated inside the cloud that held what remained of the dying aeons; the whites in their twilight eyes turned to dusk, the female form that hosted both shifted and turned, losing structure with each movement and returning. With each turn, each stamp, each cry, their frames convulsed, backs arched, eyes swelled, mouths bowed in mutual smiles of agony and bliss - and about them the very stuff the Aurora was made of began to circumambulate the circling, stamping, twisting dancers. And as the dance imbibed the Aurora's light, the dance too was imbibed - so that there, where dance and light tangoed and pushed and grated and struggled, movement became one with light.

Mish-Cheechel beheld then the great weight of all he had ever dreamt, the great weight that all that ever existed had ever dreamt, the dreams of the lowliest creation and of the highest gods. They convalesced all around, those dreams, and they rushed into the blurring feet of the divine dancers and set a greater blaze to the cosmic fire of their otherworldly motion. Their eyes widened in wonder as their hips swayed to an unknown drum: their feet kicked, their bodies moved, their wrists shook - and there, on the wrists of Rosalind, a hundred bangles jangled and echoed and vibrated. With every foot that kicked and let off heat the bangles jangled and sucked up the excess. For a perfect moment it formed a great harmony… and with suddenness, to Mish-Cheechel's instinctive horror (he knew not why) those bangles broke.

And as they broke the two dancers plip-plip-plopped across the serene sea of light. Their movements were clean, rippling with the waves and flowing with the main. Both stood for a second in perfect symmetry and stretched on their toes and rocked on their heels. They brought their hands to their abdomens, lifted their chins, and allowed their feet to shimmer with the light. Their movements were slow and measured, their arms danced around their heads like a ring danced about the world and their feet pitter-pattered on the fluid light. Though unhurried, their dance did not lack any of the earlier force, they seemed to weave their movements - carefully, precisely, as though threading and rethreading and triply threading a needle. When their hips spun, their backs swayed, their shoulders swung, their heads turned, then like a double velvet curtain their hair spiralled - like a galaxy it turned, like the murmuration of ten thousand starlings or more it swirled.
Then with finality a foot landed, light glimmered and stirred but did not break, and Rosalind’s eyes of dusk, and those of Aurora, emerged from behind the great dark curtains of hair- they glimmered, they smiled, and even in the stillness of finality, they danced.

They stood frozen there for moments - when they did it, stillness itself was a sort of motion. And that stillness gave itself to a quiet, gentle renewal of the dance. They danced like shy waves and gentle skies. They danced like a beaming sun and leaping rays. They danced like little joys and innocence, like the forgetting of past wrongs and pain. They danced like sweet, little joys. And they reached out, at last, for the divine corpse strewn across Mish-Cheechel’s shoulder, and he surrendered her without resistance or complaint, but revelled in his closeness to them. Even as they took Zenia from him the rags in which she was clothed were incinerated and their place erupted loose silken fabrics of gold damask and velvet, which now seemed to hug her form and now seemed to flow freely all around her. It was only so for a few seconds, for her form then mixed with the light and dance and she merged with them, a golden bolt of energy and emotion that coloured everything it touched and gave it an element of crazed energy and joy.

At last, the bjork looked at the two divines whose dance had at last come to something resembling a halt - though nothing save them in that strange and limitless room seemed now to be still. They were in the dance. “Who… who are you?” Mish-Cheechel asked the two strange women, who were so alike as to nearly be indistinguishable from each other - but for the stone arm one of them possessed, with strange colours - now blue, now green, now black - that shimmered through the pale stone. They smiled serenely, their hair shimmered and turned. They seemed in all ways at peace, but they did not speak. And he knew, by instinct, that nothing he said would bring them to speak. He took them in, took in the canvass of pure light and movement and revelrous joy, this impossible space beyond the door, and was glad. “It’s no matter, I guess. But I’m glad I came here.” He looked at them both again and bent his head slightly. “Thank you.”

The light grew more intense all around after his words, the movement speedier, the energies of the dead golden goddess sharper and more potent. The serene smiles of the twin goddesses disappeared in the growing light, and Mish-Cheechel the Avenger felt his own form slowly meld and melt into the soup of light and joy and motion. He knew, in a way, that he was dying. That all things were dying. A part of him thought it a good way to go - but he did not allow himself that indulgence. There was, at the very least, no shame in this death. No, no shame at all.

The Court of the Gods

Athena | Project METIS

Name(s):

Initially referred to as Project METIS, she was later named Athena by Zeus. According to function, she goes by different names.

_{In her function as protectress of the people and as a saviour, she is ATHENA AGELEIA and ATHENA SOTEIRA.
In her function as the protectress of the city she is ATHENA POLIOUKHOS.
In her function as the protector of strangers and promulgator of the laws of hospitality, she is ATHENA XENIA.
In her function as the cunning deceiver and strategiser, she is ATHENA APATURIA.
In her function as the avenger, she is ATHENA AXIOPOINOS.
In her function as the worker and instructor of mortals in all manner of crafts, she is ATHENA ERGANE.
In her function as the inventor of devices and contriver of plans, she is ATHENA MAKHANITIS.
In her function as the medicinal healer and keeper of good health, she is ATHENA PAIONIA and ATHENA HYGEIA.
In her function as the virgin maiden brandishing the spear, she is ATHENA PALLAS.
In her function as the divine virgin, she is ATHENA PARTHENOS.
In her function as the ever-victorious goddess, she is ATHENA NIKE.
In her function as the distributor of the war booty, she is ATHENA LEITIS.
In her function as the provider of refuge to all who seek refuge in her, she is ATHENA ALEA.}

Titles and Roles:

Athena is the protector of the city and the guardian of the citadel; in a greater sense, Hellas is the city of the gods, its citadel Olympus. As a guardian of cities, she is a patron of urbanisation and civilisation. She is also the guardian of the welfare of kings, often turned to by those in positions of power for good counsel, practical insight, and advice on prudent restraint.

Among the non-Olympian masses, Athena is the patroness of crafts, such as weaving and metalworking, and so metalworkers, craftsmen, and artisans call upon her to guide their works and offer them inspiration. While Athena is no accelerationist, she does not quite hold to the overcaution of Generation Arith, as the elder gods are sometimes known, to the technological upliftment of the masses of mortalkind. The bit, the bridle, the chariot, the wagon, the arts of shipbuilding and navigation, and the beginnings of scientifically-grounded medicine; all these has she gifted to mankind over her centuries of life and warfare.

Over those centuries, she has personally descended upon mankind and led her favoured armies into the fray, wreaking terrible and divine havoc upon the luckless wretches who incurred her enmity and bringing to victory those she championed. While this has rightly earned her an honoured status as the goddess of soldiers, she has just as often whispered stratagems and great military deceptions to generals of merit and warrior kings. And so, along with her patronage of the soldier of the front lines, she is equally the divine patron of strategists, tacticians, and the deceptions of war. As a warrior goddess, she naturally patronises athleticism and military prowess, being herself the divine form of the heroic and martial ideal: the one who combines cunning with physical prowess to achieve total victory and legendary status in the annals of glory.

And yet, for all that, she is a goddess and a woman too. As a virgin goddess, she is the ideal of the warrior maiden and of sexual modesty, and her worshippers are privy to ritual mysteries and philosophical truths. All mortalkind holds this to be true: that the owl is the endless wisdom of the goddess, the snake her terrible might, and the olive tree her ceaseless giving and shade.

Insofar as her Olympian duties are concerned, Athena occupies the position of First Maiden of the Sacred Band of Zeus Khrysaoreus [tr. Zeus of the Golden Sword] on the High Pantheon, which is often shortened to First Maiden of Olympus or simply First Maiden. This was the position formerly known as Head of Security, the name of which Athena did away with even as she expanded the role's scope under Zeus' guidance and direction; both due to the stigma that developed around the name with every new war against the Holkoumes [Threat Category: TYPHON] and the increased military capabilities that the Olympians required. Inheriting the by-then greatly expanded security detail of the original vessel, Athena swiftly set to reforming the structure into an internal police force for domestic security, known as the ASPIS [Augmented Special Policing and Investigation System], an external military structure for the effective projection of Olympic force, known as the DORU [Decimation and Offensive Reconnaissance Unit], and an external military intelligence network, known as THEA [Technographic Hub for Espionage and Artifice]. The Sacred Band was constituted as the elite fighting unit of the DORU, acting as a special operations force and being Olympus' last line of defence in case of catastrophic internal failure [a 001CIF-Ctg. Emergency] or acute external pressure [a 001AEP-Ctg. Emergency]. Under the immediate strategic and tactical command of Athena, the Sacred Band's primary duty to date has been the protection of Zeus' person.

But Zeus is dead.

Artifacts and Powers:

1. The GORGONEION: a special apotropaic amulet showing the Gorgon head, a mythic being from a long-dead Arithic civilisation. It is worn as a gem-encrusted collar necklace by Athena, the central feature of which is the horrific gorgonic head of a snake-haired woman with impossibly wide, staring eyes of ruby, tusks jutting upward and downward from her gaping mouth, and forked tongue extended. It was a gift from Zeus to Athena and appears to regulate her internal physiology and mental state so that no form of manipulation of her body or mind - whether by poisons, hallucinogens, or other physiological and mental manipulants - have any effect. This acts by maintaining Athena's physiological and mental states at peak performance at all times rather than by actively seeking out hostile influences, and in so doing it naturally filters out and neutralises anything that interferes with that performance.

2. The AEGIS: a unique breasplate that issues forth a powerful force field made up of multifarious energy layers and forces that in sum are referred to as an Aegis field. The Aegis is powered by Athena's natural body heat, with an array of electrochemical thermal nanotransistors and thermal nanoamplifiers across the internal frame of the breastplate. These absorb all excess heat the body naturally sheds, amplifying and converting the biothermal energy into a near-infinite source of power for the stabilised antimatter power nexus that fuels the Aegis. The Aegis field naturally responds to Athena's environment without the need for direct interference or commands from the goddess, though it of course responds to commands as and when actively or passively directed. the Aegis allows her the following capabilities, or otherwise has the following functions:

_{a. The power to subsist in a vacuum.
b. The power to move through empty space, which takes on the appearance of flight when she moves across Hellas. It, however, allows her the capacity to just as easily move through a vacuum. This does not allow her to phase or tunnel through solid objects or earth.
c. Prevents the entry of foreign biological or chemical agents into the field's area of effect.
d. Protects against physical or energy attacks, or the manipulation of forces to cause damage, and halts or deflects ranged attacks.
e. Prevents the teleportation of objects or things into the area of effect, and likewise prevents teleportation out of the field's area of effect.
d. Regulates, intercepts, and halts unauthorised modes of communication into and out of its area of effect. Interception reports are immediately generated and the interception can be overridden by Athena as necessary.}

While the Aegis field's area of effect generally follows the outline of Athena's form, it is possible for her to wilfully expand it. This is unsustainable for extended periods and can result in catastrophic functional failure if used imprudently.

