Vestec watched, at first amused, as the dragons waged war against his creations and the creations of Arguis. As they continued attacking, and attacking, and attacking, the deaths of the Dyun and Cimex rising, especially with the onset of the eternal winter, he grew steadily less amused. By the time he watched the latest attack, Stellerax leading his brethren on yet another tribe of Dyun, the God of Chaos was decidedly annoyed. "It is time, I think, that these dragons meet Chaos." As Vestec prepared to deliver violence upon the third primal dragon and his warband, the itching came back again. Well, itching was a nice way of putting it. Pain wracked the Chaotic one's body, clawing and tearing at him. He screamed but it was not with his own voice. A rougher, deeper, angrier sounding one came out and echoed across the heavens. While most sentient creatures looked up in either fear, or curiosity, the wildlife (understanding on some instinctual level that something very bad was happening) and the Dyun (always closely connected to their creator) panicked and looked for some place to hide.

Vestec's rapidly shifting colors stopped, and turned a bright blood red. "Lets show the dragons what death feels like." Violence spoke, and appeared in the middle of the slaughter of the Dyun and the hands of the dragons. For one, single, moment all the combatants stopped to stare at the God that had landed among them. Stellerax was shielded from Vestec's true essence, but the rest were not so fortunate. "Look at my power, and go insane!" Violence roared, as the chaos of battle around him degenerated into the chaos of madness. The Dyun clacked and clicked and squealed, relying on their base nature of hatred and throwing themselves at each other and the dragons seeking to kill or be killed. Dragons reacted differently, according to their type. Some plummeted to the ground, howling and scratching at their skulls. Others attacked each other, tearing and snarling. Still others just flew as fast as possible away from the God of Chaos, with the only plan to fly until their wings gave out and they plummeted to the ground (or as was more likely the case, the ocean.)

Violence stepped onto the neck of a young dragon that had survived his headlong dive into the frozen earth. Vestec looked at Stellerax, ignoring the blubbering and gibbering of the once proud and mighty beast beneath him. "I don't care what you see when you look at me, shielded from my true essence as you are. I only want you to understand one vital thing. Your creator, your god, has abandoned you. You are at the mercy of the other Gods. I am one of them. And I have grown tired of you thinking you can eradicate whatever is in your path without punishment. So consider this me putting you in your place, and your only warning on the subject: Remember your place, or I shall make you remember."

Crack. With a twist of his foot, Vestec snapped young dragon's neck.

"Have a nice day." With that, Vestec left.

He was not finished with Dragons though. Leaving the gibbering madness of that battlefield behind him, Vestec went to a place where the dragons gathered in relatively large numbers. He found roughly a hundred of them, of all different types. He was colored a solid black again, and his voice was filled with contempt. "These will have to do." He used his powers to corrupt each of them, binding them to his will. Critically, Corruption looked upon his knew servants. "Most of you are suitable. The rest, I will make you better. Perfection will always be out of your individual reach, but within a few generations I will achieve it." Those that didn't meet his standards began roaring and howling in pain, as their bodies were rearranged, stripped down, and made better. Corruption didn't bother giving them a relief from the pain. It would make them stronger, give them something to cling to when they felt pain later on.



Viscardi looked down from his crude wooden throne at the large crackling fire warming his crude wooden hut, yet another winter storm raged outside. His two brothers, Cassios and Aztoc, on either side of him. Here he was, chieftain of Garakai. Power over all of Garakai. And I don't know what to do with it. Viscardi stared into the fire, remembering the path that had brought him here. When he had been returned home by the two voices he could feel but couldn't see, Viscardi had immediately set about gaining more power. It was like an itch he couldn't scratch, a thirst he couldn't quench, a hunger he couldn't sate. To gain power he needed a base of loyal followers, people he could trust. His brothers were the first that came to mind. As they hadn't been shown the truth of the world, it took some convincing for them to agree to his plans. At first they were resistant to the idea of ruling over their fellow humans, wielding power as they pleased. But day by day, bit by bit, Viscardi convinced them of the merits of it. Fortunately, the disgusting, weak, way of living known as 'The Way' had not yet made it to Garakai, far in the north as it was.

Unfortunately, by the time he had convinced Cassios and Aztoc, Garakai had already chosen a chieftain. The chieftain was chosen, and that was that. There would be no challenges, as the rest of the village viewed them as foolish. Why challenge when they all obviously agreed that the chieftain was obviously the best for the job? Challenging his rule would have only made enemies of the others, Viscardi knew, so he waited and worked from the shadows. He and his brothers used things that were never even considered by their fellow man. Murder, blackmail, thievery, and violence were all employed to make sure that when the opportunity arose, Viscardi could smoothly step up and claim the title of Chieftain.

The opportunity presented itself far sooner than any of them had expected. Leading a hunt, the Chieftain and his followers ran into the Dyun. Garakai had oddly been spared from the invasions of both the Cimex and the Dyun. Thus, Viscardi's unknowing rival was unprepared for the savagery that fell upon him and his followers. They never had a chance, their inherent magic having largely been ignored as knowledge of 'Wi' had yet to reach them. The search party, lead by the obviously selfless Viscardi, found only the remains of both the Dyun and the humans.

Viscardi wasted little time when they returned to Garkai. He and his brothers called on all the favors they had garnered, and he was soon established as Chieftain. Things were changed. A focus was placed more on weaponry and strength, lest the monsters ever come back. Their inherent magical talents were no longer ignored. Directed by a force that felt oddly familiar, Viscardi and Aztoc explored their abilities Astarte had unlocked. While the followers of the Way and Wi could use telekinesis, users of Vistoc (As they called their magic) bent the elements to their will. It was rudimentary. Fireballs, small bolts of lightning, minor water and minor ice manipulation, flashes of light, gathering darkness around you, etc. But it did it's job, giving them an edge over the monsters that appeared at their doorstep(unbeknownst to them, in a far less amount than the rest of humanity). For a while, Garakai thrived.

Then the eternal winter came.

Garakai, being the farthest northern settlement, was better suited than most for the harsh winter. But not by much. The only thing that saved them was their magic. With Vistoc, they managed to keep flames going at all times, draw fish from their frozen shore, and kill off those Cimex who had adapted quickly (who they then ate.).

Viscardi was yanked from his reminiscing by two things. The sudden end of the storm with the sun shining again and everything the people of Garakai had forgotten, and the sound of leathery wings approaching...



Vestec guided the dragons he had corrupted to Garakai, the village where his first corrupted human had settled down. As he drew closer, he used his power to beat back the winter storm and bring warmth back to the land. After all, he couldn't have his new servants be frozen solid, could he? As the humans below scattered about and began preparing to defend themselves against this perceived threat, he spoke. "Fear not. I am Vestec, your God. These dragons are your allies, here to help you in creating what I have planned. But first. I must teach you of what I have planned."

Reaching down he touched the minds of the humans below him, corrupting those who weren't already corrupted by his follower, their leader, and depositing knowledge upon them. Knowledge of slavery and cruelty. Fortifications and war. In one move, the simple village's focus was turned from self survival, to conquest. There was a village nearby, one that would serve as a good starting ground for the kingdom. Under Viscardi, Aztoc, and Cassios' command, the villagers shook off their surprise at the voice in the sky, the arrival of the dragons, and prepared themselves for war. Those who could fight armed themselves, while those who could not worked busily on making more weapons, and tools for fortifications. One dragon would go with the war party, the rest would stay and help build the defenses. Eventually, someone would strike back. If only to recover their lost loved ones. Vestec nodded once, then left them to their kingdom building.

He couldn't just let his chosen have all the gifts, now could he?

Vestec floated above a prosperous village. Distant from the eternal war with the Cimex and the Dyun, it's Wi users strong enough to deal with any that slipped by, it had only known peace and harmony. Time to change that. Giggling, Vestec touched the minds of the humans below and taught them the other side of the coin. Whereas Vowzra had taught them 'The Way', what to aspire to, Vestec taught them that being the opposite of those things could be just as powerful, and was often easier. Murder. Lust. Greed. Suspicion. Crime. Rage. The list goes on. Vestec taught humanity to give in to it's darker urges, to be evil.

As he looked down upon it all, the eternal winter, the wars with the Dyun and the Cimex, and soon to be the war against themselves, Vestec decided to add one more tiny little thing to their problems. Reaching into his power once more Vestec gave their nightmares life. Humanity, the Cimex, the dragons, and even the Dyun have always had an imagination. It was how they adapted on their own, how they invented. Of course, emotions came fear and with fear came imagining what horrors there were in the unknown. Typically the darkness. Fortunately, most of those fears were unfounded, not even real. Until now. Every time darkness descended upon the land, and the intelligent races found themselves having nightmares and fearing the night, they would create their own monsters.

"One...final...touch." Vestec giggled, and the world was plunged into darkness. Much as Svieland had cursed the world with eternal winter, Vestec cursed the world with eternal night. Monsters would constantly be spawning in the night, attacking anything and everything they could. "Oh dear." Vestec said as screams of terror and pain drifted up from the city below him. "It seems humanity might not make it after all."

He returned to Garakai, to see how his chosen were dealing with these new threats. Moderate well, given that they had Vistoc and dragons to aid them. To them, it only made the villages more easily conquered. As Vestec prepared to leave once more, he felt two odd presences in Garakai. Something not quite human. Zeroing in on them, he made them appear in front of him, shielding whatever they were from his true essence. "My, my. Aren't you interesting?" Vestec told the struggling Outsiders, as he felt the touch of the Warden on it. "I think I'll make sure you can't escape, and then we'll have fun."

In an instant, Vestec and his new toys were in a black and barren land, clearly not Galbar anymore. "Not homey, I know, but it will have to do. Now lets see just what you were doing in my village." The outsiders screamed, as Vestec began to pillage their minds.

They trudged through the wood in a long column, two or three abreast, with Ialu alone at the head. Their leader briefly paused to look back upon his followers and examine them, for he made it a habit to do that periodically lest they collapse from exhaustion lacking his endurance or willpower. Countless men, women, and children trailed behind his every footstep now, every one of them above the age of five bearing a savage spear and a club, just like Ialu. As his nomadic group moved from place to place in search of food and shelter, staying together for mutual protection, they inevitably skirmished with the Dyun and Cimex on occasion. He had lost a fair few of his best hunters to those wretches, yet the terror of such beasts had driven even more followers onto his heels.

As he examined his band now, they looked ragged. Their shoulders drooped with exhaustion from days of marching through rain and swamp, over hill and night. A series of particularly harrowing battles had driven them to the brink over these past few weeks, for their leader had taken them straight through territories known to be infested with monsters. It had now been many days since they had so much as seen a sign of monsters; however, Ialu was not not content. He would march his people for a while longer, to be sure that they hadn't been followed and to put an even greater distance between them and the scourges of mankind.

Spinning around once more, having seen that his people still had some life in them, he resumed his step once more. Reluctantly, the weary others ended their momentary break and followed their leader once more. After perhaps an hour more of that monotony, the game path that they walked through forked into two: one path winding back around into the forest, with the other leading to a small stream that flowed off into the distance, going to where the forest gave way to flat grassland and then cutting through those distant plains. After a brief pause, Ialu unilaterally chose to walk down the river path. A few cries rang out from those behind him.

