Member
wintersoldier
Enzayne
Cyclone
Vec
Tim the Yeti
Fetzen
Crusader Lord
Timemaster
Something overcame the Goddess of Blood, so strangely alluring her creation had been. She neither wept nor felt further animosity towards them for daring to touch her skin without permission. In fact, one could say she felt little for them beyond what they made her feel. A stark contrast to how she had been only moments before. They were no longer those filthy, ugly elves anyway. With a bemused sigh she straightened her back and stood taller, chin raised how a proper dignitary might. Feeling the distinct lack of clothing upon her body, Wyn conjured up an attire suitable for her. A tight fitting dress, fitted with patterns and embroidered with intricate markings. It left little to the imagination, she hoped.
But more importantly, it was how a god should be.
No longer were her thoughts so disjointed and scattered like leaves after a summer storm. It was beneath her to let such conflictions ruin her and she scoffed at the very notion of entertaining her lesser inclined inhibitions. Disbelief at it all drove her to put her own fist into her other palm. A gesture of being. She was Wyn. She was a deity. No more feelings of doubt, weakness and despair. She would bring those things to others as was her proper rights, bestowed by her own divinity. A smirk spread across her face that pulled into a sleeker smile.
She was in control now.
With the Mireborn settling in and subsequently snagging any other struggling elves, Wyn looked to the rest of her land and was utterly disappointed at the lack of life and diversity within. What was a goddess to do? It was one thing to create by accident and another by acting but she could not leave this place (as stupid and unsightly as it was) without so much as correcting it. Even if she simply wanted to be done away with it. What would others think? That she was some frail, airhead of a goddess like Tonta? Ugh, even now she wanted to wrangle the neck of that bi-
Wyn took a deep breath through her nose and exhaled. Now was not the time for the past. Now was the time for the future!
So, she raised her arms and willed forth creation itself to rise across her Bloodmire. Creatures came forth from the land and the blood. Ones she deemed as appropriate and sightly, at least by their currents of blood. Large sluggish leeches, the full length of her arm, wiggled out of the ground as well as much smaller worms and dainty snakes. From the murky red waters, there came a multitude of biting, itching, stabbing insects and red and white feathered birds. Some had beaks meant for gobbling up prey and others that looked like long, thin swords. Swimming in those waters and so hard to see, there came fish large and small crimson scaled with dark beady eyes. Other aquatic creatures swam amidst them, far too many to even count or care for but Wyn knew each was perfect.
From discarded rocks and woody vegetation came thick-coated prey and sleek-hided predators. From the smallest carmine rat to the large reddish-black panthers. Wyn frowned at these creatures, for their blood, as miniscule as it was, was flaked with black. It wasn’t perfect, no, and the thought of destroying them crossed her mind almost as instantly as she saw them through her eyes. But her thoughts blipped again into saving the creatures, they did not need to die. Did they? She growled and then slapped herself, the pain providing clarity.
They could exist and they could exist because they would be hunted. With a scowl she created something else in that place of hers. Large and sleek, long proboscis sharp as knives, silent wings and grasping feet. They were mosquitos, a quarter of elf size, with blood of pale white. A stark contrast to the world of red, like beacons of dazzling light. They shot off into the air, seeking warm-bodied prey. They struck at those beasts she so loathed and Wyn knew they would do marvelous work.
With that solved, she wiped her hands together and from that act sprang groves of old gnarled trees, in thick patches whose roots grew deep and drank deeply of the sanguine waters. She could see these trees, whose sap ran like lines up and down their grooved trunks. Leaves like snow blanketed their tops and they collected from the haze small droplets of red, which added more appeal to the land. She would call these…Wyntrees. Yes. The only trees that would ever matter in the world. Not those pale imitations that would no doubt crop up. She smirked. It was perfect.
Next she tapped her foot upon the earth and from it a great groan was given, followed by suction sound. A giant pop echoed out as the land lifted from the mire upon four towering legs. Wyn let herself be lifted upon the creature’s back, for it was indeed a creature of great stature. Like a turtle in movement but with legs long enough to have a long stride, it began to walk, carrying with it not just the Goddess but the very land itself upon its back. For this was its sacred charge, to spread her blood across the world and it was not alone. For a way off she could not only feel the rumbling of earth but could see the large mass of flowing blood rise from the earth.
Two to wander, always apart but never alone. Her ivory mosquitoes and even some Mireborn fancied themselves as passengers. And there upon that height, Wyn created once more. She outstretched her hands over the where she could see the Wyntrees and from the leaves she fashioned small moths, pale as moonlight. They flew to her and surrounded the goddess in a flurry of light. To any other it would not have been so beautiful. They would act as her eyes and ears in the world and whisper to her the sweet nothings that came from it.
And all would be perfect, as she intended. With a smile, she bid them goodbye and sat down, waiting for what would come next.
