Zima waited a long time for Mish-Cheechel to awaken. When the animals returned and galloped past, she waited alongside Bear, thinking of how nice it would be to go about and run with them. When a wind began to blow fiercely, she waited alongside Bear, thinking of how it might be fun to go for a nice soar above the trees. The sun was sinking very slow along the horizon, melting the trees into one long dark shadow. Bathing them in the chilling twilight. How nice might it have been to wander among the stars, but she waited alongside Bear. For Mish-Cheechel was her friend and she would not abandon him despite all of her fanciful thoughts. The Keeper of the Harmony Tree had said he would awake and when he did she had to be there to set things right. To make sure he would be okay because that was what friends were for.
Right?
When the sun began to set at last and bathed their world in darkness did Bear settle down for sleep, but she waited. She didn’t need sleep, after all. The chorus of night would keep her buzzing mind occupied. She tried to guess at the sounds she could hear. The crunching of leaves from small furred critters, to the hooting of night birds up in their trees, hunting for their supper. It was funny how she took things for granted, how she never stopped to listen to the world, always eager to see it, to be with it and apart. But this was… It was nice just to listen.
Then like flames licked out, the noises stopped with an abruptness that Zima did not fully realize until she could only hear the trickle of the running stream. Then the smell hit her. She became alert in an instant as a wave of rancid, putrid odor assaulted her senses. If she had a stomach she would probably have vomited, but thank Papa for that! Instead her eyes began to survey her surroundings. Even Bear was jostled awake! The poor thing shook, as if unsure whether to flee his master or stay and be brave. Was it another Keeper? A… A god? What God could smell so ba- P-P-Parasite! Had he come after all?
Oh no! Panic began to set in as the Keeper said he was worse. What would she do? What would she do? She began to shake herself and looked to Bear for any semblance of help but instead she found Bear looking at her and it dawned upon her. Bear looked up to her! She couldn’t let him or Mish-Cheechel down. She wouldn’t!
“Be brave with me Bear!” She whispered in comfort, yet she was beginning to become even more unsettled. Whatever it was, was getting closer. She could tell that by the smell but worse- the snap of twigs and the crunching of leaves. Instinctively she began to survey her surroundings for a body. Plenty of stones, no ice, no snow, there was a small breeze, would it be enough? Of course! Her eyes snapped to the water. It would be the fastest way for a body but would leave Mish-Cheechel and Bear without protection for a few seconds. Even still she was useless as she was right now. She would have to try, have to-
The snapping and crunching stopped. She could make out something watching them, half hidden behind a tree. It was small and it struggled with breath. They stared at each other, neither moving, waiting for the other to make a move. When it became painfully obvious that it wasn’t going to say anything, Zima spoke instead.
“H-hello?” Her voice came out small, barely a whisper. She cleared her ethereal throat and tried again when it made no reply. “Hello? Can I help you?” She asked.
The thing gave no reply but stood… Growing taller and taller for it was not small, it had only been crouching. It stepped from the shadows into the moonlight and Zima gasped, for the thing was a monster! Her words were caught in her throat, she could neither scream nor move, so frightened she had become. She had no idea how to describe such a thing, like a deer twisted to stand upon two legs, broken apart at every seam, twisted beyond belief. A walking carcass, a carrion made animate.
“Hello…? Can I help you?” It repeated back to her in a voice eerily similar to her own. Her form began to shake. It did not mean those words- it-it was not real. It couldn’t be real!
It groaned, clawing at it’s emaciated stomach, looking past her to… Mish-Cheechel! That was what it had come for. Her friend!
“Y-You!” She shouted, voice growing. “You can not have him! Leave!”
It began to walk forward, it’s arms dragging on the floor as its body and back cracked at a misshapen angle. Her soul beat quickened, the hum inside coming alive with that age old response.
Flight or fight.
“LEAVE NOW!” She boomed but the creature gave her no attention. Its pace quickened and Zima had to act.
At that moment, she did two things. First, she screamed at Bear to take Mish-Cheechel and run. Second, she became the wind and blew a mighty gust upon the creature. It faltered, its upper torso bending like a sapling in a gale but it stayed somewhat upright. It gave her enough time to get to the water. She could hear the large sounds of something heavy crashing through the undergrowth- Bear, and the sickening crunch of bones snapping back into place. It mattered not! Bear and Mish-Cheechel had to get away!
She dove into the water and let it mingle with her essence. In a split second the flow and she had become one. Zima was ready to fight! She burst forth a tendril from the water, acting as a face of sorts to see what was happening. The creature was still after Bear and Mish-Cheechel, breaking into a jog as its bones became less broken. Zima whipped at it with a tendril of water and grabbed hold as it lunged towards Bear.
With a yank, she slammed it to the ground, then she grabbed its leg and pulled. Once she had saved others from drowning but she knew…. She knew this creature could not be saved.
It clawed at the land, leaving deep marks as it fought for a grip and it found one. It managed to get a hold of a tree, sinking a claw deep into the wood. It never took its eyes off Bear and when she saw the white rump at last disappear into the underbrush, did it finally look upon her with malice in those burning green eyes.
She tugged harder and the creature began to slash at her tendril, breaking the connection enough where her hold broke. With uncanny speed it righted itself. Afraid that it might run after Bear, Zima came up on shore and launched her watery mass upon it. Twig, rock and flower were brought into her maelstrom of waves and she collided with the thing. If she could not bring it to the water, then she would bring the water to it.
Her orb of liquid wrapped around the creature and it flailed in a vain attempt to gain footing or attack. She was winning! It would drown! Mish-Cheechel and Bear would be safe! Yet it could not be that easy, could it? No… For the creature began to taint the water that composed her and where it became tainted, it dropped harmlessly to the ground. She was losing water so Zima began to roll away from the direction Mish-Cheechel and Bear were heading. If she could make enough distance she might be able to have the creature only focus on her. So that’s what she did, avoiding areas and anything the creature could get hold of. It was a violent debacle, as she could not spare the land, else her prisoner would flee.
Eventually they reached a valley of sorts, a rocky hill that led down a slope that dropped off into a ravine or valley. She could not tell but it might work. It would hurt but she had to do it. So Zima the Zimmer flung the both of them down it with speed. It only took her twice hitting the rocks for her watery form to dissipate and she was left free forming. She hovered now and watched the deer demon, hoping it would be flung off into oblivion. Instead, she watched it regain itself, clawing into the hillside to stop its momentum right before the drop. Wasting no time, Zima became the rocks and gathered them to her. She could not become the hulking creature of stone that had tamed Bear, but one that could be smaller and lighter to fight the creature but no less deadly.
As soon as her stones were gathered and her sight fixed, the deer slammed into her with a ferocious growl. It ripped into her rocky sinew and yanked away a few stones before Zima clocked it with a rocky fist in the side of its head. That sent the thing sputtering into the rocks. She pressed her advantage and descended upon it, pinning it to the ground with her weight as she pummeled it in the head and chest. Each punched, broke bone and tore at flesh but the creature did not relent, instead it acted as if it simply did not care about the abuse it received. This alarmed Zima but she did not falter, instead she punched harder- Then her punch was caught by a clawed hand, and her own hand was ripped off. Well, she still had an arm but it was just shorter.
This let the creature gain the upper hand and with a strength that betrayed it’s gaunt look, Zima found herself now pinned. It dished out the exact same punishment as she squirmed. Being a creature that did not have an actual head meant she didn’t need to defend herself. So as the creature pummeled her, cracking and chipping stone, Zima formed on her shorter arm a spear of sorts from the rocks. They gathered to a point and then she rammed it into the side of the creature with a sickening squelch. Foul liquid and rancid meat stained her stone and for once the creature screamed.
That had been a mistake on her part.
For the creature punched her central stone so hard, it cracked it into splinters and Zima was sent reeling as the assault continued. Her spear arm was broken, and it tried to pull it free but as her connection left, the stones lost their shape. It was at that moment that Zima knew what had to be done, properly, this time. With her legs, she grappled on to the beast, then with her good arm, pushed them to the side where the tumble to oblivion would await. It tried to get away but she was rock and stone and her grip would not let go.
She was good at that. Not letting go.
As they hit the free air however, its doom was sealed. Zima began to leave the rocks but as she did, something strange occurred. A tendril of green from its chest, just like its burning eyes, grabbed onto her ethereal form and Zima could not escape!
She panicked and the world went dark as she felt something cold embrace her.
Zima waits for Mish to wake up and stays, despite being a restless spirit and wanting to see what every noise and color is. She sticks to her duty as his friend and along with Bear, they wait till night falls. Then something strange happens, something neither expected. A stench fills the air, quiets the land and Zima gets spooked. She looks to Bear for guidance but realizes Bear is looking to her for guidance instead so Zima braves up and prepares for what is approaching. It turns out to be a creature of pure terror, half corpse and mutated beyond belief. She demands it leaves but it approaches. Realizing she has no other choice, Zima fights the creature allowing Bear and Mish to get away. The two spirits fight a big fight and in the end, all might be lost for Zima the Zimmer...
The crack of ice echoed across the endless white of the frozen landscape. Icebergs and snowbanks were the only residents there in that place and they would make no complaints about the noise. Even if it had been going on like that for several minutes. It seemed even the gods needed to vent their frustration. Chailiss was no exception.
Again and again his fist hit the ice with tremendous blows. He did not scream, he did not shout, all he did was wear a mask of grief, mixed with rage. He still wore the form of his newest appearance, the Father Spirit, as the Childan deigned to call him. It gave such great expression to his thoughts that any would be able to see his struggles. For he had allowed thoughts of rape and murder to crop up in his people. He had let the bjork suffer the punishment of a foolish god and worse, he had lost his little Nisshiniek. What would become of her, lost and alone out in that realm of his? Why wasn’t he out looking for her even now?
Why-
His fist struck the ice again and the ice shelf cracked further, breaking apart. Chailiss allowed himself to sink with the weight of his failures into the cold depths below. The sweet embrace of familiar cold. The free-falling expanse of encroaching dark.
He recalled his earlier conversation with Homura and her speech of paradise and all his land being an affront to such an ideal. Worse yet, now after the Monarch’s decree, he was to be the messenger of her judgment should she say so. Would he be foolish to go against such a decree? He whose Breath Bears Icy Winds. A visit to the monarch was due, to clarify such a position as that. Chailiss was unsure if he could be at the beck and call of someone so...
His thoughts turned back to his humans. What had she expected? He had given them free will and by doing so, they would forge their own destinies. So they could struggle and grow, even if that meant that undesirable outliers would crop up. His eyes widened at a sudden realization, had he made them with such thoughts? Or had it just cropped up like some malignant tumor? What pushed men to force themselves upon another? Their wretched thoughts had turned to only lust… And worst of all, they had gotten away with it.
Was he incapable of finding them out? He was a God after all, wiser than all mortals, older than the land they walked. But, then why did he feel so inferior?
He had allowed a sibling to spring up in his land and murder the bjork. Molesting his land with their hatred and spite. He had failed them. And his champion… His poor champion. Already aware and suffering a loss he could not comprehend. He had left her too, but at least on that occasion he had succeeded in stopping a calamity. He could only guess the cause of such destruction. But the words of the Moon Goddess gave little doubt to the culprit.
A kinslayer. A murderer. Another God had been slain and he had done nothing. Because he was simply unaware. Perhaps he was wrong in assuming such a heinous thought that the Moon had committed such a crime but perhaps not. Only time would tell.
Time.
How long had he been in the arctic? Beating at ice like some fool. He was better than that but a feeling of doubt overcame him in that moment and he knew even God’s were not so absolute. He was left shaken, so, like a coward he retreated where none would see and now he settled into the ocean floor, so deep and dark below. The pressure was immense and not but bubbles of salt and heat vents did give him company.
It was strange, the peace it brought and he could have spent the longest of times there but he knew, even with all the turmoil that addled his mind, he still needed to act. To make amends. Even if rape, murder and other atrocities could be brought about by mortals and his kin, that did not mean all of them would act on those impulses. The world would be harsh but kindness and compassion would prevail, he would make sure of it. Despite the elements, the actions of a few, the dim outlook he saw- His land would be made into a bastion of hope. Perhaps even a fledgling paradise but forged by those that lived within. Wouldn’t that be a thought?