Angrily, Ialu turned his head back to declare, "We go this way!"

"Why?" called out one voice. "We're safer in the forest. More food is here, too," the one challenging Ialu's choice tried to reason.

Ialu still remembered when the speech began. For a long time, when his group was smaller, they had simply followed him without question. They still understood one another and could communicate what needed to said, through gestures, grunts, and the like. In those days, ruling had been easy because the sheep obeyed the shepherd, as was their nature. The weak followed the strong, as that was all they knew.

Yet there came a day when the gestures ended. They all suddenly started to make strange noises and form words, and somehow found that the others innately understood these words. With the words for enemy, tree, and food came also the word that Ialu hated most: 'why'. Since that fateful moment when they all had started talking, Ialu had constantly been demanded to answer 'why'. Strength was no longer enough; now the humans demanded wisdom too, and Ialu found that at times he did not have any wise words to offer. Strength was what he had to offer them, not wisdom. Realizing that some were smarter than he was both humbling and enraging to Ialu, having been used to being superior in every way. At times he found his reasoning challenged and the others in the group argued him into changing his mind, and that was something that he hated. Half the time he would stubbornly refuse to even explain himself, for fear of losing an argument.

And now was one of those times. His ire triggered, Ialu roared back, "You will tread this path because that is where I go! It is I that leads, and I say that we go this way. We will press forward on this path, not follow the other one and go back where we came from."

Usually his anger was enough to silence the sheep. While he might have lacked wisdom, adding intimidation to his strength was usually enough to compensate. It would not be so this time, however. To Ialu's chagrin, many of the disgruntled people, tired and hungry, turned back or went on the other path. They were staying in the woods where they felt at home and provided for. Ialu now regretted telling them of his idea to move to new lands away from the Dyun and Cimex, as ironically he was worse off for his plan seeming to have worked. Having not seen any of the monsters in days and believing themselves to now be safe, some of the braver humans no longer felt that they needed an invincible and mighty hero to follow. And so it was that his grand following splintered apart, not so long after it had formed.

In a fit of stubbornness, Ialu convinced himself that they were worthless to him, weak and disloyal. He did not need their kind. With those that chose to follow him and repeat what they had done for much of their time so far, the Wanderer set off. He followed the stream until it met with a much larger river. In that river they saw fish, great ones that had few natural predators. It was easy to simply stand in wait on a rock or on the riverbank, spearing the fish as they swam by. While they had been quick to learn that they could use their spears to fight animals just as they did Dyun and Cimex, and thus learned to hunt and feed themselves in new ways, it had still been a challenge to feed any large group. But these fish were abundant and easy to catch.

Ialu's band did not go hungry after their discovery of spear-fishing. While they continued to roam about, the range that they traveled consisted only of where the river and its various tributaries went. They began to claim a swathe of land as their own territory, rarely venturing outside of it, and thinking of this region as their home.

This would not do. No, this would not do at all. No good could come of this state of affairs for any. Not the Dyun or the Cimex and not Mankind, not even those among them who honoured this Chaotic and Violent - and, it would seem, Foolish - One. For Vowzra, however, what was most important was the fact that the continuance of this darkness would simply lead the world to stray from that which was Fated. A moment of darkness is good, he was very supportive of such an initiative, but eternal darkness was not the way. It was not natural. There had to be dawn after night, light at the end of the tunnel, the sun would have to rise once more. That was the way of the world and the way of things, and that was as it was Fated to be. Vestec, as chaotic as he may be, could not ordain it otherwise.

Still hanging where he had been when he created life with the Great Spirit, Vowzra raised his arm once more, his palm facing upwards. Slowly, the bark of his skin cracked and parted, and from it emerged a single seed. It was completely black, and perfectly round. Its colour was dull and its surface rough, as though specks of sand littered it. Vowzra raised it to his wooden lips and kissed it. With a suddenness which surprised even Vowzra, the seed burst alight, its brightness blinding him. And that light pulsed, for it was alive. Releasing it, Vowzra watched as the brightness of a thousand suns descended upon the septic planet.

As the living seed of light descended, winter and darkness parted before it, and wherever its purifying light shone, winter and darkness retreated. It was as though they had seen the wrath of the mighty one, and they could not stand before its ravaging fires and the beating war drum of its blazing life. It landed neither in the north nor in the south, the east would not be its place of descent, nor would the west. The seed landed in the very centre of Arguis' continent.

The moment its sanctified presence was felt in the Arguillian earth, a renewed pulse of life was released. Then another. Pulse after pulse shook the planet, and wherever it reached - and there was nowhere within the earth that it did not - all things regained their livelihood and energy. It was as though all things had been returned to their finest moments of existing. An old and dying worm would find itself young and alive once more. The ant which had been ripped apart would find its body returned to it and would go about its duty once again. The beetle whose shell had been pierced would find itself once more clad in its protective armour. All things within the earth, or whose roots lay within the earth, found themselves once more pulsing with life.

Yet that was not all, for the seed was a seed after all. It grew roots, and its roots reached deep into the earth. Some found a nerve of the Astral home and became one with it, but deep indeed did those roots go, and once they had cemented themselves into the Galbarian clay, tendrils of wood, bursting with light, shot up into the air, parting darkness and winter as they grew.
The tree grew wide and tall, it pierced the clouds and one down on the ground would not know how far it rose - perhaps it rose up into the Celestial Above and continued on eternally into those forlorn spaces. Its circumference was a kilometre, for Vowzra could see, and in height it was twelve kilometres, until it stood there, dwarfing all things in creation. This was The Living Tree, The Tree of Light, Orabil.

Slowly, a humanoid face appeared in the bark of the mighty tree, with a beard of bark and lips closed tight, and eyes - when they opened, for now they were closed - which shone with a green radiance. All who were in need of wisdom or advice could find it before the hallowed tree.

All around, the winter fell apart and the darkness withdrew. Only in the farthest reaches of Arguilla would the darkness and winter remain, and within a radius of five hundred kilometres of the tree, all was peace. It was an area completely free of battle and death. The Dyun would find their hatred subdued and their lust for battle cowed. The Cimex would find their territorial ways inhibited and all desire for attacking others gone. Even the mighty lion would not find it in itself to hunt the deer, and the deer, out of compassion and pity, would offer itself willingly to the predator, that it may survive. And within all creation, a pressing desire to go on pilgrimage would grow. Within the ant or the dragon alike, a desire to go and visit the great tree, to honour it and satisfy the yearning in their chests. The longer one resisted the urge, the greater it would grow until they would one day awaken to find that it is a concern more pressing than life itself.

The fish in the sea, whether a Sea-Ant or a great Krakenian Demon, would also feel the need, and being sea creatures, all they can do is visit a great root which had found its way to sea.

The Eternal Darkness had been set alight, the Eternal Winter had been melted away, peace prowled the land as a panther, encompassed all as bark encompasses a tree. The Day of Darkness was done, the Week of Winter was over.

Feeling that Fate had not yet completed its work, Vowzra descended upon the continent and followed the elusive trail of Fate. He walked where the Eternal Night had left its mark, searching for one amongst the countless bodies of those brought down by the creatures of their nightmares. The presence of the god put an end to those who still hung on to life. They would return to the Guardian, and he would give them bodies new, and they would not have to live with the memories of this hellish day. His destined walk led him to a woman lying beneath a tree, blood flowing from her neck and satiating the earth - blood was so very different from water. As he approached, he saw the image of the blood-sucking creature which had been feasting on her until the light of Orabil turned it to dust. Even in the vision he could hear the angry hissing of the misbegotten thing, infuriated that he had interrupted it while it dined.

'Be Gone Vile Thing...' he thundered, and the spirit of the creature, attempting to ride his mind, scampered away in primal fear, back to Escre. Its instinct to survive, even in death, telling it that this was no foe it wished to make. He turned to the woman. He saw the blood which oozed from her neck. He saw the signs of her transformation and impending doom. She would not survive as a bloodsucker 'neath Orabil's cleansing light. His eyes remained cold as they surveyed her, and he noted - as he had always known - that she was pregnant. It was to this child that the trail of Fate clung, like flies on a corpse, and vultures.
Without further thought on the matter, he bent down, and with one wooden finger, he cut her chest open from neck to nether. The transforming woman gave out a blood-curdling shriek and attempted to claw at the gods face, chest, arms, but to no avail. She was powerless as he reached within her and, with gentleness Vowzra did not expect of himself, pulled the bloodied thing for a child out. It was not yet ready for life. He released it and watched it float before him. A small membrane of energy slowly grew to surround it, a replacement for the life-giving womb of its mother.

The mother was sobbing now, her tears mingling with her blood, her mauled chest agape and her innards revealed for the world to behold. Vowzra watched her beating heart and her lungs. They were far more interesting to watch when they were working rather than still. Her sobs intensified as he watched and became pitiful shrieks of misery and pain, she thrashed and shook her head, she dug with her nails into the earth as if that would return to her all which was lost, and finally, her eyes. They opened wide and looked towards him. They were wide with hope, he could make it all go away. He could put her out of her misery.
Vowzra surveyed her for a while, slightly intrigued by her actions. He was, however, far more irritated by her lack gratefulness at what he was doing. Not only was he saving her child and helping it towards a destiny and Fate far greater than any mortal, he was also saving her from a vile existence as a creature of the night. Her eyes looked to him with hope, her bloodied and soil-stained hands reached to him. There was so much hope; his children were truly beautiful.
With that, he turned away, deaf to her cries and pleas. In that moment, he saw; those eyes would haunt him eternally.

Vowzra carried the child to a quiet place, far from its people and all sentient life. He sat near a tree, atop a hill, and watched the child for a while. He noted its imperfections, how it had yet to grow and become what he envisioned. Its movements were strange, as if in pain, yet he knew it was not. It was most strange, for as he sat there he had the greatest feeling of deja vu. He had been here before, and he had done this very same thing. He remembered that vision, the one he could not remember but had thought to be a memory. Or perhaps it was a vision of a future which could be.

There was a hill. And on the hill there was a tree. And by the tree there sat an old man of wood. And to one side of him there was a ram. And to his other side there was an orb. And in the orb, there was a child. And that child called him father.

Vowzra looked to his other side, but there was no ram there. It was strange for a god to feel that a part of him was missing, but that was what Vowzra felt as he stared into that space where Zera should have been floa-
Vowzra stood up in surprise. Zera? Yes, that was its name. Thus it was, and so shall it be. Though he felt the ram's absence, he knew with a certainty that it was not fated to be here. Perhaps it was once, in a long ago memory and a far off world, but that was not here and that was not now. Fate had written a different song, and all he could do was play it.
He turned back to the child within the orb, enough time had passed. He formed a small orb of ethereal light on one of his sharp wooden fingers, it hovered and pulsed for a little while before growing into an orb the size of a coconut. A strange aura surround it, like staring down upon the earth from a dizzying height and a high-pitched screech ringing in ones head. It reminded Vowzra of the Hells of Time, and the gods essence bristled slightly at the terrifying memory.