3. The DORY and HELM: the spear of the goddess hovers around her at all times and functions through pheromonal commands issued forth via the cabulic plumes of Athena's helm. The helm itself is only made functional by a complex mixture of biothermal, hormonal, and genetic signatures unique to Athena's amalgamated physiology and mind. The spear is made entirely out of adamant, a superalloy of chromium, titanium, and magnesium, and boasts a tip on one end and an antimatter power nexus on the other, which provides the spear with its power source and powers the spear's assimilated antimatter blaster. The spear has been subjected to a biological integration process that in some ways means it possesses qualities reminiscent of prokaryotic organisms. These have been genetically modified such as to interact symbiotically with their adamant host and to simultaneously be hypersensitive to Athenic pheromonal signals, as exuded by the cabular plumes of Athena's helm. With this carefully balanced marvel of biotechnology, Athena wields the powers of annihilation over those who think to cross or threaten Olympus.

4. The ERICHTHONIUS: while Athena is fully capable of flight using her Aegis, the Erichthonius adds an element of awe and wonder to the goddess as she crosses the land or skies. A chariot sculpted into the golden form Erichthonius, the adopted son of her legendary Arithic namesake, and decorated with jewel-bedecked snakes on both sides and wheels of owlish design, the goddess is very often to be seen entering and departing Olympus on the star-like vehicle.

Persona:

Athena is no accelerationist. She is an evolutionist. Technological artifice can only get the race so far; flesh is the truth. Quiet and studious, the goddess of war and wisdom has from her youth taken the Athena of legend as her model and destiny. She has preserved her chastity with iron will, forged and reforged her fleshly form as her biotechnological experimentations developed, and gathered around herself all the philosophical works of old Arith and Hellas alike. In devotion to bringing her namesake into existence, there has perhaps been none more diligent than Athena.

For one who has been able to project an incredible charismatic presence in the midst of the fray, Athena is by nature unassuming and observant. This makes her an excellent listener, and she is frequented by those who find no one who listens to them. She tends to be unfrivolous and has a penchant for spartan simplicity. In what way she can, she seeks to embody the virtue, prudence, and wisdom she calls her mortal worshippers to. She has never been heard to provide an opinion on the ever-increasing decadence of Olympian society, but any who observe her way of life can only assume she takes a rather dim view of all that. Whether that is the influence of her former mentor, the ARES, or whether it has always been her essential nature, cannot be known.

Perfection of body, perfection of mind, that is what Athena aspires towards and that is what she calls her worshippers to. And those who are successful in bringing those two together, who bring together the essence of the philosopher and the form of the warrior, achieve the enviable status of heroes. Athena thus calls to heroism: in all that one is, whether a toiling peasant or great king, one must see to their duties with the verve and seriousness of a hero at work. Heroism grants nobility to the lowly, and to lack that robs nobility from the greatest of the great. Life itself, loving all that is essentially heroic, will ultimately purge itself of the unworthy and bring forth others who will fill the annals of history with nobility and great deeds. And if ever life is slow, Athena is not.

Background and Relationships:

Athena was the first successful prototype of Zeus' cloning project. Thanks to her amalgamated physiology and mind, as well as their perpetual peak performance as maintained by her Aegis, she has been able to perfectly reconstruct her memories from the very first moment of her conscious existence. She remembers, for instance, the other prototypes. Remembers those deemed failures and terminated in their vats and those who were terminated later, after they had shared their first memories together. She remembers the whispering acolytes who watched over them. And she remembers Zeus.

When all the others were gone, he looked on her sullen face and smiled. They had all been Project METIS until then. But when Zeus smiled on her, she became Athena. She was by nature retiring and independent, and the few occasions on which her father visited her in those early days were sufficient. He tended to bring her information, often in the form of stories, and he told her that they were her stories. Stories from a past world and a past life, when she was a glorious and powerful being as one day she would again be. She read those stories. Her past self became her singular model and aspiration, the destiny at which she marveled. It was never quite egocentric, but in later years she would consider herself to be the thing that most fascinated her - the manner in which she was created, her 'near perfection' as Zeus sometimes whispered to her. 'You would not have failed me,' was the great complaint he repeated to her as the failed projects built up and the years passed by. It became a great conviction of hers: she would not have failed him. And in that uncomplicated and clear manner she decided things - seeing through to solutions like no one else quite seemed to - she committed never to fail him.

As she grew, she was entrusted with more and more of the cloning project - Project METIS, as it continued to be called -, and in due time was introduced to court as the self-born daughter of Zeus. She was a good listener and tight-lipped, and it made her well-liked by those who found none to listen to them. Hera found her fascinating - a self-born daughter! And one of the only females in court that her husband could be trusted to be alone with. They developed an amiable relationship that, over the years, grew into the closest thing Athena had to a motherly bond.

Along with her administration of Project METIS, she was soon placed under the charge of the ARES, acronym for the AGGRESSIVE RECONNAISSANCE and ESPIONAGE SYSTEM that had taken over the duties of the treacherous Typhon as Head of Security. Zeus often expressed his inability to trust anyone with so sensitive a position, and so the ARES had been developed to fill the role as a highly advanced artificial intelligence reporting directly to Zeus. It was convenient enough, and the intelligence did a perfectly good job of neutralising Threat Category: TYPHON emergencies, but the ARES was not so capable of handling the internal front. On more than a few occasions disproportionate force was brought to bear on rowdy demigods partying late in the 'cesspits' (as the ARES referred to the redlight, gambling and other entertainment districts) of Olympus, and it was cause for considerable consternation amongst the growing Olympiam populace. When instructed by Zeus to readjust his programming, the response of the ARES was often to the negative, noting that the social degeneration of Olympian society had the potential to develop into an existential threat and had to be remedied immediately. Zeus did not like to be contradicted.

Perhaps the failure of the ARES was arranged for by Zeus himself - Athena had reason to suspect it. In all cases, the system's performance during the second TYPHON emergency was deemed subpar and the damage to mortal civilisation as exceeding that necessitated by the size of the threat. An extraordinary meeting of the High Pantheon judged the ARES unfit for purpose and elected to deactivate it permanently. For a time thereafter there was no officially recognised Head of Security and Athena set about filling the administrative gap left by the ARES' deactivation. Under Zeus' guidance, the security apparatus in its entirety was restructured and power slowly centralised with Athena. The ASPIS and DORU were established as distinct entities, and so too the THEA.

As her interactions with mortals increased, Athena became increasingly cognisant of the advantages the non-Olympians had to offer in terms of a force unhindered by Olympian politics or technological weaknesses: the bioengineering potential was limitless and their potential loyalty to those who elevated them endless. She noted it to Zeus casually on several occasions, and over time it became a topic they discussed with some interest - if only theoretically. When presented with the possible advancements in their understanding of bioengineering, with the added benefit of not having to drain his already faltering body for Project METIS, Zeus finally expressed his tepid approval for possible experimentations on non-Olympians, though he initiated no official project. It was not until the coming of Heracles that there was sufficient impetus to initiate such a project, and to this day the resulting project continues to bear the name of its first subject. Project HERACLES became the centrepiece of Athena's bioengineering studies as well as the vehicle for the creation of the Sacred Band of Zeus Khrysaoreus. With Heracles as the Sacred Band's fearsome subcommander, easily dwarfing the greatest and oldest of the gods, the band had soon established itself in the heart of Olympus. If Zeus had been safe before, he was now untouchable.

And yet... Zeus is dead.

A new Zeus has risen to take his place. A Zeus of Athena's creation. The time of the old gods is slowly passing, and the wonders of bioengineering will bring into being a new race of true immortals. She and her young brother were the first, Artemis an independently created anomaly - but no less a signpost of the zeitgeist of the coming age. The old were inevitably dying, the degeneration of Olympus had to be cleansed, and the foundations of the future had to be established. Silently, as she has always been, Athena will see to the emergence of the divine utopia of the stories her father gave her so long ago.

Re:Divinus VII

_{WEHI TAMA}

_{HE STRIKES WITH THE SWORD OF WONDER | GOD OF THE CHILDREN | HE HAS BEHELD | AWEBRINGER}

This is the story of the thing in the forest. This is the story of the thing that sees us, the unseen, and which we, the unseen, cannot see. This is the story of the shadow of the shadow, the echo of the echo, the horror of the horror. It is the story of the awe maker, the child taker, the eye waker: it is the thing that sees.

We did not marvel much in those days and only knew one thing: we were made to evolve. We were the silence of the forests. We were the shadows of the trees. We were seeing and unseen, eating and uneaten, hearing and unheard. In our simplicity we knew nothing of ourselves - we did not see the tree, we did not see the forest, even ourselves we did not see. We saw in a shallow sort of way, without registering or knowing. But when the shadow of the shadows shimmered in the deathlight, when the echo of the echo rumbled in the jungleheart, when the horror of the horror stalked us, saw us, heard us, then we learned to see and then we learned to hear. Our eyes were wide then, we saw what we never before could see. It was fear. It was terror. We saw the trembling droplet on the edge of the smallest leaf dangling on the furthest branch at the highest point of the greatest tree. Terror gave us sight. Horror gave us sight. Wonder gave us sight.

Perhaps we saw it once. We saw it in the deathlight, when even light was dying. We saw it when the jungleheart was quiet. It was the silhouette of a silhouette, the thought of a thought, the memory of a memory. But it held something - pink and red and loud, fleshy unlike the flesh of the trees, veinous without the veins of the leaves, earthy with the stench of rust. And in the cries of that symbiote we heard it, and its speech was thus: 'I was the hidden jewel of the worlds, and I have come forth a wonder yet hidden; and I have come for no other purpose than to be known. Behold me ye who are above and who are below, ye who are granted the beholding arts: your perfection is in knowing me!'

Our perfection is in knowing you.

• Summary

  Interacting with this post by Timemaster. A story told from the perspective of the early Umbra. While their purpose until then had been evolution, Wonderboi now elucidates and defines it: if evolution is to be perfected, then their perfection is in knowing him. Umbra will now have a general preference towards evolving in ways that are conducive to spiritual and esoteric pursuits, ultimately aimed at being able to behold Wonderboi.
  It also turns out that Wonderboi stole Zylana's unborn baby and is just walking about with it.
• MP and AP

  Wehi Tama starting: 0 MP / 1 AP
  1 AP: Inculcate within the Umbra a predisposition towards wondering, marveling, and seeking out the spiritual illuminations that will enables them to truly behold WONDERBHOI.
  