The god of cold stood and balled his fists. He could not hide in the farthest reaches of his realm forever, nor should he have even done so in the first place. He needed to act while the wounds were still fresh and in need of healing before they festered with rot. He crouched down, knees bending with great power- before he exploded forth. It was but a second later he stood upon ice, water freezing as it left his body to shatter on the ground.
First, he would alter the weapon of calamity he had saved his land with. He found the box sitting nearby from where he had sat it. The power within hummed with dark intent and for but a moment the idea of leaving it forever in the darkest depths of the ocean was tempting but even Chailiss knew he needed something that could help defend himself and his land with.
A deterrent.
He poured a bit more of his strength into it and the box, even closed, lapped it up readily. It changed, grew a bit larger and far deeper with a stain of blue color. It hummed angrily at first but the hum became a soft beat, not unlike that of a heart. Next he fashioned a chain of ice that looped through the handles of the box and tied it to his person. He would have to keep the box close, for fear of misuse crossed his mind. With that done, he moved to his next task.
Chailiss needed a servant, a champion who could leave his realm freely and act as a messenger, an explorer, with eyes and ears in the outside world. One whose heart was brave in the sight of danger and true in moments of doubt. Thus, Chailiss picked up a small bit of ice and shaped it into the figure of an owl. He could think of no better identity than the one he envisioned.
With his breath, he whispered an awakening over the figurine and placed it down before him before taking a few steps back. Before his eyes, ice cracked and grew, giving way to flesh and bone and white-brown feathers. The shape grew and grew, rippling with strength and height before all ceased back to the quiet rustling of the wind. Standing before him loomed a very large, sleeping owl, easily twice the size of his own human form. The feathers were pale colored, bits of brown and greys interweaving to form a complex pattern of beauty. Speckled within those feathers were jewels of icy blue. Its head was heart-shaped, with tan feathers forming around its eyes and pale yellow beak. True function over form, as Chailiss knew its hearing would be excellent.
It opened its eyes slowly after a time, revealing a dazzling blue that almost seemed to glow faintly. There was depth and intelligence in those eyes and it peered down upon its creator with curiosity.
”Your name shall be Viho, champion of the skies.” Chailiss said.
“I am Viho.” A quiet voice echoed around the God, as in affirmation. Chailiss raised an eyebrow, for the beak of Viho had never opened in his speech. “Is my purpose set Lord?” Viho asked, stretching out his dazzling wings.
”It is.” He stated. ”Journey far and wide, explore, and meet new faces. Do not dishonor yourself or me, for you are the envoy of this land of ours. And if you run across any creations of the Goddess Homura, give her this message. ‘Chailiss has heard the whims of the Monarch and will aid you despite any past differences, if the Lady wishes.’ Go now.”
“I will not disappoint you, my lord.” Viho dipped his head, flexing out his left talons. “These winds will carry me far and away. For now, I bid you farewell.” And with a quiet flap of his wings, Viho the owl champion flew off into the unknown.
Now it was time for Chailiss to depart. Next on his list was to find and educate his wayward children on the nature of their crimes.
Chailiss reflects on what's been going on and is disappointed in himself and in the events of his peers and what has transpired in his land. After a long period of thought he realizes it is unbecoming of him to act in such a way. Thus he begins to set things right, and powers up his artifact a bit out of paranoia. Then he makes a new champion who will explore the world. The post ends on Chailiss endeavoring to search out his wayward children and teach them the errors of their ways over Lansa’s death.
Starting 6 Vigor -2 vigor to power up the box of calamity 2 +2 now = 4 -1 vigor to make a new champion, Viho the owl.
(Warning - Post contains references to uncomfortable material, nothing explicit but you have been warned.)
Long they walked under the trees of the land, broken only by the dark and light of passing days. Through newborn eyes did they see the world in wonder and amazement. Every fallen branch was a cane or plaything, every leaf was a cup, every pine needle a bitter taste. They felt what was around them, to the rough bark of the trees, running streams, hard stone and soft grass. Every shout was of excitement, every laugh was in good company and there was a great deal of talking as they learned of their voices and found names that fit their liking.
Avata the thinker, Canowicakte the runner, Dohasan the stick finder- All names came with meaning that were paramount to the ideals of the fledgling Childan people. He or She who did something well, and enough of, was added to their name in those early times. This could also change for they were a people finding themselves changing, growing as their Guiding Spirit showed them the lands they would call home.
They heard sounds never heard before, from the caws of birds, to the stampeding of mighty animals. The air was fresh and full of pleasant smells- but also of those not. To the scent of pine, the scent of sap, the scent of decaying leaves, of honey and flowers. To the stench of carrion, bogs and death. These were all lessons to be passed on, so said the Father Spirit, he who guides.
There was still fun to be had though, for learning and adapting did not need to be so dull. Every thin rock could be skipped across the waters they drank from, while they still could wash and play within. Blueberries, blackberries, raspberries and more could be plucked while plump and eaten with juices so delicious to be had that not a single one of them did not smile at the taste. Nuts were gathered from trees and plants, while roots were gathered for feasts under the stars. There was joy unfounded in those dawning days and all was good for a time.
The Father Spirit taught them many things as they journeyed deeper into his land. Where they walked, there were lessons and warnings. Advice and admonishment. He was kind but stern and only the bravest asked the wildest of questions. But they walked and they learned nonetheless. Under the tall trees, fledgling plains, flowering prairie- to the lowest of rivers to the brimming peaks of hills and mountains. He taught them what was edible, what was not and what could be with time. He taught them what could be used and what could not be used. Tree branches became spears and leaves became hats to keep out the rain. He gave them simple clothes that many had already altered to fit themselves better. For they were never cold but it was nice to keep out other things. Like biting flies and hungry suckers. The Father Spirit had cursed such things as bad spirits, to be wary of any creature whose purpose was to take without giving.
His solution to that problem was a strange one, he left one day and did not return for three nights. He left them within the clearing of a dense forest, where large cats and bears would not find them. Then upon the fourth day a great white eagle descended as the Childan collected food and sparred with spears. The Father Spirit changed before their eyes as he landed and a great murmur ran through the gathering crowds, for he had brought two flattooths, much smaller than they had encountered before. The Father Spirit nudged them forward as the crowd was in awe. Some tried to touch the flattooths but were denied by the Father Spirit with a stern growl. The little ones were able to do their work in the safety of his shadow and what a work it was. Before their eyes they watched them work quickly, gathering small sticks and dry grass before slamming two rocks together over their odd pile. The stones had the quality of a shine to it but they were dark, flaky. Soon, small brights burst for, before there was a triumphant crackle and a wild light ushered forth!
The Childan panicked and with great cries fell backwards into one another. What was it they saw so terrible before them? Who could conjure such a thing? The Father Spirit blew a wind between them, guiding them upright and with calming words did they settle, stepping forward into the light of a new sun. There was nothing to fear, for it was flame the Father Spirit said. A tool, dangerous as it was useful but a tool nonetheless. A gift from the small flattooths- who were named Bjork. But such a gift was one that would be taught to them and wielded correctly. And so the Childan did learn of fire with the Bjork’s as helpers. They became known to them as the Bijjiork, or Helping Spirits.
After several days the Bijjiork grew restless and homesick, as the Father Spirit said, and so there came a great feast with a roaring fire. It was a time of celebration and joy and lovemaking but like all things, it came to an end and the Guiding Spirit took them home upon the dawn.
It was then that the trouble came upon the Childan, in that absence of their Father and the abandonment by their Mother. Many would weep.
Her name had been Lansa, firecharmer. For none were so talented at managing the kindled flame as she. None had been so apt to brave the teachings of the Bijjiork and succeed so well as she. It was a talent that many of the women grew jealous of, not because they wanted the fire for themselves but because of the attention it gained from the men.
It had grown as the days passed by, even when their Father had been their watching. Small chats became longer, a passing touch became an overbearing hug, while the slight grab of her wrist became like a vice. Lansa, for her part, wanted none of this. She was content to watch the flames and keep over them. She had no time for the men who wanted to lay with her. The fire was the only warmth she needed but the other women did not want to see this. They saw what they wanted to see- and like a twisting snake, a rift began to grow. Her friends came less and less to see her, or when she came around they would be too busy to talk.
She felt alone, her fire the only one who would listen. Only for short times did she go to eat berries and nuts, and to drink from the streams. Soon they would leave, for the land was growing depleted, despite the Father Spirit’s touch. They had more lessons to learn after all and perhaps with that new excitement, Lansa thought her friends might bond with her again. Those would be good times, like before.
When the father spirit had left them, the men became relentless however. Their advances came at every passing shadow. She told them off but it was getting incessant. An annoyance to her and her flame. She looked to help but none would give it, the women sneered and shook their heads. She was alone with her flame, but she was at least warm.
Upon the first night, her flame went out.
It started like any other. She sat next to her fire, away now from her friends and group. Men began to come to her, offering pebbles, food, and other things they found. She declined all offers but soon enough, the men would not leave her. Some left, most left, but those that remained cast longer shadows then the rest ever had. It was then, when no new offers came forth and great light in the sky was dimming,, did they finally act.
Lansa protested at first as two men grabbed her but when they did not let go she panicked. Struggling to break free, biting and yelling before they gagged her mouth with a ripped piece of cloth. One punched her in the stomach as the others stomped out her flame so that none would see what was happening. Into the woods they went, dragging her by her long black hair. Lansa's muffled screams were lost in the dark, as she was cut by sharp rock and biting sticks. Her cloth dress became torn and dirtied bit still she fought against her captors.
They entered a small clearing, the only sounds were her muffled pleas and pending heart. They punched her and kicked poor Lansa as she tried to escape, speaking terrible words of death and killing. She became powerless and daze as true fear set in. And it was there in the quiet of the night, so far from the comfort of fire, that they had their way with her...
It was a terrible act, a violation of Childan kind and spirit. A loss of innocence that would run deep like ugly scars, echoing through all time. In the end, as daylight broke through the trees upon the third day of their Father's absence, Lansa did not emerge from the forest in the morning. Nor the afternoon nor the evening. It was only when, by chance, their fires went out from a strong wind did they realize her absence at last.
They called for her, those old jealous friends of hers. No longer jealous but afraid. It began to dawn on them, in the dark as they searched under moonlight, that they perhaps had driven the girl to run away. They had neglected her and for what? Because the men had shown her more affection? Stupidity! And now Lansa was gone but how wrong they were…
It was Tehya, the seeker who found her. The girl's screams alerted them all and they arrived to a grisly sight. There are no need for details describing such a scene. Only know that it was a loss, deep and unsettling. For Lansa was dead and the signs were obvious. One of Childan had done it and tried to destroy the evidence by burial but had given up. It was profane and beyond disgusting.
The women would not let the men carry her body back. Instead, she was carefully held as they walked and weeded. Profound was the loss that weighed so heavily on their hearts. When they arrived at their clearing home, all eyes fell upon her body. A great sadness bloomed, many men grew angry with one another and fought but it was the women who stopped them. For their fury was only beginning. A great pyre was set and from the embers of her smoldering fire, did they light it to send Lansa to that which she loved most.
Then a great meeting was called between all of the females. Some men grew heated at this sight and demanded to be included but calmer heads prevailed and they let them be. For there could be no future without women. No future at all. For they had all been wronged by such an act.
Upon the dawn of the third day did Wapeka the brave call forth to the men. She was a fierce fighter and as tall as any man. She asked for those responsible to come forth but when none did she shook her head. Again she asked, but not a man moved forward. They glanced at each other and only shuffled awkwardly. She berated them after that, calling them cowards and other unsavory names but it was her right to do so for Lansa was dead at their hands. When angry men gave protest to such accusations they were silenced by their peers with elbow jabs.. And again, she quieted, before asking them to come forth.
None did.
So Wapeka sighed and spoke.