He blew the orb towards the child in the membrane and watched with interest as the orb entered the child's chest. The membrane surrounding it wavered then disappeared, and Vowzra saw the infant grow into a toddler, muttering a wow every now and again. The toddler became larger, growing into a child of seven years. It stood before him, not confused or alarmed, but calm and confident. It looked around itself, not with curiosity, for it already knew what all this was, it looked with its eyes but did not see, for its mind was far off, thinking of things the wise would struggle with. It grew once more, muscles grew stronger and its naked form became that of a young man, perhaps twenty years of age. At last its gaze fell on Vowzra, and a strange feeling rose up in the deity.

'Father,' it spoke with a voice which shook the Timeless One to the very core of his essence. It was shocking to him that this simple creature, even though it was a child chosen from amongst his children, would choose that word of all the ones it knew as its first. He did not understand why this feeling surged through him...as though this little creature truly belonged to him. It was a part of him.

'My Child,' he whispered, 'do you know your purpose in this world?'
It looked up at him, one eye a bright white, the other a deep black.
'Yes Father, I know my purpose.' Vowzra nodded.
'Venture forth young Zerabil, you are the first of my Prophets to Mankind. To be a mighty warrior and a mighty leader and a man remembered till the end of days. Blessed is all you touch and all you love, blessed are your descendants and all who follow you, blessed is the earth you tread and your place of rest. Go, know that I watch over you and will always protect my obedient servants.'
At this, the young Zerabil got to his knees and bowed deeply, he unlike any other understanding the meaning of these words. When he looked back up, the god of Time and Creation, were gone. Upon standing, he found himself clothed in a coat, breechcloth and leggings, a well-crafted wooden club in his right hand. A quiver of arrows hung at his back, and at his hip a bow.

And so it was that Zerabil, the first blessed of Vowzra, emerged into the world.

Upon the lip of the Planet Cord's top Escre sat and looked down at Arguilla with pale eyes. Until now, it hadn't truly comprehended the sorry state of affairs that mankind was in. The Liaison's final report had not informed the Great Spirit that the continent currently lay in the crushing grip of eternal winter. Through the snows a snake had moved, bending flesh and mind alike to his evil degeneration, spoiling humans and dragons alike and transforming them into twisted mockeries of themselves, but not before blanketing the planet in a veil of eternal night. Though Escre could see through the storms and the shadows from its lofty perch, it almost wished that it could not. Humans froze, starved, or died in droves. Like some of the other gods Escre had been intrigued by the possibility of a war between races, but now there would be no war if the Cimex moved to attack...only a slaughter. From atop the world, Escre could hear the screaming of spirits it held most dear. One or more of its outsiders were being subjected to a fate far worse than the mercy of death, and though Escre could hear those tormented screams, it could not see from where they came. It seemed that even the second kind would not escape the purge of chaos.

But Escre willed it differently.

It held out its sinister left hand, and its scythe appeared. From the edge of the tower of bone it began to descend, drifting downward through the chaos that was the lower atmosphere toward Arguilla. Mankind could fight the monsters that the other gods had created, or content with the endless, glacial midnight, but not both. Escre intended nothing less than to wipe out every Dyun in existence, and so return the balance.

Then, a light blazed far off in the sky. The Great Spirit, never before privy to a spectacle so marvelous, ceased its descent to watch. Before its eyes the tiny thing descended, melting away snowy clouds and accursed darkness beneath its radiance. Where the seed landed, a most wonderful thing took place. Life, not the silver of Escre's but the gold of perfect wheat and the green of tender new leaves, swept over the planet, washing away its blight like a damp cloth over an ailing man's brow. From the epicenter of this Rejuvenation, as many of the people of Galbar would hereafter refer to it, there grew a marvelous tree. The Tree of Life rose from the blemished ground and towered above the forests and mountains. Less tall than the bare Planet Cord it was, but far greater than a simple landmark was it too. White flames enveloped Escre, and like a comet it descended to the tree.

As it was wont to do, it watched in silence as Vowzra ended the suffering of the afflicted woman and drew forth from her body a tiny babe. Suddenly feeling that it had intruded on an event that it did not understand, Escre masked its presence, turning invisible to even a god's eye. Before its gaze, the god of Time left, carrying his precious cargo with him, and Escre was alone before the Tree. It did not follow.

Instead, it approached the dying woman, and knelt by her side. Escre allowed itself to become visible, and the woman watched him with blood-addled eyes. The warden could see her spirit; faint it was, and resonating erratically, as if incompatible with its own shape. A quick examination of the desecrated body revealed that she wasn't altogether human, but that even in her final moments she felt great pain. Why had Vowzra not terminated her? Death was not the worst fate a soul could have. Why allow a spirit to tear itself to pieces when it could be reused and given purpose anew? Escre reached out with its sinister left hand and plucked the fading spirit from the woman, then between two claws squeezed it to get the corruptions out. Then, it let it go, and the spirit sank into the ground, bound for the Astral Home.

Looking at the ground now, Escre saw something else and very new. In the course of its business on Galbar it had taken numerous lives, but only by removing the spirits within them. Never before had it seen this strange red liquid spilled. It dipped a metal claw into it and held it up. Thicker than water it was, and more rich. Escre found it oddly...inspirational.

In a flash, Escre stood, holding its lantern. From within the contraption it released a black spirit, and after weaving an outline of blood in the air, the Great Spirit swung its scythe, and where before there had been just blood and life energy there stood a familiar shape. The Liaison looked upon its master with a new eye, this one crimson rather than cyan. “A hero never dies,” Escre told it. “In your veins courses not blood, not mana, but something wholly new...lifeblood. The hymn of winter has died, made meaningless by Svieand's idiocy, and a new song rises along with this new dawn. You are Invidia, the Liaison, and you are the first of a new Sanguine Communion.”

Soon after, Escre retracted its steps to the Astral Home. It stood before the great silvery orb, and for the first time felt less than satisfied. The night had left its mark, not only on the world, but on its watcher. “Thicker than water...” the Great Spirit whispered, and placed its metal claws on the sphere's surface. A wave of red began to spread across it. “It was foolish to make my Astral Home so much like water. The most pure is the most easily tainted. This time it will be thicker...richer...” The white glow of the Astral Home had become scarlet, and the veins that protruded from its surface and into the cavern walls resembled veins more than ever before. The Astral Home's tempo increased, louder and deeper and stronger than before, a beat that any god could hear, regular and reverberating, every seventy-seven seconds.

On the surface, the Fountains of Life turned red. The Liaison knelt at a pool, and drunk deep. ”This time,” it told the pool, ”We shall not fail in our duty.”

Their was a saying among the humans that said, "To much of everything is bad". When applied to the correct situation, it proved to be true. Certain laws were put in place to avoid the facts that this saying laid out. Night, was meant to create a feast for nocturnal creatures, for some to sleep, to hide, to last for a little while before the light of day burned away the darkness. The seasons, they were meant to be, in a sense, seasonal. Plant life and animal life was meant to thrive at different times. Winter was not meant to last a life time, nor was night, but it had been put in place because of the selfish desires of the Celestial Race, the gods. Despite the fact that these were their siblings creations, they manipulated them as if they were toys, and in a sense they were. They were all powerful beings, some Primordial even, but why? Arguis knew that answer to that, imperfection, despite that fact that they were gods, imperfection plagued them. The decisions that they made showed it, and this showed in their creations, Arguis even doubted the perfection of Fate and Invictus themselves, he creator could not create imperfection, unless imperfect himself.

"A cycle of imperfection, funny." Arguis mumbled to himself despondently as he watched over Arguilla from atop a cloud.

Thankfully, despite that fact that imperfection was a disease that they could not cure, knowledge and intelligence could trump it at times. Such was the actions of Vowzra, with the power of creation itself. He created the holy tree, Orabil. It's power erased the dreaded darkness in which Vestec put in place. And ridded the Plant of the eternal winter that was invoked by the god of seasons. Arguis sent a mental message to Vowzra, giving him his thanks.

Arguis turned his attention away from that of his fellow gods actions, but to that of the Cimex. Zek'Ri, the Cimex he had blessed with immense knowledge. A hero similar to that of the other gods, although the majority were human. The main Hive, the largest of the hulking towers of stone, was were he lived as makeshift leader. But he did not have a firm hold over his people, another had even stepped up to challenge him. The Cimex watched as the 2 bugs watch one another in disgust. The challenger was Zeri, a Cimex who had gained support from his fellow brethren.

"Why! The Winter was our time to strike, the humans were weak, food was running low, we could have wiped out their entire race!" Zeri bellowed, he little band cheering once he had spoken. Zek'Ri laughed, his raspy voice echoing through the quiet, yet crowded pavilion of the Tower. "We are a race that enjoys the hunt, is that not so brother." He said sarcastically, cocking his head to the side. Zeri, enraged, wanted to attack his fellow Cimex, but his group help him back. Zek'Ri laughed one again, the childish actions of Zeri amused him. "Zeri, the humans grow stronger everyday, they are a stubborn people, with unparalleled power that assists them at every turn. We must bide our time, become stronger, educate ourselves, consume and adapt." He explained, squinting at Zeri, intimidating him. Zeri grunted, his argument would only make him look immature and stupid, a tactical retreat was the answer to this situation. Zeri wasted no time leaving the room, Rek'Ri sighed, they were not yet organized, they were making progress. It would not be long before they become what the needed to be in order to take Sherima. The humans would be last on his list to take, the first, was the Dyun.

Arguis' eyes wandered away from that of the Cimex, but to that of another race, another that was on the brink of existence, the Uri. A race that was similar to the humans, but not as stubborn. Like Arguis, knowledge and the pursuit of it would be their forte. Their roots extended out from the hundreds of green bubbles that had invaded a section of the Jungle. They became intertwined with the roots of trees, Arguis saw this as an opportunity to enlighten the Uri before they were born. With his godly power, Arguis granted the Uri the ability to see the world through the trees, they slowly developed some of the aspects of humanity. Their understanding of the world was great, even before that had hatched from their cocoon, such creation fascinated Arguis. Just as the roots had their way to the trees, they found their way to the roots of the Astral Home. Arguis realized that this may have angered the god if Souls, before the roots hit the Astral Home he stopped them. "Escre, another race is about to be born, their roots reach as far as the Astral Home." He said, sending mental message to the god, the god accepted his request, and Arguis allowed the roots to grow. In awe, Arguis watched as the Uri gained a spiritual connection to it. with this, they hatched, each egg bursting forth with life. One Uri walked out from each egg, some brown, some green, some male, some female. They basked under the sun, taking in it's boundless energy greedy, quenching both their thirst and filling their belies so to speak. The Uri had arrived, unlike the humans they were not new to this world, they understood it's inhabitants, the Cimex, the Dyun, the Humans, and the Dragons, but they also knew of the gods, ones that created them, they knew of the Astral Home, they felt and saw the souls that passed through the ground to make their journey to the home of Souls they also felt the change that the Astral Home par took of, it was not longer it's thin silver, liquid color, but it become scarlet, thicker, as if it was blood, it's beating become stronger, as it was a human engaging in physical activities. The Uri wasted no time getting, started on creating a life for themselves, similar to the humans, villages for them to live in, were being created. The Uri had been born.