  Ending Wehi: 0 MP / 0 AP

Re:Divinus VII

_{WEHI TAMA}

_{HE STRIKES WITH THE SWORD OF WONDER | GOD OF THE CHILDREN | HE HAS BEHELD | AWEBRINGER}

It was quite the revelation, but death was something marvelous. There was something quite awing in knowing that there, in that place, there where Zylana and Falyn were rolling about in the throes of killing and being killed, was an end to life. "It is wondrous," the god whispered as he circled the struggling pair and was lost in thought. He glanced at them. "But my goodness it's so unceremonious, so... shoddy. Hasty. Offhanded and inattentive. Where's the weight!" He grabbed the pair of them, eyes wide and brows furrowed in deepest fury. "Where is the wonder!" And even as he roared the both of them came to be clothed in armours of heavenly make, below them steeds of earth and wind, in their hands twin-bladed and tri-bladed swords as had never been seen in worlds before and would never be seen in worlds ever after.

Zylana stood, head high, blade raised, steed of awe turning the earth. Falyn faced her, visor down, eyes bright, sword ready, steed neighing the song of the deeps. They circled slowly, their eyes never once leaving the other. "I have thought on it long, and though I loved you once - and deeply too - still must you die." Zylana spoke hectoringly.

"Ha! I died long ago Zylana - the day I gave you what should ne'er be granted womankind. That heart there churned in the dust below your tyrannous steed - I died the day I gave it you. So lift your blade, woman, I'll prick the heart that wounded mine and see if in it's blood or wine - methinks it neither this nor that, it's liquid hate! Come come, we'll know it soon at any rate."

"En garde!" Zylana cried!
"Death!" Falyn thundered!

Their steeds erupted, their swords flashed, their cries sounded, and ah! Oh! Brave Falyn fell! "Oh me!" Cried wonder, and raised that dying head to his chest. "Oh chivalry! Oh courage! Oh swords and death and glory! Oh! Yes, this is as it ought have been!"

And when days had passed Zylana was no more to be found in that place, but there was something wondrous still. An armoured form sprawled on the earth, tri-bladed sword in its death grip, his killer's arms not far away. Aye, there'd been something wondrous there!

• Summary

  Interacting with this post by NF. Wonderboi witnessed Zylana killing Falyn and thought there was some unrealised wonder there. Weaving his wondrous art and marvellous ways he brings awe to their death duel. This is as it ought have been! but alas, 'twas not! Or... wasn't it?
• MP and AP

  Wehi Tama starting: 0 MP / 3 AP
  2 AP (discounted from 4 AP): Create artifacts: the arms and armour of Falyn and Zylana, including the tri-bladed sword of Falyn and the two-bladed sword of Zylana. Technically a monument until these items are claimed, featuring Falyn's body (which, wondrously, will not start to decompose until said items are claimed).
  
  Ending Wehi: 0 MP / 1 AP

The Court of the Gods

WIP CS for your purview:

Athena | Project METIS

Name(s):

Initially referred to as Project METIS, she was later named Athena by Zeus. According to function, she goes by different names.

_{In her function as protectress of the people and as a saviour, she is ATHENA AGELEIA and ATHENA SOTEIRA.
In her function as the protectress of the city she is ATHENA POLIOUKHOS.
In her function as the protector of strangers and promulgator of the laws of hospitality, she is ATHENA XENIA.
In her function as the cunning deceiver and strategiser, she is ATHENA APATURIA.
In her function as the avenger, she is ATHENA AXIOPOINOS.
In her function as the worker and instructor of mortals in all manner of crafts, she is ATHENA ERGANE.
In her function as the inventor of devices and contriver of plans, she is ATHENA MAKHANITIS.
In her function as the medicinal healer and keeper of good health, she is ATHENA PAIONIA and ATHENA HYGEIA.
In her function as the virgin maiden brandishing the spear, she is ATHENA PALLAS.
In her function as the divine virgin, she is ATHENA PARTHENOS.
In her function as the ever-victorious goddess, she is ATHENA NIKE.
In her function as the distributor of the war booty, she is ATHENA LEITIS.
In her function as the provider of refuge to all who seek refuge in her, she is ATHENA ALEA.}

Titles and Roles:

Athena is the protector of the city and the guardian of the citadel; in a greater sense, Hellas is the city of the gods, its citadel Olympus. As a guardian of cities, she is a patron of urbanisation and civilisation. She is also the guardian of the welfare of kings, often turned to by those in positions of power for good counsel, practical insight, and advice on prudent restraint.

Among the non-Olympian masses, Athena is the patroness of crafts, such as weaving and metalworking, and so metalworkers, craftsmen, and artisans call upon her to guide their works and offer them inspiration. While Athena is no accelerationist, she does not quite hold to the overcaution of Generation Arith, as the elder gods are sometimes known, to the technological upliftment of the masses of mortalkind. The bit, the bridle, the chariot, the wagon, the arts of shipbuilding and navigation, and the beginnings of scientifically-grounded medicine; all these has she gifted to mankind over her centuries of life and warfare.

Over those centuries, she has personally descended upon mankind and led her favoured armies into the fray, wreaking terrible and divine havoc upon the luckless wretches who incurred her enmity and bringing to victory those she championed. While this has rightly earned her an honoured status as the goddess of soldiers, she has just as often whispered stratagems and great military deceptions to generals of merit and warrior kings. And so, along with her patronage of the soldier of the front lines, she is equally the divine patron of strategists, tacticians, and the deceptions of war. As a warrior goddess, she naturally patronises athleticism and military prowess, being herself the divine form of the heroic and martial ideal: the one who combines cunning with physical prowess to achieve total victory and legendary status in the annals of glory.

And yet, for all that, she is a goddess and a woman too. As a virgin goddess, she is the ideal of the warrior maiden and of sexual modesty, and her worshippers are privy to ritual mysteries and philosophical truths. All mortalkind holds this to be true: that the owl is the endless wisdom of the goddess, the snake her terrible might, and the olive tree her ceaseless giving and shade.

Insofar as her Olympian duties are concerned, Athena occupies the position of First Maiden of the Sacred Band of Zeus Khrysaoreus [tr. Zeus of the Golden Sword] on the High Pantheon, which is often shortened to First Maiden of Olympus or simply First Maiden. This was the position formerly known as Head of Security, the name of which Athena did away with even as she expanded the role's scope under Zeus' guidance and direction; both due to the stigma that developed around the name with every new war against the Holkoumes [Threat Category: TYPHON] and the increased military capabilities that the Olympians required. Inheriting the by-then greatly expanded security detail of the original vessel, Athena swiftly set to reforming the structure into an internal police force for domestic security, known as the ASPIS [Augmented Special Policing and Investigation System], an external military structure for the effective projection of Olympic force, known as the DORU [Decimation and Offensive Reconnaissance Unit], and an external military intelligence network, known as THEA [Technographic Hub for Espionage and Artifice]. The Sacred Band was constituted as the elite fighting unit of the DORU, acting as a special operations force and being Olympus' last line of defence in case of catastrophic internal failure [a 001CIF-Ctg. Emergency] or acute external pressure [a 001AEP-Ctg. Emergency]. Under the immediate strategic and tactical command of Athena, the Sacred Band's primary duty to date has been the protection of Zeus' person.

But Zeus is dead.

Artifacts and Powers:

1. The GORGONEION: a special apotropaic amulet showing the Gorgon head, a mythic being from a long-dead Arithic civilisation. It is worn as a gem-encrusted collar necklace by Athena, the central feature of which is the horrific gorgonic head of a snake-haired woman with impossibly wide, staring eyes of ruby, tusks jutting upward and downward from her gaping mouth, and forked tongue extended. It was a gift from Zeus to Athena and appears to regulate her internal physiology and mental state so that no form of manipulation of her body or mind - whether by poisons, hallucinogens, or other physiological and mental manipulants - have any effect. This acts by maintaining Athena's physiological and mental states at peak performance at all times rather than by actively seeking out hostile influences, and in so doing it naturally filters out and neutralises anything that interferes with that performance.

2. The AEGIS: a unique breasplate that issues forth a powerful force field made up of multifarious energy layers and forces that in sum are referred to as an Aegis field. The Aegis is powered by Athena's natural body heat, with an array of electrochemical thermal nanotransistors and thermal nanoamplifiers across the internal frame of the breastplate. These absorb all excess heat the body naturally sheds, amplifying and converting the biothermal energy into a near-infinite source of power for the stabilised antimatter power nexus that fuels the Aegis. The Aegis field naturally responds to Athena's environment without the need for direct interference or commands from the goddess, though it of course responds to commands as and when actively or passively directed. the Aegis allows her the following capabilities, or otherwise has the following functions:

_{a. The power to subsist in a vacuum.
b. The power to move through empty space, which takes on the appearance of flight when she moves across Hellas. It, however, allows her the capacity to just as easily move through a vacuum. This does not allow her to phase or tunnel through solid objects or earth.
c. Prevents the entry of foreign biological or chemical agents into the field's area of effect.
d. Protects against physical or energy attacks, or the manipulation of forces to cause damage, and halts or deflects ranged attacks.
e. Prevents the teleportation of objects or things into the area of effect, and likewise prevents teleportation out of the field's area of effect.
d. Regulates, intercepts, and halts unauthorised modes of communication into and out of its area of effect. Interception reports are immediately generated and the interception can be overridden by Athena as necessary.}

While the Aegis field's area of effect generally follows the outline of Athena's form, it is possible for her to wilfully expand it. This is unsustainable for extended periods and can result in catastrophic functional failure if used imprudently.

3. The DORY and HELM: the spear of the goddess hovers around her at all times and functions through pheromonal commands issued forth via the cabulic plumes of Athena's helm. The helm itself is only made functional by a complex mixture of biothermal, hormonal, and genetic signatures unique to Athena's amalgamated physiology and mind. The spear is made entirely out of adamant, a superalloy of chromium, titanium, and magnesium, and boasts a tip on one end and an antimatter power nexus on the other, which provides the spear with its power source and powers the spear's assimilated antimatter blaster. The spear has been subjected to a biological integration process that in some ways means it possesses qualities reminiscent of prokaryotic organisms. These have been genetically modified such as to interact symbiotically with their adamant host and to simultaneously be hypersensitive to Athenic pheromonal signals, as exuded by the cabular plumes of Athena's helm. With this carefully balanced marvel of biotechnology, Athena wields the powers of annihilation over those who think to cross or threaten Olympus.

4. The ERICHTHONIUS: while Athena is fully capable of flight using her Aegis, the Erichthonius adds an element of awe and wonder to the goddess as she crosses the land or skies. A chariot sculpted into the golden form Erichthonius, the adopted son of her legendary Arithic namesake, and decorated with jewel-bedecked snakes on both sides and wheels of owlish design, the goddess is very often to be seen entering and departing Olympus on the star-like vehicle.