"Then so be it you Childan men, you breakers of trust and takers of life. If none come forward then you are all to blame! The same as we, for the death of our firecharmer." There were tears in the eyes of her steely gaze. "Here forth, upon this day, we women of the Childan shall split into tribes and venture forth into this land of our Father. For this crime… You men are not welcome with us. You shall take no wives, you shall share no beds, you shall raise no children… There will be no future for our people. Now be gone, before those amidst you become rash with anger and hatred. You will never again take life in this place… This site of the first sin!"
With her words declared, Wapeka and the other women began to depart. The men stood in stunned silence before one came forth- Patamon the leaf cutter.
"This is not fair!" He shouted. "You cannot blame all of us for this crime! We will all die and our race will be no more without you. Please! Please reconsider!" He felt o his knees and cupped his hands. Many of the men followed suit and their pleas filled the sky with sound.
After some time and with a smug grin, Wapeka raised a hand and silenced them. "Only now do you see the weight of this crime. These are our bodies, our spirits and you shall not partake of them! Not until the sky dances! Now farewell!"
The men could only watch as the women gathered their things, lit branches from the fire of Lansa and left them completely. In five directions they went and so to did the men. Perhaps there was a fleeting hope that they could be taken back or perhaps it was out of desperation. Maybe Onda day the sky would dance. They would have to be ready.
Upon the fourth day did the Guiding Spirit finally return. He had been searching for another with no luck and never wanting to be overly late, he had returned to nothing but a blazing fire. A small band of women sat around the flame, feeding sticks into it. They stood when he walked to them, brow raised in surprise.
"Where are all my children?" He asked.
Gone, they said and recounted what had transpired those last few days. They who had remained had sworn to keep the flame going until their dying days, as repentance for what they had done, or lack of, for Lansa. The Guiding Spirit was saddened by this but thought their cause a noble one. He said little to them and did not convey his thoughts only that he was sorry for not coming back sooner.
He gave them one last bit of help however, for he told them of another Great Spirit, the Heat Giver, Yoliyachicoztl.
"Pray to her, for she may help you in this endeavor. I cannot for I am a being of Cold. Be well daughters and take heart- You will feel warmth again." with that, the Guiding Spirit transformed into a large waterfowl and flew away.
The keepers of the flame gave each other looks then began prayer.
A short account of how the Childan learn things about their new world. Chailiss take the moniker of the Guiding Spirit or Father Spirit and teaches how to survive, how to forage, what to drink etc. Basic stuff really. He then grabs a few Bjorks and let's them teach his people how to make fire. When he leaves to take the bjork back, those that can make fire become a hot commodity and one named Lansa is then sexually assaulted and murdered after denying the touches of men. Many woman had grown jealous of the attention she had got but now felt guilt. They come together and ask the men responsible to come forth three times but none do. Them they exile the men and split into 5 tribes. Woman only tribes for the men can no longer be trusted. They will only think about a future again when the "sky dances" or whatever that means. Chailiss eventually returns and is saddened by this. A few closest to Lansa stayed behind, keeping her flame lit forever more in repentance. He tells them to ring up Yoli to see is she might aid them and then departs. Sad times all around.
When Mish-Cheechel first set his eyes upon flames, the raging firestorm in his eyes bloomed like a great carmine flower and his raging heart swelled in recognition of a thing that was nearest of all creation to it in nature. That was how Mish-Cheechel discovered that vengeance was not ice, but fire. He sat for many sunsets and moonsets by the flame, now gazing into it and now boring his eyes into the grave that some strangers had chosen to erect for his son - or so the people said. Neither Clan Rod nor all of bjorkkind had known graves before - they had never had need for graves before. His nostrils flared and his eyes flashed as the anger threatened to overwhelm him. Grinding his great teeth against each other, he stared balefully into the fire and gripped his new spear in his hand. It was not like the spears of the days before the Green Murder, the days before the bjorks started to cultivate the flame; it was fire-hardened.
His stomach rumbled and pain lanced through his abdomen. He had not eaten in longer than he cared to remember, and sleep had not set on his eyes since the day his boy’s life had been severed by the eagle god. And he would not be Mish-Cheechel if he joyed in food or drink, or allowed himself to rest, before the Green Murder lay dead at his feet. The sound of his teeth scraping incessantly filled the silent air and the fire danced and cast eerie shadows, almost mockingly, before him. Rising in a sudden gale of fury, he swept his great tail and scattered the flames and embers in every which way. His dire eye did not spare even the monument that those kind strangers had built for his boy and he pounded the spear against the mocking effigy that sought to eternalise the form and face of his Zabitsyn. The spear glanced against the stone and left no mark, but the vengeful Mish-Cheechel paid no heed to compassion’s right and did not, in his fury, perceive the gravity of the sacrilege.
A great gust of freezing wind blew down upon him then, as if screaming some terrible note of discord. The glowing embers of the fire were blown away into the night and darkness took hold under the dimming, cracked moon and the indignant stars. A voice rose above the raging chorus, one feminine but of no lassiebjork or of the Green Murder- Nay this was something different. Something elemental.
“YOU LEAVE! NOW!” She roared like the wind itself!
Mish-Cheechel swept his blade-like tail and turned in the face of the growing gale. Another bjork may have bowed and whimpered, or let up a conquered wail, but Mish-Cheechel was no coward nor was he weak or frail. He braced himself and bravely met the ice and hail: watch him greet the strikes of winter then - twice, thrice! - watch him assail! “I’ll not leave, deathspawn, I’ll not fear: but in the earth I’ll leave you dead, I swear!” He leapt into the heart of the wintertide, his snout frosting over and his great brows gathering swift-rising flakes of snow, and he struck with his fire-tried spear and swept with his mighty tail and snapped with his wood-crushing teeth.
The wind whipped and bit but never seemed to lash out with the intensity to maim him and try as he might he wasn’t really hitting anything either. It was just wind whipping at him; ice and sleet and snow. It began to push at him, testing his limits. The voice came again, still matching the same pitch and roar. “DEATHSPAWN? YOU! YOU DEFILE! LEAVE FRIEND ALONE!”
If Mish-Cheechel heard, he neither gave response nor stopped. He stamped his feet and beat his tail and lashed out tenaciously with his spear. He turned and crouched and leapt and swirled, he bit the vaporous air. And when he paused, he took a breath and loosed some silvery puffs into the frosty night, then leapt once more to fight the frost, the cold, the winter - that is, to fight nothing, to fight himself, to swing and strike only, to give vent to his furies rather than loose the flood of grief. Vengeance and rage was better by far than grief! Through the night he raged and surged, unceasing was his madness. When at last dawn broke he lay huffing on his tail, flailing with his arm, turning now this way, now that. “Defile, pah. You can’t defile the dead - only the living are defiled.” He growled out, and then his voice rose, “what do the dead care for defilement when their very death is defilement!? Go tell the rain not to get the river wet!”
The wind, by that point, only gusted over the manbjork. Then at last when his voice fell quiet, the wind dissipated altogether and he could hear the sounds of birds chirping and water running. “Fool Bjork.” Came the same voice, quieter now and from behind. He turned his head and came face to face with standing rocks. Pebbles, stones of different shapes and sizes, had all formed the vague shape of a manbjork. Through the cracks there came a wispy mist that glowed a faint blue. “Dead is dead. Living remember! Living no defile! You leave now. No more touch friend!”
Sitting up and hefting his spear, Mish-Cheechel eyed the strange creature. “What are you? The voice of the restless dead? Some haunter of graves? Are you real or am I going mad? Whatever you are, get going from my sight, I’ll have no more of this madness where my boy lies.”
The stones rubbed against each other as the odd creature looked to him and then the grave, then back to him. "You… Father? Friend father?" She asked in a much softer, quieter voice before the stones collapsed entirely and all that remained was an ethereal cloud. Like mist on a sunny day, the blue glow about it fading to grey. Whatever it was, it was shapeless and had no discernable form, and simply waited there before him. There was silence between them and Mish-Cheechel looked away from the strange ghost. At last a sigh whistled through his teeth and he got up.
“Whatever,” he muttered irritably and walked off, heaving a massive leather saddle over his shoulder as he went, “I’ve bears to kill, no time for this shit anyway.” He dragged his tail until he passed the last of the stone effigies, the wooden stirrup carved delicately by the Carver bouncing thoughtlessly on the ground behind him.
The mist flew beside him, taking the vague shape of a bird in flight. "No kill. Kill bad. Stay?" She said. The manbjork scoffed and glanced at the bird, his pace unslowing.
“Kill bad eh? Maybe once, long ago - before the Green Murder. But now, kill good. Kill is very good.” He smacked his tail against the earth as the first of the trees rose up around them, but before he quite disappeared a voice gave him pause.
“Uncle Bish! Uncle Bish!” Mish-Cheechel did not turn, but his walking slowed so that the shouting kit was easily able to catch up. “Where’ve you been uncle Bish? Pap is lookin for you.” Mish-Cheechel, enormous even by bjorkman standards, got down on one knee and patted the kit.
“Tell your pap I won’t be long, Brat-Hwopak. I’ve just got a little somethin to do.” He rose to the kit’s protests.
“But uncle Bish-”
“That’s not my name anymore, Brat.” Mish-Cheechel’s voice cut across him like ice. “Go on home now.” Whatever home remained, at least, though Mish-Cheechel did not say it. Brat-Hwopak looked sullenly at his uncle, and then his eyes fell on the bird. He frowned as Mish-Cheechel walked past.
“Uncle Bish, I know that bird! Wait, wait.” He leapt off his tail and tried to catch it, but failed when it easily flitted out of reach. “It feels just like that thing by the river! It used to play with us before...” he paused, “uh, before.” Mish-Cheechel turned, cocking his head and lazily closing one eye.
“That thing you little kits were screaming and laughing about, ah yes. I remember.” He opened his eyes and almost smiled, but the ghost of joy was immediately set upon by sorrow; before the snow of sorrow could settle, however, the flower of fury blossomed and grew across his eyes. He bit down on his teeth.
“Come on home uncle Bish, everyone’s waitin for you.” Brat repeated, pulling at Mish-Cheechel’s hand. Irritation flashed and Mish-Cheechel snapped his hand away.
“You go, Brat, and tell your pap and all the manbjorks, if menbjork they be, to come and and kill the eagle god with Mish-Cheechel, to come and kill the death-bears and dire-wolves and blood-eagles; tell them to come and fell the trees with Mish-Cheechel, tell them to come and dam the rivers with me. You tell them that Brat-Hwopak, and if I’m not back by the time you are grown, you come too Brat-Hwopak, you come too. And now I must go.” So saying, Mish-Cheechel hefted his spear and heaved the bear saddle, and went off into the trees.
The ghost bird flew around Brat-Hwopak's head a few times, mimicking the songs so familiar to their world, then it flew after Mish-Cheechel and transformed into a long, serpent-ghost that flowed water. She looked at him again, or at least gave that impression. "Kill eagle god? Kill wolf? Kill bear? Kill before?" She questioned. Mish-Cheechel only looked at the thing with bemused annoyance.
“By all things, how’d you do that. How’s it that so much weirdness is suddenly all over the place. I don’t remember this being so before, no I don’t.” He huffed and shrugged the slipping saddle back onto his shoulder. “You talk weird, ghostie-fellah, and I’ve got to be honest and say I’ve not a clue what you’re trying to say,” then he looked at the snake and nodded slowly and spoke slowly too, “but yes, kill the eagle god; kill good. Eagle god bad. Eagle god kill the good. Mish-Cheechel kill eagle god. Mish-Cheechel kill the wolf, kill the bear, kill the eagle, kill the tree. Mish-Cheechel kill them all. Kill is good.” He was silent for a second and then his eyes seemed to light up. “How abouts you come kill the eagle god with me, eh? You were friends with my boy weren’t you? That’s what you meant before, I remember now, that’s what Brat-Hwopak said. Aren’t you angry for Clan Rod? Aren’t you angry for Zabitsyn and all the other kits? You seem the strong sort, so how abouts it ghostie? Come kill the god with me.”