Like otherworldly wraiths they lurked in the shadows, stalking between the trees at the edge of the forest. Led by none other than the illustrious Chief Ialu, this particular hunting party was having good luck. The other tribesmen had also went hunting in other parts of these lands, since their game liked to move about. Still, nothing never evaded these hunters for long. It had not been long but already they knew every hill, boulder, and creek of this expanse, for it was their homeland.

Spotting a patch of brown off into the distance amidst a sea of green, Ialu silently signaled for the others to freeze. His eyes squinted, trying to determine if the brown spot was an animal. After a few moments it moved, confirming Ialu's suspicions. The hunt began! The party broke off, silently and meticulously treading through the woods, careful to keep their distance as they moved to encircle the three stags that they had seen. After giving them ample time to get into position, Ialu moved forward. There were others that could have done this, but he was the best at doing what came next.

Once he was perhaps fifty yards from his prey, Ialu outstretched a hand and summoned forth the power of the Wi. Feeling his magic grip one of the hapless animals, Ialu wrenched his wrist to the side and used his telekinesis to snap its neck. Sensing danger, the other two bolted off the moment that the first one fell. With some effort Ialu used the Wi to break a leg on one of them. The other, rapidly getting out of his range, was far harder to arrest. It took all of Ialu's might to reach out with the Wi to wrestle the animal and hold it in place while the other hunters rushed to finish it off with spears. The one with the broken leg was similarly dispatched.

As the hunters took their game out of the wood and into the grasslands, the followed a stream for some time before the fortified village that was their home. From afar their village looked impressive, at least more so than any ramshackle cluster of hovels that existed elsewhere. The village took the form of a dense collection of squat, low-lying huts huddled together atop a hill. Immediately alongside the hill was situated the river full of fish and a small grove of trees along the banks. It was in the shade beneath those trees where the tribesmen sparred and convened.

The hill itself had been transformed into something of a mesa. In a similar fashion to how they suddenly began speaking, Ialu's band had suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to build shelters and cease sleeping beneath the trees, faces up to gaze at the stars and suffer the rain at night. Ialu and his band had spent many months building this village that was now theirs. Not long after their huts were done, another strange feeling overpowered their senses: they found themselves with the odd notion to meditate, and lo and behold, in doing so they discovered the Wi that had been dormant within them for so long! Like the other men of Galbar, they quickly mastered telekinesis.

Using this newfound talent, Ialu had demanded that his people shape the very earth, ripping up huge trenches that would scar the ground and then moving the earth to the base of the hill. In this way, they built earthworks that turned the shallow hill's slopes into vertical cliffs of sorts, with the channels leading to the river to create a moat surrounding most of these walls. Then they had uprooted entire trees, sharpening the ends of the logs and erected a palisade to hold their earthen wall in place: like giant stakes being hammered into the ground, entire trees were woven together and used to reinforce the earthworks. From the ground to outside to the ground inside the village there was a difference of perhaps ten feet, but the moat below and the wooden palisade that extended above the dirt within made for a climb of perhaps 18 feet, for any that would try to scale the village's walls. There was only one ramp that cut through the wall and led up into the city, and while it had no gate, the narrow path would funnel enemies into the village no more than three abreast, where they would be slaughtered like deer in that choke point.

Indeed constructing such a bastion had taken the better part of a year, even with a great deal of manpower and powerful Wi, but Ialu had demanded that the work be done. There would come a day when all of this proved necessary and worthwhile, he feared. Such a day was inevitable, as the village could not remain unknown to the Dyun and Cimex forever. The tribe of his had grumbled, but they would praise his wisdom when the day finally came that the village was under attack.

This reluctant acceptance of his authority and lack of challenges to his authority were a slow and gradual state of affairs to come about, yet the subtle change had not slipped by Ialu, and it had not happened by mere chance. He now had better rhetoric and perhaps three or four years of wisdom and experience to call upon, and so he had managed to secure his position as leader and learn how to more effectively herd the sheep. Once more, the shepherd was in control of his flock of sheep, or perhaps that was not so and he had only become arrogant enough to think that he was. In any case, Ialu's leadership had been at least somewhat honed with experience, he had come a long ways since that day when his following parted ways.

In that time, however, Ialu had accomplished more than simply growing into his role as chieftain. While the rest of the sheep in his village and elsewhere were content to merely uproot trees and hurl stones with the telekinesis granted by the Wi, Ialu had seen its potential. It amazed him how no others had seen it: the potential for the ultimate weapon. So it was that Ialu was proactive about acquiring this new weapon for his people, that they might survive and prosper while others would be defeated. He had not felt his inner urges for many years, not since he had grown beyond being a mere savage that prowled the forests in search of monsters to kill. Now, however, that fire came back to his mind: it consumed him with its passion and fervor, warmed him on the many cold and sleepless nights that he spent working to satiate his goal.

After countless hours of practice, Ialu had managed to develop a new way of using the Wi. It was nothing terribly new or groundbreaking, really, in fact it was surprising that the others hadn't figured it out first. Perhaps they were not more clever than Ialu after all. As to what it was that Ialu had discovered, well, it was just telekinesis of a different flavor. The hero, ever practical, saw little point in creating an ethereal blade out of the Wi, hurling stones at foes, or even reinforcing the bodies of his own warriors. All of that was mere child's play, tussling in the grass where Wi could be used for true fighting.

Ialu had realized that if one knew the anatomy of something, be it a ferocious Cimex or a mere rabbit, killing it with the Wi was an elementary task. Far easier than uprooting the tree, killing something took little more than using telekinesis to snap its neck, tear its heart, squeeze its throat... Of course, the challenge was in being able to do such delicate and precise actions to hidden and tiny parts within a moving enemy, while in the thick of battle. This was the hardest part to learn. However, given enough time and practice, Ialu eventually honed his skills by practicing them on prey during hunts, killing animals from afar in much the same way that he had killed the very deer that his hunting party now brought back to the village.

The others did not take to learning this new form of Wi near as quickas he had, for they lacked the utter devotion and obsession that had filled his mind as he had developed the art, but nonetheless the others learned in due time. Ialu's tribe - yes, that was what they were now: family, kin, a tribe - now had warriors to wield spear, club, and Wi alike. The combination of those three weapons made for a strong adversary, and a near unstoppable force. So strong was his tribe and so great his father-like pride for his people (and so lacking his imagination) that when Ialu was asked to give him people a name, he decided that from henceforth, they would be known only as the Strong Tribe.

His village fortified and his conscience satisfied with the knowledge that his tribe could defend themselves when the Cimex or Dyun came, Ialu knew rest. Throughout this whole time his dreams had continued, his climb up the mountain in the dreamland of black and white had never ended. Sometimes he had climbed up, other times his progress had been stymied and he had been forced to climb horizontally to avoid some sort of obstacle, but the climb had continued relentlessly. Each and every night he had picked up from where he left off before, yet now he had respite. He had serenity, for he was at peace knowing that his people were ready for war.

What they weren't ready for was the frigid winds, the pallid snow, and the implacable winter.

Zerabil, Prophet of Vowzra

Level 1 Hero

The sun was bright in the sky, a few lazing wisps of cloud floating in thin stripes here and there. It was warm, but Zerabil remained in his coat, almost impervious to the heat. He felt it, sure enough, but it was hardly a concern. And which was more, walking through this thick underbrush of this forest certainly provided for shade against that burning eye of the sky. So thick was the undergrowth that Zerabil thought it impossible for any living creature larger than a fox to have passed through. Every now and again he would find himself facing a wall of particularly thick thorny bushes and shrubbery that he would have to turn back and forge a different path.

Had he gone around the forest instead, as he had considered not an hour earlier as he descended the hill of his creation, perhaps he would have found it to be a much easier and smoother path. But then again, he was not one for smooth and easy paths; a rough path was so much more interesting, there was so much more to see and learn. He was not one for retracing the steps of his forebears, no. Zerabil was one to forge his own path, that was the way of the one in pursuit of knowledge, that was the way of one with purpose. That was the way of one whose every step carried the weight of Fate.

Hitting another wall of thorns and undergrowth, Zerabil decided that simply walking through this forest would not do. He could, of course, quite literally carve a path for himself, cutting down all plant-life in his way, but something about that irked him greatly, even the idea was repugnant to his mind. He could trace his way back and go around the forest...but that would be to admit defeat. He was not stubborn, he did not think himself proud either, but here was a challenge, and he was not one to back away from a challenge. Pondering to himself, he looked to the earth. There was certainly no way of getting through that! However...allowing his gaze to rise, he looked up at the canopy of greenery above. The green was bright, promising sunlight beyond, and the trees were all tightly packed together. Surely it would be a simple enough task to reach the top and ride that canopy like the squirrels that made for themselves a home up there.

Without waiting any longer, Zerabil removed his coat, tucked his club into the quiver and slung the bow around his chest, so it would be out of the way. He tied the coat around the quiver and set off for the nearest tree. Placing his foot on a gnarl, he stepped onto the tree and wrapped his arms around it before pulling himself up. Upon lifting himself, he tightened his thighs around the tree and began his slow ascent, making use of an knots he came across as foot or handholds. He slowly ascended the trunk, his small, powerful muscles working and straining until he reached the first branches and lifted himself up on to one. With branches all around him and leading in all directions, Zerabil chose his path carefully, going ever upward and choosing the sturdier looking branches.

It was not long before he reached the top and his head broke through the tree line and the sky rose up above him, vast and blue. Sunlight danced against the treetops and the wind turned it into a vast, sunbathed sea of green. Zerabil admired the view for a few minutes. If this was the glory of the creation, then how glorious indeed must the creator be! This would have been a most beautiful place to sit and meditate for a while, but alas, he could not waste any time. A man with a purpose was a busy man indeed! With that, he began his careful climb over the forest. Sweat and dirt, tree sap and the occasional bug in the mouth or eye made it all the more difficult. So it was no surprise that an hour or so after he began his treetop trek, he managed to misplace his foot and plunged head-first into the sea of green.

His head received more than a few blows which would have put down any normal man for good. At one point he landed right onto a thick branch, letting out a little 'wow' at the blow to his more delicate parts, before falling to the side and continuing the unfortunate fall. Fortunately, his landing was cushioned by a thorny bush. His Father was clearly looking out for him, thanks be for that. He lay there for a while, allowing his body to check itself. Nothing was broken, thankfully, though he had a few gashes here and there, and his body would be black and blue from bruising for a while. The cuts stung as he began moving again, sweat and dirt lashing at them.

Thankfully, though, it seemed that he had managed to bypass the thickest of the undergrowth and the going was much easier from there. As he limped off, what he wished for, more than anything else, was a stream. He needed to bathe and check his quiver. His bow seemed fine, he doubted the club would have been affected by the fall, but a few arrows may well have splintered. Fifteen minutes of limping passed and he finally heard the tell-tale sounds of running water. Without hesitation, he made right for it. Upon arriving at the flowing stream, he dropped his quiver and bow before stripping down and slipping into the cold running water. He loosened his long white hair and allowed the cold water to carry the sweat and the blood and the filth away. Now if only there was a waterfall, that would certainly be a terrific thing to meditate under. Or so it seemed to him in his mind's eye.