Persona:

Athena is no accelerationist. She is an evolutionist. Technological artifice can only get the race so far; flesh is the truth. Quiet and studious, the goddess of war and wisdom has from her youth taken the Athena of legend as her model and destiny. She has preserved her chastity with iron will, forged and reforged her fleshly form as her biotechnological experimentations developed, and gathered around herself all the philosophical works of old Arith and Hellas alike. In devotion to bringing her namesake into existence, there has perhaps been none more diligent than Athena.

For one who has been able to project an incredible charismatic presence in the midst of the fray, Athena is by nature unassuming and observant. This makes her an excellent listener, and she is frequented by those who find no one who listens to them. She tends to be unfrivolous and has a penchant for spartan simplicity. In what way she can, she seeks to embody the virtue, prudence, and wisdom she calls her mortal worshippers to. She has never been heard to provide an opinion on the ever-increasing decadence of Olympian society, but any who observe her way of life can only assume she takes a rather dim view of all that. Whether that is the influence of her former mentor, the ARES, or whether it has always been her essential nature, cannot be known.

Perfection of body, perfection of mind, that is what Athena aspires towards and that is what she calls her worshippers to. And those who are successful in bringing those two together, who bring together the essence of the philosopher and the form of the warrior, achieve the enviable status of heroes. Athena thus calls to heroism: in all that one is, whether a toiling peasant or great king, one must see to their duties with the verve and seriousness of a hero at work. Heroism grants nobility to the lowly, and to lack that robs nobility from the greatest of the great. Life itself, loving all that is essentially heroic, will ultimately purge itself of the unworthy and bring forth others who will fill the annals of history with nobility and great deeds. And if ever life is slow, Athena is not.

Background and Relationships:

Athena was the first successful prototype of Zeus' cloning project. Thanks to her amalgamated physiology and mind, as well as their perpetual peak performance as maintained by her Aegis, she has been able to perfectly reconstruct her memories from the very first moment of her conscious existence. She remembers, for instance, the other prototypes. Remembers those deemed failures and terminated in their vats and those who were terminated later, after they had shared their first memories together. She remembers the whispering acolytes who watched over them. And she remembers Zeus.

When all the others were gone, he looked on her sullen face and smiled. They had all been Project METIS until then. But when Zeus smiled on her, she became Athena. She was by nature retiring and independent, and the few occasions on which her father visited her in those early days were sufficient. He tended to bring her information, often in the form of stories, and he told her that they were her stories. Stories from a past world and a past life, when she was a glorious and powerful being as one day she would again be. She read those stories. Her past self became her singular model and aspiration, the destiny at which she marveled. It was never quite egocentric, but in later years she would consider herself to be the thing that most fascinated her - the manner in which she was created, her 'near perfection' as Zeus sometimes whispered to her. 'You would not have failed me,' was the great complaint he repeated to her as the failed projects built up and the years passed by. It became a great conviction of hers: she would not have failed him. And in that uncomplicated and clear manner she decided things - seeing through to solutions like no one else quite seemed to - she committed never to fail him.

As she grew, she was entrusted with more and more of the cloning project - Project METIS, as it continued to be called -, and in due time was introduced to court as the self-born daughter of Zeus. She was a good listener and tight-lipped, and it made her well-liked by those who found none to listen to them. Hera found her fascinating - a self-born daughter! And one of the only females in court that her husband could be trusted to be alone with. They developed an amiable relationship that, over the years, grew into the closest thing Athena had to a motherly bond.

Along with her administration of Project METIS, she was soon placed under the charge of the ARES, acronym for the AGGRESSIVE RECONNAISSANCE and ESPIONAGE SYSTEM that had taken over the duties of the treacherous Typhon as Head of Security. Zeus often expressed his inability to trust anyone with so sensitive a position, and so the ARES had been developed to fill the role as a highly advanced artificial intelligence reporting directly to Zeus. It was convenient enough, and the intelligence did a perfectly good job of neutralising Threat Category: TYPHON emergencies, but the ARES was not so capable of handling the internal front. On more than a few occasions disproportionate force was brought to bear on rowdy demigods partying late in the 'cesspits' (as the ARES referred to the redlight, gambling and other entertainment districts) of Olympus, and it was cause for considerable consternation amongst the growing Olympiam populace. When instructed by Zeus to readjust his programming, the response of the ARES was often to the negative, noting that the social degeneration of Olympian society had the potential to develop into an existential threat and had to be remedied immediately. Zeus did not like to be contradicted.

Perhaps the failure of the ARES was arranged for by Zeus himself - Athena had reason to suspect it. In all cases, the system's performance during the second TYPHON emergency was deemed subpar and the damage to mortal civilisation as exceeding that necessitated by the size of the threat. An extraordinary meeting of the High Pantheon judged the ARES unfit for purpose and elected to deactivate it permanently. For a time thereafter there was no officially recognised Head of Security and Athena set about filling the administrative gap left by the ARES' deactivation. Under Zeus' guidance, the security apparatus in its entirety was restructured and power slowly centralised with Athena. The ASPIS and DORU were established as distinct entities, and so too the THEA.

As her interactions with mortals increased, Athena became increasingly cognisant of the advantages the non-Olympians had to offer in terms of a force unhindered by Olympian politics or technological weaknesses: the bioengineering potential was limitless and their potential loyalty to those who elevated them endless. She noted it to Zeus casually on several occasions, and over time it became a topic they discussed with some interest - if only theoretically. When presented with the possible advancements in their understanding of bioengineering, with the added benefit of not having to drain his already faltering body for Project METIS, Zeus finally expressed his tepid approval for possible experimentations on non-Olympians, though he initiated no official project. It was not until the coming of Heracles that there was sufficient impetus to initiate such a project, and to this day the resulting project continues to bear the name of its first subject. Project HERACLES became the centrepiece of Athena's bioengineering studies as well as the vehicle for the creation of the Sacred Band of Zeus Khrysaoreus. With Heracles as the Sacred Band's fearsome subcommander, easily dwarfing the greatest and oldest of the gods, the band had soon established itself in the heart of Olympus. If Zeus had been safe before, he was now untouchable.

And yet... Zeus is dead.

A new Zeus has risen to take his place. A Zeus of Athena's creation. The time of the old gods is slowly passing, and the wonders of bioengineering will bring into being a new race of true immortals. She and her young brother were the first, Artemis an independently created anomaly - but no less a signpost of the zeitgeist of the coming age. The old were inevitably dying, the degeneration of Olympus had to be cleansed, and the foundations of the future had to be established. Silently, as she has always been, Athena will see to the emergence of the divine utopia of the stories her father gave her so long ago.

Re:Divinus VII

_{Kholdspeagle productions present:}

_{WEHI TAMA}

_{HE STRIKES WITH THE SWORD OF WONDER | GOD OF THE CHILDREN | HE HAS BEHELD | AWEBRINGER}

&

Po

---

In the lap of unliving aeons I have slept... I have been caused to sleep. And I thought I would sleep forevermore, my fate thus halted and destiny foiled, the age of wonder stilled, the marvels of the world nevermore to be beheld. But behold: I have awoken! - you bring me forth, Anath, you stir me once again. I have awed worlds before, I have beheld with the eyes of crazed wonder - I have struck with its sword, I have slain the lifeless corpses of those who could not marvel. I am come, Anath, you have unloosed me on existence! I strike with the sword of wonder.

For Anath so loved the world that she woke what should ne'er be woken and summoned what ne'er should be summoned through the veil of the beginning and end: and lo! the world was without wonder, and Anath bid elsewise; then behold! there was wonder. And wonder spake thus: 'I was the hidden jewel of the worlds, and I have come forth a wonder yet hidden; and I have come for no other purpose than to be known. Behold me ye who are above and who are below, ye who are granted the beholding arts: your perfection is in knowing me! I am the wonder of the skies and trees, I am the wonder of the earth and rivers, I am the wonder of your hidden selves and your multitudinous forms! I am the wonder of the world - I am wonder! All that thou art is naught if wonder is not in it! Have it as you will; if you do not lift the veil of wonder then await my wonder's sword: I strike with the sword of wonder!'

And he raised the sword of wonder - that gleaming sword of flame and mystery - and he marched across the heavens declaring the coming of wonder. And where he went in heaven he struck the rocks of the endless spaces - that sword of wonder struck! - till they were as glittering dust. And that dust was his hair. And that dust followed him as he marched declaring his coming - at speed it followed! till with suddenness he stopped and it crashed upon him and around him and in every direction and way. The dust worshipped him all around. And that was his coffin, and it was the moon of every mortal night.

So was wonder the hidden jewel in the jewel of the world's sky.

***

"Wonder nuthin!" A scratchy voice came shouting from the folds of a cloak of flame. Po hovered by the moon, flapping her fiery wings and staring out from under her white-hot hood with red eyes. "What are you doin' in there! It's too cold!" She shook her hidden head and held out her hands. "I'll save you!"

A searing bolt of white formed at her fingertips, growing larger and larger until an orb of immense weight and heat was shaking just off the edge of her grasp. With a powerful sound snapping blast, Po let loose her creation. The immense recoil sent her flying backwards with an excited squeal, the sound to be drowned out by an even sharper explosion as the mass of fire crashed against the moon, punching an immense crater into it and dousing it in flames of every color.

The moon, barely settled from its dusty genesis, roiled under the heat and mixed with - and it grew and expanded and danced in the darkness and cold of the world beyond Galbar. Fire kissed wonder, and wonder basked in her flame. Those fires - green and blue and red and purple, and colours known and unknown, conceivable and elsewise - bled into the moon-dust and pervaded it till the god-jewel at the heart of the moon was bathed in a kaleidoscope of flame. He shook and rumbled, and with him the moon shook and rumbled too, and when he emerged it settled and burned gently and warmly - and oh! how it shone like a second sun; but it was a wondrous light that turned inward and only bled an iota of its truth unto the world below. Wonder beheld fire and brought his sword before him, its tip digging into firm ground where the eye conceived none. "I behold you and hail you!" He announced with an easy smile, "and I have loved the passion that roils in you. Lady, you have scorched me wondrously and brought marvels to the marvel of my moon; I would know the name of she who burns me thus!"

"PO!" Po shouted back.

Wonder frowned and leaned forward, his chin resting on his sword pommel. "Po? Not Poliana? Or Poinievere? Porgenlefae? Not even..." he paused and looked upwards, "Posolde? Just... Po? What does it mean, this Po?"

"It means me," Po answered. "Now who are you?"

"Who am I?" He repeated, then leaned back. "If you behold me you will know. But if you do not come to know me, my sword will know you!" He smiled and raised his blade. He did not speak or move threateningly but seemed in all ways amiable. "Or if you can't know me, then look here," and he turned to the moon and gazed upon it, "and surely then you will know me!"