The ghost, for her part, let out an annoyed hum. Whether it was something he said, or a lack of answer to what she was trying to say, that perturbed the mist remained unclear. After a while, and after taking the form of a small toad, she replied with, “No,” before continuing, “No. You kill… before? Before eagle god?” She asked again in a slower voice, as if mocking him. But it seemed to go right over Mish-Cheechel’s head, he only gave out an ‘ah’ of understanding before shifting the saddle on his great shoulders.
“No ghostie, no I did not. But no one killed before, see? And no one died before either. There were no graves before - just like there was no eagle god before, and no death-bears or dire-wolves or blood-eagles. There was none of that before. But now there is, and now there will be. If the good don’t learn to kill then they will only know to die. And I am not dying anytime soon, not before vengeance is had and justice is served - I’ll not be Mish-Cheechel if the eagle god isn’t soon at my feet, gurgling up its quick hot blood. That would be justice.”
The ghost shifted again into that of a rabbit. It hopped around him, or at least mimicked hopping. Some of the hops didn’t look quite right and it leapt as high as his head. “A path Bissh. Dark. Danger. Death.” Before his eyes the bunny hopped into the air, only to be snatched by a large owl. She next flapped silent wings and hovered above him, the bunny joining her mist. “I go. Protect you. Bear might eat.”
Mish-Cheechel raised an eyebrow at the owl. “I’m not one to reject support - not even the dam can halt the river without support. But you’ve not even told me your name, ghostie, or what you are or where you came from. If you’re going to walk the dark path, the path of danger and death, if you’re going to walk the warpath with me, then I’d first know your name.” The owl returned to the mist and she grew smaller with no discernible shape forming. “Am Nisshi. Nisshi-ni-iak ak ek!” She struggled with the latter half of the word. Frustrated, she let out a growl. “No name!” She shouted, zipping around his head like an angry fly and causing the manbjork to dodge and crouch away from her wild motions - and it could only be a her, Mish-Cheechel was now convinced. Before long she calmed down and settled in beside his head, hovering. “Pa- Old Bjork create many. Am alone now. No name.” She finished in a longing voice.
Mish-Cheechel paused by a tree and stared silently for a few seconds. “Well I’ll tell you what, no-name ghostie - see that there bear?” His voice was a whisper, and he gestured deeper into the forest where a massive bear with a great white coat had its snout buried in a tree’s hollow. “You help me get this here saddle on its back, and you’ll have earned a name.” He did not wait for a response, but dipped onto all fours and stalked off with saddle and spear.
The prospect of a name seemed to energise the misty ghost. With a loud, audible gasp, she flew ahead of Mish-Cheechel. Forgoing stealth, she took the most direct path to the bear, fading in and out of the undergrowth and through wood and rock. She was upon the bear before it had time to say anything, yet the beast did not react. It hadn’t even heard her gasp, too engrossed with whatever it was doing in the hollow. Then the mist disappeared into a boulder and the same blue aura Mish-Cheechel had seen earlier began to glow around it, before misty tendrils erupted forth and grabbed more rocks.
Now this was loud, as rock and stone grated upon each other like a landslide. The bear removed it’s head, coated with honey, and looked startled and dumbfounded at the sight before it. The rocks coalesced, growing taller, as if a great beast was awakening. The bear backed up as the ground quaked and shook and dirt landed this way and that. When the stones had become as tall as the bear could stand, the Nisshi walked forth and grappled the bear! A mighty tussle thus began, snapping trees and crushing brush, but though the bear was strong underneath all that fur, who could withstand the very ground? The ghost had the upper hand and, knowing it, was humming triumphantly.
Though wide-eyed at the display of incomprehensible power, Mish-Cheechel did not waste the opportunity. Jumping forth, he threw his spear aside and now ran and now leapt on his tail as he charged towards the bear, the saddle held above his head. Trapped as the bear was in its battle with the ghost, it could do nothing against the saddle that the manbjork pressed to its rump. “Die, fiend!” He bellowed triumphantly.
But the bear did not die, it rather stopped struggling and fell back from the tussle with the great stone-ghost. The saddle almost slipped from its rump, but Mish-Cheechel swiftly righted it and watched the great white thing in puzzlement. He turned back to the ghost and shrugged. “Well, the Carver didn’t actually say it would kill it, I just assumed that.” He looked at the bear and found it sauntering up to him, tongue lolling as it panted. Mish-Cheechel was swift to back away, suddenly regretting dropping his spear. “Alright this isn’t working, I’m out of here!” He skipped in a great circle as the bear chased lazily after him, saddle jostling on its back. The ghost, for its part, began to laugh. “Get it ghostie! Throw a rock right at its head!” He shouted back as it became apparent that his attempt to escape was futile from the start; no bjorkman could outpace a bear - not on land, at least. The bear easily outran him and then lay panting right by the spear, eyeing him with a broad, sharp-toothed grin. Mish-Cheechel halted and began pacing backwards, keeping his eyes trained on the creature. It leapt forth then sat again, grinning broader yet. At this, the manbjork raised an eyebrow and stopped, stared at the bear, then glanced over at the still-laughing ghost. “I think this bear is making fun of me. And I think you are too. You friends with animals or something? You can, I don’t know, cast your mumbo-jumbo hocus-pocus on them like the eagle god?”
Instead of an immediate answer, the rocks thundered down into a pile, and the ghost became a white blur. Then she giggled. “You fun Bissh. Be strong. Be brave. Bear no hurt. See?” A gust of wind blew over him and into the bear, which didn’t really seem all that offended by it. She then flew over the bear as if for the first time seeing what he had placed on its back. “What saddle? Purpose?” She questioned, gusts of air seemed to glide across it, as if she was feeling the leather.
Mish-Cheechel approached, eyeing the bear with residual suspicion. “Well, I don’t trust it, but if you say it's safe...” He righted the saddle on the bear’s back and shuffled it so it fell snugly behind the great thing’s broad shoulders. “And stop calling me that - Bish is gone. Bish is dead. The eagle god killed Bish, understand?” He fastened the saddle into place, knowing to do it by instinct or as though he had done it an infinite number of times before. “Well, now that I look at it like this, this thing looks like some kind of seat. That Carver is some crazy fellow, how is a bear-chair of any hel-” his eyes widened suddenly as everything clicked into place, and his mind slowly unscrambled the deluge of information that the god had pumped into it. “Oh, it’s a chair, yes, for riding. A riding chair. A saddle. I see.” He blinked. “So, wait…” he looked up at the ghost, “so it wasn’t your mumbo-jumbo that made it like this.” He frowned. “You little fucker - you laughed as what you knew was a wild animal chased me! You’re a real piece of work, ghostie, a real piece of work.” He spat on the ground by the great white bear. “If I knew how, I’d spear you from head to bottom, I swear.”
The ghost laughed again, a high and pure note. “ No. No. No. I laugh. You ran. Afraid. Much talk you. Will need help. I protect. No worry.” The wind about her faded and her mist formed again, this time in the shape of a running bjorkman. “Bear no aggressive. Saddle you see?” she said.
“Well, I’d be stupid if I didn’t run - if you fight and run away you’ll live to fight again, understand? I’m not out here to die, I’m out here to kill - and that goes for you too.” He clambered up onto the bear’s back and settled into the saddle. “How do I get this thing to go. Hey, hey!” He clapped his paws and then, with a flash of inspiration, thwacked his tail against its rump. With a jolt, the bear started forward and made its way through the trees. “Well, this is much faster than walking, that’s for sure. Won’t be long before I find that Green Murder like this.” He glanced down at the ghost, who was still huffing and puffing beside him in the form of a running bjorkman. “Acht, stop that will ya. If I had that mumbo-jumbo of yours I wouldn’t run either. I’d zap every bear and zim every wolf, just like this:” he lifted a paw and made a throwing motion, “zim! Splat. Zim! Splat. I’d be a real good zimmer.” He paused and glanced at her. “Zimmer. Zima. There. That can be your name. Zima the Zimmer.”
The mist- Zima, gasped once more. “Zima? Ziiiiiiima? Zima!” She loudly declared, letting out a joyous whoop and holler. She turned into a swimming otter, then a songbird and a multitude of others before she settled back upon the form of a hopping rabbit, giggling with jubilation as she went. “Yes! I am Zima! You are Mish-Cheechee! Hello! I am Zima!” Then as quickly as her happiness had come, she grew deathly quiet and turned to Mish-Cheechel. “What is Zimmer?”
The bjorkman scratched his head and shrugged. “Somebjork that goes ‘zim!’ I guess. That hocus-pocus mumbo-jumbo you do - like throwing rocks and turning into…” he gave her latest form a sidelong glance, “rabbits. You looked better as an otter by the way. Always liked them otters, fierce folk. Now if we bjorks were otters that Green Murder would never have gotten us the way it did - have you seen them fight? Have you seen them run? Even I’d think twice before going up against an otter. But we’re not otters, no good for that sort of thing. Like some god just shat us out without thinking or something. No, not like those otters at all.” He glanced at one of his paws bitterly, regretfully. “So anyway, Zima it is. Mish-Cheechel and Zima - maybe they’ll sing great songs of us when we kill the eagle god.” He yawned suddenly, and his stomach rumbled, and he blinked in pain. “Acht,” he groaned in irritation, then yawned again. “And don’t call me Mish-Cheechee, that sounds silly,” he managed through the yawn.
Zima zipped around him, having taken the form of a small mink. It seemed, if she cared for otters, she did not show it. “Mish tired? Mish hungry? Mish sleep?” she asked him, her mink curling up into a ball amongst some leaves. Her words immediately drew him from whatever momentary weakness had him, and he sat up straighter.
“No no. I’m not tired. I can rest in…” he scratched his nose and stifled a yawn, “I can rest when the eagle god’s screams echo in hell, Zima. So I say let’s go and get it done.” The great white bear continued through the woods. Mish-Cheechel the Avenger muttered dark vengeance as it went, and fought off those twin tyrants: hunger and sleep. Zima, for her part, began to hum as the duo carried on.
Mish is being edgy with vengeance and meets the Nisshi champion at his son’s grave, which just happens to be the bjork kit Chailiss and she buried. They have a small spat over the night but the next day they come to an agreement of sorts through the chattering of one of Mish’s nephews who ran up and vouched for Nisshi after asking Mish to come home. He refuses of course, because vengeance, and the two talk for a time, bickering this way and that before coming across a bear. Mish is like, we gotta get that bear and begins to stalk it, but he also promised Nisshi she would get a name so the spirit got excited and basically dominated the bear so that he was able to put the saddle on it. He freaks out of course, and begins to run away after nothing happens and the bear begins to chase him much to the laughter of Nisshi. Eventually it hits him, after some words from Nisshi and chastising, about what the Carver’s saddle does and he mounts the bear and names the nisshi spirit, Zima the zimmer. Who knows what a zimmer is for sure but the two keep trudging on to kill the Green Murder.
Zima started with 2 spirit
+2 for post =4 spirit
Mish-Cheechel isn’t actually a champion, get rekted. DDDDDDDDDDDDD: this is injustice of the highest order. How can Mish not be a champion! A travesty! An utter joke! Is justice dead? Is honour some mummy in a 3,000 year old grave? Woe and curses!
A lone Nisshiniek winded its way through the tall trees of the forest, bringing a cool breeze as it went. There were many smells here, from the sweet scent of the sap, to the earthy smell of the ground below and, of course, the water that trickled over rock and stone. It was a place that was different from what it had seen before. There were no great hills to glide over, or deep ravines to wander through, or open plains to race the four legged ones. No, this was a place full of many new currents and sights, and the water of life permeated everything.
It was an ever curious spirit, chasing after anything that caught its attention. And as one could imagine, In that cool place of many waters, the most curious of all was the smaller creatures that lived within. Every snap of a twig, every birdsong, every new smell- all elicited an impulsive response of investigation. It did not know why, for it had no such thoughts on that particular matter, really on any matter, save those that drove instinct and the most important one of all.
Protect.
