Despite the Falling Star clan being known for some of their more esoteric practices, the sect's elders did not forget the Goddess's core teachings. Thus, after leaving Haven and establishing a foothold on the area surrounding their stronghold, the most wise and powerful members of the sect had gathered to form the Elder Council. A brainchild of the previous sect head, the council's sole purpose had been to gather, record, and consolidate all the differing esoteric arts available within the clan.
On the outside, it had been framed as a means to exchange ideas between clan members, to ponder on the wisdom fellow members had to offer that may help with one's advancement. In reality, the few true powers within the clan knew that, by virtue of losing Haven, they would have to now be responsible for the protection of their homes and lives. The potential battles that were to come could not be fought by a haphazard force of martial artists; controlling the battlefield and knowing the force and capabilities of your troops would be of utmost importance.
Unquestionably, outsiders would find their way to the sect at some point. Beings that had not been graced with the teachings of the Goddess would arrive and seek shelter; the sect could not, and would not, deny them entry. After all, who would say no to a pair of extra hands?
Thus, the plan to form a standardized system of training for said new recruits, along with the invention of the sect's very own core technique to pair along with it, had been put into action. A set hierarchy was created, mainly around the idea that those who had received direct tutelage from the Goddess would form the Inner Sect, leaving everyone else to become Outer Sect members. Of course, it helped that the former tended to be stronger than the latter, although there were some exceptions as well.
Existing clan members were still allowed to practice their own personal techniques, however new members would have to first complete their apprenticeship – which meant going through basic training, education, and learning the clan's core technique. Promotions – and demotions for that matter – would be given according to one's merit within the sect; from anything as simple as completing an errant or quest, to as grand as winning a martial or literary tournament, would be used to calculate said merit, and members could then use it to exchange for rewards with the clan to further their advancement.
And so, Dolsoe had grown up within the clan; with his parents both being Outer Members since the inception of the system, their standard of living could be considered mediocre, neither better nor worse than their peers. Children born within the clan fell in the same category as outsiders, and as such were forced to go through apprenticeship from the age of 10 to 18.
By the age of 17, a whole seven years, Dolsoe spent his life away from his family – apprentices were forbidden from contacting other sect members, as the clan had deemed it detrimental to their development as a functioning clan member. The only exception to this rule had, of course, been their fellow apprentices, as well as their teachers. Well, there was also one other exception: apprentices could exchange letters with their loved ones once a month. During all those grueling, tiring, painful and stressful years, Dolsoe cherished those letters the most; returning from training to find one in front of his door made all that accumulated fatigue disappear in a flash.
He loved reading about his parents' daily lives. His mother had a proclivity to go on and on about all the different gossip she'd talk about with her friends, something that helped him keep in touch with the sect's affairs as a whole pretty well, even isolated as he was. His father, on the other hand, wrote a ton about advancement, any quests that he might have completed – along with all the juicy details around them. He also updated him on the various martial tournaments that would take place, for he knew that, prior to his apprenticeship, Dolsoe had loved attending them as a viewer.
However, as fate would have it, around five years into his apprenticeship, those letters would suddenly stop. For a while – around five months' time - Dolsoe would receive no correspondence from his family. As each month passed, he would grow more and more worried about what happened back home, and the increasing stress upon his psyche slowed down his progress considerably. Alas, quitting the apprenticeship was something unheard of – even the clan head's own direct descendants had to go through with it, there were no exceptions.
Then one day, a new letter would arrive. One could only guess how elated Dolsoe had been to find it, and as such he had swiftly wrenched it open, his eyes devouring its contents. Unfortunately, just as quickly as he read the letter, his face transformed from that one full of excitement to one full of dread and hopelessness. Both his parents had died.
The letter would go on to explain how it had happened; a particular beast native to the Darkwoods had been terrorizing a village near the outskirts of the clan's territory. Several previous Outer members had tried to hunt it down, however they had all never returned. Well, his father had been recruited by an Inner Sect member into a group that would tackle this specific problem; the member in question had been known for the power of his fist techniques and was quite influential within the Inner Circles. He had proclaimed that, under his leadership, they would return triumphant, that they would bring the beast's head for all to witness along with them.
A month past after their departure, and news came back from the outskirts. After the second month, the Elder's Council had organized a second expedition, this time a rescue mission the leader of which had been one of the Elders himself. "They" would return after another month; just the elder would stagger onto the front gates of the sect one day, missing an arm and an eye but holding on to a huge, sharp, curved tooth beneath his armpit. Apparently the beast – a pitch black leopard of enormous proportions – had been slain, but everyone else except the elder had died along with it. A few days later, however, the elder had also succumbed to his injuries and had passed away.
Dolsoe's mother, unable to bear the sheer weight of grief at the loss of her husband, had decided to take her life after just one month of hearing the news. Understandably, Dolsoe had also been devastated by the news; news that, had the letter system not been in place, would have never found their way to him. Only way later would he find out that the sect had to do away with the letter system, as the fallout from several apprentices finding out about their loved ones' deaths had also drove them to suicide.
Dolsoe, too, had contemplated the act numerous times. Then, after a few weeks of bad thoughts stewing in his mind, he'd decided to go through with it. His plan had been simple; numerous martial artists, in their attempt to attain further progress in their martial arts, would go into what had been termed "closed-door" training. During this time, they would isolate themselves in order to attain enlightenment through meditation. This could go on for a long time, years in some cases, depending on the power that said martial artist already possessed.
Sometimes, however, in their fervor to obtain this type of reward, a martial artist would make a mistake during the process, causing the energies coursing within their body to clash, the so called "essence deviation". This most often would result in the death of the practitioner – some deaths being more gruesome than others – but there were also exceptions.
Dolsoe did not plan to be one of those exceptions. He would shut himself inside his room and forcefully induced the essences to clash, leading him to literally explode from within. And he would have gone ahead with it, had it not been for one unexpected variable: the same day that he had chosen to be his last, he had found a new letter waiting for him on his doorstep.
At first he had refused to even pick it up, letting it stay there in front of his door for several hours. Yet the sheer knowledge of the letter's existence slowly eroded the tall walls that fortified his mind, completely shattering his fragile determination. In the evening of that day, he finally decided to read it, his curiosity unable to withstand it.
Background information/exposition post about Dolsoe and the Falling Star sect. Flavor post.
Somewhere within the vast reaches of the cosmos, that all-encompassing silence enveloping everything within its cold embrace had been, at last, broken. As if but a single water drop touching the surface of a still lake, the ripples of creation traveling through the eternal tapestry had roused a long-forgotten entity from its timeless slumber.
Even in its sleep the being’s senses were immaculate; detecting a disturbance – even tiny ones such as this – was easy. After a slight shift in space, brilliant light, heat, and colors unimaginable burst forth, showering the previously pitch darkness with iridescent magnificence. The being’s nebulaeic form slowly coalesced what, at first glance, seemed to be a face, but upon further analysis ended up being a collection of celestial objects arranging themselves as such.
From within a massive cloud of gas and celestial dust, two colorful, swirling spiral galaxies slowly emerged. Both moved in unison as the whole structure floated through space, turning its attention towards a certain direction. The entity seemed to be measuring – nay – judging the new arrival, and as it did another gaseous form slowly emerged from within the cloud; an appendage akin to an arm of galactic proportions took shape, complete with a forearm, hand, and articulated fingers.
After what seemed to be a moment in time, yet lasting longer than some stars' lifespans, the being closed its "eyes", causing the rotating galaxies to squish down into thin, hot, plasma-like lines stretching light years in length. And then it breathed in.
Space roared; Time bent, and two small black holes popped into existence near the center of the being's "face", instantly vacuuming up everything within their immediate vicinity, yet the nebula endlessly generated more and more, an endless spring of creation bursting forth with potential.
Then, just as suddenly as it had started, everything came to a still. The black holes dissipated; the swirling colors within the nebula, and as a result the being's complexion as a whole, dulling down a bit. The entity's eyes opened once again, slightly this time, just enough to peer once at its hand before turning its attention back to the source of the disturbance. As it did, a crack in the fabric of space split the lower half of the cloud, forming a jagged imitation of a mouth, with its edges slightly tilting in a mock grin.
And then it breathed out. More so a deafening – even silenced as it was by the vacuum of space – bellow than a simple exhale, the being's maw spewed forth creation incarnate; it gave birth to a stellar tornado of gigantic proportions that shot forward at beyond light speed, plowing through and picking up everything in its wake.
The sheer amount of energy generated from its unnatural movement would not be denied, causing the tornado to heat up exponentially. All the various space debris and material swirling within it rapidly melted down into their purest forms, quickly coming together to merge into a small – for galactic proportions – sphere.
The orb shot off into the figurative horizon; carried forward by the momentum of the tornado, and towards the direction of the disturbance. Left behind, the entity could do nothing but watch the bead's journey. Its senses, although mighty, did not extend beyond its sphere of influence. Once the connection between itself and the dormant "gift" it had so generously wrapped up had been cut off, the entity knew that the object had truly entered the deep unknown. Satisfied with itself, the being nodded once before fading away, back into slumber. The excursion into the deep dark, although lengthy, had been pretty much uneventful. Posing both as a protector as well as a means of travel, the tornado kept up with the orb for much of the journey, yet the harsh environment would prove to be its undoing.
From the moment it had come into existence, the sheer cold of space had been gnawing away at its stellar energies, akin to a crow encircling a dying rat and pecking at it from time to time. The two would clash innumerable times, yet the tornado would come out as the weaker side time and again, losing both heat and momentum in the process. Alas, it dissipated into nothingness just before reaching their destination, leaving its passenger to travel the rest of the distance on its own.
As if sensing the absence of its guardian, the semi-sentient orb – albeit still dormant – willed its vessel to push on ahead, the one and only order left behind by its creator having been burned into its instinct; reach the destination. When its outer shell met the thin, water-like barrier of the newly formed nascent universe, it knew it had finally fulfilled that command.
As if a dam had suddenly burst open, a rush of new information spewed through the, newly minted, connection between the universe and the consciousness within the sphere. Along with this information came a sudden surge of power that, almost forcefully, washed away all other remnants of external influence that might have been left on the orb.
Had it had actual sight at this time, the consciousness would have experienced everything going dark as it reeled from the sudden intrusion. However, the only indication of it fainting had been the slight dimming of the colorful lights emitted from within. In this split second of true unconsciousness, new rules, directives, and responsibilities slipped into it; as if a thread being carefully stitched onto fabric, the intricate patterns that emerged ended up seamlessly absorbed into, and made part of, the nascent deity.
The bestowment of divinity, and all that it entails, is a mysterious process; one would not be far off in assuming that – like a caterpillar turning into a butterfly – any change that might occur on the inside would reflect on the outside as well. Well, in this case they would be wrong to assume that, as there was absolutely no external indication that the entity had been turned into a divine.
On the contrary, the sphere turned an even duller grey-to-black color; flashes of golden hued light emitted from its center as it slowly floated in space. After some indeterminate amount of time, another celestial object – an asteroid – passed by near the vicinity of the orb, inadvertently catching the unconscious deity in its orbit. Like this, it 'traveled' around the system for a while, piggybacking off the asteroid. However, it seemed that it, too, had been orbiting around another, bigger object all along. Galbar.
Incredible how one small – in the grand scheme of things – rock, floating in space as it was, would be the host of such wondrous variety of life. The divines, in their creative fervor, had riddled it with all sorts of interesting little things. Some had gone for the more usual creations: life-giving flora and sentient fauna, boring but necessary. To complement their critters, the gods gifted some with the knowledge of architecture, as to shield themselves from the elements and prosper as communities; the relatively smarter creatures – mostly bipeds, but there were also a lot of quadrupeds for some strange reason – took to these teachings like a duck to water, spreading all over the continent and forming their own settlements.
Other deities had decided to be more moderate in how much influence they exerted over their surroundings. A few experiments here; some changes there; a few mortals for servants and an abode to call their own; there is nothing wrong with taking it easy sometimes, but one ought to do… more. A mortal's plight, a limited lifespan on top of no access to divine power, was certainly crippling enough. Yet so many of them rose to the challenge, some imitating their superiors, others charting their own paths; their creations, in the end, being the result of effort and sheer force of will.
Of course, those deities were not really at fault here; their invoker had not really given them specific goals to achieve, and so they were somewhat… winging it, per se – some quite literally at that. One, however, had lagged behind the rest.