A pregnant silence ensued, with only the crackle of flames filling the atmosphere. Po's eyes squinted to suspicious slants. "Are you making fun of me?" Her scratch voice was a growl.

Wonder's head snapped back to Po, eyes wide in frozen wonder and smile widening. His teeth were the colour of unshelled sunflower seeds. "How curious you should think that," he hefted his sword - it swept across the endless emptiness of creation, seemed to be a glinting endlessness for seconds - and pointed it at the moon of roiling dust and flame, the moon of light too great to be known, whose rays shone back upon it and made it the singular blaze of the cold and darkness of the spaces. "Look on that you have made, Po!" His arm shook, his eyes trembled, his chest quivered. "Do not look with your eyes! They who look with their eyes will never know me. Look with your heart."

"I'll admit," Po stayed squinting. "This is getting very weird. I think I might head out; there is plenty more to heat up in this place."

Wonder relaxed his arm and let his hand drop, but continued to gaze at the moon. "Good idea. I'll see you when there's something to see!" He took two powerful steps in the emptiness, leapt, and dove sword first into the churning moon. His voice echoed after him like a thunderclap. And the roar of its canon was: "I am the wonder of the world!"

• Summary

  Wehi Tama arrives and speaks, then he marches across heaven and speaks his arrival and wondrousness, telling all things that their purpose is to know wonder and that HE IS wonder; thus must they know him! And as he marches across heaven declaring this ultimate truth, he slices up the various rocks he crosses into dust with THA SWORD OF WONDER oh boi and the dust eventually converges upon him and forms the moon. So he be chilling at the centre of the moon.
  Then Po comes along and sets everything aflame. They chat, but don't quite get to know each other.
• MP and AP

  Wehi Tama starting: 5 MP/5 AP
  1 AP and 3 MP (discounted from 8 MP/AP): Create the wondermoon.
  1 AP + 2 MP (discounted from 4 MP): Create the Sword of Wonder into a divine 5 Might artifact (honorary 6 Might due to being linked to wonder). It always was, just cataloguing the expenditure in this post.
  Po might starting: 5 MP/0 AP
  4 MP (discounted to 2 MP): Set wondermoon alight.
  
  Ending Wehi: 2 MP / 4 AP
  Ending Po: 3 MP/0 AP

Re:Divinus VII

WEHI the AWEBRINGER

_{WEHI TAMA}

_{HE STRIKES WITH THE SWORD OF WONDER | GOD OF THE CHILDREN | HE HAS BEHELD | AWEBRINGER}

Aspect

There are two kinds of things in the world: those that fill with wonder and those that are filled with wonder. Wehi Tama is that wonder. The sea is not by its nature wondrous; Wehi Tama is the wonder of the sea. The sky is not by its nature wondrous; Wehi Tama is the wonder of the sky. The mountains are not by their nature wondrous, nor are the rivers nor the lakes nor the birds of murmuring colours nor even the eyes of mortalkind and their limbs and their great hulking forms or lithe agile ones; Wehi Tama is the wonder in all things. He is the wonder of the world.

Wehi Tama gives all things the quality of being wondrous and enables whatever he pleases to feel wonder. Being wondrous is a quality while being filled with wonder is a feeling, an emotion. Wehi Tama's aspect, therefore, grants him authority over elements of cognition and perception even as it grants him power over physical reality. He weaves wondrousness into the tapestry of the world, causes mortalkind to feel wonder, and can well bring forth their feelings of wonder - the flights of their souls and imaginations - into the physical realm. Those taken up by wonder may not know what is the product of their wonderstruck minds and what is reality! Are the mountains of vapour on which I tread a mere dream or do I truly jump between the stars? Does yon bright moon smile down on me and hither thither dance or have I eaten of the purple-shroom? Is that a child on yon distant cloud- a child of marvel, a child of miracle! And is that a sword he brings, a sword of flame- he strikes! he strikes with the sword of wonder!

Persona

Adaptable. Adventurous. Amiable. Charismatic. Confident. Contemplative. Courageous. Creative. Curious. Daring. Energetic. Imaginative. Aggressive. Boyish. Mystical. Arbitrary. Boisterous. Dogmatic. Egocentric. Meddlesome. Obsessive. Wilful.
In the lap of unliving aeons I have slept... I have been caused to sleep. And I thought I would sleep forevermore, my fate thus halted, the age of wonder stilled, the marvels of the world nevermore to be beheld. But behold, I have awoken - you bring me forth, Anath, you stir me once again. I have awed worlds before, I have beheld with the eyes of crazed wonder - I have struck with its sword, I have slain the lifeless corpses of those who could not marvel. I am come, Anath, you have brought me forth! I strike with the sword of wonder.

Base Form

Wehi Tama is a wonder to behold. He takes on the mortal shape of man - or rather, when man was first created in the first of all worlds, he was made in Wehi Tama's image. Wehi Tama is the wonder of the divine shape; the divine shape is the wonder of the mortal form. But Wehi Tama is not only a wonder to behold, his speech is wondrous, his strikes are wondrous, wonder is the movement of his eyes, wonder is the parting of his lips. He strikes with the sword of wonder.

Myth

It was fifty winters ago. The moon was a grinning blade in the heavens, the night was darkness all. I had not seen eight summers. The trees were calm, I remember it well. There was no breeze. But it was winter, and the windless night was cold. And yet, for all that darkness, the moon was a blade in the skies. Oh it was bright. And as I walked from tree to tree, their leafless branches like wizened hands reaching for heaven, the darkness only thinned. When I came to a clearing it was the day in the midst of night, and in the heart of that pulsing clearing was a wolf as white as snow. Its eyes were of emerald and claws obsidian. It struck only once- what sweet child of eight summers could resist such a being?

And yet, and you can laugh all you like, I did. You think these scars are the marks of blades? You think a sword touched me at the walls of Bilar? A pox on your thoughts - no mortal hand, nor yet a mortal blade nor mortal arrow nor mortal spear has struck me once in these fifty summers. Only the wolf struck me. Look here, see my face, look here where it bit, here where it drew flesh from the bone. And look here too - see, this? You will not find a blade like it in all the world. I drew it from the jaws of the wolf as we wrestled in the night of light. It growled and I croaked, it struck and I staggered - but watch me swing, oh sword! Do you think my finest day was at the fields of Quattan? Aye I struck down fifty men that day, I swam in blood, I drank of skulls - but no. My greatest glory was my first, for it was no wolf that I fought but god! Oh, you laugh, but I tell you: he struck with the sword of wonder.

Musical Themes

New Aspects:

Swords: This Aspect covers the crafting and use of swords, as well as magics relating to the crafting and use of swords.

1. Wehi Tama & Po
2. Wehi Tama
3. Wehi Tama
4. Wehi Tama & Anath Homura + Mahara and Mawazo
5. Wehi Tama, Aveira, and Chudungus
6. Mahara, Mawazo, and Core-Lorelei
7. Wehi Tama and Chudungus
8. Wehi Tama and Chudungus

Re:Divinus VII

WEHI the AWEBRINGER

_{WEHI TAMA}

_{HE STRIKES WITH THE SWORD OF WONDER | GOD OF THE CHILDREN | HE HAS BEHELD | AWEBRINGER}

Aspect

There are two kinds of things in the world: those that fill with wonder and those that are filled with wonder. Wehi Tama is that wonder. The sea is not by its nature wondrous; Wehi Tama is the wonder of the sea. The sky is not by its nature wondrous; Wehi Tama is the wonder of the sky. The mountains are not by their nature wondrous, nor are the rivers nor the lakes nor the birds of murmuring colours nor even the eyes of mortalkind and their limbs and their great hulking forms or lithe agile ones; Wehi Tama is the wonder in all things. He is the wonder of the world.

Wehi Tama gives all things the quality of being wondrous and enables whatever he pleases to feel wonder. Being wondrous is a quality while being filled with wonder is a feeling, an emotion. Wehi Tama's aspect, therefore, grants him authority over elements of cognition and perception even as it grants him power over physical reality. He weaves wondrousness into the tapestry of the world, causes mortalkind to feel wonder, and can well bring forth their feelings of wonder - the flights of their souls and imaginations - into the physical realm. Those taken up by wonder may not know what is the product of their wonderstruck minds and what is reality! Are the mountains of vapour on which I tread a mere dream or do I truly jump between the stars? Does yon bright moon smile down on me and hither thither dance or have I eaten of the purple-shroom? Is that a child on yon distant cloud- a child of marvel, a child of miracle! And is that a sword he brings, a sword of flame- he strikes! he strikes with the sword of wonder!

Persona

Adaptable. Adventurous. Amiable. Charismatic. Confident. Contemplative. Courageous. Creative. Curious. Daring. Energetic. Imaginative. Aggressive. Boyish. Mystical. Arbitrary. Boisterous. Dogmatic. Egocentric. Meddlesome. Obsessive. Wilful.
In the lap of unliving aeons I have slept... I have been caused to sleep. And I thought I would sleep forevermore, my fate thus halted, the age of wonder stilled, the marvels of the world nevermore to be beheld. But behold, I have awoken - you bring me forth, Anath, you stir me once again. I have awed worlds before, I have beheld with the eyes of crazed wonder - I have struck with its sword, I have slain the lifeless corpses of those who could not marvel. I am come, Anath, you have brought me forth! I strike with the sword of wonder.

Base Form

Wehi Tama is a wonder to behold. He takes on the mortal shape of man - or rather, when man was first created in the first of all worlds, he was made in Wehi Tama's image. Wehi Tama is the wonder of the divine shape; the divine shape is the wonder of the mortal form. But Wehi Tama is not only a wonder to behold, his speech is wondrous, his strikes are wondrous, wonder is the movement of his eyes, wonder is the parting of his lips. He strikes with the sword of wonder.

Myth

It was fifty winters ago. The moon was a grinning blade in the heavens, the night was darkness all. I had not seen eight summers. The trees were calm, I remember it well. There was no breeze. But it was winter, and the windless night was cold. And yet, for all that darkness, the moon was a blade in the skies. Oh it was bright. And as I walked from tree to tree, their leafless branches like wizened hands reaching for heaven, the darkness only thinned. When I came to a clearing it was the day in the midst of night, and in the heart of that pulsing clearing was a wolf as white as snow. Its eyes were of emerald and claws obsidian. It struck only once- what sweet child of eight summers could resist such a being?

And yet, and you can laugh all you like, I did. You think these scars are the marks of blades? You think a sword touched me at the walls of Bilar? A pox on your thoughts - no mortal hand, nor yet a mortal blade nor mortal arrow nor mortal spear has struck me once in these fifty summers. Only the wolf struck me. Look here, see my face, look here where it bit, here where it drew flesh from the bone. And look here too - see, this? You will not find a blade like it in all the world. I drew it from the jaws of the wolf as we wrestled in the night of light. It growled and I croaked, it struck and I staggered - but watch me swing, oh sword! Do you think my finest day was at the fields of Quattan? Aye I struck down fifty men that day, I swam in blood, I drank of skulls - but no. My greatest glory was my first, for it was no wolf that I fought but god! Oh, you laugh, but I tell you: he struck with the sword of wonder.