However, curiosity was a dangerous foil. Not that it would know, or at least until it learned that not everything was as it seemed to be. It had run into a sharp, stinging thing with many stingers once. Luckily it’s rocky form at the time had prevented any harm {not that it would have been harmed in its natural form anyways). Thus, it still had not learned the important lesson of self preservation. Perhaps it was not even within its capacity to learn such a thing, as the Nisshiniek were fickle things. Forged by the god of the north as guardians and servants of the realm. A noble purpose, lost on them with their limited intelligence. It isn’t that they didn’t know what their purpose was, it was ingrained into their very essences. It was just that the scope of such responsibility was hardly fathomable.
What were they to protect against? Were they to keep the cycle from performing? Predators hunted prey, prey died to feed predators. Predators died to feed the grass that the prey fed upon. Over and over, who would they protect? The predator or the prey? What about the land? Surely they were not to protect it from itself? When it rained, it rained. When it snowed, it snowed. When it was growing, things grew. When it burned… They let it burn. For even the Nisshiniek knew that fire and warmth were dangerous. Ah but was curiosity as dangerous as fire? Wasn’t it ironic that the drive to protect meant they were curious but also lacking in self but only when it didn’t come from the all consuming blaze of a fire? Well, the Nisshiniek did have little else to fear…
Oh, what was that?
The Nisshiniek that flew amidst foriegn branches had spotted something next to the water's edge. A smaller counterpart of a creature it had seen before in the west. A funny tail, two large buck teeth, covered in the brownest of fur. It got closer, right behind the thing as it smacked the water with its hands. Two others swam and splashed each other with the water. When they saw the Nisshiniek, (for they could be spotted in fact), the small furred things cried out in alarm, slapping their tails in the water and diving down. That left the one on the bank all alone, the poor thing. Slowly the small thing turned around and when it saw the Nisshi hovering behind in it’s massive scope and frame, (looking nothing more than a large cloud of wispy smoke) the creature screamed and fell backwards into the water.
The Nisshiniek followed after, taking the shape of the water. It became the water then and easily scooped up the swimming creature. It wrapped itself around it, watching it kick its legs and tail in vain to get away, before it deposited it back onto the river’s edge. It sputtered and coughed as it lay there. The Nisshi lifted a tendril of water, almost like it’s head, out of the water to view it up close.
Why had it done that? Why save the creature, surely it could swim?
The furred thing stood up and looked at the Nisshi with large, inquisitive eyes. It tilted it’s head, and the Nisshi mimicked the movement back. This produced a strange sound from the creature, a high pitched squeal, followed by a frantic display of awe.
It heard sounds it did not understand and the little furried thing waved into the water. The Nisshi followed the small one’s gaze and saw the other two from before. It went back into the water fully and grabbed them too, before depositing them on the river bed alongside the other. The first one fell over, holding its stomach as it cackled. The other two groaned and the Nisshi slinked back into the water, watching and waiting for what would happen next. They seemed to huddle and then they peered over into the water’s edge, as if looking for something. It was then that the largest of the trio, pushed the smallest in! Like before, the Nisshi grabbed it and placed it back on the bank, but unlike before, it splashed at the larger one. Mimicking what it had seen earlier.
The trio of furried things let out mighty glees and jumped into the water one by one. This alarmed the Nisshi, who did the same thing it had been doing. Over and over did the small furried ones come into the water, and again and again did the Nisshi pluck them out. It never seemed to be bothered by this after the first few times, but then it began putting them farther and farther away from the waters edge, only for them to run back. They whooped and hollered as they went and the hours grew dark, before long (and after many failed ways of keeping them from their sure demise in the water) the Nisshi saw a large one call to the small ones and it at last recognized them for what they were- offspring.
It watched them go at last and as night came upon the land, the Nisshi sank low into the water. It was confused as to what had happened between it and the trio. Then, a bright fish swam by and the Nisshi chased after it.
Night turned to day and the Nisshiniek in the water still yet remained. It had slept for a time, letting the cool waves lull it to sleep but now a new day was upon them and it was time to wander some more. It did not need to eat food, for its body did not work like all the others it had seen. No, Nisshi subsisted off of the cold, thriving in it as they were want to do. Soon enough it would be time to migrate to the far north, where colder temperatures prevailed and the time of the mating season would begin. It did not want to go there… It… It...
A splash jostled its thoughts and it spied a rock sinking into the water, then another and another. The Nisshi soared to the surface with explosive power, splashing the land in droplets as it spotted the trio once more. They had returned to the water, making more strange noises as they pointed and… Laughed. Yes, laugh, that was what they were doing! But… How did it-
It spotted more small ones, more offspring. The trio had brought friends and these ones, well, some ran away screaming and others did not move out of fear or surprise, it did not know. What it did know was that they were already going back into the water. It had begun again and this time it would protect.
This went on for many days, the… Game, as it came to understand, was that the small ones became happy when they were picked up and tossed around. It was odd, it also came to understand. It did not know why. Thoughts were becoming…
The small ones never tired of the game but it did reach a point of new excitement when it grew tired of the water and fled into some rocks. There was much excitement and hollering after that, and it was used as a climbing area, and a jumping pad. It had to shed some rocks when it realized just how terribly fragile such little things could be and was much smaller then it could have been. But for the most part it was… pleasant. An odd feeling. There were many odd feelings and more thoughts… but…
One day, the small ones did not come. It felt sad at this as the day wore on and it sat motionless by the water’s edge. But a bird landed upon one of its rocks and its attention fell upon that. But wasn’t there something… Else… Yes… Its small ones! The rock shook and the bird flew away. They should have been there by now, that was the pattern it had come to realize. It fled from the boulders and traveled in the direction it had always seen them come from.
It was not long after that it came upon a curious sight. Wood and bark strewn about, chipped and clawed to splinters. The water here rushed and flowed, broken with many logs and sticks and muds and grasses. It grew closer, deeper into the strange land. There was a foul stench here, of something it knew only to be as death or the dying. Predators needed to eat… Both prey and predator died… Trees wilted… But this was different. It knew that, how did it know that?
Then it came upon the strangest sight yet. There had been a large pond here, but it was emptier now and there were many sticks bundled together in strange shapes on the water and it could see many of the large ones walking about moaning and crying, it thought. And and and, it came upon something it did not understand right away. There was a small one, but it did not move. It pushed the offspring but without a form it was powerless to interact. It eye’s fixated upon the wound, a large gash… A large… killing… Dead.
The offspring was dead. It was dead. Why was it dead? It knew things died but why was this one dead? It was supposed to be playing, it was supposed to be laughing and running and smiling and and… the offspring was dead!
Something snapped inside it, a foggy feeling dissipating like frost on the wind. It was… She was.
And the first thing she ever did… was weep.
We follow the journey of the Nisshiniek champion on the journey to awareness. It involved a certain Bjork clan and goes into some Nisshi details. In the end, the champion finally awakens but at what cost...
The Shepard tended to his great flock of many animals, setting them right within their respective homelands. The mighty mammoths meandered to the great plains, steppes and grasslands. With them went many a creature, so suited for the open lands that they were. In the great forests he sent he guided the squirrels, owls, mink, woodpecker and more so that they might thrive in those places. Out on the beaches and ice flows, in the lakes and streams, he sent those more inclined for watery lives to live within and around. Great bears of snowy white went far north, chasing plump seals and other prey. Salmons, trouts, and other fishes of great size populated the waterways, giving food to great brown bears and fishers. To the canyons he sent rams, sheep and those who could survive the harshest of environments at the top of the lands.
This took the God uncountable days, for he was immersed within his work and dare not stray for long else catastrophe occurs. When the land had at last settled into a rhythmic harmony and cycle of life, did Chailiss finally give pause. And it was then that he flew up high, to the point that his land was but an island did he take in the works of his peers. He had noticed the moon straight away, so large and beautiful did it look upon them all. He could not help but think that it resembled him, but his thoughts wandered to the ice ring that surrounded the planet. It had now grown dark and dull, no longer the same spectacle that it had once been. This saddened the god but only ever so slightly.
He moved his attention away from the heavens after spotting little else of interest. It was then he spotted the continents below, vast and wondrous no doubt. Not long after, their Lord Creator spoke for all to hear, naming Voligan a title for his efforts. There came no mention of his own work, which was unfortunate. Perhaps the creator had perceived all the land created as Voligans achievement alone, despite all his help? Perhaps He did not know all, as it seemed he had, or had he not cared enough for any mention? Regardless, he pushed such thoughts down, for they would only bring trouble if acted upon. He hummed a sad tune and negan to descend from his mighty perch.
Yet the message of Ruina sank into his mind like a sharp and painful note. He saw memories that were not his own layed out before him as if he had been there in her place. This… Iqelis, he spoke with such arrogance that Chailiss felt revolted by the mere sight and sound of him. And it seemed he had a rivalry with Yudaiel, to what end the god of cold could only guess. The complete destruction of one or the other? Regardless, Chailiss would heed this warning, even if it came from Ruin herself. Two gods to watch out for… Two gods seemed such few a number and from the sound of it, it was one god alone in both cases. Perhaps an alliance could be made against them… Perhaps…
His attention fell upon the second jewel of the heavens. Silence took him as he watched overhead; it became disfigured with great cracks and lines cutting deep. Akin to a great hand slowly raking the surface like a bed of coals. The moon's beauty was forever marred before his sight and it made him angry. Such unnecessary, spiteful destruction! He could not- he would not allow it to happen to his own land. Else he be marred himself.
Chailiss descended in a flurry and arrived where Zenia’s obelisk sat. Feeling power swell within him he whipped up a blizzard of terrible speed and from within he beckoned forth something new to his lands. They came alive upon the winds, slender creatures attuning to his deep hum. More of air and chill, they did not take solid shape for they flowed in unnatural ways and were all but ethereal in their native form. Thousands upon thousands came to being, fluttering in the great blizzard of their birth, adding their own hums to their creator. They were the Nisshiniek, spirits of his realm. Watchers and protectors of the land ever more. As the blizzard died, he beckoned them to depart. For though they were animals and their intelligence lacking, they were capable of understanding his voice and from it, his needs.
More remarkable, was that they could inhabit the very essence of the land itself as long as it was cold. By bridging the gap between inanimate and animate, they could inhabit objects and use them as shells. Even now he watched as one flew into a boulder and bid the stone to rise. Another became the ice of the glaciers, and another swam as the water, or a small piece of it. One tried to possess a flying eagle, but was rejected, as it should be.
Another… Chailiss hummed as one Nisshi attempted to inhabit him. It tried in vain for a time but ended up circling him instead.
The god chuckled softly and as he watched it fly away, he gave it a greater awareness that would awaken in time. Though the Nisshiniek were potent, he knew every land needed a champion.
Chailiss wandered his lands, taking in the sights as he became intimately close to what he and Zenia created. He hoped the younger Goddess was well. Eventually a new smell, one unfamiliar with him, came upon his senses. It was there that his journey turned to the east and he flew upon a land he did not remember creating. Waterways, rivers, lakes, foliage small and wide, dotted with animals that fit it came into view. Had Zenia created such a thing and he had missed it?
Surely not?
It wasn’t until the Winter Lord heard others speaking that he knew this had not been the work of either God. He came upon a lake with strange mounds in the waterways, followed by loud slaps on the water and strange cries. He found them then, for he had unwittingly brought a terrible cold that began to freeze the waters and chill the bones of the fledgling furred people. Chailiss was perplexed by this development, engrossed in understanding what he was looking at. Had he not created similar creatures, but much much larger? Why did they point and grab their heads? Why did they look so cold? Then it dawned upon him and the God of Cold realized his mistake. In a blink his form dissipated upon a strong breeze and from the very center of where he had been, descended a creature that looked like them, but of white fur and steely blue eyes. Chailiss bid the coldest parts of himself away in favor of not startling the people further. His new feet settled upon earth and he took the sensation of his toes sinking amidst the mud as a pleasant surprise. He flexed his hands, looking upon his new digits with awe. He looked upon his tail and slapped it on the ground as he had seen. It gave a thud, rather than a slap. It must only work in the water, to announce trouble.
As he looked upon his new body with fascination, a few with brave hearts approached him warily. One was larger than the other, though they really looked the same. The smaller one played with their hands, as the bigger of the two spoke up in a frightened voice.