Well, getting locked in orbit with a quasi-satellite of Galbar, and experiencing the mind's equivalent of a blackout on top of that, is not something to scoff at. By the time the young deity regained enough of its senses to get a hang of the situation, its overbearing partner had run a few circles around the planet. Trapped as it was between the two celestial objects, the orb's orbit destabilized due to the superior pull of Galbar, and so at some point it had started hurling down towards the planet. The day had long passed; the sun had set and the moon – one of them anyway, as they somehow had managed to multiply – had risen over the horizon, illuminating with its silvery light the world below. The wind carried the sound of the distant waves, all the way up the many cliff sides riddling the south-eastern edges of the continent, and into the dense, forested maze that were the outskirts of Logiopolis.
There, upon one small clearing near the edge of one such cliff sat a person, alone. Occasionally, the distinct clacking sound of two hard objects hitting each-other would be heard, followed by the person quickly glancing up at the night sky for a brief second, before quickly looking down onto whatever they were tinkering with.
–Clink, clink, clink–
With a sigh, Titus straightened his back, taking a couple of seconds to regain his breath whilst marveling at his finished creation. "Finally, finally, finally, finally!" He repeated the same word over and over again, sheer excitement written out all over his face. A few hands-width in length away from him lay a relatively thick slab of stone; he'd found it on a beach a few days after the God of Knowledge had first visited and gifted them with names, language, writing, and many more.
"God must be looking after me, else I doubt I'd have convinced that meat-for-brains to drag this thing all the way here." The young man stood up – dusting off whatever dirt had gotten on him from all that work, and started slowly circling around the slab, peering at it from different angles. Depicted on it, were a set of points, carefully chiseled in and connected with lines in between; rough as it was, the image constructed from the arrangement of said points and lines ended up, curiously, being that of a book.
"Hmm, a little rough around the edges for sure… maybe if I carve a little bit over here…"
Lost in thought as he was – ninety percent of what went through his mind at that moment were related to his masterpiece – Titus failed to notice a towering presence slowly approaching him from behind. "Hey, hey, hey, oh that looks familiar." The sheer suddenness of the new voice spooked the lights out of the poor man, causing him to jump and fall on his face, much to the chagrin of the intruder.
Titus slowly rolled over in place whilst letting out a pained grunt, eliciting more laughter for his troubles. "Y-ye-yeah, laugh away…" Titus sighed in resignation, splaying his arms on the ground, and simply staring at the stars above. After a moment, however, even that view was taken away from him as the figure from before walked right next to his head, replacing the stars with… something equally exciting.
"How's the view from down there, astroboy?" The red-haired kinnara looming above Titus questioned with a grin. "Uh… um… It's, uh, pre–" his stumbling for words was cut off by a sharp but relatively soft kick to his sides, causing him to roll over once again. "Enough, Archon's back from the hunt; it's time to return to the cabin," she declared before walking off towards the piece of stone on the ground.
"You sure made good work of my good work… I know what it looks like, but why… this, of all things?" She pointed at the stone carving before looking back at him. Titus, much to his credit, did not get angry at her words. "Calm down, it comes from a place of ignorance… calm… down…"
"This is a constellation, or a depiction of one at least," the young man explained as he stood up once more, only to be met by a raised eyebrow. "A consta-what now?"
"Con-stel-la-ti-on. It's an area on the celestial plane in which a group of visible stars form a pattern, that we can then perceive and depict!" The man patiently re-iterated, his excitement there towards the end of his explanation evident in his eyes and tone. Yet what faced him was silence, a troubled look, a tilted head, and full-blown eyebrow frowning that made him want to claw his face off.
"OKAY, YOU HAVE THE STARS, RIGHT?" Nod. "THEY ARE UP IN THE SKY, YEAH?" Nod. "WELL, SOME ARE BRIGHTER THAN OTHERS, AND WHEN WE DRAW LINES BETWEEN THOSE BRIGHT ONES, SOMETIMES, WE GET NICE PICTURES!" Titus was left full-on wheezing towards the end of the brief rant, yet he stared the kinnara straight into the eyes to see if she'd understood.
After he'd finished, she remained silent for a while, sometimes looking up at the stars before looking back down at him. She did this for a few minutes, making Titus swear he could hear grinding sounds coming from the inside of her head. Suddenly, however, she turned to him; "First of all, we're having a long talk later," she said matter-of-factly, immediately making Titus break out in cold sweat. "Secondly, yeah I get it now. Lastly, a question: what happens when one of those stars shoots down?"
"What? Uh, well, Archon's said that those are shooting stars, they have nothing to do with the big ones that form the constellations, Myra…" Titus nervously replied. "Aha, I see. So, it's not a punishment from God…" She mumbled her understanding whilst staring at the sky, prompting Titus to join her. They watched in silence, a mixture of awe and terror as an object sliced through the night sky. The sheer speed and momentum that carried it caused the atmosphere to spontaneously combust around it, carving a beautifully haunting flaming arc across a dark background.
Within a few seconds, the object had travelled all the way from the equator to the south-eastern coast of the continent; inhabitants of Logiopolis and the surrounding areas would have been the primary audience for this celestial spectacle. Only for a moment in time, night turned to day, and then back to night as blinding light radiated outwards from the object as it passed by high above.
And the sound, oh the sound. It came an instant later, a deafening boom accompanied by a shockwave – enough to make the forests sway in unison, but not enough to rip them out from where they stood. The wind, as if following the trail set by the shooting star, blew strongly towards the north. However, it was soon met by the wall that was the Stormbreaker Mountain Range and hailed to a stop, unlike the trailblazing meteor that continued well beyond those snowy peaks.
Be as stable as the earth you tread on, for it is it that gives you sustenance; be as flexible as the water you drink, for it is it that courses through your veins; be as passionate as the fire you cook with, yet never grow too fond of it, lest you be burned to a crisp; be as considerate as the air your breathe, for every living being on Galbar requires it to keep on living.
Staggering between two bushes, a lone deer emerged into an open clearing; its mouth drooled frothy saliva as its nose sniffed around, trying to detect potential predators. Stopping for a moment, the deer raised its head – ears stretched as high as possible – and took in the surrounding area. A thin, long piece of wood was sticking out from its side, slightly up and towards the end of its spine. Blood was dripping out from the puncture wound, seeping into its fur, and painting it a carmine red.
The clearing was situated on the south bank of the water channel that, unknown to many still, divided the lands of Galbar in two. Further south and equally covered in dense, coniferous woodland – fir and spruce, some pine here and there too – the mountain that delineated the northern border of the Darkwood Forest rose tall, a natural landmark. Somewhere on the other side of the mountain, the Falling Star sect's stronghold stood strong, housing one of the Twelve Clans of Haven.
It was one such clansman of Falling Star that had wounded the deer so gravely. Dolsoe was his name, a relatively known young hunter and martial artist within the clan; Dolsoe's prey tracking abilities had even elicited a passing comment by one of the sect's Inner Disciples – being noticed by someone that had received direct tutelage by the Martial Goddess could be considered a blessing.
And yet, upon laying eyes on him, no one in their right minds would guess that he was a member of the Falling Star sect. His attire consisted of rugged, cut up "clothing" – in actuality a random assortment of leathers, haphazardly stitched up together to look like something one might wear – adorning his torso and legs, clothing that looked like they had been worn for years on end; no shoes, of course; disheveled, mop-like long hair that shrouded most of his forehead, eyes, ears and nose – gods knew how he could see even a foot's width in front of him in that state.
Dolsoe had broken many rules and regulations, skirting his responsibilities and taking to the mountains as a way to escape from all of it, yet no matter how far he went, his past always seemed to be haunting him.
The man crouched low, his second wooden spear in hand, primed and ready. He inhaled once, then again, and then a third time, taking in the scents of the forest – pine sap and wet foliage mixed together to create a truly unique kind of scent. As he lay there low, scanning the area, his eyes suddenly locked on to something; different from the endless shades of green that dominated the forest, this was a deep, dirty crimson. The color of blood, even dried out, is unmistakable to a seasoned hunter.
Dolsoe, albeit still sticking close to the ground, moved swiftly towards the newfound clue that would lead him to the location of his prey. "Yeah… not much more now…" he murmured to himself as he touched the red, sticky ichor with his fingers. "Ah, this one is fresh… you're close aren't ya?" He straightened his back a little and set off towards the north, his pace brisk yet silent.
Like a hawk, Dolsoe kept his eyes wide open as he moved through the forest, picking around bushes and cutting down vines in the process. As he neared the end, he crouched low once again and assumed the spear throwing position. Hidden behind one of the bushes, he popped his head up for moment, and lo and behold, his prey had entered his sights once more.
Dolsoe kept his eyes trained on the wounded deer; it had moved all the way to the edge of the water channel. It greedily swallowed gulp after gulp, its eyes lidded from either the pain of the wound or the exertion of having to escape an unyielding predator. "You're thirsty… well, I am hungry!"
Just as he was preparing to launch his other spear, however, a terrifying noise reverberated across the area, alerting both the hunter and the hunted that something had gone wrong, very, very wrong. A split second later, a white flash covered the sky, and then everything went black. "Ugh… wh-where am I?"
The being's jumbled mind felt sluggish. As if a newborn calf not having yet realized it had been born, the consciousness drew upon every ounce of mental power it could muster at that very moment, organizing its thoughts into something that could make sense. Then suddenly, like a fumbling key finally finding the lock after repeatedly failing to do so, everything became clear.
"I see… so it's come to this…"
The being willed it, and the world that surrounded it revealed itself to it at once. "How fascinating…" Its mind scanned through the information in its possession, going through everything not once, but twice – just to make sure.
For a being of its level, slowing down its perception to account for the sheer speed at which it had been travelling through the atmosphere was, for a lack of a better comparison, a parlor trick. A world of blurring colors and heat instantly slowed down to a crawl, with the lands beyond quickly becoming recognizable to the naked eye. "These… are mountains, and those are trees, no, forests!" Its remarks echoed within its own mind, yet sadly no one was there to share them with.
Then its sight locked on an interesting discovery, an intriguing trapezoidal structure of uneven surface. At first glance, the being had no idea as to what its use might have been; its location for one? Utterly dreadful. Who would even consider that juncture as prime real estate? Whoever had ordered the construction must have held a grudge on the one responsible for actually building the thing, the being concluded.
It was at this time, however, that the being noticed it was increasingly approaching the surface of the world beneath. Just as it passed by the tall mountain peak that loomed over surrounding area, its sight was greeted with more of the same land. "More forests, mountains and… buildings…" Had it had a mouth, the being would have let out a sigh.
"Well, I guess my other… colleagues do love their green and brown stuff…" Somewhere in its mind, the thought clicked that if it let itself to land without doing anything, the impact could probably take out a good chunk of the ground below. "Yes, it seems I was called here to help, not destroy, so…"
"STOP".
The world bent around the being's will and, in a split second, the stupendous amount of kinetic force behind its fall became null, causing its body to come to a sudden halt midair, just above where it would have landed. Unfortunately for the land below, it hadn’t really extended that command to all the forces at play here.
As a result, the compacted gas that had, until that time, been burning bright right in-front of it kept going downwards, smiting the ground directly below and engulfing it in a flaming fireball, disintegrating trees and creatures alike. Fortunately for the land, the crater that resulted was aptly situated; water from the water channel dividing the two continents quickly rushed in, filling it up and creating a new lake.
A dark, sphere like shape slowly descended from above the lake, and as it did, a cylindrical piece of land rose from the depths below – right in the middle of it – as if the lake itself was extending a hand, welcoming the orb's arrival. A small indentation in the rock formed as the orb settled; divine energies crackled, and the obelisk became riddled with blackened cracks. From within, nebulous mist seeped that, after a while, would create an ethereal environment, enveloping the lake and some of the surrounding land, and hiding it away from plain view.
"Ah, that's much better… now to make it a little more interesting." With that thought, all sorts of fantastical plants started growing in the area surrounding the lake. Golden-stemmed bamboos of different sizes and shapes shot up, mostly occupying the area at the borders and up to the middle of the small realm, enveloping the core within a veritable new forest. Taking advantage of the ideal conditions that the mist had created, a whole host of mushrooms-types grew in between the bamboo, multicolored and of various degrees of fluorescence. Nearer to the lake, smaller grasses and roots; forb; ginseng; licorice; ginger to name a few, slowly sprouted.