Musical Themes

Divinus: The Deity Roleplay Mk. VI

_AERON

_&

ZIMA the ZIMMER

_in

<sub>An EXPLICATION of the BEGINNING of SORROW

followed by

A PRELUDE to ALL SUFFERING</sub>

---

The chirping of songbirds, a warm sun, and the roar of a high river across the northern bounds of the world could signify one thing only: Spring was coming North. As the sun’s conquering rays marched ever more northward and subdued plain after plain and forest after forest and lake after lake, the days had started growing longer. The sun-kissed air was blowing a good and pleasant breeze, and greenery was beginning to emerge from the melting snow - which was now in full and open rout. True, the nights were still chilly and often froze any still water, but a change was coming; the land and animals could feel it and so did those that walked on two legs.

Soon the Voirans would be moving off to new lands as the Council of the Nine decreed. Winter had taken its toll on many and with that came restless feet and legs in need of long rambles across the earth. It was the Voiran way, after all. So there was indeed a growing murmur amongst those nomadic people, who waited each day with patience and anticipation. Many of the things they murmured were trivial. Would Haana bear twins? Could enough furs be found to replace old clothing? Would they be heading south or south-east when the time came?

That naturally gave rise more generally to the matter of moving on, lamenting those who had not made it through the winter, and talk of the celestial debris and strange moonfalls - as those were called. Many of them had witnessed the way the moon had shed itself and sent great clouds of dust and rock in every which way. The Council of Nine had deliberated on the strange happenings but ultimately declared that all things were as the gods decreed and that the world would go on whether the moon exploded or did not, and life too and all things.

“But what about us?” Juirga asked, holding her latest child on her shoulder (her fifth, and one of three who yet lived).
“Yes, Juirga,” councillor Rhinan said, “life and all things will go on even if we don’t.”
“Not very comforting,” the mother winced.
“That’s how it is,” Rhinan shrugged, and everyone had dispersed.

Along with all that, many also wondered if Aeron would ever get to work and stop playing with his nasnook. Others wondered, more seriously, when his more diligent sister would return. Though she had not stayed with the Voirans for very long, Mair had become immediately popular with her people and something of an authority. She was renowned for better reasons than her brother, who was more infamous than famous, and was praised for her hard work, respect for their Maker’s wishes and was, above all else, idolised for being a true Voiran explorer. Oh the tales she might bring when she returned! The words from Voi she would bring! Not like Aeron, who sat lazing about all day… Oh but none could deny his tricks with Voia were a delight, and he did make everyone laugh, so he was tolerated. And, of course, he was an eye of the Maker, just like his superior sister, so they had to tolerate him regardless of his usefulness.

Mair did not return with the coming of Spring and did not return on that day. Instead, a pair of siblings - gone out for a walk earlier in the day - came trudging home. Night had already approached and their worried parents had gone to the Council for aid. It had not been needed, ultimately, for little Von guided the now sickly Vare into camp, much to the relief of their parents and kin. Yet, even as she was fussed over and helped to a bed, Vare seemed different. It was not her hand or their furs or the story she told of an evil spirit that had attacked them. No- it was her eyes. Lifeless eyes. The sort that marked something truly terrible. And so, as gossip spread like wildfire through the camp, many remarked how the chill had turned colder. The promise of spring seemed to fade away as quickly as it had come and there was an inexplicable feeling that something had gone terribly wrong.

Aeron felt it too, and Voia curled on his head and covered herself in his long white hair as he sat by a fire with some six others to ward off the sudden cold. “You seen lil Vare’s eyes, Ron?” Petors asked him.
“Oh, she back?” The performer asked. “I told her not to go off all on her own. Feisty that one.”
“Wait, you knew where she was all along?” Petors frowned.
“Uh…” Aeron glanced at the bigger voiran, then at the others who looked equally unamused, “sort… of? I mean, well, in theory. Uh. Allegedly.” He kissed his lips. “So it is said… I have heard that claim made of late. Uh. I can neither confirm nor den-”
“You’re a real twat sometimes, you know that? She’s not in a good way at all. What did she even go off for?” Another, Poilina, asked.
“Well, I’ve heard it through the tree-vine tha-” Aeron began, but swiftly ducked away from a slap Petors sent his way. He righted himself after that and grinned. “My, so violent, these big fellas. Typical brainless sort, y’know?”
“Where were they?” Poilina asked, ignoring his antics.
“Well, like I was saying before I was set upon by this giant mammoth spawn thing, I heard it through the tree-vine that she and good little Von were rather impressed by the many heroic - and entirely truthful - exploits of a certain fella and his nasnook-”
“Oh for crying out-” Poilina got up and trudged off, “you should watch those stories of yours, Aeron!” She shouted, turning around. “Watch them or you’ll have more than Petors’ slaps to worry about!”
Aeron watched her go off and then glanced awkwardly at the others, then frowned indignantly. “Look now, my stories are important. How are these kids going to grow up into the fine brave sort without good stories, eh? How will they know what goodness looks like if they don’t have any proper models of goodness? Don’t blame my stories if Vare is in a bad way. Going off and exploring is our way - what she did was good, heroic, courageous. What? Would you have us coddle them? You have only one of me today, but if you start coddling them you might as well kiss your ways of bravery and hunting and exploration goodbye.” He stood up and flashed them an affronted look. “That’s how it is.” They were all silent.
“Well, no one’s blaming your stories, Ron, sit down.” Petors muttered.
“Vare is a good kid,” Aeron insisted, not sitting, “in fact, Vare is the best kid. She’s helpful, she hunts better than anyone, she’s not afraid of the dark, she’s protected her brother from more things than I care to count. If my stories made her like that, then I’m proud of it. You all go off hunting and doing your stuff, but my stories are creating our future - my stories made Vare what she is.” No one said anything. “What, am I wrong?” He asked.
“No no, you’re right.” Setven declared. “Just sit man.”
Aeron complied at last and sat down. “If I grew up listening to the stories I tell - if the Maker hadn’t just, I don’t know, snapped his fingers and made us as we are - I would have been the bravest, the most dashing, the noblest, the cleverest (in fact, I’m still the cleverest, Mair has nothing on me) voiran in existence. But hey, things just didn’t work out that way, and so I tell stories to make sure no one turns out like me. Is it so bad of me? I don’t think so. You don’t think so, Petors, I know you don’t you big oafish mammoth thing.”
“Well, Vare’s been talking about some evil spirit.” Setven said, returning the conversation to more important matters. “Apparently attacked them or something, I don’t know. I’ve never heard of a spirit that attacks people.” The others murmured in agreement and frowns spread around the fire.
Aeron scratched his head and shrugged. “Maybe she, uh… was exaggerating a little? Exaggerations always makes a heroic tale better. I’m all for exaggeration. In the name of good stories and morals, of course.”
Petors gave him an icy stare before saying, “Vare doesn’t lie, because she’s a good kid.” Aeron shrugged and nodded in agreement. “Still, I’ve a bad feeling. Everyone has a bad feeling. It’s weird.”
“There’s this heaviness in the air, I’ve never known anything like it.” Setvens added, and the others whispered words of agreement. That was the sentiment everyone echoed for days afterwards.

When Vare was well enough, Aeron decided to take Voia and cheer her up a little, since everyone who saw her noted that she looked especially sad. He found her parents, Baella and Mirtan, sat sullenly by their tent with young Von lying lethargically at their feet. “Well aren’t you a cheerful lot.” Aeron grinned, getting only a long sigh from Mirtan in response.
“What d’you want Aer? Haven’t you someone else to wind up?” Baella managed after a few moments of silence.
“Thought you’d be happier to see me, little man,” Aeron said to Von, ignoring the miserable grown-ups.
“I’m booored.” The boy said, rolling over, “Vare just sits inside and won’t go exploring again with me.” Both Baella and Mirtan perked up at this, and stared daggers at Aeron, who smiled awkwardly.
“Exploring… can be done anytime.” The entertainer enunciated. “You, uh, have better things to do. Like cheering your mum up. Look at her face, I could make a speartip just from the point in her eyes!” Baella’s gaze softened and she looked down at Von after that. “Anyway, I’m going in to see Vare.” He walked past them.
“None of those ridiculous stories, Aer,” Mirtan said warningly.
“Me? Ridiculous? Rats would sooner talk, Mirty!” Aeron laughed, then ducked into the homely tent.

It was dimly lit inside, with the only light sources coming from under the entrance flap and faint traces underneath the furs covering the tent’s structure along the ground. The structure was as small as could be, just enough to house Baella and Mirtan’s family. Vare sat at the back of the tent, where only the faintest of light touched. In fact the only thing that could really be seen, and so marked her presence, was her pale skin. It seemed far paler than it ought to have been, and her expression was one fixed in the muck of depression. Her silver eyes fared no better as they bore into his soul.

“Hello… Aer.” The girl said slowly, if not perhaps deliberately. Her voice was of loss, nothing at all like she had sounded before. “What brings you…” She began to ask but her words faded as her eyes snapped up, past his face, to look at the nasnook sitting on his head and blanketed in his long white hair. Voia had been moving around tensely the moment Aeron entered the tent, but he had not seemed to notice until Vare’s eyes grew fixated on the nasnook.

The spirit, having taken on the earthy form of a polecat, leapt down and approached Vare with tail raised in alarm, hissing and baring its icy fangs. “There now Voia, there’s no need for that.” Aeron said, bending down and scooping the nasnook up. She twisted easily out of his grasp and leapt up, shedding her physical form and sending the furs and tent flying as she screeched and unleashed a small blizzard within herself. Raising a hand and backing away with a frown, Aeron shouted for the nasnook to be calm, but it was to no avail.

Vare shrieked, eyes never leaving Voia as the wind whipped at her air. “Don't let that Nisshi hurt me, Aer!” She cried out, backing away on her hands and legs, and even in the face of the wind Aeron cocked his head in confusion at her words.

“Nisshi?” He muttered bemusedly, running around Voia and looking at Vare. “What the hell’s a nisshi?” He looked from Vare to Voia a few times, and then something seemed to click in his mind. His eyes began to glow a faint blue as he looked at Vare, and he saw beyond the veil of life and death, spirit and flesh, what is known and what is unknown. In seeing what he saw, he understood. “Voia! Calm yourself Voia!” He hurled himself between the nasnook and the girl, then brought Vare to him roughly, his brows furrowed. “Hey, look at me.” He pinched her chin and turned her face side to side as if trying to understand what he was seeing. “Who are you? How did you get in here? Is that even possible? What do you want?”