“We don’t want any trouble here friend, state your business.” The smaller one nodded in agreement. They both shook with fear all the same.
”There is nothing to fear.” Chailiss spoke with a voice of untold winters, ”I mean you no harm upon this day, not anymore then what I have already caused.”
The two gave each other odd looks. The smaller one then burst out, “We saw you descend as the moon blew away. What are you?”
”I am the deepest frost, the coolest day. Caretaker, Shepard of all you see. I beckon the winter to arrive, for it to go. I am it’s lord, and this land is my realm. You will know me as Chailiss, God of Cold.” He ended, his divine voice leaking through as he spoke to anoint himself. The two mortals before him, quivered with fear before falling to their knees. Whether out of fear or reverence, he would find out shortly.
”Do not be frightened. Rise, no harm will come to you or anyone here. I am curious about your kind. You did not come from me, then who? And what do you call yourselves?” He asked in a softer voice, now much the same as it had been when he first spoke in that body.
Slowly the two rose, glancing at each other. “I am Unos and this is Jeran, we are of clan Jera, of the proud lake home Urata. We come from the Glade of the Singing Maker. It is a great trek away from here now, for our people have traveled far in his streams and rivers to reach this land.” Unos, the smaller of the two had said, standing taller with confidence as he spoke. Chailiss had listened intently, more questions forming.
“We should take this Lord to your mother, Unos.” Jeran said, “The matriarch and the clan will want to meet him.”
Unos clacked his teeth. “Yeah, I suppose that’s a good idea. Come on then, O Lord of Winter.” Jeran elbowed Unos and the lad winced. “I mean… We would be delighted and honored if you would join us.” He dipped his head.
Chailiss gave a half smile, ”The honor is mine.” He said and together they made their way into the waters.
And so it was, Chailiss would stay with the Bjork, learning of them and their ways for a time. Much would be shared, questions would find answers and Chailiss would pass on wisdom and aid whenever he could. He would, in time, earn a new moniker from the beaver folk. They would call him, Old Bjork.
Chailiss guides the land and his animals, placing them where they need to be. Then he goes up to survey the world and sees the moon and other lands before his thoughts are breached by Ruina’s message. This worries him and he realizes that an alliance might need to be made to combat the more destructive gods. He then goes back down to his land and created the Nisshiniek, protectors and guardians of the land. Spirits that can possess cold objects(ice, rocks, water, etc) and use them as bodies and shells. He also boops one with champion status but that will be delved into later. Next he winds up in the land of a thousand lakes and decides to learn of the Bjork and their ways. Post ends.
Starting 8 -3 Vigor for creating the Nisshiniek (extraordinary species), spirit like entities that thrive in the cold lands of the north. They can possess cold objects and use them as shells/bodies. -1 Championfy one of the Nisshiniek for later use.
They were arriving. Awakening as he had. Multitudes of different voices flooded his senses, loud and deep as the earth, ethereal and mystifying, wise and unknown. Obnoxious and unbecoming. Asking, wanting, being. Other Gods, subjects of the Creator, powerful and strong as he. Perhaps stronger, perhaps weaker? Only time would tell. His form became a long thin cloud of cold as he sped up to enter the planet proper. For now, he would create as the others intended.
As he got closer to the planet, many things happened that Chailiss became aware of. The god of cold slowed down to a standstill and watched with bated breath. An explosion bright and furious flashed across the surface down below but quickly trickled out. This however, was only a prelude to what came after. A great cloud overcame the planet, bringing with it the taste of… Hmm, Salt? Then the planet quaked and shuddered as the very foundations shook, the cloud the cause of this phenomena. Chailiss thought to act but knew whatever was happening he could not stop, nor should he. The waters below rocketed upwards with great force and from where they hit the endless cold, they did freeze into beautiful rings. This he knew was not by his design, only that it was a welcome sight. He would know it better soon, but for now the planet needed his own to-
A sense of impending doom overtook the god and he gave pause. Wildly he looked for the source of such a thing but the light of the star was too great for him to perceive through and the feeling, as quickly as it came and lingered, vanished. But not without leaving its mark. A terrible weight.
Before he had time to process a flurry of destruction came forth as a great voice called out to test the waters below. This alarmed Chailiss and he watched the world explode unlike anything he had seen before and it made him both afraid and angry.
He would have gone to that voice and showed her a test of his own but what next happened spurned his thought to it and the God blinked as light sputtered and blew apart Galbar further, from it an act of creation in the form of a giant tree. From this he was amazed then as equally disappointed when he saw the damage that it had caused. If he had had a head he would have shook it.
The others, these gods... They were dangerous. Some unknowable, some knowable but not quite right. He would have to tread carefully and be fierce in his protection of his own. Such gods, could they even be trusted? He let the thought edge him on, down into the planet proper.
He reformed into a sphere and with haste, Chailiss flew across the endless ocean, turning water to ice in the tumultuous waves in his wake. The ice never lasted long, as it broke apart with thunderous applause as they bid him farewell. Faster he went, watching as a land mass appeared and then disappeared as he flew by it. The urge to create was becoming overwhelming now but Chailiss knew what had to be done to give the world a semblance of balance. He would help as the earthy voice had asked, and he would do so, at the top.
Instinctively, the God came upon the spot that he deemed would be where his work would commence. He flew up, to the lowest of the skies, where he could see much of the land he wanted to create. The picture coalesced in his head and with it, Chailiss bid forth his great power and would make the world feel cold. His form blew apart, becoming a great storm of frigid temperatures. The water vapor in the sky left over from others turned to biting ice and blinding snow. With it, he exploded forth and the waves froze solid as he took root.
Down, down, down he felt the water compact, freezing solid, being gobbled up by its contained form. Great sheets of ice came to being upon the surface, as waves became towers of ice, rising into the sky like mountains. They expanded further still, towering over the fledgling ocean in an icy thickness that groaned and snapped, reforming in a cycle of abuse. This went on quickly and spread out as far as any could see. That storm that he was, howled as the ocean levels began to drop and the ice formed in beautiful paleness.
That was until something most unexpected occured…
A white missile careened towards the surface at breakneck speed, creating a fleck of shadow between the forming ice and the glowing sun beyond the limits of the planet. That fleck grew until it smashed firmly into a thick barrier of ice, cracking it violently and depositing the payload from the sky deep into a freshly created crater. After a few moments, the mist of crushed ice and water began to disperse, leaving room for a silhouette to leave the crater on foot. A beige-skinned, golden haired woman with striking eyes, wearing a torn white dress that must have been quite elegant once. Now it was sleeveless and cut off just above the knees. She brushed herself off firmly and mumbled something about amazingness before looking around properly.
The god of cold was amused by this. He knew it would have only been a matter of time before he met the other gods, but not quite like… That. His form coalesced back into an orb of snow and ice, the great creation of the ice sheets went on as he ventured down to the Goddess. As he neared, Chailiss was surprised at just how small she stood. Or perhaps, his perception was just skewed? It mattered not, in the end, the different sizes and shapes of his peers.
He hovered before her now, taking her appearance in. This one took on a form that he felt was odd. Two arms, two legs, two eyes, symmetry that had eluded him in his great shape.
The symmetrical goddess cast her gaze upwards to fully behold Chailiss’ majesty, and her expression widened into a grin. ”Oh! Hello there,” her voice resounded loudly and clearly across the landscape despite her diminutive form compared to her peer. ”When I saw that many-legged thing back with the, you know, big-timer, I knew we had some real shapes to us, but like, wow! You’re so-... round! I love it.”
Chailiss had no notion of what the many-legged thing was. A peer most likely, but this one’s words were… Lacking? Almost as if she knew not the proper weight of her station. As if she was truly young, in spirit and mind. They were all young though, weren’t they? Chailiss hummed a light tune, indistinguishable from the cool breeze that wrapped around the bright-eyed Goddess. His voice ushered forth all around her, deep and reverberating as it was silky and cool. ”Welcome to my realm,” he spoke, and the winds bowed down to his majesty, ”Golden-ray-that-tickles-ice. I am Chailiss, he who was bequeathed Cold by our Lord Creator. And who might you be?” he finished with sincerity and a question.
The goddess beamed up at him with her striking blue eyes, lips forming a warm smile. "Am I the ray? That's like, so sweet." she punctuated and swept a few strands of her golden hair over her shoulder. "My name is Zenia, and I was also, you know, bequeathed?... from the Lord, that is. Uhm. Not cold, though, I can tell that's more you than it would ever be me. I like it, though! It's very fresh and clear and clean. You know? A good place to have some fun, I bet."
Chailiss hummed with thought. ”Zenia.” He breathed the name, taking it in. ”You flatter me so, with such words as yours.” he chimed. ”What brings you to these fledgling lands on top of the world? I am afraid no such fun might be had just yet.”
His words seemed to freeze the goddess, shocking her to her core. The idea of there being no fun to be had was enough to wipe her happy expression away, and make her look hesitant for the first time. It didn't last long however as her nascent frown soon turned to a look of determination. Zenia scoured the area with her gaze to take in her surroundings. "Uh, I'm sure that's not true! There's, like, plenty of fun things to do here. Like, uhm…" she drifted off as she gazed over the desolate icescape. Eventually she resorted to bowing down and scooping up a fair bit of the sleet and slush raining down from above, and molding it with her hands methodically into a ball of ice, snow, and cold water. She presented it upwards. "Like this! It's, uhm, like a miniature of you, Chailiss!"
The god of cold was silent for a long time, still and reflective upon what Zenia held. Soon, a small tendril of snow snaked around her fingers, as if stretched out by Chailiss himself. Then there came an odd sound from the god- a deep chuckle like the crunching of ice. ”How amusing Zenia. Truly, a wonderful God you are.” There came a rumble from him as he thought about what needed to be done yet. The thought of there being no fun, had frightened the little Goddess, and as much as it didn’t bother him at all, Chailiss was perplexed once again. A strong sort of feeling overcame him and he felt as if he ought to help her achieve what she wanted. An idea came to mind. ”Zenia? What if I were to tell you there was a way for such joyous times to bloom?”
Immediately she perked her gaze up towards the spherical Chailiss, her smile turning inquisitive. "You mean you've got, like, a plan? Let's do it! I'm game. What is it? Waiting to hear the cold gods' gospel, she rolled the ball of ice back and forth in her palm.
The god of cold hummed in agreement. "The ice beneath your feet is thick and grows vast with every word we speak. It shall be cold, desolate and with little mercy." His voice flowed around her and softened, "Yet it need not be so unforgiving. If our Lord Creator saw fit to breathe us with life, then we must do the same. First I have envisioned this ice sheet, this frigid north and here you stand upon it. Secondly, we must usher from the seafloor land, for growing things. It shall settle below these vast glaciers, betwixt with cold and frost as the coming seasons shall usher. Then, once this has been accomplished the true 'fun' will commence and change the world forever. In this great game of creation."
The golden-haired goddess furrowed her brow as she considered his words. It was a muted expression, as Zenia either did not appear wowed by his idea of cultivating fun, or struggled to envision the abstract idea he presented. Her eyes narrowed in intense focus for a few moments before her expression lightened considerably and she discarded her tiny iceball to confidently clap her hands together. "Sounds good! How do we like, do that though?"
Chailiss thought on this. Did she not know what she was capable of? ”Come. I will teach you.” Without waiting for her reply, the God of Cold broke apart the ice she stood upon and with it, they flew on to the edge of the vast glacier. There, he set her down and hummed with power. ”Reach within and express your will upon the world. Feel the bottom of the ocean with your mind, Zenia. Will it to rise.” Chailiss rumbled.
Zenia released a muffled giggle following their journey, rubbing her cheeks briefly at apparent embarrassment of performing this silly ritual. With mock concentration and a big smile, she closed her eyes and stretched out her hands in a way she assumed it should look when one undertook great achievements of creation. She cleared her throat theatrically, and announced her will loudly as though she were performing Creation’s first stage play. ”Uhh. Come unto me, great elements of the Below! Rise from the depths and, like, find a new home with me upon this grand surface plane. Cast away your wet chains and reach for the sky! Be not afraid to break yo-... oh my creator, it’s w-.. It’s working! Something is happening, Chailiss!”