However, the greatest change took place in the middle of the lake, right where the obelisk had been erected. The land rumbled, creating ripples in the surface of the water as two thick, dense, golden-brown roots slowly crept up from the recently created lake, twisting and turning around the obelisk, only to come to a stop upon meeting at the top. As if sensing it was their time to appear, numerous branches grew outwards, the thing starting to, more and more, resemble an actual tree now.
Only the final touches were needed, and so the being willed the trunks of the tree to mold themselves around it, allowing the orb to escape its tight embrace. As the being floated away, a small, sphere-sized hole was left in the middle of the tree, enshrining it as this deity's resting place upon this planet. At that moment, the whole tree burst with life; golden leaves grew, shimmering purplish-white flowers bloomed, and a perpetual small breeze started blowing out of nowhere. As if alive, the tree, its branches and all other surrounding foliage started gently rocking to the whims of the wind. Occasionally, flower petals would get detached from their
"I've got to say, rocks and trees do make for a nice landscape after all… seems like the other deities are on to something here." The being, amused by its own thoughts, floated down towards the base of the tree. Whilst doing so, dark, golden-hued liquid slowly seeped out from within the deep recesses of its vessel, the orb. Slowly, the liquid formed into the rough shape of a featureless torso with four equally featureless limbs, a body adequate enough to hold its vessel in place, albeit not really needed.
Gingerly at first – walking was not something that came naturally to it – the being moved around the garden, marveling at the sights and scents. It took its time, not rushing through the first moments of its existence on Galbar. After all, the notion of time was irrelevant to an existence such as itself. Its walk eventually took it back to the center of the lake, wherein the tree stood tall. The being stretched one of its appendages, gently touching one of the many swaying flowers, and a sense of peace and tranquility washed over its entire being. "Delightful."
But then a small noise, a sound akin no other existing within the realm, brought the deity back from its trance-like state. The divine followed the sound curiously, leaving its innate inquisitive nature to bring it to its destination. On the south edge of the realm, among the tall bamboo and mushrooms, a small wisp lay down on the ground, curled up in a fetal position. "How curious, a biped, here in my realm."
The deity had spoken softly, trying to not startle the creature, yet its voice reverberated outwards, interfering with the divine essence of the place. With it as their epicenter, ripples in the fabric of space extended towards all directions, some penetrating straight through the fragile exterior of the small visitor; the wisp let out a pained wail and hurriedly scurried away, frightened out of its mind.
"Oh, this won't do… this presence of mine is too much for mortals to bear…" The deity stopped and thought, trying to come up with a solution to a newfound problem. "Hmm, maybe if I had a more relatable appearance?" Suddenly, its form turned back into the primordial liquid it had emerged from, flowing up and setting around the floating orb which, soon, started spinning around in place; at first it went slowly, but as rotation after rotation was completed, its speed ramped up exponentially.
Through this movement, a vacuum-like force was created that started sucking in everything around it. Nearby golden bamboo and grasses were ripped up and flown straight into the orb's greedy mouth, along with water from the lake and the divine essence leaking from the cracks within the obelisk. Somewhere within the realm, the wisp of a man had detected this immediate danger and had taken a calculated risk; he'd swam across the lake, reaching the land where the giant tree lay and hid behind it – it seemed like only thing incapable of being torn apart at that moment.
Fortunately, it didn't take long for the orb to calm down, and as it did a burst of light emanated from the core of the spherical object. Innumerable rays of light penetrated through the dark liquid surrounding the orb, turning it bright a bright golden color, before dissipating into nothingness once more. The transformed liquid then latched onto the orb, enveloping it in its gooey embrace.
Throughout the ordeal, the wisp had remained mostly hidden behind the tree, however when the lights died down, it curiously peeked around to look at what had been happening. What it witnessed was like something straight out of a fairy tale; semi-transparent threads of divine energy extended downward, creating a scaffold-like structure that then was slowly filled in by the golden liquid above, forming a rather tall, humanoid body. Bone, organs, veins, and muscles formed on the inside, while skin enveloped the outside – all but the brain, which was replaced by the orb itself and encased within a shiny, translucent skull, formed beautifully.
Every ounce of ichor left after the completion of the transformation flowed up onto the deity's head, seeping into the skin. By the time the body had floated down, its feet meeting the ground, a knee-length, goldenrod mane of hair had fully grown in. Two striking, citrine-colored eyes carefully measured their surroundings, viewing the world through mortal lenses for the first time.
He breathed in, testing the both the air and his new lungs, the action quickly eliciting a smile from the god. "Despite some flaws, the engineering prowess and skill that must have gone into creating the blueprints for such a race of creatures is astounding. I must make it a goal to meet their creator at some point…"
As the deity mused on this new reality that he had been summoned into, his eyes spotted a tiny head peaking from behind the tree. Unfortunately for the wisp, those few milliseconds it took to realize it had been spotted were enough for the god to cast his will on it, seizing it in place and preventing it from running away again. "Not that it would go far… I know of everything that goes on within this realm."
The god waved in with his left hand, exerting a force of attraction that slowly dragged the intruder towards him, while with his right hand summoned a set of simple, linen robes to cover his modesty. After getting dressed, he sat down on the ground, legs crossed, and watched as the wisp – despite struggling against its invisible tethers – kept on approaching him.
"Y-yi-yooooooou, no." A cough and several adjustments later, the deity projected his voice out a second time. "You needn't struggle, I mean no harm." He had only heard accounts of the deities, never witnessing one from up close. Dolsoe's parents used to tell him stories about the divine creator, the Goddess that saved their race from the pits of oblivion. She had given them many gifts to aid in their survival: the gifts of language and writing being the first to pop into his mind. There were others as well, such as the gift of architecture, governance, and war; the last had often been a hot topic during the sect's monthly literary tournaments.
Apparently, after the humans and chimeras were cast down from Haven, they were made aware of the existence of other deities. Their Goddess, Teacher, and Protector was not the only one capable of harnessing reality, taming and manipulating it according to her whims. Rumors spoke of texts hidden deep within the sect's library, far away from an Outer member's eyes, that held information about the others – their veracity eluded Dolsoe – however those who knew for certain were among the highest ranked within the sect.
And yet, right then and there, a living, breathing, and smiling deity was sitting across from him, the two separated by a flat, table-like rock. On top of the "table" lay a wide assortment of fresh fruit; dewy, full-bodied grapes, green and golden pears, apples of various shades of sweetness, a veritable galore of berries of all sizes and shapes, were among some of the fruit made available to him. Some fruit, like kiwis, were especially hard to find in the area surrounding the Falling Star sect, and as such were considered a delicacy – some of the more gluttonous members would go as far as to use merit to obtain them.
Dolsoe glanced back and forth between the god and the feast in front of him, his mouth drooling wispy saliva. As if sensing his hesitation, the god nodded his assent, and Dolsoe instantly grabbed at one of the apples, only for his hand to phase right through it. His eyes blinked a few times, the confusion evident on his face, and so he made several more attempts, all ending in the same manner. Then the realization hit him, and he slumped back in defeat.
"I am dead, aren't I?" The first words leaving Dolsoe's mouth were not particularly targeted at the god, yet he still nodded his head in confirmation. "I admit, my arrival could have been better, but you really were not in the best of positions there." The god snapped his fingers and all the fruit, along with the table, turned a ghostly purple color. "Uh, should be fixed now."
"What's the use even… I'm dead…" Dolsoe stayed still, head hung low. His life had finally come to an end, and what end it had been. "Spicy is one word to describe it," the god quipped in before floating a cluster of grapes in front of him, separating one, and launching it into his mouth. "Aha, minty!"
The sheer absurdity of the whole situation caused Dolsoe to let out an amused exhale which, after a second, was reciprocated back by the god, followed by a giggle. Dolsoe joined in, and soon after – like two sick people taking turns sneezing on each other – both had devolved into full-blown, over the top, knee-slapping, tummy-hurting laughter.
Nevertheless, just like how fire cannot burn without enough fuel, so too does joy. One's got only so much energy to spend on laughter, anyway, before their mind changes the subject back to something more somber. After the racket had finally come to an end, both sat there, staring at each other in silence. Then, much to Dolsoe's surprise, the god – after awkwardly shifting his weight around a little – addressed him first.
"So, you know how you being dead is, uh, kind of my fault–" "Yes, one hundred percent." Dolsoe nodded his head in a hasty reply, cutting the god mid-speech, eliciting a tight smile and a blink of the eyes from the other party. "Sorry…" "Yeah, so I was thinking: it is my fault, so who's better to fix it other than me? There are two ideas I am currently entertaining; one could roughly categorize them as the 'fast-and-easy' versus the 'slow-and-hard' approach." Dolsoe, careful not to make the same mistake as earlier, decided to wait until the god signaled that he could talk. "Tell me more about the first one…" "Oh, well its nothing other than resurrection. We make you a new body, identical to the one you had before, plop you right back in there, and off you go. Super comfortable. Cheap to boot." The god's last choice of words worried Dolsoe a little. "Che– no, you know what, no. Thanks, but I would rather not return like that." Dolsoe rejected the offer after some consideration. "Would you care to elaborate on the reason? I will understand if you choose to remain silent, however."
Dolsoe looked straight into the eyes of the man sitting across from him; ten minutes ago he was alive and well, ready to take a life for food, and now – ten minutes later – he is face-to-face with his own killer, talking about methods of giving that life back to him. The ghostly vagabond let out a deep sigh, taking some time to gather his thoughts, before finally speaking up.
"You know, I have been through a lot in my life – lost a lot. Time; emotions; credibility; family… Some I lost myself, while others were taken away from me." Visible tears started welling up in his wispy eyes as he mouthed those words, but he steeled himself and continued. "In some way I looked forward to my death; I have always wondered, no, hoped that there was no afterlife. Having to live with these memories stuck in my head is one thing, but having to carry them all the way to eternity after I am dead… I would rather go insane."
"Of course, maybe somewhere out there, there is a God of Death taking care of all the dead people, picking them up in his jolly little boat, and herding them off to some place for safeke–" Realizing what he'd just said, Dolsoe scratched his beard, looked behind his shoulder a couple of times to make sure, and leaned a little forward towards the god. "There's no God of Death with a boat, right?" His voice could barely count as a whisper.
The deity remained silent for a while, seemingly thinking quite hard about the question. "You know what," he said before he, too, leaned in closer. "I have no idea! I am kind of new to the job, so… yeah." The deity concluded, shrugging his shoulders.
"Right…" Dolsoe straightened his back, returning to his previous position and – after clearing his throat once – dug a hand into his breast-pocket, fishing out a small wooden pendant. It looked handmade, yet the roughness of the edges and the poor quality of material indicated a lack of skill from the craftsman's side. "This was made by my daughter, Sohee; she should be sixteen cycles old at this time."
Again, Dolsoe's eyes welled up at the mention of his daughter, and the man seemed to almost be on the verge of a breakdown, however he somehow regained his composure. "She's undergoing her apprenticeship in the sect; I am barred from meeting, or even talking with, her until it is over." His fingers rubbed on the pendant gently as he talked.
"I've thought about ending it many times before you came knocking, you know? Yet all those times, her face appeared in my mind. I constantly counted the years, telling myself it was going to be alright. I had to be there when she finished, when she'd finally come back home… when we could be a family once more." The hand holding onto the pendant had long clutched into a fist, Dolsoe unwittingly crushing it within.
"You know, resurrection would fix that problem for you. Plus, I could give you a younger body, so that you and your daughter could have more time to spend together. To make up for the lost time and all." The deity interjected.
"Yes… but there's a problem with that solution; how would I ever be able to explain that I died, and the god that – accidentally – killed me, took pity on me, and brought me back? Also, there are two more years until she is finished with the apprenticeship. I am not sure I can even hold on for that long…"
The man chuckled at a thought, much to the god's surprise. Laughter did not fit the mood at that moment, prompting the deity to inquire as to why he had done that. "You know, for a god you are awfully inquisitive. Aren't you supposed to be all-knowing?"
The god, in return, shook his head in refusal. "No, my powers are currently limited; what knowledge I possess is either through my, very, brief existence so far, or the pieces I've gai–" It was the god's time to stop himself in his tracks, as he'd said too much already. "Just no," he added before remaining silent.
Dolsoe shrugged his shoulders at the answer. "Fair enough, I guess. Well, I was considerably more stable back when she first started her apprenticeship, but these long years have ground me down… I also did some not so regal things back at the sect, and now I am shunned whenever I show myself around those parts."