Vare’s demeanor morphed into something else. Where once there had been a scared girl, there was now something else, something darker. She stood straighter, arms dangling lifelessly at her side as she forced her chin out of Aeron’s grasp. Her lips curled into a frown as she looked up at him, eyes beginning to flicker from silver to crimson. “How stupid of me.” She said in a quiet voice full of spite as the wind whipped at her hair. “Of course you wouldn't call them Nisshiniek. A pity.” She spoke to herself even though she looked at Aeron still, veins of black spreading from her eyes. “The girl did that trick before with her eyes but what did you see in the space between spaces?” She asked, unwavering in her gaze as her eyes became engulfed in red.

Aeron did not answer, but backed away. Their breath became visible as a chill air descended, spreading an unnatural darkness that began to creep into the corner of Aeron’s eyes and his surroundings. With the tent now fully blown away by Voia’s blizzard, Vare’s family stared at them with a mix of confusion and horror. Others stopped to look at the spectacle, curious to see what was going on. Baella called her daughter’s name, but she did not answer. Aeron made to speak, but paused and frowned. Voia raged behind him for a few seconds more, and then was at his shoulder, beneath his chin, and distance simply grew between Aeron and Vare as Voia expanded there and engulfed the girl utterly. Baella screamed out behind Aeron, but everything seemed oddly silent and slow, and Aeron watched as though he was merely a passing bird - mostly because the entire affair was so bizarre that he could not really comprehend it.

Vare was flung at him from inside the maelstrom that was Voia, and he just about managed to catch her, but the nasnook never turned her attention to the girl and kept fighting something else. Vare gasped and groaned and when she opened her eyes, they were silver and full of fear. Her lips quivered as she held tight to Aeron. “R-Run…” She said in the weakest voice he had ever heard uttered, before her eyes spasmed and closed.

“Voi’s head, Vare,” he muttered, and in front of him the maelstrom of blue and white became tainted with darkness. How quickly it spread to subsume Voia entirely as the two forces whipped up a mighty and terrible wind. They collided with nearby tents and people screamed as they were thrown about or hit with flying debris. Then the forces halted as the darkness took over completely and hovered before them for a split second… and then Voia was flung out. She was now naught but a tiny, wispy thing that fell before Aeron. A shade began to form from the coalesced mist, revealing a woman wreathed in a gray flame that ate at the light, and her face seemed centred around two horrible, crimson eyes that bored down into him. All grew breathtakingly quiet as the woman raised a hand into the air.

Ignoring the crimson-eyed demon, Baella was immediately above Aeron, dragging her daughter up out of his arms and rushing off. Mirtan grabbed Von and followed her, and all about the camp the people grabbed what little things they held precious and got to putting as much distance between them and the demon. Aeron sat where he was, Voia rolling about by him. Grabbing her, he shot to his feet and stared right into the demon’s eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, paused, glanced around at the chaos all around, then chuckled awkwardly. “You- uh- you’ve got a great look going. Except for maybe those eyes, I think your pretty face would frame them just right if you toned down the whole red look.” He grinned with as much confidence as he could muster. “And I would be happy to offer my services if you so desi-” halting abruptly mid-sentence, he leapt to his left and bounded off as fast as he could. “What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck-” he mumbled to himself as he put every ounce of strength into his legs.

The demon watched him go. An inverted flame grew in her outstretched hand, calling to itself in a deathly song. Flame’s extinguished, then the land buckled- crumpled like a dry leaf. Its life force yielded itself to the unflame, the nonlight, like streams of smoke. Yet it was not smoke that was ripped from the earth and the trees, and plants and the animals; it was their souls. And as they lost their souls, their very being, they withered and died. It was worse for the Voirans, especially those closest to catastrophe, for their souls were cut so clean from the vessel that the body imploded from the pressure, bathing the ground in red. And when the unlight of the demon grew to twice her height, she threw it at the earth beneath her feet.

Thus did day become night; sorrow become suffering.

The explosion of deathly forces tore apart any that lingered, those that ran were flung or outright eaten, turned to but an after-image of what they once had been. Most faces were of agony, others only fear, all showed the final desperate moments of a confused people. Those further out were hit with the shockwave of the blast, cut to pieces or torn apart by debris. Only the lucky would escape that bloody and blackened field of sorrow. Only so few would they be.

Something strange happened, however, in the aftermath of the terrible death she unleashed on those nomadic voirans. Driven to insanity by her dark powers, or to grief-driven fury and madness by the sudden death of so many loved ones, the voirans rallied en masse and returned in small groups wielding spears and stone axes and daggers - and more lethal still, wielding blue murder in their eyes. The first such group was led by an enormous man hefting a great wooden club, and he came charging ahead of the others towards the demon while roaring murder and death and fury.

She sat unmoving, eyes shut in the center of that broken ground. Even when he swung his club down upon the demon, she was unmoving. The club struck the earth where she sat, cracking apart as her decay took root in it. It went through her, as did the next swing and the next until there was no more club and the others arrived to see the same. But their anger was great and so too were their fists. It was only then did they learn that the demon could not be harmed, but they could. Her red eyes opened and her hand tore through the enormous man, leaving him hollow with blackened eyes as he fell over dead.

Many fought on. Many fled in panic, but it did not matter. The demon caught them all and ate upon their souls. Only one escaped her, a woman who she had nearly killed but whose face now held her mark. It was not luck or strength that saved her, but an act of love. For a man threw himself into the demon and as he withered away the demon let go of the woman to focus on her lover. Thus she was saved and the shrill crying of the baby she held faded into the distance as more voirans came, fewer now. Most tried to run at that point, their rage broken as they looked upon the hollowed out eyes of their kin around the demon’s feet.

In the heavens above, a single white raven - grasping a wispy creature in its talons - circled and bore witness to it all. Its eyes shimmered with blue light and what dripped from them was neither blood nor rain - and could not be tears, for ravens did not cry. It watched until everything below had died - the greenery that had thought spring was come, the trees, the soil, the air; all things - and yes, the voirans too.

The last thing the raven saw was the demon, kneeling amidst a field of white and black, with her hands covering her face.

• Summary

  Spring is coming to the voirans. The voirans, by the way, are a nomadic people. So they wintered in this place and are now getting ready to move with the spring. They’re kinda freaked out by the moon imploding somewhat, but the council reassures everyone that everything is fine since life and everything will go on even if they all die. It’s not very comforting, but you know, these voirans are the stoic sort.
  Vare and Von, the siblings who had a run-in with Zima last time, come back to camp. Vare, the older sister, is in a weird way. Misery and all kinds of bad vibes descend on the voirans. Aeron, our storyteller guy and hero of Voi (brother to the more competent Mair, currently suffering from a broken bone among the firekeepers of the childans) goes to cheer her up. His nisshiniek, Voia, immediately recognises that something is off about Vare and does aggressive stuff. Zima is busted and goes berserk, taking on a crimson-eyed feminine humanoid form. Aeron says something really smart and witty and makes his escape.
  
  So. Zima kills them. She kills them all. They’re dead. Every single one of them (except fifty or something). And not just the men, but the women and children too. They’re like animals, and she slaughtered them like animals.
  
  So anyway, there is one particular mother and her child who Zima marks. Important things will happen to them, so stay alert and keep an eye out for mention of them soon in a post near you.
  
  Aeron, in raven form and carrying Voia, watches the extermination of his people from above and is obviously quite disturbed. Zima kneels in the aftermath of her crime and holds her face in her hands.
• Spirit

  Zima = 22
  

  -15 to create and imbue with power, The Field of Sorrow. The final resting place of the Voiran people, a place they once called their home and camp, now infested with dark and heinous power by Zima. An unnaturally dark place, even in the light of a full sun. Nothing will ever grow there again and to wander in those fields is to feel every pain and sorrow that the Voiran’s felt as they died. You can still see their after images, final moments of despair etched forever on their faces. It empowers death and all its foul spawn. Be wary for your soul.
  
  +1 for post
  +1 for collab
  +1 RISE OF THE EVIL REAL MAIN ANTAGONIST PHELENIA WAS JUST FILLER
  +1 for medium length
  +1 for long length
  = 12 Spirit for Zimzim

  
  
  Aeron = 3
  

  +1 for post
  +1 for collab
  +1 for medium length
  +1 for long length
  = 7 Spirit for Ronnyboi

Divinus: The Deity Roleplay Mk. VI

_{Mish-Cheechel the Avenger}

---

Deep in the loins of the earth, where no bjork had ever ventured alive, lay Mish-Cheechel. The earth pressed heavily on his form and had he need for breath he would have choked; but he had learned how to live without breathing. He had struggled at first, thrashed against the darkness smothering him from all directions. He bit into earth, attacked it with his great buckteeth, but found that only brought the dirt to the lips his teeth shielded. He shook his great shoulders - such blows he landed on the earth as would have shattered the jaws of gods. The earth took it all, however, silent and unmoved.

It was a long struggle before he lay back at last and was still. His thoughts returned to Zima - in his savaging of the earth that bound him she was all he had thought of; what had that Voi done to her? Had she managed to escape? Was she safe? He had to find her. But now as he lay there with no way out, his thoughts turned to the eagle god - or rather, returned to the eagle god, for it was always there; it was a great shadow that pervaded his every thought and memory and was in all that he saw or heard or felt. He grit his teeth as rage boiled within him and he pounded with his great broad head at the earth above. Had he been of those who could know sleep he would have lost consciousness, but he was not of those and so he simply lay there staring liquid fury into the nothingness. He closed his eyes then and tried to find some calm, and before he knew it he found himself whispering words that had been carved into his being.

The Warpath of the Revenger

"1 - The essentials of speaking are in not speaking at all. If you can do something without speaking, do so without saying a word. But if there is something that cannot be done without speaking, then speak with few words and in a way that accords with reason." He opened his eyes and did not breathe. There was perfect stillness in his little grave, and slowly it spread into his chest and to his mind.

"2 - The person who can provide a prompt answer to the question, ‘What is the true meaning of the Warpath of Vengeance?’ is rare. This is because it has not already been anchored in one’s mind. From this, one’s disregard for the Warpath of Vengeance can be determined. Such negligence is an extreme thing." The Avenger relaxed against the earth that pressed down and up on him and he considered himself but an extension of that earth.

"3 - The Warpath of Vengeance is to be found in death. When you are presented with the choice - either this or that - there is only the quick choice of death. It is that simple.
3.1 - Be determined; advance. When faced with the choice between life and death, it is not necessary to achieve your goal. It is painful to die without achieving your goal, but to be satisfied to live while your goal is unaccomplished is the height of cowardice and shame. This is the entirety of the Warpath of Vengeance; set your heart on it by morn and eve and so live as though you are already dead.