Despite her lackluster show of solemnity for the task at hand, her hands still seemed to take a particular shine of purple, pink and gold, swirling around her fingertips with considerable intensity. The core deep below rumbled and shook, and great quakes erupted around the two deities as the ocean floor rose with haste to meet her beckoning call. Waves grew in frantic heralding of the coming landpocalypse, and parts of the glacier began to wither and crack as burgeoning earth crashed against it from below to force itself upward. Soon hills, craters and plains that had once been hidden deep below crested the water’s surface, and a considerable amount of land raised itself at her command.
”Well done Zenia.” Chailiss praised. ”This is creation as the broadest stroke of our will. What you have done has ushered in the foundations for humble beginnings.” Chailiss then helped Zenia raise the land further, as far as their eyes could go they became surrounded by a myriad of fledgling landscapes.
The golden-haired goddess exhaled sharply and followed it with a grin. "No need to be humble! This is like, great. I'm a big fan of this. It's starting to look like a good place to host a get-together!" She paused and tapped her chin in thought. "It's a bit, you know, empty. Unless you count the water residue. But it's like, soggy. Not very… inviting."
The God of Cold drifted in the wind around Zenia. ”You are correct…” His words faltered as he noticed something blowing in on the winds. Small multitudes of different shapes, uncountable to even him, landed around them and Chailiss stilled, watching and waiting to see what they would become. Slowly small stalks of green began to bloom but as quickly as they came, they shivered and faltered in the cold that he was. ”What do you think of this, Zenia?” he asked the young Goddess, as he witnessed more and more seeds land, growing and dying. Those that did manag to take root were underwhelming and quite small.
"Aw! It’s so pretty!” Zenia erupted with no mind to the long-term survivability of the tiny sprigs and shoots that did not immediately wither and falter under the icy northern winds. With brave steps she trundled forwards through the old ocean floor muck - much of which had now begun to freeze solid - towards a particularly shy little seed that had just barely broken up above the frozen ground. "Hey, there little friend,” the goddess cooed and settled to a squat as she leant towards the little sprout. "You’re really, like, trying, aren’t you? So adorable. Just got a bit to go. See my friend over there?” she nudged her head back towards the implacable orb that was Chailiss. ”I think he’s hoping to be really impressed. How about you stretch for the sky? I’ll help your roots keep hold, okay? Okay! Go!"
Zenia’s little peptalk seemed to have an effect, no doubt because she was still empowering her surroundings with her divine essence. The tiny sprig followed her command with confident enthusiasm and groaned as it began to grow in both height and weight, cracking and shifting the ground around it as it began to turn from simple shoot to a full-grown young tree. The goddess put a hand on it as it outgrew her, and it carried her giggling form with it as it continued to grow far larger than it ever would have on its own, truly reaching for the sky. From above, Zenia called "Well, what are you all waiting for?!” The ground cracked and groaned as plants all around began to lift themselves towards the sky, filling the freezing earth and soil with sturdy, giant plantlife.
Chailis watched Zenia intently, realizing what the Goddess was doing even if she did not. In that moment, he grew inspired and knew that this was the next step they had to take. Ushering in life did not have to be humble, but with a giant leap of a start. He hummed happily and then expressed his own will and added to Zenia’s spirit. The lands around them grew larger than anything the world had yet seen save the great tree in the south. The trees around them grew massive still, making even Chailiss feel small for once. He even lost track of Zenia, knowing how tiny she was to him.
But the land kept going.. He could feel great swathes of coniferous forests taking deep root, turning to sparse taiga where the lands grew brittle, then to snowy tundra where the land grew fiercer still near the ice. Where grasses sprouted they stood as tall as the young tree had been once upon a time, covering the land in a thick blanket of wonderment and safety. Flowers would bloom there, contrasting the green with colorful giants of reds, purples, yellows and even more. Across the waterways, vegetation came to life within frigid temperatures. Growing hardy and strong, able to endure that which was in his domain. Across the higher elevations, in the mountains and hills, to the lowest of ravines and canyons- life spread in the north. And all was good but it was not yet done.
In the tree crowns above, Zenia came surging along in a fast-paced run and skip between the massive trees, like a tiny squirrel jumping from perch to perch. Her laugh mingled with groaning earth and wood, blanketing the land with her essence as it was bolstered by Chailiss. She reached the edge of a massive forest before long, and skidded down the side of an equally massive canyon, leaping forwards into the air heedlessly as she was ensorcelled in some game of daring the world to grow. Each time it seemed she leapt to her death, great plateaus shot from the earth to catch her feet, creating gigantic stepping stones rising out of the canyon that someone might master with flight or bridges. Here too, life grew large, as old forgotten water was revitalized and fell from some of the risen plateaus in new formations of waterfalls and river rapids. The continent grew with the work of the two gods, the flora all over reaching towards the sky. Even the smallest brush grew to rival Zenia in height as she skipped by with mocking giggles.
The land began to settle not long after and the temperatures rose ever so slightly with the help of the trees and vegetation. Chailiss rose above it all to witness a sea of green but he also wanted to find Zenia. Her laughter echoed all around him but try as he might he was unable to find the tricky Goddess. But he did have a way to get her to come to him. Down on a plain did he settle and from it he willed to life the next step in their great game. He ushered a breath forth into the grasses and for a moment there was a stillness that threatened to be forever but then… A rustle and from the grass came a countless creatures that walked and flew and ran and hid. In browns, tans, greys and whites they came, with blotches of dazzling colors on those that it made most sense to be seen. Some had noble crowns, and some had large horns with herds that thundered, while others had large fangs with close prides. Others found their partners for life and flew to create their own homes. Others scrambled up trees and jumped from them like Zenia had. "Zenia," he whispered to her in awe, "Come and see beauty manifested." These were the lives he had been tasked with creating and now it was his job to keep them safe.
From somewhere beyond the ravine came the unmistakable patter of divine feet, and soon the happy goddess appeared leaping between features in the landscape to close the distance in record time. The moment she could be seen properly was the same moment she let out a surprised shriek that managed to startle a good amount of the new life. Their confusion did not dissuade the goddess, who rushed to get a closer look and leapt from her nearby cliffside perch to land on the ground.
The reasonably-sized goddess vanished between high grass and skittering animals, and announced from somewhere below, "So big! They looked smaller before! How did you find these, Chailiss?!"
Before Chailiss could respond he spotted her again climbing the side of a big grass-feeding animal that towered several sizes over her - it barely noticed the scrawny goddess doing her thing.
The cold god watched as a great many followed after the one Zenia climbed. With large tusks and great trunks, the furry behemoths made pathways in the grass for the smaller creatures. Chailiss went closer to Zenia, and spoke in a quiet voice to not disturb the animals. "I did not find them little Golden Ray. They have come to life by my own will. Like the land that predated them by your own hand. Now, are you capable of this last feat? Express your will once more, create life that will thrive in these lands that you have labored over, Zenia."
Zenia was enraptured by the mere idea, encouraged by the act of riding this grand beast and seeing the plethora of life around her. She stretched out her hands as if to invite animals to join her, and her wordless encouragement was enough for the trees and winds to merge under her command; from the nooks and crannies of this grand vista sprang feathered and furry beasts alike, long and large wings spreading out to soar across the massive landscape. Brown and white birds so big only these lands could host them, massive tree-bound rodents that leapt from the branches and spread wings to collect the equally big bounties of nature. Even the tiniest animal rivaled the goddess in size. Large flying animals with snouts and leathery wings to carry them great distances. A throng of different creatures, all of which were bigger than Zenia, sprang forth to join her on her mount, roosting atop the wooly creature in the relative safety of Zenia’s proximity.
Chailiss hummed contently. "Well done, Zenia." he rumbled with pride. "These are fine additions to the chorus of life here and they seem to have taken a liking to you as well."
Zenia laughed and affectionately petted a bird bigger than her small frame. "This is shaping up to be, like, a neat place to host a great party. I doubt Jiugui could find anything greater than this." she peered towards Chailiss with a smug expression and then lifted her hand to show she meant height. "Get it? Greater."
Chailiss let out a small chuckle. "Yes, truly greater,, Zenia. Perhaps the greatest yet." He said absent-minded, before focusing on Zenia again.. "By utilizing the full extent of your will, you have indeed created a place for this… party? I believe. For, as the one who helped me, you will always be welcome in these lands. It is as much my home as it is yours, after all." The God's voice whispered. "Yet something tells me you will not stay here. The world is large, the others will create and need help doing so. Your spirit will be restless… he said with a hint of sadness in his voice. "There will be more life to come Zenia, I feel it already… and they will perhaps take more familiar shapes. One eager for fun and festivities. It only makes sense..." he alluded.
Zenia turned from her vantage point and all the animals she had been enjoying the sights of to look straight at Chailiss. "I want to stay-... but I have to find the best place.. and I'd, like, not be doing it very well if I only looked in one place… Unsure of what more to say, she gave the giant bird a last pat before encouraging the flying creatures to spread out across the continent, leaving her to stand like a proud little puppy atop the mammoth. "I can, like, stay if you need more help. You know?"
Chailiss watched the birds fly on. "I would not keep you here when you must find the place you seek, Zenia. You have done all that you can to help me with my vision." Chailiss' attention went back to her, a small stream of fluffy snow and wind wrapped around Zenia's hand and she was left with a small oval pendant, with a golden necklace. The pendant was a cool blue and sparkled. "Take this token of my appreciation. Wherever you might be upon this world, or elsewhere, I shall come to your aid if you are in need of help. Simply break it and I will find you."
Zenia closed her hand around the artifact before bringing it up to inspect, ooo-ing and aww-ing with every moment of inquisitive examination. She quickly clasped it around her neck, smiling with the intensity of the sun. "Thank you so much, Chailiss! I should, uhm, do something for you too!"
"There is no need." he spoke, "You have helped me already, Zenia."
But Zenia wasn't listening, having already chosen her path. She reached out towards Chailiss' fading tendril of ice and mist and grabbed it firmly, willing it corporeal enough to hold on to. Then she set off towards the north, pulling Chailiss who did not resist, with her like an eager child showing their new project. She ran a marathon, scattering the new gigantic wildlife like a mouse scaring elephants as she blazed past. Eventually she came to stop whence they had begun, where arctic glaciers met risen oceanic ground. Only then did she allow Chailiss his own agency, as she moved forward to touch the ground and hum to herself. The ground rumbled and cracked once more, and an obelisk of silvery metal rose through ice and frozen dirt alike. It stood out from its foreign material, and was covered in symbols of a circle of hands and arms forming a wheel. Content with her production, which stood approximately ten Zenias high, she turned to Chailiss and extended her arms to present the pillar. "Here you go!"
Chailiss looked to the obelisk with wonderment despite that fact he was merely an orb without visible emotions. He gave a happy hum and looked upon Zenia, "Marvelous Zenia! Your creativity is astounding. Tell me, what does it do? What purpose might it serve?" he asked with curiosity.
”Oh!” she exclaimed like she’d forgotten. ”That’s the best part! Okay, so. You can, like, touch it with your essence, and it will show you where I am. Like, from my eyes. So you can, you know, also see all the fun things and places with me!” she continued to explain, patting the obelisk like a smug trinket merchant.
The god of cold did not know what to say to such a thing. Instead, he reached out and touched the obelisk and too his bewilderment, he could in fact, see through Zenia’s eyes. She stared up at him. Was he truly that large from her perspective? He let go of it, the process lingering in his mind. "How fascinating Zenia! Truly a remarkable gift and one I shall use whenever I can. Were you aware of my presence when I touched it?" he wondered.
She furrowed her brow and then tapped her chin in thought. ”Well, now that I think about it, not really. But the important thing is that it works! Maybe I’ll give it a look-over, like, the next time I come ov-... ooh look, it’s one of mine!” she interrupted herself to point up at the sky, where one of the massive birds gave an initial try of braving the extremely cold sky this far north.