The god remained silent until the end, earnestly listening to what Dolsoe had to say. Only when he felt that the man had truly finished his story did he speak up. "Very well, I can take that as an acceptable reason for refusing the first offer. This means it is an automatic win for the second offer!" The god clapped his hands excitedly. "And what is that exactly?" Dolsoe asked.
"That would be resurrection–" "I literally just listed all the reasons why that would be–" "SILENCE!" The deity immediately burst forth with rage; his eyes turned pitch black, and a large portion of his divine will crashed down on the discourteous soul. "Just because I enjoy a good conversation does not mean you are allowed to interrupt me, mortal. You will not do this again, understood?" The man could not move a muscle – figuratively – but he assumed the deity could simply read his mind, and so he projected his sincere apologies with his thoughts.
In a split second, everything returned to its previous calm state; the moment the deity withdrew his power, Dolsoe felt as if he could breathe again. "As I was saying, the second offer is resurrection, with a caveat. Follow me, closely." With a flourish of his sleeve, both the stone table and the food on top of it immediately disappeared; the deity floated up from whence he sat, coming to a standing position mid-air, his feet just barely hovering above ground.
Dolsoe watched as the deity floated past him; at that moment of close proximity, he could feel nothing of the sort of power and sheer magnificence from before. If he hadn't experienced it firsthand, he would swear that the man in front of him was just another regular human being. Dolsoe hurriedly followed behind the god, not daring to go against him a third time.
They had been situated near the southern border of the realm, yet they didn't take long to reach the edge of the lake. The deity continued moving forward, effortlessly floating above the surface, while a few steps behind him giant waterlilies, their leaves as wide as that table from before, simply popped into existence. Dolsoe was hesitant at first, but then remembered that he was literally dead, and so started hopping from plant to plant in a bid to catch up.
Upon reaching the central landmass of the lake, the deity finally landed, turned around and watched as the ghost finished making his way over. Dolsoe could feel the god's gaze on him after finally landing on solid ground; had he been still alive, his forehead would have surely broken in cold sweat. Then, the god simply extended his arm, his hand pointing forward. "Deceased first," he added with a smile.
"Uh, thanks…" The man nervously walked ahead; the only real thing taking up most of this space, from what Dolsoe had seen, had been the tree. Thus, one could only assume how surprised he was to see a new structure. The immediate land surrounding the tree had previously been circular, however now a perfect semi-circle had been sheared off, akin to a person taking a bite out of an uncut pie. Profane.
As they neared this inner shore, Dolsoe's eyes finally caught glimpse of another surprise; rows upon rows of solid granite steps, conforming with the new shape of the land, jutted out from the side before disappearing into the depths of the lake. Then the god's voice was heard once more as he walked right next to the man.
"I have great plans for this world; we were brought here to be many things, from creators, to adjudicators, to – sometimes, yes – even destroyers. I have a rough idea as to what my place is within the grand scheme of things, however I am also not without flaws – at least I assume so. I actually dread the day I find out I have achieved true perfection, for that would be the day I have become my anathema."
Dolsoe studied the deity's face; its eyes, for the first time throughout their meeting, gave the man a strange sort of feeling. Dolsoe struggled a little to find the words to describe this feeling, eventually concluding on what felt like a close approximation – unfathomably distant, yet full of warmth. His trance was broken by the deity raising his right hand and gestured, as if calling something from behind to come forth.
Dolsoe turned around to see the small, spherical indentation into the tree light up. After three seconds, the light died down and small bead of liquid started slowly floating towards the duo. The colors of the liquid were truly… bizarre to Dolsoe, the mortal mind unable to comprehend them; had it not been for the stabilizing power of the realm, the ensuing insanity would have, no doubt, disintegrated his soul.
He watched as the bead floated above the surface of the water, lingering there for a brief second before sinking down into the lake. A few moments later, the lake took on the same colors as the bead, however a little more muted, and less taxing on the mortal mind.
"There, now we are ready to proceed. So, as I was saying before, resurrection with a caveat. By simply immersing yourself into the lake, your soul will be deconstructed and rebuild from the ground up, after which it will be ready to latch on to a new body. You will be a biped, that is for certain, however which race of biped is up to debate. Additionally, there's no way to know where exactly you will be placed in the world. Your memories and personality will stay intact, facilitating a faster re-integration into society. That, is your first choice."
"As for the second choice – and this is a special service from me to you, a one-time deal – you will, again, have to fully immerse yourself within the waters. However, by going the extra step and ingesting the water itself, your mind will be cleansed as well; all your memories will disappear, and your soul will become a clean slate. Furthermore, you will have no control over what body you will come to inhabit, but I will make sure that the resulting soul will have a strong, protective instinct towards your daughter. I will also make sure to let you loose near her vicinity."
The man's eyes stayed locked onto the deity during the whole time; his mind had been a jumbled-up mess of questions during the first half of the explanation, however once the second half came about, everything became crystal clear. Slowly, a smile crept up on his face, but as Dolsoe made to say something, the deity shushed him.
"I will know."
Dolsoe nodded once before turning around and started walking towards the steps. Just before going down the first, he stopped and turned around once more. "What is your name?"
Name… Indeed, mortals had such a concept. "I suppose I have none," the deity replied after some deliberation.
The smile on the man's face widened even more. "Can I name you?"
The sheer presumptuousness, oh the gall! The deity immediately burst out in roaring laughter at the ridiculous request. "Sure, such a reward seems fitting for being the first person to engage in conversation with me. Go ahead!"
"Well then, see you later, Einod."
The post is divided into six parts:
The first one clues the reader into what kind of past Einod has, where he might have come from, and all the like. Somewhat abstract - I doubt this will be a favorite.
The second part details Einod's journey through the cosmos as he - it at that point - approached Homura's universe. Again, pretty meh part overall, as there's no real action.
The third part is actually a little weird; Einod is not actually conscious at that point, and so this part could be simply summarized as narrator comments about the world so far. I know it breaks the immersion, but I wanted to include it so as to give a little context since it's my first post. What is a good RPGuild post without character reactions about what the other players have done so far? I will have my reactions, and you will like it!
The fourth part is the one that I feel will attract the most fans. It takes place near Logiopolis, and introduces two characters: Titus and Myra. One is a human male, while the other is a kinnara female. Both are over 18 years old, albeit Myra is a little older than Titus, a fact that she keeps rubbing into his nose each and every day. A third character is also mentioned, Archon, a hunter from Logiopolis, but nothing much more is expanded upon for him.
Titus is an avid lover of the stars and a budding astronomer. We find him just when he has finished carving up a constellation upon a particularly large stone slab. Myra soon joins him, and a fun little convo plays out. Suddenly, they are both distracted by the a shooting star that seems to be headed straight for them. Fortunately, it passes right above their heads, heading instead deeper into the center of the continent.
The fifth part introduces another character, Dolsoe. He is a member of the Falling Star sect, one of the 12 Holy Houses of Haven, and he is out on a hunt. He is somewhat of an outcast within the sect, having had a rough past, and so he chooses to live in the mountains far away from the sect's stronghold. We learn a little about the sect itself, however much of the part is ultimately dedicated to Dolsoe and how he dies.
The sixth, and biggest, part is where we finally get to Einod himself in action. After landing with a relative bang, he goes right to work creating his very own realm. As I explain later, It's basically a giant garden with a lake in the middle, and within the lake there's another piece of land with a giant tree - think a mix of white dogwood, great banyan, and the Bohdi Tree from Buddhist myth. Well, after creating the realm, Einod has a first go at creating a body for himself. Afterwards, he discovers that the ghost of Dolsoe had somehow infiltrated the realm, and thus tries to greet him, only to freak the shit out of him. This prompts Einod to create a second body for himself, one more relatable to humanoids. His new appearance is in the updated CS, on the Character tab. Well, they go on to have a chat, whereupon we learn more about Dolsoe's past, as well as his current mental state. He has been suicidal in the past, with the only thread left that allows him to cling onto life being his daughter. She is currently undergoing something called "the apprenticeship", a Falling Star sect-specific term. Not much more is said about what the apprenticeship is, just that it lasts a long time, and that parents are not allowed to contact their children during said time.
Einod, feeling responsible for killing the very first person he would come in contact with on Galbar, offers to resurrect Dolsoe. A relatively interesting back and forth ensues; Dolsoe refuses to be resurrected at first, citing reasons for said refusal. We see also see a more fierce sided to Einod, one that does not tolerate going against the fundamental notion of a conversation: the smooth exchange of ideas. After things have calmed down a bit, Einod makes another resurrection offer, this time a little more complicated. At the end, Dolsoe makes a choice, and the rest is history.
Phew, this was a long post. It took close to 3 weeks to finish... This is probably the lengthiest intro post I've ever written for a character. There were some difficulties, especially during the initial part that hints upon some of Einod's background and past. Everything else flowed pretty smoothly after that. It's just that I was busy most of the days and could only really sit down and write during the evenings. Well after 2 and half weeks I said that was enough, and stayed up two days in a row until 7 am to finish it. Hope it was worth me shaving some time off my lifespan... x.x
5 MP // 5 AP-2 AP (Create a Realm: I will write a sheet for it up later, but for the tl;dr: it's a garden with a giant tree in the middle, and whoever finds themselves inside will be able to more easily find inspiration/motivation/enlightenment about any one goal they have in their minds. Divine beings are not affected by this effect.) -3 MP (Resurrect a dead character.) - 3/3 MP towards unlocking the Aspect of Reincarnation. -2 MP (Create a monument: Waters of Forgetfulness; I will also write a sheet for this, but I think its effects are self-evident by the name) - 2/3 MP towards unlocking the Aspect of Lethe. 0 MP // 3 AP
TRANSCENDENCEThe world is suffused with magic; the smooth beach sand slowly being washed away by the waves; the trees and flowers that rustle as the wind gently blows through them, carrying on its wings a promise of more to come; the various fauna that inhabit vast swathes of the world, slowly going on about their daily lives - most of them following their instincts to survive and thrive.
The residual wonder of divine magnificence lays hidden within each and every thing in existence, desperately yearning to break free, if only for a chance to transcend normalcy and reach into the ever fleeting dream of its origin. Transcendence's core tenets follow this yearning, this urge that exists within all things to become different, better, more. It is the tool, as well as the agent of change that can facilitate the transformation of the mundane into the empyrean.
Of course, what is a sufficient enough alteration from the base form lays in the eye of the beholder - or the target of the change, and is not specifically bound to the physical realm. For example, a cruel man that has been humbled by a series of unfortunate events may decide to go on a pilgrimage to better himself. So, he travels the world with the intent of experiencing other cultures, seeing things from different points of view and expanding his scope on the world.
Eventually, the man may decide that his previous outlook on the world was flawed, and thus decide to change himself to be a better person, turning into a paragon for good. On the other hand, his travels might reinforce his old views and turn him into a crueler person than before, becoming a tyrant. Additionally as a side effect, to travel the world requires a sturdy physique, and as such his body would have adapted to this newfound exertion.
There are always positives and negatives to everything, yet the spirit of Transcendence does not follow a specific moral compass and is only really interested in results. Of course a king who is good to his people is is viewed as superior, but in the absence of that, an iron-hearted tyrant is better than a indecisive, non-committal and weak king that will only bring ruin to the dynasty and the kingdom.
𝐏 𝐄 𝐑 𝐒 𝐎 𝐍 𝐀
Einod can come across as quite the reserved, introspected deity at first glance. Initially, his humanoid form was characterized by the, mostly, featureless face it adorned, and thus one would not be at fault to assume him having the emotional level of a rock. This, of course, is far from the truth, and his second appearance - the one he chose after landing on Galbar - more closely matched that of his personality. Einod actually relishes in a good conversation, no matter the subject, for he recognizes that the simple action of exchanging ideas and opinions, regardless of their content or correctness, is one of the first steps towards transcendence of the mind.
Much influenced by his Aspects, this deity is one filled with curiosity about the world and its inhabitants, their lives, thoughts and aspirations - should they be of the thinking variation. He is ready to offer advice to those in need of it and, generally, does not shy away from providing tangible assistance when required. However, he also knows that progress can only be done through one's own efforts and thus understands that too much divine interference can turn into a deadly poison, corroding the mind and leading to the languishing of the spirit - Stagnation.