Feeling clean and refreshed, he lifted himself out of the water and stood by the stream for a while, letting the cold water run down his body and the warm air dry him. His leg felt much better, the cold water had taken the soreness away and his body's natural properties allowed it recover quickly. A few minutes passed and he bent down and cupped some water in his hands, drinking the life-giving liquid and giving thanks to his Father and the Guardian of Life for this blessing, and he mumbled a little of prayer of thanks to She of the Waters for her blessing him with this stream and this gulp of water when he so needed it. Standing back up, he turned, tying his hair in a quick knot before freezing. His instincts on high alert, he noted that his items were still there, but he was being watched. Nonchalantly, he walked towards his weapons, slinging the quiver and bow over his naked shoulder and drawing the club in preparation. He had to admit, standing in the nude didn't exactly fill him with confidence or make him feel very prepared, but getting his clothes on was the least of his concerns at that moment. He should have been able to sense any creature in his vicinity, but he was terrible at using his divinely granted gifts. It would take more time and meditation, but for now, he was aware and that was all that mattered. There were four beings that he was aware of, watching from behind the trees. They were certainly not any normal animal and- was that clicking he heard?

One the creatures began to move, its presence signaling that it was rushing forth. From behind one of the trees an ugly creature burst out and rushed towards Zerabil with lightening speed, its speed augmented by its four legs, what passed for a mouth on its hideous face opening and closing as it clicked. Zerabil calmly took his stance, its appearance even if sudden not phasing him, waiting for the opportune moment. The creature was nearly upon him when he took a step forward and to the side, swinging his club with all the power he could muster using both his hands. The bloated bug swerved to the side with agility and maneuverability that shocked Zerabil. The power behind his swing sent him hurtling, but the creature could not take advantage of his momentary defenselessness as it too was still trying to stop itself after the mad charge failed miserably. Two more charged from behind their trees, these ones slightly more cautious.

Zerabil backed away as they approached him slowly, coming at him from three different angles. There was no possibility that he would be able to take them all on, especially when that fourth one came out, as it inevitably would. The one right before him charged forward suddenly, only to receive a mouthful of club. The weapon was not used for stabbing, but that was about all Zerabil could manage given the surprise attack. The creature backed away, clicking angrily but largely unharmed. Zerabil stopped moving and watched the creatures as they advanced once more. He felt a strange, cold emotion rushing up within him as he breathed deeply and eyed the creatures. His eyes opened wide and a snarl escaped his lips before he rushed forward. The three creatures were surprised momentarily, but they were skilled fighters, it would take more than surprise to defeat them. With his club in his left hand, Zerabil made to swing it at the fiend's head. Almost instinctively, it ducked to avoid the blow, only to find Zerabil's right fist rising to meet its maw at speed. The power and angle of the blow sent the creature flying, and Zerabil followed through smoothly. The right hand rose to grip the club with the same movement and the club came down upon the flying creature almost immediately. It was sent to the ground with a satisfying squeal before Zerabil moved forward and put an end to its miserable existence with a mighty blow to the head, sending brains and gore flying into the face of its approaching friend.

Blinded by the specks of blood and flesh, the creature attempted to retreat. Zerabil could not follow it as the third one was now upon him, its claws reaching for his face and eyes. Instead of backing off, he burst forward between its out-stretched claws, bashing his head into its bony chest before releasing his club and wrapping his own hands around its face. It squealed and clicked at this sudden act, its claws tearing at his skin. It cut him, but nowhere near enough to cause him serious pain or injury, his skin was not that of any normal human after all. With a savage twist, Zerabil cracked its neck and its claws immediately fell to its side. Lifting it whole, he lurched it over his head and into the other bug which had recovered its sight and was now approaching. It dodged the throw, having seen it coming and charged forward with its claws right for its prey's face. Catching its claws in his prepared hands, Zerabil fell back and threw it over him using his legs as leverage. So much power did he use that it went flying into a tree before falling down, winded but still alive. Not wishing it let it go, he quickly reached for his club and struck while it was still disoriented. For the second time that day, a spray of blood and gore filled the air as the huge bug's soft head was pulverised.

The last presence, still behind the tree, was now slowly backing away. It knew that they had met their match here and was attempting to escape. Fearing that it would come back with even more of its kind, Zerabil dropped his club and whipped out his bow before giving chase. Immediately, the creature began running too. Accelerating before it got too far into the forest, Zerabil loosed an arrow but missed. Firing while running was no easy task, especially with trees and bushes in the way. Letting his arrow go, he focused on catching up with it and was upon the creature within thirty seconds. It was very fast, but he was faster. Bringing it down from behind, he proceeded to bash at its head without stopping. Again and again, until its squealing and all movement stopped. He held his bloodied and gooey fist up, waiting to see if it would move again. When it did not, he breathed a sigh of relief and got up, allowing his breathing to return to normal.

Turning away, he began to make his way back to the stream, following the trail of broken branches and bushes bent out of the way. So much for not wishing to destroy the plant life. Picking his bow and arrow up on the way back, he let his now truly disheveled hair trail in the late afternoon air. It was late and he was tired, but he had promises to keep, and miles to go before he sleeps, and miles to go before he sleeps.

He bathed once more in the stream, quickly this time, and cleaned his club. It had proven most useful on this first encounter, and it would prove useful on many more. Putting his breechcloth and leggings on, and slipping into his coat, he began his walk anew. This time, he followed the stream.

Ferghus... was bored. After returning to the Forge, he didn't feel satisfied with what he was doing. The Forge was all he was good at, but it wasn't enough. He thought for a while, and came to one conclusion: it was time to make his mark on the planet Galbar. The only problem to that was how. He looked around his forge to give him some ideas, and his eyes fell upon the metal and plasma he had received. An idea formed in his mind.

Using the Forge, he used small fractions of the metal and plasma to construct full body suits of armor, using the same general form as humans for reference. Ferghus created 10 of them until he finally stopped, then imbued each one with a living flame. At once, the suits started to glow red where the chinks in the suits of armor were, but the suits did not move yet.

Ferghus then left his Forge to see the planet again. Already the place looked terrible, covered in darkness and cold, until Vowzra created this giant tree thing that apparently removed the darkness and cold. Even from a distance, Ferghus could tell it radiated power. However, Ferghus had other things to attend to, so he left the tree alone.

Finding a clearing with no sentient life around, Ferghus teleported to it, then transported all the living suits of armor from his Forge to the clearing. With his new creations in place, Ferghus got set to work granting them the tools and abilities they needed to leave a mark on the world. He granted them all tools and weapons they could summon at will, both for forging and for defending themselves. He granted them the ability to summon a forge and anvil, and desummon them at will. He granted them the ability to even weaponize their flames within themselves at will, if necessary.

Satisfied with his work, Ferghus gave them their first directive: go forth into the world and teach life forms they come across the way of the Forge, as well as to spread the name of Ferghus, God of the Forge. All of the suits of armor marched in different directions, ready to follow that directive. The Arma Igna were born.

Back into his Forge, Ferghus used a portion of his power to make himself stronger. With his new creations, he would need more power if he wanted to do more things. What those things were, Ferghus had no idea, but it was best to be prepared. Ferghus imagined a flame within himself, and that flame compressed itself. Then the flame grew larger and stronger, yet it still stayed compressed. Ferghus felt that power within himself, felt it grow. Ferghus enjoyed that feeling.

While the arrival of Orabil was the salvation of many, burning away the monster filled darkness and the hateful cold, it was the beginning of the end for the free tribes of the frigid north. Garakai's war parties had to be immediately put on a halt as the night closed in and monsters began to form, attacking everything within sight. Garakai fared better than most human villages, their dragon allies and their magic helping greatly against the hordes their minds conjured. When daylight finally returned, Viscardi wasted no time. He and his brothers quickly organized those humans who could still fight, and they took a dragon with them. Two villages fell in as many days, most of their inhabitants enslaved and dragged back to Garakai to begin their new lives under the watchful eyes of their overseers. With dragons at on their side and all their potential enemies weakened by the cold and the monster attacks and unprepared for war, the Garakains quickly subdued most of the north. The attempts by the survivors free the slaves rebuffed by the walls and the dragons. Night attempts always ended in bloody failure, as their own nightmares gathered to kill them.

All that remained between Viscardi and Dominion was one last village. Technically villages.

In a desperate attempt to stop the inevitable, the remaining villages banded together, their populations gathering in the largest remaining village. It had rudimentary walls, learning from the Garakains. "Impressive, to have built so much in so little time. Such a shame it won't do any good." Viscardi commented to Cassios, at the head of their war party. It was doubtlessly smaller than the force in the village, but that's why they had brought along the two dragons. Aztoc had remained at Garakai, ruling over the slaves there. He seemed to take a perverse joy in it, and the power it brought him. Cassios merely made a rasping sound in response, incapable of speech since the day of eternal night. A monster had clawed his throat, and while they had managed to save his life, speech would never return.

Viscardi gestured with his hand. "Burn it to the ground." The two Chaos dragons, both fire, leapt into the sky and descended upon the village. As dragonfire began to burn everything inside, the screams of those trapped could be easily heard. Viscardi shifted uncomfortably as he felt a twinge of remorse. There were children in there, he knew. Innocents who didn't know what was happening or why. Who didn't know that they were simply another stone in the path on his rise to power. The last bit of influence from Vowzra, telling him that what he was doing was wrong. That following Vestec was wrong. "It's too late now." Viscardi spoke aloud, not sure if he was speaking entirely to himself. "I've gone too far. Killed too many. Either I claim the power promised to me, or I die. Simple as that."

"Capture anyone who manages to escape." Cassios nodded in acquiescence, leading a group of their men to the burning village. "Just another stepping stone." Viscardi muttered again, not entirely sure if he believed it.

Ialu sat cross-legged within his home, the squat structure that his tribe called the Mighty Hut. At least three or four times larger than the other huts in the village and situated on the very top of the hill, his hut loomed over all else, dominating its surroundings just as the village itself entirety dominated the landscape. He needed such a big hut, both to denote his status and to have room for all of his women. Meditating on a mat next to the charred patch of ground in the middle of his dirt floor, the spot where he usually had a fire, Ialu suddenly felt a cold shiver creep up his spine. That was most unusual this time of year, for the flowers were in full bloom.

Rising to his feet, the chieftain walked through his doorway. The view immediately outside was beautiful, being that of the river's lazy waters down below. Of course, at times the river was tumultuous and its banks flooded, the cruel waters sweeping away all that they could, but no such disaster would take away his village. With its great walls and moat, neither flood nor foe could conquer the Strong Tribe's home.

But Ialu had not left his hut to enjoy the view! His eyes gazed skyward, only to see no sun and no blue sky, only ghostly grey clouds that had swallowed up the entire world above. There had been no such storm clouds earlier in the day, and there had only been the occasional eddy of wind to cool a tired and hot hunter. Now, those clouds carpeted the entire sky and already there was a howling, icy wind. The temperature outside was plummeting, as if all the heat and life was being drained out of Galbar like a mosquito might suck out blood. As his eyes only stared upwards in confusion, one lonely snowflake fell upon his nose, its crisp touch cooling his entire face. A few moments later, more snowflakes fell from the heavens. Within minutes this turned into a blizzard, the first snowflake not being so lonely after all!