Chailiss chuckled with a low rumble. "Very well Zenia. I must see to the animals and make sure they find their homes. Farewell for now, Golden Ray." The god of cold began to disperse. Zenia barely noticed his dissipation, mumbling a happy goodbye as she marveled over the flying creature. When she looked for Chailiss, it was merely enough to smile and wave.
The goddess stood there for mere moments more, before zipping off towards the south, in search of new adventures and experiences.
The god of cold ruminates on things as they transpire, making his way down to the north pole. (He only has thoughts for some posts as Zee realized the posts kept coming and he can't go back everytime to add thoughts in where relevant, sorry.) He begins to make a vast icesheet by freezing the waters deep. Before long Zenia crashes into his icesheet and they talk. Chailiss kinda thinks she is slow but doesn't say that ofc. He mentors her on how to use her powers after challenging her to help him out for future fun. They then create a large continent and flood it with plant and animal life so large, you could call them giants. Gigantism in the norf. They eventually part ways after awhile but not without some gifts for eachother first.
Chailiss starting: 10 vigor -4 Half for northland continent, name pending. -4 half of large ecosystem. (Making it a 6 cost Ecosystem with added Gigantism) -1 Artifact. Cold Pendant, break for a surprise! Ending: 1 Vigor
Zenia Starting: 8 vigor -4 Half for northland continent, name pending. -2 half of large ecosystem. (Making it a 6 cost Ecosystem with added Gigantism) -2 created the ZENIAN OBELISK: Divine characters can use this etched monument to look through Zenia’s eyes and get a vague idea of where in the world she is. Mortals cannot use it without help or magic, but may get brief dreams of Zenia if they sleep near it.
’Rise! Heed this call of mine! Become the gods of Galbar!’
Awareness!
His crystal shook, like the deepest reverberations of something vast. Cracks began to appear, growing larger, forming with powerful snaps and pops that shook the very void in their chorus of realization. It was a sweeter hum, with a newer meaning and with it came a name, his name- Chailiss. Lord of all that was cold.
When his own hum reached a crescendo, that crystal that contained Chailiss shattered into uncountable pieces. Exploding outwards briefly before stalling in the air around him, reflecting the newborn light in prismatic fashion. They hovered there, beautiful fragments smaller than the smallest of things. Then he came bursting forth, in an aura of pale white amidst the black.
Chailiss was formless, more akin to a cloudy thing, in billows of wispy chill and vapor. He could feel sensations. The fleeting warmth of the star, drifting ever further away. There, in the space between, he felt at home in the dark. He felt… Alive, awakened from a far away dream. Endless as it was vast, as it was... He stifled a cold breath, as his gaze fell upon He. Upon his Creator. So vast a form, the sheer magnificence. He was the Monarch of All, and Chailiss knew him to be the gifter of his senses, the progenitor of his powers, keeper of All that would ever be. The young god felt a new sensation for the first time- Awe.
He gave a deep bow of respect, conveying all that needed to be said in a simple act. The Creator’s words echoed in his head and Chailiss knew his purpose.
He steadied himself and rose to look upon the planet he already knew by name. Galbar. A barren rock of potential. To be a jewel in the eye of He. He pondered what to do for some time, until something happened that he had not been expecting. His barren home became saturated with blue. Bewildered, Chailiss looked further still, trying to make sense of it all. Was this the work of the Creator or… He would not be alone in this task, would he?. There would be others like him, others with purpose given by the Creator… Yes, He could feel them awakening as he had. As if on que a great scream rippled through the dark, and Chailiss felt something new once again- Fear.
This startled him, for it awoke something primal, something fierce. A drive, a need to overcome. What if he failed? What if the creator disliked him? What if whatever made that scream was as violent as it sounded? The crystals around him grew larger, full of rigid spikes as his thoughts cascaded into the worst scenarios.
NO!
He pushed those negative feelings down, buried it beneath layers. There would be time to ponder those darker questions later, now was not the time. The world below needed aid, needed his touch. If others wished to come to him, then he would let it happen. But what would he do?
He watched Galbar become a blue orb. That… Water… He watched it consume all until nothing remained of the rock and stone before. It plunged everything below to unfathomable depths. Suffocating the world in angry seas. This would have to be rectified one way or another, changed for the better so that the Creator’s will could be realized.
The crystals coalesced around him in a great soundless wind, taking shape as he added to his formlessness. Sheets of verglas, crystals and snow formed a great sphere around Chailiss. Nay, he was the sphere, as he was the cold with divine mandate. He looked back upon the Creator in all that he was then set off down to Galbar.
Down to do his duty.
Chailiss is born and ruminate upon his new found existence before heading off to Galbar to be responsible.
As the world stills in quiet reflection, the nights grow long and the days blink by. Forests ever weeping, become bare to biting air. Slow frost creeps in, letting sleep that which grew bright and nourishing. Which breathed and exhaled in blessed warmth, now withers in decay, growing no more. The land turns ever barren still, as creatures small and large prepare with what remains of warmer times. Then the winds come, howling down from the north, bringing chill air and few smells. Bit by bit, in a storm of arctic air. It freezes waters, blankets the land in blinding white, clouds the skies in silent grey and chills the bones of any who linger where they should not. The cold has arrived, bringing winter and lonely dark. It is the absence of heat, the inescapable reality of the seasons changing. All in the name of rebirth.
Yet, it need not always be so cruel and unforgiving. Life can exist within cold lands, by stout of heart and those prepared. Cold is necessary within the grand plans of reality for without it the world would grow too hot, the appreciation of both chill and warmth would have little meaning and life would not replenish itself to grow better and brighter time and time again. The wintertime feelings that invoke such sadness and at times, hopelessness, can make people stronger and come together. It is through the cold that people persevere and become stronger for it, else they not become anything at all, save for memories.
Chailiss has complete control over the aspect of cold, bequeathed to him by the great Monarch. It is through this aspect that the Winter Lord expresses his will and power. Through it Chailiss is capable of manipulating the land to absolute points of freezing, or induce feelings of cool. Summoning great blizzards, blowing howling gusts, shaping icy crags and turning seas to ice. His powers go beyond land, to more personal levels. He is able to harden minds and hearts, drive away pain and suffering through numbing. Even suppress feelings of cold by stripping it away or by adding to it. He is a gift giver when generous and a life taker when angered. For cold is a useful tool in times of mirth and joy but also suffering and strife.
Persona
To call the God of cold, cold, would not, in fact, be an accurate representation of his personality. He can be cold at times of course, for who isn't? But Chailiss is much more than a cold, uncaring and unforgiving monster that many can associate with his aspect. He does not view his purpose as evil or good but just a necessary function for life. It can be both used as a tool of wickedness and for righteousness but more often than not it simply exists and he, the Shepard that watches over it.
He does not view heat and fire any less favorably than he does his own aspect, though he does prefer the cold. One of his major gripes with heat is that it can be as equally dangerous without proper care and where it flares hottest, one can be only burned. Though he does not often agree with the feverish passions that heat commands, he is no less susceptible at times as any other. Those that abuse his aspect and any other with the intent to harm cruelly and without reason, he looks down upon. Whether he acts is another matter all together.
The Winter Lord is most at home wandering his great swathes of frigid land. Chailiss is a quiet God but social enough to carry a conversation. There is mirth and laughter behind his outward appearance. He feels compassion and empathy for the downtrodden but will only help if asked. Strength and a level head go hand in hand but strength of heart is a different beast. The chill can become lonely and sadness can set in. At such times, Chailiss does not often think about anything other then himself. The opposite of this is his anger. He Who Knows rage just as any other with enough pestering and contempt. In those times he becomes the cold north and all should be wary of his wrath. He is not without temperament and is protective of what is his.
True Form
The lonely wanderer need not have legs to walk, or arms to swim, or lungs to breathe or any other part so vital to mortals. Chailiss takes the form of a massive orb, for the cold constricts and tightens. The orb is white, swirling with snow and ice, emanating the deepest frost, the coldest chill. To look upon him would be like being forever lost in an endless blizzard of beauty. Breath stripped away as the cold numbs you to quiet sleep. His voice is the howling wind or the endless quiet.
When not traveling in such a mighty disguise, Chailiss often takes the form of a hooded figure without a defined shape, floating upon unseen currents. This is not to say he doesn't assume other forms. Often a tall bearded man, or a whispy pale ghost. It all just depends upon his mood.
As the world stills in quiet reflection, the nights grow long and the days blink by. Forests ever weeping, become bare to biting air. Slow frost creeps in, letting sleep that which grew bright and nourishing. Which breathed and exhaled in blessed warmth, now withers in decay, growing no more. The land turns ever barren still, as creatures small and large prepare with what remains of warmer times. Then the winds come, howling down from the north, bringing chill air and few smells. Bit by bit, in a storm of arctic air. It freezes waters, blankets the land in blinding white, clouds the skies in silent grey and chills the bones of any who linger where they should not. The cold has arrived, bringing winter and lonely dark. It is the absence of heat, the inescapable reality of the seasons changing. All in the name of rebirth.
Yet, it need not always be so cruel and unforgiving. Life can exist within cold lands, by stout of heart and those prepared. Cold is necessary within the grand plans of reality for without it the world would grow too hot, the appreciation of both chill and warmth would have little meaning and life would not replenish itself to grow better and brighter time and time again. The wintertime feelings that invoke such sadness and at times, hopelessness, can make people stronger and come together. It is through the cold that people persevere and become stronger for it, else they not become anything at all, save for memories.
Chailiss has complete control over the aspect of cold, bequeathed to him by the great Monarch. It is through this aspect that the Winter Lord expresses his will and power. Through it Chailiss is capable of manipulating the land to absolute points of freezing, or induce feelings of cool. Summoning great blizzards, blowing howling gusts, shaping icy crags and turning seas to ice. His powers go beyond land, to more personal levels. He is able to harden minds and hearts, drive away pain and suffering through numbing. Even suppress feelings of cold by stripping it away or by adding to it. He is a gift giver when generous and a life taker when angered. For cold is a useful tool in times of mirth and joy but also suffering and strife.
Persona
To call the God of cold, cold, would not, in fact, be an accurate representation of his personality. He can be cold at times of course, for who isn't? But Chailiss is much more than a cold, uncaring and unforgiving monster that many can associate with his aspect. He does not view his purpose as evil or good but just a necessary function for life. It can be both used as a tool of wickedness and for righteousness but more often than not it simply exists and he, the Shepard that watches over it.
He does not view heat and fire any less favorably than he does his own aspect, though he does prefer the cold. One of his major gripes with heat is that it can be as equally dangerous without proper care and where it flares hottest, one can be only burned. Though he does not often agree with the feverish passions that heat commands, he is no less susceptible at times as any other. Those that abuse his aspect and any other with the intent to harm cruelly and without reason, he looks down upon. Whether he acts is another matter all together.
The Winter Lord is most at home wandering his great swathes of frigid land. Chailiss is a quiet God but social enough to carry a conversation. There is mirth and laughter behind his outward appearance. He feels compassion and empathy for the downtrodden but will only help if asked. Strength and a level head go hand in hand but strength of heart is a different beast. The chill can become lonely and sadness can set in. At such times, Chailiss does not often think about anything other then himself. The opposite of this is his anger. He Who Knows rage just as any other with enough pestering and contempt. In those times he becomes the cold north and all should be wary of his wrath. He is not without temperament and is protective of what is his.
True Form
The lonely wanderer need not have legs to walk, or arms to swim, or lungs to breathe or any other part so vital to mortals. Chailiss takes the form of a massive orb, for the cold constricts and tightens. The orb is white, swirling with snow and ice, emanating the deepest frost, the coldest chill. To look upon him would be like being forever lost in an endless blizzard of beauty. Breath stripped away as the cold numbs you to quiet sleep. His voice is the howling wind or the endless quiet.
When not traveling in such a mighty disguise, Chailiss often takes the form of a hooded figure without a defined shape, floating upon unseen currents. This is not to say he doesn't assume other forms. Often a tall bearded man, or a whispy pale ghost. It all just depends upon his mood.
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