Ranking among the top three gravest sins according to Einod, stagnation in any form goes directly against his belief of continuous advancement, and thus he is particularly zealous about eradicating it, if not from existence then at least from his sight.
𝐌 𝐘 𝐓 𝐇
"Ahaha, that's the stuff!" a man guffawed, foamy ale residue still lingering on his lips and beard, as he slammed the empty tankard on the table in front of him. Big, brawny and seemingly full of energy, he fit the "heart of the party" kind of title to a T.
"You know Brynn, sometimes you have to learn to relax! All that worry and stress is. not. good. for. you!" He added, each word accompanied with a gentle push on the shoulder of his friend to press the point.
Brynn, however, slouched in his chair as he was, barely felt the touch of his friend. Matted black hair splayed across his knuckles as he rubbed his temples, the onset of a headache evident in his complexion. Relative to his friend, Brynn's build lent towards the lankier side, and as such the two men made for an odd pair at a glance.
"Ugh... I'm really not in the mood for your antics, Teyr..." The smaller man waved away his friend's hand and adjusted his position on the chair, leaning forward a bit more and grabbing his own drink. Teyr watched him wordlessly with a light smirk on his face as he took a couple of swigs of ale, only speaking after Brynn had finished.
"You know, I'm feeling hurt! I've known you for how many years now? Ten? Twenty? Never thought I'd have to find out these things on my own; I thought we friends told everything to each other!" Teyr exclaimed in fake outrage whilst gesturing at the barkeep for more ale.
"Actually, it's closing in on sixteen years now... you're the only person I've ever known that would forget their age, you know that?" Brynn said, the semi-questioning look on his face betraying his thoughts.
"Whatever, ten, sixteen, no difference between the two," Teyr disregarded his friends remarks. "What matters is that you kept this secret from me for so long; you know my sister's not married yet, right?"
Brynn let out a deep sigh and nodded. "Look, I don't know how you found out, but it's not that big of a-" A huge palm suddenly obscuring half his field of vision cut the man's words short. As he peaked around, Brynn saw Teyr say thanks to the barkeep for bringing over fresh drinks. The palm then descended, grabbed a new tankard and lifted it to its owners mouth as the other hand pushed the other mug towards Brynn.
"Drink," was the only word that left Teyr's mouth before he belted down a whole flagon of ale in the time it took Brynn to recollect his thoughts. Peering at his reflection on the rippling surface of the liquid in his hands, the black-haired man made to say something in retort, but was met with a dead-cold, silent gaze. "Just drink."
With a nervous gulp, Brynn took a few tentative swigs, more so to relieve the unnerving feeling that had slowly crept up his spine at the sudden mood shift of his friend, than to help with the incoming headache.
Seeing this, Teyr's mouth opened up in a wide grin once again, and with it, the mood returning back to the festive, relaxed one of just a few moments ago. "Aye, that's a good lad!" The big man said and a laugh, once again, bellowed out from deep within his lungs.
After a while of back and forth small talk, Brynn seemed to have relaxed a little. Now four mugs in, the man's cheeks were beginning to flush, but despite his unassuming looks, he seemed able to hold his alcohol quite well.
It was at this moment that Teyr grabbed his drink, stood up and walked over to Brynn's side of the table, plopping down on the chair next to his friend. The slightly buzzed man glanced up at Teyr, noticing the absent-minded look on his face as he lazily scanned the inn, gazing at its patrons. For a few moments, nothing but the slight hub-bub of the place could be heard, giving Brynn a strange calming feeling.
"Look at all these people," Teyr mused out-loud. "Each and every one of them has a life, loved ones, responsibilities, and most definitely problems." Teyr downed some of his ale, the cup concealing the sudden twitch of his eyelid, before continuing in the same, seemingly relaxed manner of speech. "Some choose to keep their problems bottled up inside, letting all that anguish control their lives and leading them to wither, both mentally and physically."
Then suddenly, he made a tight fist with his right hand and promptly brought it down on the hard, wooden slab of a table, the impact reverberating throughout the inn, startling the patrons, staff, and most importantly rousing Brynn from his semi-drunken state.
After making a few apologies for the disturbance, Teyr turned his attention back to his friend. "While others wear their problems on their sleeves, bravely facing them, solving them and progressing in their lives."
"Y-yeah, I guess you're right," Brynn stuttered out between sips off of his cup.
"You know," Teyr continued. "I overheard something my parents were discussing about the other day... supposedly, that guy from South River has been sending gifts over to our house for some time now... ahh, what was his name now... H-hu-something..."
As if a cat had homed in on a new sound, Brynn snapped back up, his eyes locking on Teyr. "Hubar?" He practically spat out the name in question through clenched teeth.
"Ah yes, Hubar!" Teyr affirmed whilst sagely scratching his beard. "Apparently none of the girls over at South River want to marry into his family, no matter how many gifts he presents them, so he's expanded his search for a wife outside his hometown. So yeah, my parents were discussing inviting him over to our house in order to get to know him a little better. Quite the resourceful man, huh?" Teyr questioned as he glanced down towards his friend.
"Yeah. Very smart." Brynn said, and after a brief moment of silence, guzzled the remaining ale from his cup, threw a couple of coins on the table and stood up from his chair. "I forgot I had something important to do tonight, so I must bid you goodnight, Teyr." Brynn said in a hurried manner.
"Yeah yeah, see you soon," Teyr waved off his friend, a strange, ethereal glimmer flashing from deep within the man's eyes for a split moment. "See you real soon..."
Nothing more than a way to emulate the way living beings move around, this humanoid form is created from black, tar-like ichor secreted from within the void-like depths of Aion's true boy. The head, a holder for Aion so as to view the world from the level of mortals, while the rest of the body a vessel for action and/or communication.
𝐀 𝐒 𝐏 𝐄 𝐂 𝐓
TRANSCENDENCEThe world is suffused with magic; the smooth beach sand slowly being washed away by the waves; the trees and flowers that rustle as the wind gently blows through them, carrying on its wings a promise of more to come; the various fauna that inhabit vast swathes of the world, slowly going on about their daily lives - most of them following their instincts to survive and thrive.
The residual wonder of divine magnificence lays hidden within each and every thing in existence, desperately yearning to break free, if only for a chance to transcend normalcy and reach into the ever fleeting dream of its origin. Transcendence's core tenets follow this yearning, this urge that exists within all things to become different, better, more. It is the tool, as well as the agent of change that can facilitate the transformation of the mundane into the empyrean.
Of course, what is a sufficient enough alteration from the base form lays in the eye of the beholder - or the target of the change, and is not specifically bound to the physical realm. For example, a cruel man that has been humbled by a series of unfortunate events may decide to go on a pilgrimage to better himself. So, he travels the world with the intent of experiencing other cultures, seeing things from different points of view and expanding his scope on the world.
Eventually, the man may decide that his previous outlook on the world was flawed, and thus decide to change himself to be a better person, turning into a paragon for good. On the other hand, his travels might reinforce his old views and turn him into a crueler person than before, becoming a tyrant. Additionally as a side effect, to travel the world requires a sturdy physique, and as such his body would have adapted to this newfound exertion.
There are always positives and negatives to everything, yet the spirit of Transcendence does not follow a specific moral compass and is only really interested in results. Of course a king who is good to his people is is viewed as superior, but in the absence of that, an iron-hearted tyrant is better than a indecisive, non-committal and weak king that will only bring ruin to the dynasty and the kingdom.
𝐏 𝐄 𝐑 𝐒 𝐎 𝐍 𝐀
Aion can come across as quite the reserved, introspected deity at first glance. After all, his humanoid form is characterized by the, mostly, featureless face it adorns, and thus one would not be at fault to assume him having the emotional level of a rock. This, of course, is far from the truth, as Aion actually relishes in a good conversation, no matter the subject, for he recognizes that the simple action of exchanging ideas and opinions, regardless of their content or correctness, is one of the first steps towards transcendence of the mind.
Much influenced by his Aspects, this deity is one filled with curiosity about the world and its inhabitants, their lives, thoughts and aspirations - should they be of the thinking variation. He is ready to offer advice to those in need of it and, generally, does not shy away from providing tangible assistance when required. However, he also knows that progress can only be done through one's own efforts and thus understands that too much divine interference can turn into a deadly poison, corroding the mind and leading to the languishing of the spirit - Stagnation.
Ranking among the top three gravest sins according to Aion, stagnation in any form goes directly against his belief of continuous advancement, and thus he is particularly zealous about eradicating it, if not from existence then at least from his sight.
𝐌 𝐘 𝐓 𝐇
"Ahaha, that's the stuff!" a man guffawed, foamy ale residue still lingering on his lips and beard, as he slammed the empty tankard on the table in front of him. Big, brawny and seemingly full of energy, he fit the "heart of the party" kind of title to a T.
"You know Brynn, sometimes you have to learn to relax! All that worry and stress is. not. good. for. you!" He added, each word accompanied with a gentle push on the shoulder of his friend to press the point.
Brynn, however, slouched in his chair as he was, barely felt the touch of his friend. Matted black hair splayed across his knuckles as he rubbed his temples, the onset of a headache evident in his complexion. Relative to his friend, Brynn's build lent towards the lankier side, and as such the two men made for an odd pair at a glance.
"Ugh... I'm really not in the mood for your antics, Teyr..." The smaller man waved away his friend's hand and adjusted his position on the chair, leaning forward a bit more and grabbing his own drink. Teyr watched him wordlessly with a light smirk on his face as he took a couple of swigs of ale, only speaking after Brynn had finished.
"You know, I'm feeling hurt! I've known you for how many years now? Ten? Twenty? Never thought I'd have to find out these things on my own; I thought we friends told everything to each other!" Teyr exclaimed in fake outrage whilst gesturing at the barkeep for more ale.
"Actually, it's closing in on sixteen years now... you're the only person I've ever known that would forget their age, you know that?" Brynn said, the semi-questioning look on his face betraying his thoughts.
"Whatever, ten, sixteen, no difference between the two," Teyr disregarded his friends remarks. "What matters is that you kept this secret from me for so long; you know my sister's not married yet, right?"
Brynn let out a deep sigh and nodded. "Look, I don't know how you found out, but it's not that big of a-" A huge palm suddenly obscuring half his field of vision cut the man's words short. As he peaked around, Brynn saw Teyr say thanks to the barkeep for bringing over fresh drinks. The palm then descended, grabbed a new tankard and lifted it to its owners mouth as the other hand pushed the other mug towards Brynn.
"Drink," was the only word that left Teyr's mouth before he belted down a whole flagon of ale in the time it took Brynn to recollect his thoughts. Peering at his reflection on the rippling surface of the liquid in his hands, the black-haired man made to say something in retort, but was met with a dead-cold, silent gaze. "Just drink."
With a nervous gulp, Brynn took a few tentative swigs, more so to relieve the unnerving feeling that had slowly crept up his spine at the sudden mood shift of his friend, than to help with the incoming headache.
Seeing this, Teyr's mouth opened up in a wide grin once again, and with it, the mood returning back to the festive, relaxed one of just a few moments ago. "Aye, that's a good lad!" The big man said and a laugh, once again, bellowed out from deep within his lungs.
After a while of back and forth small talk, Brynn seemed to have relaxed a little. Now four mugs in, the man's cheeks were beginning to flush, but despite his unassuming looks, he seemed able to hold his alcohol quite well.
It was at this moment that Teyr grabbed his drink, stood up and walked over to Brynn's side of the table, plopping down on the chair next to his friend. The slightly buzzed man glanced up at Teyr, noticing the absent-minded look on his face as he lazily scanned the inn, gazing at its patrons. For a few moments, nothing but the slight hub-bub of the place could be heard, giving Brynn a strange calming feeling.
"Look at all these people," Teyr mused out-loud. "Each and every one of them has a life, loved ones, responsibilities, and most definitely problems." Teyr downed some of his ale, the cup concealing the sudden twitch of his eyelid, before continuing in the same, seemingly relaxed manner of speech. "Some choose to keep their problems bottled up inside, letting all that anguish control their lives and leading them to wither, both mentally and physically."
Then suddenly, he made a tight fist with his right hand and promptly brought it down on the hard, wooden slab of a table, the impact reverberating throughout the inn, startling the patrons, staff, and most importantly rousing Brynn from his semi-drunken state.
After making a few apologies for the disturbance, Teyr turned his attention back to his friend. "While others wear their problems on their sleeves, bravely facing them, solving them and progressing in their lives."