Rapidly the snow began to pile up. The tribesmen hurried to the nearby grove of trees to gather more firewood for their stores, and once they had stockpiled enough sticks there set about creating fires to warm their huts. Even this was hard, for the magical cold lashed out at sparks and stifled all heat, denying most the ability to create fire. What few huts did succeed in creating fires were quickly filled to the brim as neighbors entered to stay there for warmth, the winds being so powerful that the villagers were unable to simply carry a torch from the lit fires back into their huts to start blazes of their own. Quickly the snow began to pile up to the point that it was difficult to even walk the narrow paths between the village's huts. Using the Wi, the tribesmen lifted this snow and hurled it over the earthworks around the village. It was a grim realization when the tribe suddenly noticed that some of their people were missing, having been out hunting a long ways away when the snows started. It was not until late in the night that the frostbitten hunters at last returned, having had to push through feet of snow and trudge miles in the freezing dark to find their way back.

This continued for three days, his people able to survive off of what meat they had stored, until it became unbearable. The firewood was now becoming scare with the tribe having lacked the time to prepare, and it was quickly becoming too difficult to gather more in the snows. Ialu had to put an end to this accursed winter, or else he feared that many would die and his village might be destroyed. Already some of the now-abandoned huts that lacked fires were beginning to collapse beneath the weight of the snow on top of their roofs.

In an incredibly rare fit of despondence and desperation, Ialu choked down all pride and sought out the wisest and eldest amongst his tribe. He asked them for council and wisdom, and all were in agreement that this was the work of a god. It was the solution that they disagreed with: some believed in something that they called the Celestial Above and begged Ialu to intercede with It on behalf of the tribe. Others claimed that the springs with water that healed and reinvigorated men went deep into the earth, and that an even greater god existed as the Earthly Below, perhaps willing to help the tribe in their plight. Ialu ignored the council from both sides and declared that both gods were equally inferior and unworthy of worship, unable to help. For deep within him, ebbing from his brain and heart, whispered by every muscle, tendon, and ligament, Ialu knew that there was only one god worthy of worship: the Mighty One. Shouting prayers to the sky or talking into magical pools would not satisfy the Mighty One. No, for that Ialu needed to prove his power, he needed to show that the Strong Tribe were indeed worthy of their name.

He said this and knew this not from his own reasoning, but because his inner urges had returned once more. His intuition told him what he had to do: gather his greatest hunters and proudly stride out into the snowy plains, fearless in the face of whatever adversary the Mighty One deigned to send. Then, they would have to vanquish the adversary to show their might, or else the cold would kill them all.

And so it was. Just as suddenly as he had become reasonable and started listening, he became arrogant and sure that his way was the only one. No pathetic hunting party strode out of the village. It was a warband that left, thirty of the best hunters, all garbed in as much fur clothing as they could possibly wear. Ialu was in the lead, though he wore no furs: rather, he walked out naked save for a loincloth, letting the frigid winds try as they might to flay the flesh off his bones and the merciless snows to fall upon his bare chest. The Mighty One would not allow him to simply fall over and freeze, Ialu reasoned. By going out in such scant clothing, he would force the Mighty One to waste no time sending an adversary, lest his foremost follower die without so much as a fighting chance. Or at least that was what Ialu tried to explain to himself and the skeptical tribesmen, who thought that this was suicide. In reality, it was his urges, the intuition of his commanding him to wear no furs without offering any explanation as to why. He could not ask it why like the tribesmen could ask him. Perhaps that was the reason he hated the word so much.

In any case, Ialu's reasoning proved itself right, rather by its own merits or by serendipity. They only fought for the snow for a short time before they heard their foe's mighty roar. Instantly every one of the hunters froze, scared out of their wits for having recognized that sound. A great beating sound resonated through the air, like thunder. The sounds of their foe's wings. Suddenly, the blizzard was parted by a powerful gust of wind to reveal their foe in all its splendor: a massive dragon, scales black and muscled body so strong that it could fly through this blizzard. The dragon, its intention peaceful towards humans, merely passed over them. There was a collective sigh of relief amongst the hunters; they had been quivering in fear.

But Ialu would not have it: this was his tribe's only chance, and it would not slip away so easily. First he threw his club and spear to the side; he needed his hands free. Then, without hesitation, he raised a hand and reach out with the Wi, sensing the dragon's innards and applying great forces haphazardly, hoping to inflict grievous damage but in reality merely causing a few minor hemorrhages. The dragon was too far, too fast, and its anatomy too strange for Ialu to so easily kill it. The dragon let out a roar of pain, and circled back to find the source.

"SHOOT IT!" bellowed Ialu's voice, terrifying in his mixture of rage, desperation, and bloodlust.

All reluctance and fear banished the instant that their chieftain spoke, the hunters reached out with the Wi, finding jagged stones buried deep beneath snow, frost, and even dirt. Using their telekinesis, they ripped these stones out from below and hurled them upwards, pelting the dragon as it flew over them once more. The beast wheeled around in the sky, having located the source of its pain.

With a horrific sound so deafening that it made thunder itself sound like a solemn whisper, the dragon breathed a wave of fire. Ialu and at least three hunters were consumed in the inferno, bathed in the dragon's burning breath. The wave of heat instantly washed over all others nearby, destroying the cold's tingling and forcing them to sweat despite the blizzard and all. Anybody remotely close was singed, many having to jump into the snow to snuff out fires on their fur clothing. The noxious odors of brimstone and charred flesh was so overpowering that it made some gag.

When the dragon passed over and the flames vanished, the scene was one that none of them would ever forget. The snow and frost in the fire's path was gone, having been instantly melted and vaporized. The frozen grass below had been converted to black ash. Almost nothing remained of the hunters, the heat having boiled their bodies and causing them to burst like smashed fruit, their melted flesh burning with the ash and smoke billowing away. Their blackened skeletons were strewn everywhere in pieces, the heat having been enough to cause bones to crack and explode.

In the middle of that wake of utter destruction was Ialu. His loincloth was incinerated and the breath's force had buffeted him back a bit, yet he was otherwise fine. The front of his body that had faced the flames appeared pink like a maiden's rosy cheeks, as if the dragon's fire had been like a mild sunburn. His backside was utterly unmarred. As the dragon circled back around to finish off the rest of the worms that had dared to challenge its might, it saw Ialu, and was even more bewildered that the hunters. Claws outstretched, the dragon dived down for Ialu like an osprey for a fish. If fire did not melt away this insolent creature, the dragon's teeth and claws would rip it asunder!

...yet the dragon never made it to Ialu, for the hero had clenched both his fists together and summoned the Wi, using all his might to grip the beast's wings and fold them to its back. Struggling yet unable to even spread its wings, much less flap them, the dragon plummeted to the ground like a stone. Swiftly moving to snatch up his spear from where he had dropped it before hemorrhaging the beast, he charged the dragon while howling like a madman. The other hunters, having regained their bearings, strained with all their might to restrain the dragon and prevent it from retreating. The beast was strong and it fought back, but the some twenty warriors managed to flip it over and onto its back.

With a great kick Ialu leaped into the air once he neared the pinned beast, gracefully flying with his spear outstretched the beak of some swan. What followed was not so beautiful or graceful, as he landed on the beast's belly and drove his spear's point through a gap between two scales. The shaft and head having dug themselves at last a hand's length into the dragon's flesh, the mighty thing let out a piercing shriek of pain. Utter hatred and very real fear now evident in its eyes, the dragon finally managed to break the Wi's hold over itself.

Ialu, taken aback, suddenly found himself snatched up by a great claw, the razor talons digging into him and managing to draw some blood, a rare feat for any of Ialu's foes. The tribesmen hurled their spears at it like javelins. It shrieked once again as one or two pierced its flesh, yet the majority were harmlessly deflected by its adamant hide and scales. Righting itself on its feet once again, Ialu suddenly found himself crushed beneath the dragon's entire weight, grasped in a claw that the monster was standing upon. The sensation was fortunately short lived, as the dragon abruptly took flight once more, seemingly in retreat.

The hunters tried to save him by pulling the dragon out of the sky, but they were exhausted and adrenaline made the beast too strong. The dragon spiraled up into the sky. On arm free, Ialu pounded it with his fist, transferring enough force to knock down a small tree. While the dragon's bones were far too hard to be broken and its hide absorbed the brunt of the blow, such a move did let the infuriated thing know that its prey was somehow still alive, unbroken and still fighting back. This one seemed to be a fighter, unwilling to ever yield, but it could still be broken, in a sense. The dragon's grip on Ialu was suddenly gone, and he found himself tumbling through the air, down onto the ground that was at least a mile below. The snowy landscape below loomed larger. The blizzard and the air that he fell through kissed his face. This was a fall that would make a mortal explode and most likely even shatter a hero. Fortunately for Ialu, he landed soft as a feather. His tribesmen had mustered the strength to use their telekinesis to slow his descent for the last few moments.

Slowly, the battered chieftain rose back to his feet. They prepared to walk back in shame, having come so close to victory yet in the end served only cold an defeat. That was, until Ialu spoke once more, "After the dragon! We'll catch the coward yet!"

His spear still stuck in the beast, Ialu found his club and took chase after the dragon. With raucous laughter and joy once more (despite the ongoing blizzard and their casualties) the hunters followed suit. They watched as the dragon's body disappeared into the clouds above, out of sight. Yet the wounded thing would surely be unable to go far, at least not without rest. So the hunters ran in the direction it had fled, towards a mountain that was barely visible in the distance. It was there that they knew the beast would be found.

Relentlessly, the hunters ran for hours without rest for drink, food, or even to catch their breath. At last, through ice and snow, they made their way over the rugged foothills and to the base of the mountain. Some 'base' it was, more like a bleak precipice, a looming cliff. Dejected, some of the hunters now wanted to return home. Some off the more optimistic ones were in favor of skirting the mountain to look for a better way up.

Knowing that failure was not an option for the Strong tribe and that they did not have the time to spend half a week looking for a better way, Ialu simply told them to remain where they were. Then, he began to scale the mountain. The climb was easy, for although neither Ialu nor any of his tribe has ever climbed such a thing, his incessant dreams had taught him well enough. Like some sort of monkey or lizard Ialu ascended the vertical stone face, disappearing over the edge hundreds of feet above. A few hours later, when he reached the peak, the hunters below heard the dragon's roar resounding from above, recoiling upon the flat, and finally reaching their ears. It was a battle for the ages, and surely even the folk back in the village would be hearing it unfold!

When Ialu had came within sight of the peak and seen the dragon nestled on a small perch near the top, conscious yet in a daze as it licked its wounds, he had crept around to the other side of the mount. The ferocious winds up here more than enough to hide his scent and drown out any noise that he made, Ialu had climbed to the very top of the summit, a jagged point. On one side of this point was a drop of perhaps twenty feet, right above the dragon. Clutching his club tightly, the hero jumped, landing on the beast's neck. With a savage yell he slammed the club down on the crown of its head with all the force that he could muster, once, twice, thrice, reducing the wooden thing to splinters.