"4 - A revenger is brought to shame if he does not take revenge.

"5 - By waiting to get the agreement of others, a matter like taking revenge will never be brought to a conclusion. One should have the resolution to go alone and even to be cut down.
5.1 - A person who speaks vehemently about taking revenge but does nothing about it is a hypocrite. Cowards, by mouthing off like this, are simply trying to save face.
5.2 - But a real stalwart is one who will go out secretly - saying nothing - and die. It is not necessary to achieve one’s aim; one is a stalwart in being cut down, for the Warpath of Vengeance lies in simply forcing one’s way towards one’s enemies and being cut down if need be. There is no shame in this.
5.3 - By thinking that you must ‘complete the job’ you will run out of time. By considering things like how many enemies there are, time piles up and in the end you will give up. No matter how powerful or numerous the enemy, there is fulfillment in simply standing them off and being determined to cut them all down one by one.
5.4 - When you have made a decision to kill someone, even if it will be very difficult to succeed by advancing straight ahead, it is futile to try going at it in a long and roundabout way. One’s heart may slacken or one may miss the chance; there will be no success.
5.5 - The Warpath of Vengeance is one of immediacy, and it is best to dash in headlong. Even if it seems certain that you will lose, retaliate; a real revenger does not think of victory or defeat but plunges recklessly towards an irrational death.
5.6 - Therefore, the Warpath of Vengeance is in desperateness; neither wisdom nor technique has a place in this. Ten enemies or more cannot kill such a revenger. Common sense will not accomplish vengeance, so simply become insane and desperate. Such a revenger will achieve his purpose.

"6. Others may consider this to be fanaticism, but it is in fact martial valour.
6.1 - Merit when it comes to martial valour lies more in dying for one’s vengeance than in striking down the enemy. Thus martial valour is a matter of becoming a fanatic.
6.2 - With such fanatical strength of spirit, even if one’s head were to be suddenly cut off, he should be able to do one more action with certainty, and even if a revenger be sick to death he should be able to bear up for many days. But if your spirit is weak you will fall the moment you head is severed or sickness strikes you. With martial valour, if one becomes like a revengeful ghost and shows fanatical determination, though his head is cut off he will not die.

"7 - No matter what it is, there is nothing that cannot be done; if one manifests fanatical determination, one can move heaven and earth as he pleases. But a pluckless revenger cannot set his mind to his goals. This is why a revenger’s obstinacy should be excessive. A thing done with moderation may later be considered insufficient. When you think you have gone too far, you will not have erred.

"8 - A revenger should be careful. Why? If one thoughtlessly crosses a river of unknown depths and shallows, he may die in its currents without ever reaching the other side or properly seeing to his purpose. One should consider first stepping back and getting some understanding of the depths and shallows and then getting to work.
8.1 - Above all, if he is not careful in his choice of words he may say things like, ‘I'm a coward,’ or ‘If that happened I'd probably run,’ or ‘How scary,’ or ‘How painful.’ These are words that should not be said even as a joke or on a whim, and not even when talking in one’s sleep. If anyone with understanding hears these things then he will see to the bottom of the speaker’s heart - this is why the essentials of speaking are in not speaking at all.
8.2 - For a revenger, a simple word is important because by one single word martial valour can be made apparent.
8.3 - Words show one’s bravery, and by them one’s strength or cowardice can be known. This single word is the flower of one’s heart - it is sculpted by the heart and sculpts it also. It is not something said simply with one’s tongue; even in matters as trifling as this the depths of one’s heart can be seen.

"9 - Even a poor revenger will go a long way along the Warpath of Vengeance if he is careful, studies by imitating a good model, and puts forth effort.
9.1 - If there are no models of good revengers, it would be good to make a model and to learn from that. To do this, one should look at many people and choose from each person his best point only. One person for politeness, one for bravery, one for the proper way of speaking, one for correct conduct, one for steadiness of mind, and so on. Thus will the model be made.
9.2 - If one carefully observes any person’s good points, one will have a model teacher for anything.

"10 - Every morning, bathe, put lotion in your hair and fur and in all ways pay attention to your personal appearance and the condition of your equipment - a saddle, a spear, or anything else.
10.1 - Although it seems that taking special care of one’s appearance is nothing but vanity, that is not the case. Even if you are aware that you may be struck down today and are firmly resolved to an inevitable death, if you are slain with an unclean and unseemly appearance you will show your lack of previous resolve and will be despised by your enemy. For this reason every revenger should take care of his appearance.
10.2 - Even if you are a spirit, the physical form you inhabit should be kept ever clean and ready for death. In cleanliness, prepare for death as you would prepare for the person most loved and dear to you.

"11 - If one were to say in a word what the condition of being a revenger is, its basis lies first in seriously devoting one’s body and soul to one’s vengeance.
11.1 - If one is asked what to do beyond this, it would be to fit oneself inwardly with these three virtues:
--Intelligence
--Compassion
--Courage.
These three virtues may seem unattainable together, but it is in fact easy.
11.2 - Intelligence is nothing more than discussing things with others. Limitless wisdom comes from this.
11.3 - Compassion is to do for the sake of others. Simply compare yourself to others and put them in the fore. In this way, whatever you do should be done for the sake of your vengeance, kin, the people in general, and for posterity. This is great compassion. When one punishes or strives with the heart of compassion, what he does will be limitless in strength and correctness. Doing something for one’s own sake is shallow and mean and turns into evil.
11.4 - Courage is gritting one’s teeth; it is simply doing that and pushing ahead, paying no attention to the circumstances. While marching on the Warpath of Vengeance, if one wills himself to outstrip revengers of accomplishment, and day and night hopes to strike down a powerful enemy, he will grow indefatigable and fierce of heart and will manifest courage. One should use this principle in daily affairs too. All revengers should discipline themselves rigorously in intention and courage. This will be accomplished if only courage is fixed in one’s heart. If one’s spear is broken, he will strike with his hands. If his hands are cut off, he will press the enemy down with his shoulders. If his shoulders are cut away, he will bite through ten or fifteen enemy necks with his teeth. Courage is such a thing.
11.5 - Anything that seems above these three virtues is not necessary to be known.
11.6 - Covetousness, anger, and foolishness are three vices to sort out well. When bad things happen in the world - if you look at them carefully - they are not unrelated to these three vices. Meanwhile, you will find that all good things that happen are linked in some way to intelligence, compassion, and courage.

"12 - To give a person one’s opinion and correct his faults is an important thing. It is compassionate and is of great importance amongst those in pursuit of a singular vengeance.
12.1 - The way of doing this is extremely difficult. To discover the good and bad points of a person is an easy thing, and to give an opinion concerning them is also easy. For the most part, people think that they are being kind by saying the things that others find distasteful or difficult to say. But if it is not received well, they think that there is nothing more to be done. This sort of thinking is worthless. In this way one has only shamed and humiliated the other person and done no good.
12.2 - To give a person an opinion one must first judge well whether that person is of the disposition to receive it or not. One must become close with him and make sure that he continually trusts one’s word. Approaching subjects that are dear to him, seek the best way to speak so that you are well understood. Judge the occasion and manner - a gathering of friends, an official occasion, a private talk; know which is best. Praise his good points and use every device to subtly encourage him to rectify himself, perhaps by talking about your own faults without touching on his, but doing so in such a way that his fault will occur to him. Have him receive this in the way a parched person would drink water, and it will be an opinion that will correct faults.
12.3 - This is difficult. If a person’s fault is an entrenched habit, by and large it won’t be remedied.
12.4 - To be intimate with all one’s comrades, correcting one another’s faults and being of one mind to gain vengeance is the great compassion of a revenger. By bringing shame to a person, how could one expect to make him better?

"13 - In all this, as one calls to goodness, one must not forget to do good also. If one were to say what it is to do good in a single word, it would be to endure suffering. Not enduring is bad without exception.

"14 - For one who treads the Warpath of Vengeance, matters of great concern should be treated lightly.
14.1 - Meanwhile, matters of small concern should be treated seriously.
14.2 - If matters of great concern are deliberated upon before they arise, they can be understood. For instance, deliberating on how you will act once the enemy is stood before you, or if you should happen upon the enemy asleep, or drunk, or in a crowd. Thinking about things previously and then handling them lightly when the time comes is what this is all about.
14.3 - To face an event and solve it lightly is difficult if you are not resolved beforehand, and there will always be uncertainty in hitting your mark. However, if the foundation is laid previously, you can consider, ‘Matters of great concern should be treated lightly,’ as your basis for action.
14.4 - For such a person, it is insufficient when meeting calamities or difficult situations to simply say that one is not at all flustered. When meeting such difficult situations, one should dash forward bravely and with joy.

"15 - If one has no earnest daily intention regarding his vengeance, does not consider what it is to be a revenger even in his dreams, and lives through the day idly, such a negligent revenger can be said to be worthy of punishment."

Mish-Cheechel finished the recitation and lay in silence for a few seconds. Then he started again from the beginning. He recited it repeatedly in the darkness of his grave and all thought of Zima left him. Only the eagle god remained, only the Green Murder. He continued reciting it even as he raised a hand - serenely - to the pounded earth above him and power pulsed through his form. It was a great and familiar heat - bereft of rage or anger. There was only purpose there now. He was still, feeling the heat building up in his palm, still whispering the Warpath. He did not release it, but held it there like a child and was filled with a small amount of wonder at how such a thing could exist.

He looked up - almost lazily - into the darkness, and released the heat. Warmth spread through his form and permeated the small grave, and above him the world rocked gently and all pressure disappeared. When the heat had dissipated, he found that not far above him was light. The charred earth was perfectly smooth, but here and there remnants of rocks jutted out and he was able to climb his way out of the hole.

Spring was in the air and the world was silent where his blast had rocked it. His body was bare - no spear or saddle; they were all likely buried deep in the earth where no one could ever find them again. It was no matter, however. He looked skyward, his eyes as liquid steel. "I'm coming for ye, Green Murder."

• Summary

  Mish-Cheechel's body is buried in the ground after his encounter with Phelenia. He pounds against it for a time and then gives up. He recites the Warpath of the Revenger and finds calm. He blasts his way out of the grave. He's coming for Phelenia.
• Spirit

  11 Spirit
  

  0 Spirit spent on: VENGEANCE FLAME STYLE: SPEAR OF THE VENGEFUL FIRESTORM JUTSU! [Now a free power due to having spent 16 Spirit on it in total previously]
  +1 for post
  +1 for main character
  +1 for medium length
  Total: 14 Spirit
• Prestige

  2 Prestige
  

  +1 for playing a role in this post
  +1 for playing a role in this post
  +1 for playing a role in the present post
  Total: 5 Prestige