"Y-yeah, I guess you're right," Brynn stuttered out between sips off of his cup.
"You know," Teyr continued. "I overheard something my parents were discussing about the other day... supposedly, that guy from South River has been sending gifts over to our house for some time now... ahh, what was his name now... H-hu-something..."
As if a cat had homed in on a new sound, Brynn snapped back up, his eyes locking on Teyr. "Hubar?" He practically spat out the name in question through clenched teeth.
"Ah yes, Hubar!" Teyr affirmed whilst sagely scratching his beard. "Apparently none of the girls over at South River want to marry into his family, no matter how many gifts he presents them, so he's expanded his search for a wife outside his hometown. So yeah, my parents were discussing inviting him over to our house in order to get to know him a little better. Quite the resourceful man, huh?" Teyr questioned as he glanced down towards his friend.
"Yeah. Very smart." Brynn said, and after a brief moment of silence, guzzled the remaining ale from his cup, threw a couple of coins on the table and stood up from his chair. "I forgot I had something important to do tonight, so I must bid you goodnight, Teyr." Brynn said in a hurried manner.
"Yeah yeah, see you soon," Teyr waved off his friend, a strange, ethereal glimmer flashing from deep within the man's eyes for a split moment. "See you real soon..."
Form: A solid piece of earth, mostly circular in appearance bar some imperfections to its exterior. Around 5 inches in diameter, this rock would in no way, shape or form be considered a mere pebble, but neither would it be defined as a boulder. Its peculiar shape and size allows it to perfectly fit in between various nooks and crannies, as well to easily be carried across distances, should it happen to be picked up by an able being.
Personality: Rock is generally calm and collected, allowing it to take in its surroundings and the ever-changing essence of nature. Although small, it nevertheless used to be one with a much larger piece of the earth, and due to some freak accident or divine retribution/intervention, it simply broke off at some point, a great tragemdy. It generally likes to go with the flow, takes things in stride, and it definitely does not break down under the stress and pressure of everyday life. Truly, rock solid.
Will: The earth generally shares one will, that of nature. However, Rock has been separated from that, let to wander the lands forever and ever. It takes in the sights of the world, forever cursed to be an observer and never a player in this grand game of existence. Perhaps, its greatest desire - should one suppose a mere rock would possess anything close to the very thing that makes sentient beings what they are - would be to once again become one with its source, wherever and in whatever form that may be. Ah, what a sedimental scene that would be.
Although simple in concept, the hunt is as vital of a craft as the rest - if not the most vital. Just because the blessings of Avros have allowed us to cultivate the land and herd animals, it does not mean that we must grow complacent. Hunting is ingrained within an Eidolon's life-force.
– Emyr, First Hunter of the Lyra clade
"Get down, boy, down!" His eyes were locked onto the fleeing xo when a gruff, baritone voice snapped behind him, and a hand abruptly pushed his head down, shoving his face into the mud below. As he tasted the bitter and unpleasant soil, the youngster's mind reeled as dangerous thoughts fueled by anger and frustration slowly started to take form, but the man atop him had other plans.
"Haah..." sighing quietly, his hand tightened around the boy's nape, the mark on it slowly turning a dull red. He put a little more force behind his push, pinning and keeping the boy on the ground. What with the rain that had graced the area relatively recently, the air had yet to completely lose its moisture and, as the man behind him shuffled closer, the boy felt the clammy skin of the man's chin slightly touch his pointed ear.
"Get. Your. Act. Together." The man's voice, more akin to a growl at this point, made the hair all over the boy's body stand on end. "This is not a game, but a hunt, and you..." the man grabbed a tuft of hair from the back of the boy's head, forcefully making the trapped youngster face him before continuing. "Are. Here. To. Learn." Every word had been accompanied by a tap on the forehead, right between the two small, jutting horns that hid under the bangs of dark brown hair covering his son's head. Although his face had been muddied, the scrunched-up expression that hid under all that – as well as the emotions that he felt flowing into him through his hold on the boy's neck – told him everything that he needed to know about what his offspring thought of his words.
"Understood?" For several seconds, the two simply stared at each other in the eyes, but right before that itchy, tense feeling of conflict became palpable, the boy retreated his gaze. Seeing this, his father held him down for a split second longer before unhanding him and, as if nothing had happened, gave a couple of pats on his son's back before standing up and walking out of sight.
Although free now, the boy's pride had been injured. Slowly, he crawled back up to his knees and then to his feet whilst dusting off debris and grass that had tangled up in his clothes, all the while mumbling silent curses. As his hand made a pass over his side, he felt a bump on the animal hide – his coat had, somehow, slightly torn at that place. At the realization of what would happen once they returned home; the young man simply hung his head in defeat. "Time to bust out the sewing kit, mother's not going to be pleased…"
After some time had passed, the sound of hooves entered the boy's ears, and he rose his head to look at his father walking back with two horses trotting behind him. He watched as the trio circled around the small boulder he'd made his sitting place before coming to a stop behind him.
"Did you retrieve the stones?" His father asked, one hand extended towards him. The boy glanced at the corded loop, the reins of one of the horses, then looked back at his father for a moment before gazing back down. The man stood a good one and half heads taller than him and had quite the muscular physique. At first glance, not many would think that such a man was good with tasks that required finesse and precision, but his father had time and again shattered that notion by being the best slinger their clan had raised.
"Yes," the boy replied absentmindedly and made to grab the reins, only to be slapped in the head with them, eliciting a pained grunt. He swiveled his head back up and was simply met with a cold gaze, again reminding him his place in the hierarchy. "Yes father," he corrected his speech whilst gritting his teeth.
The ride back to the clan had been uneventful, something that the boy thanked the gods for inwardly. They had risen early in the morning in order to catch the long-furred xo herd before they began moving, and had wasted a good half a day on the hunt before his father called it quits. Upon their arrival, the sun had long set over the horizon; a multitude of colors washed over the plains as the afterglow of twilight preluded the arrival of darkness over the land.
Their clan could not really be identified as one; four families worked together to survive in the rough environment their ancestors had called home. The boy thought back to the teachings of the elder storyteller – a grandmother of one of his friends – of how some decades earlier, four hunters and their spouses had split off from a larger clade due to some infighting. Even though the northern bands have, and still do, shared some friendly interactions, it was known that foreign Eidolons did not really integrate well into a different clade. As such, the four couples had decided to start their own little band.
Fast forward to the present and the band has grown in population, but the four families remained a constant, albeit in name only. This was mainly because they had split the different responsibilities between the four, with each family overseeing specific things within the clan's chain of operations. The first two had been in charge of the traditional hunting and herding of xo as well as protection, while the other two families mainly dabbled in the spiritual, medicinal and manufacturing fields. As a result, society had grown to be quite regimented, with everyone assigned a role and a job from a young age.
A whistle from his father brought the boy back to reality, and he turned his attention to the front where two more riders on horses approached the returning duo. The boy saw his father pull further up front as one of the two riders mirrored him, with the two coming to a stop a couple xo's length distance ahead. Leaving the adults to their business, the boy rode the horse around and approached the other rider, another one of his close friends.
"Dylan, you son of a bitch!" The boy called out as the two locked forearms in their usual greeting.
"Hey now, you're sure you want to be talking about your aunt like that?" Dylan said as his eyes twinkled with mirth, his mouth twisting into a sarcastic smile. "Anyway, you look like you took a tumble in the xo pens, Cedric. What happened?"
His cousin's questioning stare only served to immediately sour Cedric's mood once again. After glancing back to his father, he snapped on the reins, making the horse trot further inward and towards the encampment, all the while motioning for his cousin to follow.
"Better get off these horses, it's getting late. I'll tell you on the way to the tents." Cedric said with a stony expression on his face.
We start off quite abruptly as a man shoves a young boy's face into the ground. The man is clearly angry about something, and will not put up with the boy's rebellious attitude. We come to know that they were a father and son pair, and that they were out hunting - mainly as a training exercise. The boy had somehow fumbled and missed the target, causing it to flee. The father is obviously displeased, and made that clear to his child before walking off and retrieving their horses. There is some back and forth again before they ride the horses back to their clade.
After that we get a small description about the structure of the tribe and how it came to be. By the time the two return to the band's encampment, its just a little after the sunset, in the wee hours of twilight. They come across two more riders, and the two adults separate from the youngsters. The two boys greet each other, and we finally learn their names: Cedric, the hunter's son, and Dylan, his friend. Again, there's some banter between the two, before Dylan expresses worry about Cedric's state i.e. being head to to in mud. Cedric motions for his friend to follow him back to the tents whilst explaining the day's happenings. No divine beings involved, hence no vigor gained.
Tension dissipated like steam. The moon and Yudaiel, or perhaps Yudaiel the moon (for now more than ever they were truly one), trembled softly in relief.
He was gone. They were off the moon -- not just the so-called Monarch of All, but also the wretched Fly.
Peace could be had again, but All-Seeing lunar goddess possessed all the time in the world and yet no time for such trifles as rest; there remained much work to be done. So she composed herself and then peered upon the Tapestry once again, searching across the endless plane of threads to track the movements of her many plots, only to find the search harder than ever before. A new haze blurred her Sight, no matter where she looked! Confusion and rage rippled through her vastness, and the moon seemed to glower at the rest of the cosmos.
Her Prescience hadn't been this clouded in a long time, for she'd done many things to attain clarity. With the passage of time she had gradually honed and progressed her mastery of her own aspect, she had eliminated the Shard that had been the foremost anathema to certainty and Sight, and more. Yudaiel had done more, acts that others would never have even contemplated, all in the pursuit of mastery. She had dreamt of a great and terrible being -- Ã̶̡͝m̶̰̬̍̈́p̸̱̀h̸͚̚͜i̷̧̓b̴̲͛o̷̠͑ļ̷̧̊e̴͕̳̎̓s̶͎̈̅ -- and merely by observing the flicking of its singular eye had she garnered a better understanding of Reality, a more expansive view of what was even possible for divinities to attain. She had looked upon the infinite iterations of the Codex back in time and discovered the unknowable secrets that Tuku had hidden, and she had gazed into the maws and innards of indescribable and alien Horror. Within its depths, she remembered visions and words sent through space and time from another being, one perhaps even more terrible than the cyclops, that thousand-thousand limbed and million-million ribbed giant that was infinitely tall, the same darkened silhouette that she'd seem looming over both the past and future. She had attained a better understanding of Iqelis and also of that black Flow over which the Fly presided, and through contact with Rosalind, likewise come to understand motion and rhythm. All of that and more!
Yet so much was undone the moment she had absorbed a second shard. The limitless potential and power was intoxicating, and never had she felt so powerful as now, but through the juxtaposition of two shards within her it was as though her mind and very essence had been bifurcated... she felt like someone different, someone impure, someone conflicted. She hadn't expected this, but she should have. It only made sense; how else would the Monarch of All be kept in check than through the countless contradictions and separate pulls of the nigh-infinite aspects of Reality that he retained for himself still?
Her toil and struggle was not so great as it would have been should she have adopted two more opposing shards, she instinctively realized, but neither was this inner turmoil lessened by any similarities between the quintessence of the lunar and prescient shards. She was a fish that floundered in an ungainly body, suddenly unable to remember how to swim. She knew it would take time to master this new state and come to terms with herself, and yet she knew also that this power was worth the pain.
In the meantime, perhaps she could improve herself. She had Seen her brother Astus, and how he had taken mere rocks from the earth and refined them into pure metal, then fashioned them into false life -- crafts so complicated and intelligent that they perhaps were truly alive in some sense. The Yudaiel of the past had been mere ore. Now she was to become metal. She Saw that to realize her inevitable triumph, she had to shape herself into the force, the machine, that she had always been destined to become.
First, that meant turning stone to steel, freeing the gleaming metal that hid within the ore, and adding strength and resolve to temper it. Candidly and honestly, she looked through her own woven threads and her own past, self-reflecting with utter humility for the first time in her entire existence. From a new lens, she Saw the errors in her ways.
I am erratic!
Emotion is good; it gives force behind every motion, the strength and desire to act.
Emotion is irrational; a slave to unreason is weak.
Is my righteous anger not rational? Is my pride not warranted?
The tumult grew and grew. Her mind bickered with itself more vehemently with each passing moment until it threatened to fracture and perhaps come undone entirely, and that looming threat was what finally pushed her to decision. Mere meditation or contemplation would not be enough; the making of steel required the burning away of impurities. She needed to surgically excise her weakness -- the parts of her mind that held her back.