It was not enough. As the beast suddenly shook itself awake and began to move, Ialu began punching its head with his bare hands. Though to him it appeared that his blows were to no avail, in reality he had inflicted a great deal of pain upon the already woozy lizard. The dragon, standing up yet having failed to shake off its assailant, spread its wings and prepared to take flight. Ialu looked backwards from where he clutched onto the beast's neck, spotting the point where the wings were attached to its body. With his special form of Wi, he ripped tendons and ligaments. He shattered the joint and the bone, dislocating the entire right wing. Crippled by pain and internal bleeding, as the dragon dove off the cliff it began to flail its good wing, barely managing to glide down. Ialu used telekinesis to pick up a large boulder and slam it into the dragon's flank. The wind knocked out of the beast, the two tumbled back down and rolled down the mountain some ways.

It turned its head towards Ialu, opened its great gaping maw, and prepared to bellow out a flame that would melt the mountain's face. But Ialu was already upon the black dragon. Instinctively, his hand moved his lightning into its mouth, his fingers wrapping themselves around one of the beast's huge, dagger-like razors that were teeth. With a heave he ripped the tooth loose, and clutching the slippery thing like a knife, he then jabbed its point into the pupil of the dragon's eye. The dragon's mouth belched out only a cloud of smoke before the whole monster erupted into a bloodcurdling cry, unable to even breathe fire at this point. Some might have felt sympathy for the thing, had they been watching; however, Ialu's mind was in the fight. His only focus was on felling this beast, surviving this encounter.

Without mercy and without another thought, he jumped onto the beast's head and plunged the dagger through the beast's already bloody eye, far deeper this time. Leaning in with all his might to plunge it further in, he did not full the tooth back out until his elbow was within the beast's eye. Having went through the eye and brain and almost to the other side of its skull, he had delivered a fatal blow. With a great shudder, the dragon died. Ialu, still breathing hard, looked up to the sky to thank the mighty one. It seemed as if the sky was getting farther away by the second, though. That was odd. With a start, Ialu realized that this was because he and the dragon's corpse were now rapidly sliding down the mountain's icy face, towards the cliff that he had climbed. With a yell, Ialu jumped off the dragon barely in time to grip the icy edge of the cliff. His body dangling off, exhausted, he was barely able to summon the strength to pull himself back up.

He was not done yet. After a few minutes' rest, he slowly, carefully, began to climb back down the cliff face. He heard faint cries from below, urging him to let go. He ignored those hallucinations, those vestiges of weakness hiding somewhere in his body...until he recognized the voices as those hunters that had stayed back. He released his grip, and his body began to soar down. It was a free feeling. Gently, he landed upon a heap of snow, his descent slowed once more by telekinesis. There was a wild cheer that went out as his tribesmen looked back and forth. Back and forth from the dragon's still corpse that had tumbled off the edge, and their exhausted leader, collapsed in a heap of snow yet somehow still alive.

The Great Spririt vanished as quickly and mysteriously as he had appeared, leaving nothing in memory but a wisp of ink. The Woman had been barely, desperatly gripping on to dominance before the brief meeting, but now Kraken was rousing like a coming storm at Escre's words.

Undasis had already been aware, of course, that new lands were boldy raising themselves up from the seafloor. Nothing happened here without their knowledge. Kraken and Woman had both felt earth betray their domain at some foreign god's command. They had sat and helplessly witnessed power slip through their fingers...perhaps it had been too long since the Sea God's gaze drifted to the world above. What, exactly, was happening there? And by what right did Svieand claim to teach sailing, was he the Lord of the Tides? Were they his to give away? His followers had done nothing to earn the right to sail, they had pleased neither Kraken nor Woman.

A seeking presence in the waters grew closer, and Undasis could now clearly identify it as belonging to the Winter God. His soul felt frigid, closed, and unforgiving, especially now. It was normally difficult to identify a spirit so sharply, but Svieand was now in their territory, and as such his inner-being was bare before them. But, despite this, the Cold One's desire was not clear. He was searching for something...for someone...for... Undasis? Yes, he was looking to speak to Undasis. As he drew closer to his goal of finding the Water God, his intent became easier and easier to discern.

"What have you done, Svieand? Escre is not pleased." The Kraken's tone was as accusatory and sadistic as it always was, but, for once, he may have sounded sincerely concerned. All was not right in the world.

"I merely took back what was mine. It was not his to give." the Winter God replied, calm and collected as he attempted to reaffirm that his actions to be righteous and justified. "I am under no illusions that you conduct yourself similarly if another granted some mastery over the depths to their creations..."

How ironic! Kraken directed this exlamation only to himself and his gentler counterpart- their guest could not hear it.

It was there that Svieand caught himself. He knew that he had wronged the Kraken if he took the same approach to his own actions. "I did not do such a crime with bringing the concept of sailing to the world." he hastly added, acutely aware of the accusatory tone. "My people are more at your mercy than ever before in fact. You control both the deep dark blue of the depths and the soaring lighter hues of the air, both which they rely on." He shrugged. "I'm certain you can gain a loyal land following out of my seafaring folk." And with that he projected the memory of his speech to the Spirit Walkers where he promoted the Woman of the Waters as a worthy god.

It was not entirely true that they ruled the air- at least, not in the same sense that the oceans were theirs. Of course, that's not to say that flattery does not work on Undasis. Flattery always works on Undasis. Much of the Ocean God's anger vanished. Kraken, whoever, was not the one to be speaking diplomatically. The monster willingly withdrew from dominance and allowed the Woman of the Waters to take his place once more, so that she may reason with him.

"Indeed, ", the Woman said, in her trickling voice that was now as calm as Svieand's, "but when Escre gave ice magic to his followers, it never stole away your mastery of Winter. Just as teaching men to sail cannot steal my mastery of the ocean. It simply taught the Temple a skill, and you have simply taught humans a skill. Is there any difference between it's supposed wrong and your own? I am angry with neither you nor the Spririt, but please do not apply a double-standard to yourself. Do not forget who's home you have so boldly entered, whereas the one you call a criminal was careful to have my permission. Do not forget who's creation you have, in some places, frozen into solid land. If Escre is guilty, then you are equally guilty- if not more so. If you are innocent, then Escre is equally innocent- if not more so."

Svie's spirit flickered in apprehension at the possible threat but he begrudgingly accepted the Woman's comments. It was a realisation that he had known deep down but not wanted to admit. His insecurities and doubts over his abilities and at a further level identity amognst his peers had clouded his better judgement and he'd branded himself with the very same accusations he'd thrown at Escre.

"But, for all this, I still hold no grudge against your people. Should they worship me as well, and respect the blue beneath them and above them, I may treat them kindly. Just do not mistake this pity for those you have kidnapped as an acceptance of your foolish behavior."

Undasis liked to believe that, like the ocean, they favoured no side more than the other; a man can eat fish from the sea one day, and drown in it the next. So, also, can the gods- if not in identical fashion. Svieand had blindly thrown himself against the waves; the waves will not think twice about sinking him. Had Kraken had his way, all the land the Seasonal God has raised might have suffered that exact fate, and, despite her moderate words, the Woman of the Waters was considering allowing Kraken to do as he wished to the landmasses. It would be unfair to the intelligent creatures on it, but perhaps they could be returned home or even...transformed? The islands will sink, but the people may swim. If said people so will it, that is. If not, they may die with their master's forsaken home.

His foolish actions had made another god, if not an enemy, at least wary and suspicious of his future actions. He thanked the higher powers at the Woman of the Water's temporary dominance and therefore leniency toward his newly created tribal peoples. However the forboding inky oblivion in which he currently float exerted such an immense pressure on his very being that he felt inclined to offer his services in return for safety of those tribes that relied on her bountiful oceans.

"I would never expect one has powerful as yourself to accept such a mistake in a mortal and for that I can only hope to seek your approval." Svieand knew he may be pushing the flattery too far but also that a positive relationship with such a powerful deity could only provide dividends in the future. "What is it you would require in return your most radiant ladyship?"

Flattery always works on Undasis.

"I do not ask anything of you, only that your people understand the value and glory of the waves that bring them life. Return to your land above, Svieand, me and Kraken must speak alone." With that, the water of the deeps surged upwards at Undasis' command, attemtping to push the Cold One out of their home. His presence had made the water like ice.

With that command Svieand knew to retreat back to his surface realm. "My lady" he acknowledged with a smile and inclined nod. Creating plummeting temperatures at his feet, the combination of the ice's buoyancy and the expelled brine gave futher speed to Undasis' currents and soon Svieand was propelling through the mass of water and into the air where something was not right. He felt the breeze and knew that his winter was broken. The ire in his eyes soon fled as the more recent mature personage responded and a glad smile broke that the continent had been spared his mistake.

The fish hovered above the fire, rotating slowly as it cooked. Only an hour earlier, as the sun was setting, it had found itself slowly rising out of the water without any direct will of its own. It had thrashed and struggled - very nearly getting away - but it was too late; whatever force was lifting it was not going to let it go. Rising from the stream, it had then floated in mid air until it dropped on to the bank and thrashed there for a while. Zerabil watched with his strange eyes, the one on the right completely white, while the left eye was a pitch black. It had only been a couple of hours since his encounter with the Dyuns, and he had spent this last hour attempting to catch a fish - he had not eaten anything since his creation after all.

At first, all he managed to levitate out of the water were tadpoles, the larger fish would easily slip away from him. However, as the minutes dragged on and he grew increasingly more focused on the task at hand, his ability to wield his Wi grew. It was still very unrefined and chaotic, his ability to control the amount of Wi, or carry out such delicate tasks as fishing something out of water with it, unrestrained and imprecise. It would improve, he knew. It all took Time. As the fish continued to thrash, Zerabil sat by the river in the lotus position, wearing nothing but his breechcloth, his eyes now closed and his chest rising and falling slowly and deeply.

For everything in the heavens and in the earth, there was a reason and a purpose. There was naught that happened but Fate willed it. The fish did not float from the stream because he had caught it, it was because Fate had willed it. He was merely an agent of Fate's will in that moment, a catalyst. Yet being at all times a manifestation of the will of Fate did not rid him of his own purpose and ability to do as he pleased. Fate was not rigid, it was not carved in the stone tablet of Time. It was he who carved and he who walked the single path amongst the infinite passageways of Fate and Time. He could almost see those very pathways manifest before him in that moment, and a most peculiar feeling filled him then.

As he breathed, and the energies invariably entered, filled and left his body's Spiritual Energy Nodes and channels, he felt himself carried off, as though he and those energies had become fused. All physical sensations left him, and he was suddenly as one with the flow of Time and Fate. There could not have been a feeling more liberating! As he flowed and his will grew, he noted that he was no longer one with the flow. He was part of it, but he had more control over what he did, and he realised that there was not one flow but many. He touched one, and he heard the voices and he saw with an eye. Then he touched another and the voices were different and his eye saw something similar to what it had seen before, yet boundlessly unique.

And his will grew.