But what parts were those?
The past was haunting at times but it always had lessons to offer. Memories flashed by: the snide words of the Monarch and barely restrained anger when he'd decreed her imprisonment, the rasped jibes and insults and threats of Iqelis, Homura's confrontation, and even those whispers of Ashevelen that she'd heard from afar.
Her confrontational nature, that proclivity to anger and to impulsively pick fights, had not served well. What had she to show for it besides enemies, lost battles, and His order to remain on the moon?
Is a storm still formidable if it doesn't rage, if it's not fickle, if it's not prone to hurl lightning at whatever dares challenge its heights?
Of course. The storm is only deadlier when it lets its victims grow complacent... when none expect its lightning or know where it might strike.
One last great act of spontaneity remained in her future. She focused and turned her gaze inward, her pupil wrapped around itself, and then she channeled her force of will. Telekinetic and psionic power coursed through every fiber of her being in one great feedback loop. She screamed. She barely remained conscious. The power remained under tenuous control though, and eventually she succeeded.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
A cacophony of voices, screaming, arguing with one another.
The formerly transparent, crystalline mirror now opaque and listless.
They are the many that make up the one, but now find themselves fractured, broken like no other.
Tumultuous clouds rapidly emerging beyond the mind’s reaches.
A black, oppressive barrier, hell bent on making them suffer.
Heralding an age of ruination and destruction; the world left in pieces.
A faint ripple in the Tapestry, detectable only to those most sensitive to its myriads of intricacies, spread out, covering a vast amount of space. In its center, a wisp suddenly ignited, seemingly out of nothingness. But it was not 'nothing' at all.
This tiny flame was unlike any other fire in existence, for this was the flame of life - and what life? Divine. It needed neither air nor heat to proliferate, but should a mortal come in contact with it, they would very quickly be consumed by its hunger. Seemingly defying the most basic laws that this corner of the universe adhered to, it simultaneously boiled and burned. That, coupled with the myriad - one could even dare say "kaleidoscopic" - array of colors it emitted, and the contrast between it and the dark backdrop of the scarred and bare moon surface, painted a truly mystifying picture.
Iridescent waves of divine power slowly swirled around the small blaze, a thin, gangly tendril of which extended towards it. Oh, so tenderly, it poked and prodded at the fire - akin to a mother poking her newborn child's nose. Then, as if catching on something, the tendril stopped at one specific point before merging with the flame. As it merged, divine power started being fed into it, kindling for the blaze to feed on and grow into a mighty pyre.
Yudaiel hadn't expected this. She should have Seen this outcome, but in that moment, her Sight was obscured by the glow and shadow of all the luminous moons that she had yet to bejewel the heavens with, by the throb and ache of pains that she had suffered from others and inflicted upon herself, and by the many great and terrible beings -- primordials -- that loomed behind and ahead. Her prescience was almost worthless then; it hadn't even shown her that in in casting out Turmoil, she would be birthing another conscious entity.
Far below, upon the Galbar's surface, snakes slithered and shed their skins. Stags lost their horns, and nearly all things shed hair and flakes of dead skin in a great rain of food for the tiny beings that feasted upon such detritus. Yet this was different; if a divine spirit shed a part of itself, that part was not wont to rot. It struggled, persisted, and fought to survive -- just like this thing before her, the only other soul on her entire moon.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The others were gone.
The disparate voices that had so vehemently argued with one another and fought with venomous fang, who'd vied endlessly for power (unseen, deep below the surface of her psyche) and whose impulses had manifested so often to destructive effect, were gone. Not merely silenced; this time, they were truly gone for good. Yudaiel was whole again... more whole than she'd been, even before the trauma of being devoured by the Horrors, their innards deepening the cracks and unleashing all the voices even as their strange bile had tried to dissolve her very soul into nothingness.
Blessed peace was hers again.
Now only darkness remained, and even then, it was not the usual, comforting type of darkness that lulls one to sleep; as if diving into a cold, dead sea, a mix of arrogance, cruelty and aloofness was subsumed into the murk. Yet, the darkness ached – a debilitating injury had been dealt to the world, and a faint throbbing could be felt, ever present in the backdrop.
Silence..? No, there was a noise, something else.
Suddenly, a bright point of light shined within the previously pitch darkness, akin to a beacon signaling the way for the lost traveler. With the point at their center, ripples fanned out in all directions, searching, searching, searching… finding.
It'd been seeking her!
The ripples emitted by the point of light had bounced off something within the darkness. Akin to soldiers relaying information back to their general, upon returning they indicated the location of the target, and at that moment everything stopped. Serenity had returned to the dark, but not for long.
Abruptly, a beam of light shot off from the bright point, heading straight for the target – that ‘something’ that had been deemed as significant within the emptiness. Right before reaching its destination, however, the beam slowed down, coming to a screeching halt. At its end, a bulbous, lidless eye formed, taking in its surroundings for a moment before homing in on a small, floating, luminescent crystal.
Even with cracks riddling its surface, it nevertheless stood proudly as a whole. As if composed by many different, smaller crystals, each segment faintly shone in a different spectrum of light, giving off a sense of imperfection and fragility. And then, just as the eye laid its gaze upon the crystal, it visibly shuddered for a split second before projecting a single lucid thought out towards the eye:
“Are you my echo, or am I yours?”
Silence answered her -- contemplative silence that seemed to last eons.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Yudaiel's mind considered extinguishing this fire of life that she'd accidentally sparked. Ending this... this accident would be easy, and indeed, if she were at all like she'd been before, then she'd have likely done it without hesitation. Yet she was different now, the worst of her impulse and violence removed when she'd cast out Turmoil.
And this thing was intelligent. It ideabstracted at her, in its own crude and unrefined manner. It had inherited some manner of her own divinity, she surmised, for how else would it have sustained itself for long enough to form thought or take shape? How else could it See and Speak?
It had potential, and could be cultivated. She quickly and easily wrested control of the ideabstraction.
The eyeball that had floated before the crystal was gone, replaced by the spiraling expanse of an entire galaxy -- one of many. The stars were everywhere, and they were beautiful, like little pearls embroidered onto a vast velvet.
The fabric of Reality seemed to ripple, and in the sound of its rustling there finally came a whispered answer, "I̧͎̘̤̅̇̿̚ a̛̟͔͇͌̄m̖͍͂̇ t̟̤̂͌͜͡h̖͕̬̺͆͒̅̀ĕ̡̥̺̼̂́͞ ş̘̽̈́o̻͈͛͒u̝̮̒̎͊͢r̤͖̘͔̟̆͆̆̈́̀c̼̬̑̓̄͜ȩ̞̦̘̿̃̚͠.̟͛͋͢”
As Reality bent, the cosmos seemed to spin. In truth it was the crystal that dizzily spun, though; the eye at the center of that closest galaxy, the nascent spirit's origin and progenitor, examined every facet and angle of that crystalline form. Gemstones were beautiful, and this one was prismatic and almost perfect... almost. It clearly had the potential to be something magnificent, but it needed a strong hand to guide the chisel that would shape it further and chip away the imperfections... it needed to be cultivated.
So it was. In one moment it had been a crystal drifting through the cosmos; in the next it was a dewdrop rolling off the leaf of some strange tree in the desert, cascading down to water and nourish the smallest of gardens, a tiny patch of grass springing out from sandy soil.
Yes, this one could live. Should live. Would live. Yudaiel had never truly understood the nature of parenthood; she'd thought that she had, having witnessed bears defending their cubs, a manbjork swearing vengeance for the dead kits, little creatures suckling milk, and a thousand other sights a thousand times over. Seeing and observing the phenomenon was one thing; experiencing it personally felt altogether like another.
Possibilities pulsed electrically through her sea of consciousness: memories of her own banishment to the moon, before she'd ever truly descended down to the Galbar. She could view it from afar, but repressed deep down had always been a regret, and loathing for the Monarch, from depriving her of so many experiences. It had been enough to influence that field from afar, to merely witness all its events of import and live them through the eyes of other... but it would be even better to vicariously experience it through a child.
His decree that she remain on her moon -- or moons, as it was destined to soon be, would not apply to this child. It couldn't. Just as that thought made its way through her sea of consciousness, the goddess felt an oh so slight tug at her mind. Turning her attention once again towards the flame and the primitive soul within, she noticed something quite peculiar.
On the outside, the flame had begun to change – from the iridescent hue it started out as, it had slowly turned to a darker orange, akin to a setting sun disappearing over the horizon. It had also grown in size, now taking up as much space as one of those many large boulders that had – during the battle of the ages between Yudaiel and Iqelis – broken off from the moon’s surface and spiraled down toward the Galbar.
The blazing flame of life evoked memory of Homura. Others saw just the red goddess' diminutive little form, or the gleam of that spear she bore so brazenly, yet from the first moment of Homura's existence Yudaiel had Seen the truth: she was a raging inferno entombed within some cold statue of a simulacrum -- shackled, as it were. This conflagration wrapped around the crystal rather than simmering as a hot coal somewhere deep within. That was good. It meant strength and potency, rapid growth. Let her child wear its flame like a cloak.
That crystal in the heart of the blaze, as well, had gone through some changes during this time. Hidden deep within the core of the pyre now, it started to vibrate; its color, slowly at first but quickly picking up speed, shifted through all the hues known – and possibly unknown – to mortals. The outlandish flames of life that had been summoned along with its accidental inception at the hands of Yudaiel, that had been protecting it from the barren and inhospitable environment of outer space, had turned their metaphorical back at it, now threatening its feeble existence. They were burning it.
The crystal, as if sensing the change within its guardian, hurriedly tried to wrest away the ideabstraction that Yudaiel had stolen from it, its power too weak to create a second one. Even as it flailed in its desperation with a clumsy and unsuccessful attempt to reshape their shared dreamscape, within the ideabstraction their thoughts were linked close enough that Yudaiel could sense its panic -- something was amiss. So the Prescient relinquished her control and let the nascent spark weave whatever image it would.
A small piece of debris that had broken off from gods know where, was floating through the emptiness of space. Without will, without knowledge of its being or even instinct, it seemingly existed. Its creation ordained by fate or by luck, no one really knew. Within the vacuum, its only constant companion had been, for an undiscernible amount of time, the warming rays of the sun.
But without a way to steer itself away from danger, a mind to know of what was out there, it could not protect itself from its eventual doom. Alas, it had neared too close to its previous ally and companion, and so its friend had opened its arms to embrace it. Just as it plummeted into certain annihilation, a small, imperceptible voice echoed out.
“…help…”
The celestial planes contorted and bent. That one galaxy that had formerly been an eyeball was in the very center of a new face, superimposed over a thousand-thousand dim nebulae and blinding constellations, clusters, and galaxies as it claimed a place at the very center of the universe. But then the cosmos blinked, and the galaxy was a bloodshot eyeball once more. A hazy corona of star-stuff partially shrouded the three pupils of that Great and All-Seeing Eye, sparing the crystal from the worst of its overpowering glare.
The Eye did as eyes did: it watched, in silent thought, for what seemed like far too long. Near the last moment, vast bleeding tentacles -- like optical nerves and severed blood vessels -- erupted from the oculus and whipped around to seize the drifting entity. The strength of those stringy cords proved sufficient to arrest all motion; the tiny crystal was saved from the doom of time, even if it dangled in a net precariously close to that sun which had been dragging it away.
The blood that oozed out of the grotesque limbs extinguished the crystal's wreathe of fire, at least in part, and cooled it from the sun's incandescence. But all was not cold: a tinge of anger pulsed through the bleeding arteries. There was disappointment there too, the sort that despised weakness and spat in its presence.
One particular artery that had been spewing out droplets of hot blood suddenly ceased its heaving and coiled itself. Its end morphed into the head of a snake, and it hissed, "I̤̭͌͊ w̺̖̃͋ị̧̈̚l̙̈l̟̖̭̍̅͘ n̗͇̝̒̏͝ỏ̦͇̙̑̚t̩̺̤̔́̋ r̥̘͗̀̀ͅe͎̯͆͒̚ͅĺ̰̖̊̂͟e̟͌a͎͇̾̀s̼̤͍͐̎̚ḙ̮̫̃͛͘ y̡͇͔̑̚͡ò̺u̺̭͋̿̀͟.̞͔̭͆̌̆”
Freedom was only to come if the splintered fragment proved itself capable enough of self-sufficiency, and so the crystal had to learn to steer its own flight.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Doom had been averted, but how much longer?
The fire around the crystal had simmered down somewhat but had neither died nor surrendered. A higher power was restraining it and so, like a caged animal, it bade its time. Its prey would not escape it – could not escape it.
The whole ordeal had stirred up something within the crystal; the tiny, fragmented soul residing within had finally awoken fully. After having tasted betrayal, it had become aware of its predicament; through its primitive senses, the crystal could feel the mighty being's presence, enveloped as it had them in its power.
The being had responded to its plea, stopping the flames from devouring the crystal, and for that the soul within was grateful. The crystal could feel the overpowering authority the essence it was subsumed within carried – the being could squash it into dust without the soul even realizing it. Yet it also felt a kind of longing towards the being, a faint link that was shared between them that seemed… important.
However, it also sensed that something had changed. The flow of energy around the crystal gave off an... odd feeling. Previously it had been surprised, intrigued and, one could even say, hopeful. All that changed after the crystal had reached out to be saved. The energy imprinted within the fabric of space had become more reserved, withdrawn and aloof. As if a parent had been disheartened by their children's actions... as if they had expected something better...
The tiny soul gave out a low, droning sound as new feelings slowly emerged within it – remorse and guilt. Just like how the flame had betrayed the crystal, so had the soul within betrayed the mighty being that had deigned to save it from annihilation. It could feel an insurmountable burden weighing it down, as if it was nothing but a pebble atop the ocean floor, an immense amount of water pressuring it down, threatening to grind it into dust. Expectations.
Upon this realization, additional feelings swiftly arose from deep within the crystal soul, the droning reaching a crescendo. Flaring up like an uncontrollable wildfire, anger and indignation overcame it in an instant. Anger and indignation towards itself, with how little it could do; towards the flame that had betrayed it; towards the being that now looked down upon it with contempt; towards the harsh, barren world that it had come into being.
The crystal suddenly let out a violent pulse of iridescent light, shooting out in all directions around it. The flame that surrounded it – that same beast that had earlier tried to prey on it – bore the vast brunt of the impact resulting in it dying down quite a bit. Silence once again reigned.
Having expelled most of the negative energy that had welled up within it, the soul within the crystal felt sluggish and weak once again, however an unprecedented level of clarity took the place of the ousted emotions. It was up to the soul to prove its worth to its savior – nay, its creator – as well as itself.
The tiny comet stilled as the bloody tentacles wrapped around it, saving it from certain annihilation. Time and space were meaningless within the boundaries of the dream, yet what seemed to be ages passed before something stirred again within the tentacles’ grasp.
There, under the bloodshot eyeball’s gaze, vines slowly rose from the comet's surface. Covered with patterns of unknown origin, they slowly slithered around the root-like tentacles that had covered it, piercing through their fleshy exterior and latching on to them tightly.
Then, as if a snake injecting its venom into its prey, the thorns unleashed a thick, shimmering, black-and-white liquid within the tentacles – raw emotions: anger, betrayal, indignation, remorse. At that moment, the tiny comet burned with a passion, a will to pass on its feelings onto its mighty savior.
“I was wrong. The only way to help, is to release me…”
...
In the dream, Yudaiel released her hold over that crystallized fragment of herself. Its newfound bravery pleased her; however, like a newly hatched bird leaving its nest, it now would either learn to to fly, or else fall down and die in the attempt. The Prescient goddess has already grown more attached to this little clone than she had realized -- reflexively and anxiously she'd peered into the future to assure herself of the outcome, and only after that did she allow the hatchling to throw itself from the nest.
It would fly.
But young and impulsive things were easily swayed and influenced by something so subtle as the slightest breeze. The child's inchoate motivation and purpose facilitated, nay -- necessitated -- that its progenitor guide it to where it was needed, for its own good. For both of their good. So that posed the question: where should the winds nudge it?
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The moment the goddess undid her metaphysical hold over the fire, like a rabid wolf, it launched at the crystal with ferocity. Made of instinct and pure action as it was, its momentary weakness after being hit by the pulse of power released by the crystal did not deter it from taking another chance at its prey.
Feeling the fire encroaching on its periphery once again, the soul within steeled itself to fight. Its own internal fire and drive to survive had been kindled by the intense residual turmoil carried over from its creator, giving it the perfect mindset to combat its first enemy in a new world - itself. Just as the fire licked the surface of the crystal with its scalding fangs, the soul within released a keening cry; another pulse of iridescent light rippled out, this time with the intention of subjugating its opponent, not just weakening it.
For a split second, on that small corner of the moon, something akin to a second sun emerged. A white flash of light gave color to the previously dull darkness of space; unlike a supernova, however, the aftermath of the ordeal was something out of the ordinary. Where previously a crystal wreathed in fire floated, now a medium sized, egg-like shaped cocoon existed. Its surface swirled with color, and a faint feeling of power and of the life budding slowly within emanated from it. It carried an echo of a thought within, possibly meant for its helper but also towards itself, the one who realized its own self-worth.
"Thank you..."
Silently, Yudaiel's power pulsed out through the regolith and into the newly-formed egg, filling it with a thrumming energy. It resonated and vibrated in its place for a few moments, and then was suddenly spurred into explosive motion as it rocketed away from the moon at well past escape velocity. Minor telekinetic adjustments perfected the course: the Prescient ensured that her daughter would land in the vicinity of the Eidolon Plains. She had yet to install an agent there, and the region's proximity to Nalusa could prove pertinent.
Time would tell. The future was still too murky and nebulous for Yudaiel's liking, but this was an improvement.
Yudaiel is chilling on the moon, contemplating upon her existence as one does. She's back to talking to herself again like she was in the wake of Chronomachia before Moneo showed up to tease her and then officially promote her to moon goddess. Her prescience is hindered by the acquisition of a second aspect. That combined with the haze of her own impulsivity, among other things, is making all her visions low-resolution and so she decides that the best solution available is a magical lobotomy - seriously has anyone informed her of the existence of shrinks? Maybe Moneo can fill that spot in...
Anyway, she mind-poops excises some the 'worst' and most erratic personality traits of hers, merging them in process. However, the parts that she kicks out of her head are able to coalesce into their own soul and attain a low level of sentience, something that not even she had predicted would happen. There's some back and forth between the soul and Yudaiel, and after a lot of mentioning of the word "crystal" and possibly a life-saving move from Yudaiel, Lachesis gains self-awareness, and becomes an egg.
Which Yudaiel promptly yeets down to the Galbar, nudging the trajectory such that she'll land somewhere in the Eidolon Plains.
Yudaiel begins with 6 vigor: 4 as of the start of the cycle, and +1 for Chailiss week and +1 for Voligan week. She spends nothing and ends with all 6.
Lachesis is born starting with this cycle's 4 vigor.
If one were to describe Lachesis' personality with just one word, that would have to be ‘adaptable’. On one hand, her aspect demands of her to be quick on her feet and active in her thinking, making decisions on the fly to seize any and all opportunities presented, allowing her to stick to a plan and execute it without much delay. As a result, this might force her to act rashly or ‘step on too many toes’ as it were, causing issues that will probably come back to bite her in the proverbial ‘ass’ at a later date.
However, just simply being adaptable is not enough in order to tread upon such a world as Galbar. One must have a goal, a reason for existing that is core to their being. That which shapes their personality, views and beliefs about what is right, wrong, good and evil. Lachesis has a saying for such a thing: fuck you. Her convictions are hers to know and other’s to postulate on. She knows very well how valuable such information can be to potential enemies of hers, and as such no amount of flattery or bribery would make share it with outsiders.
Although, that’s not to say that one cannot gather information about how she operates; there’s a methodology to Lachesis’ work that generally portrays an arrogant character that believes their work is sacred to the function of the universe, as without conflict there would be nothing but stagnation. However, where she and others with similar dispositions might diverge in opinions is that any conflict induced by Lachesis must, in some way, benefit her. She might manipulate the seeds of strife in such a way that it would create a favorable result for her victim, only to watch them fall harder a moment after, much to her delight.
Aside from whatever pleasure she might get out of watching people ruin themselves, they don’t stop being pawns on her chessboard, meaning that being removed from play prematurely or without having even done their part infuriates her greatly. As the queen of the board, it’s her duty to go above and beyond in order to protect her pawns, even so far as to endanger her personal safety, should the need arise.
As for a grand goal of sorts, the end-all be-all, her magnum opus so to say… there’s not much to be said about this surprisingly. Becoming a god? That’s one thing that could be classified as a ‘goal’. But would the Monarch really trust her with a shard? Many might say no, of course not, but Lachesis begs to digress. She tends to be very, very persuasive.
ＡＳＰＥＣＴ
STRIFE
Defining the aspect of strife with mere words is difficult, for strife is dynamic and everchanging. It is an ever growing, cosmic power that seeks to move, pull apart and undo all bonds that tie together.
Consider the following example (which is only one of the most basic interpretations of strife); when a mother strikes her child, she might do it out of love and concern, and to punish bad behavior. The child might listen to their mother, or they might not, it does not matter. What is important is that the seed of strife is planted at that very moment into both of them. This poisonous impetus drills into their very psyche, latches into their subconscious and slowly but surely changes their personalities and behavioral patterns. The mother, for example, will be more inclined to resort to corporal punishment in the future as, from her point of view, she had evidently succeeded in disciplining her child using said method. However, the child might become more rebellious and antagonistic as a result of this.
Hence the sacred bond of parenthood, the love that a mother has towards her child, are twisted and warped beyond recognition. In the end, the child, having grown up in an abusive home, might become a petty and vengeful person that harbors repressed feelings of resentment and rage towards their parents. Then at some point, they might be prompted to act upon these feelings in a very, very unpleasant way.
The above is but one of the many environments within which the aspect of strife dwells. This ever-present conflict of instincts, interests, ideas and everything in between is what Lachesis feeds and thrives upon, using it to weave the strings of fate in a way that will further whatever goal she might have in mind at any one moment.
Thieves, plebes, murderers, kings, everyone and anyone could come to benefit from joining Lachesis' network of worshippers. As vast as the night sky and deep as the depths of the sea; where there is conflict, the demigoddess is bound to have her threads woven around it, giving her a wide berth to maneuver herself within the Galbar and spread her influence among the populace.
Now, all the above is, in theory, what the aspect of Strife is all about. As it turns out, there’s not much difference practically as well. Lachesis’ demigod powers grant her limited foresight, allowing her to be at the right place and at the right time in order to cause the most amount of damage with the least amount of effort.
Those ‘seeds of Strife’? They are not exactly what one might think of when they picture a seed, but they do the job well, nevertheless. Lachesis’ can choose to emit her divine energy in the form of ‘spores’. Though physical touch is the most potent and immediate way to affect her victims, just being within Lachesis' periphery for a prolonged amount of time can also 'compromise' them so to say. These spores quickly dissolve and merge with the souls of the unfortunate beings that ingested them, and from that moment on they become vulnerable to Lachesis’ wiles. Slowly, but surely, their souls are corrupted, twisted and made pliant, just enough for the demigoddess to push her changes unto them, forcing them unto a path they will obliviously follow until the very end. Additionally, once said spores have taken root, Lachesis is able to monitor her pawns and issue commands unto them remotely, even if there’s a large distance separating them.
Should she successfully become a goddess, be it by being granted her shard or wresting it from the Monarch’s cold grasp, her powers would certainly become even more potent, some examples being to induce physical changes immediately on pawns she is connected to, or to swap places or even teleport them to her and vice versa.
ＡＰＰＥＡＲＡＮＣＥ
Lachesis' body is, of course, bound in the material plane as all demigods are, however she possesses the ability to change her form, within certain limitations of course. Just like how a snake sheds its skin, she too can choose to undergo a kind of metamorphosis in order to obtain a body suitable for whatever plan she has in mind. She generally wants to blend in with the crowd, for the common is a shield for a being like her which thrives by manipulating her surroundings and those within, be they mortal or otherwise.
Hence, considering the prevalence of the bipedal species of lifeforms in the Galbar, Lachesis has generally leant towards such forms for her appearance.
Just as humans grow and change with time, interests change as well. I wish I had the urge to roleplay like I used to...
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;">Just as humans grow and change with time, interests change as well. I wish I had the urge to roleplay like I used to...</div>
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