Zerabil opened his eyes, and for the briefest moment both were pitch black. Then the darkness in the right eye swirled away, like a whirlpool, into the tiny black pupil, and his eyes were as they were before. Getting to his feet, he shook and stretched his legs a bit before walking towards the forest and gathering up some wood for the fire. Some he gathered with his hands, and some levitated around him, following him as he returned to the stream. He was growing quickly, his knowledge and his natural ability working hand in hand.
He piled the wood up and set about attempting to generate heat from his palm, calling upon those energies and that flow from before. It took a while, and he held back a few times for fear of letting out an uncontrolled and dangerous flow of flames, but the little flower of fire that eventually rose up in his palm was not chaotic or out of control. It was calm and quickly caught on to the dry wood, and soon enough he had cleaned out the fish with one of his arrowheads and had it turning over the fire.

The sun slowly set and night descended. He immediately felt a strange shiver overcome him and he looked around, having the strangest feeling that something was there. Yet he could sense nothing nearby. He found his thoughts straying back to the encounter earlier during the day and those vicious creatures. The way they had so easily been crushed and broken by him. The way his fist had descended again and again upon that fourth ones head. His stomach turned and he felt a compelling need to vomit and quickly ran to the stream. Having had nothing but water since his creation, all that came out was a disgustingly bitter clear liquid. It burnt slightly and he quickly rinsed his mouth when the nauseous feeling passed. Returning to the fire, he noted that the fish had fallen to the side and quickly set it to rotate above the flames again.

The image returned to his head, and he could not help but think of that mashed up, grotesque head rising up again, those claws reaching for him, the semi-deformed maw attempting to click but only gurglin- was that gurgling he heard? Before he could completely register what was going on, he felt a sudden presence to his right and turned in time to find the creature upon him. It was everything he had imagined, if not more terrifying and grotesque. Its claws gripped his arms, and its grip was far stronger than any of the creatures he had faced earlier. The forced had him on his back, his arms pinned and the grotesquely deformed face of the strange Dyun struck at his face. Had it had a mouth, it would have probably tried to bite him, but as it were, there was nothing there with which it could bite. Instead, it simply bashed its face robotically against his, spilling goo and blood and brain matter onto his face.

Zerabil pursed his lips tightly and attempted to push back, but it was far too strong...unnaturally strong. Calming his breathing, he sent his energies out in search for his club, and upon finding it, sent it hurtling for the creatures already destroyed head. The club destroyed whatever was left of it, but to Zerabil's horror, the body continued to move. A few second passed, and Zerabil had no idea what to do. He doubted the creature posed any danger to him, but it was rather frustrating to be pinned by a headless monster with freakish strength. It was then that he heard the steps of something approaching from the forest. Turning his head, he saw a giant silhouette, but what it was he could not tell.

With purpose, it came closer, until it was towering above Zerabil and his freakish foe. Zerabil was unable to see what happened next, but he saw the creature suddenly flying up into the night air before a terrifyingly large stream of flames incinerated it completely. And by the light of that blaze, Zerabil saw the huge, metallic thing which loomed over him.

The stream of flame disappeared and a deep, monotonous voice shook the night air.
'We Shall Set The Darkness Alight,' it paused for a few seconds before pointing the long, sharp, pointy metal stick in its metallic hand at him, 'We Shall Sever It And Purify It With The Cleansing Fire.'
And with that, it raised the sharp thing and swung it down at Zerabil,who just barely managed to roll to the side and jump to his feet.
'Woah there buddy, slow down now, I don't think we need to fight,' Zerabil held out his palms in a gesture of defenselessness and peace, 'why don't y-you take a seat beside the fire and h-have some fish with me, eh?'

The metallic colossal turned its head towards the fire.
'You Call This Puny, Twinkling, Glittering Thing A Fire?' its voice, if it weren't so very monotonous and rumbling, would probably have sounded insulted if it could, 'You Dare Insult The Lord Of The Forge By Offering Him Something So Pitiful?' it turned once more towards Zerabil and advanced upon him with its pointy stick raised, 'I Will Teach You The Outcome Of Your Heinous Offence.'

Zerabil backed away, until he was at the edge of the stream's bank.
'L-look, I meant no offence. This puny flame is what one so puny as I was capable of offering. Do not shun the weak their weakness, but teach them the meaning of strength. Teach them to honour the Lord of the Forge. After all, a dead man won't be able to honour him any better now, would he?' the metal mammoth continued its purposeful advance until it was once more towering over Zerabil, but just before it was completely upon him, and just before Zerabil leapt into the stream, it stopped. It stood there for a good half a minute before backing off.
'You Are Correct, Puny Human. It Is The Fate Of The Weak And The Ignorant To Ever Be In Need Of The Grace Of Those More Powerful Than They. I Shall Teach You The Ways Of The Lord Of The Forge, And You Shall Honour Him As Befits His Glory, And You Shall Teach Your People.' sighing with relief, Zerabil allowed himself to sink to the ground, his legs unable to hold him after this strange ordeal.

'W-would you like some fish?' he asked, looking up. It remained unmoving.
'What Is This Fish You Speak Of?' it thundered.
'It's a...an animal. A sort of food.' the great metallic being turned away and walked towards the fire where it stood.
'I Do Not Need Such Lowly Sustenance. The Flame Is All I Require.' Zerabil nodded before removing his breechcloth and jumping into the stream. He certainly was not going to be eating with the remains of that hideous creatures blood and brain matter on his face. For the third time that day, he bathed.

'So, what's your name?' he asked once he was sat back by the fire, having cleansed himself and put the breechcloth back on.
'I Am The First Of The Arma Igna, Who Are The First Creations Of Our Lord.' Zerabil nodded slowly.
'So...you don't have a name...' he guessed.
'I Am The First Of The Arma Igna, Who Are The First Crea-'
'Yes, I think I got that the first time,' Zerabil allowed his lips to spread into a smile, 'I shall call you Rejys. What do you think?'
'It Is A Fine Thing To Be Called. And What Are You Called?' it asked. Zerabil pulled the now cooked fish away from the flame until it floated before his face.
'I am Zerabil, Son and Prophet of the Celestial Above, Child of the Earthly Below, Ever-Grateful to She of the Waters, Seeker of Our Mother of the Wi.'
'Zerabil. I Know Not These Names You Spout, But Know That The Lord Of The Forge Is Ever Above All Others.'

Zerabil considered this for a while, but had to disagree. He was not one to sit before someone who said such erroneous, heretical things without at least guiding them in what little way he could.
'Know this, there is no divinity greater than another. All are mighty and worthy of respect, and all are to be duly honoured. To take one as a protector and sustainer over all others is to stray greatly. This is of the knowledge I have, and I have only so little. If you see in it what you like and appeals to your heart, then do not hesitate to embrace the truth. If you do not like what you hear, then my tongue has strayed and used words best left unused.' with that, he focused on the fish and slowly caused it to part, straight down the middle. Its sharp bones were then separated from the meat and descended into the fire. Without further ado, he bit into his first meal.

'You Have Interesting Words, Prophet. I Shall Follow You And Teach You, And Learn From You I Shall.' Zerabil smiled slightly as he swallowed, it was a rather good feeling to have company, especially such a powerful being.
'What's that, eh?' he said, gesturing to the metal stick in the metal being's hand, 'and that.' he nodded towards the other metal object in its hand, rounded out with dangerously sharp points and edges.
'This,' Rejys said raising the metal stick, 'is a sword.'
He then raised the other metal object, 'and this is a shield. They are for more useful in battle than that primitive wooden club of yours.' Zerabil nodded, he could not exactly disagree with him about that point.
Once finished with his meal, he crossed his legs once more in the lotus position and he spoke with Rejys about the wonders of the spirit and what lay beyond the physical realms. The armoured being did not comprehend everything fully, but it decided that this meditation Zerabil was now doing was something it would have to try. As the prophet slept that night, Rejys stood watch, for it was a being that needed no sleep. And as it stood, it allowed its fiery soul to test those waters beyond the confines of its metallic form. It would take Time.

Bringing the dragon all the way back to the village through ice and blizzard proved to be a monumental task, even with telekinesis at their disposal. When at last that was done, there was a wild celebration, as befitted Ialu's triumph over such a powerful beast. Still, the question was now what to do with the dragon.

Clearly the Mighty One had not seen them defeat the adversary that he sent to test their mettle, as the unnatural winter had continued. Ialu reasoned that this meant they would need to get his attention somehow. To do this they erected a great pole inside the village, on the hilltop right beside the Mighty Hut. They then proceeded to spend half a day decapitating the dragon's corpse, something as simple as removing its head being made incredibly difficult by their lack of anything big enough and sharp enough to cleanly hack it off. The dragon looked grotesque at this point, one eye gouged out and oozing fluids while its bones had been snapped into unnatural positions by its tumble off the mountain.

After having at last mounted its severed head atop the pole in sight of men, sky, and gods, Ialu led a chant praising the Mighty One. After that was finished, the blizzard remained. Growing increasingly angry and desperate as his people began to doubt him, he turned to one of the wise men that had spoken of the Celestial Above. Demanding that this man invoke that lesser god to see if that would yield any results, Ialu and his tribe once more prayed to the sky, this time lead by that man.

Still, the blizzard remained. In a fit of utter rage, Ialu beat the man in front of his entire village, for failing to banish the snow and tricking them into praying for a lesser god. From that point onwards, Ialu would consider it an unshakable fact that all gods save the Mighty One were inferior and utterly unworthy of worship. He banned so much as the mention of their name in his village, and demanded that all of the tribespeople worship the Mighty One.

Coming to the realization that perhaps the Mighty One did not dwell in the sky, but rather underground, after a day of leaving the dragon's head on a pole the chieftain had it taken down. Carried by the Wi of several men, the Strong Tribe took the head to a secluded spot in the grove just outside their village. Willing the thick layer of snow and ice on the ground to part, they found what they had come for: a small spring of the sacred water that bubbled up from the center of Galbar.

They then proceeded to defile Escre's holy fount by repeatedly dunking the dragon's visage into its waters. All the while they shouted for the 'Mighty One', demanding that their god acknowledge their strength and that they passed what they perceived as his test. After a short while of this with no sign of the blizzard abating, the cold and confused Strong Tribe turned back dejectedly for their village.

Making the best of their almost complete inability to so much as even leave their snowed-in settlement, they set about putting the dragon's corpse to use. They quickly discovered that its teeth made better spearheads than the sharpened flint stones that they had been using. The dragon's hide and scales was also turned into rather effective armor, light yet still as sturdy as any metal scaleplate. The one-eyed, toothless, head of the dragon was put back on its pole.

A day later, when the night too appeared unnaturally, it was too much. All of their chieftain's plans having failed, many openly challenged him. Ialu brutally suppressed such insults to his authority by personally executing any that so much as muttered a foul remark towards him. The baying of crazed monsters was heard outside of the village as the nightmares of fearful cowards manifested themselves in physical form. Still, the light of a dozen hearths lit up the village and the palisade and watchmen both managed to protect the village from the night monsters.

At last, after a week from the first snows yet what couldn't have been more than a day or two of the darkness, the Mighty One spared its greatest followers its ire. The skies glowed blindingly bright as if lit by the flames of a thousand dragons, and when it was over, the blue sky and warm sun were revealed once more. Ialu had a shrine to the Mighty One erected within the walls of the village, across from the dragon's skewered head. His tribe would learn to strengthen themselves and do the Mighty One honor, both to avoid invoking his wrath once more and to prove the tribe worthy of its name.

How peaceful the islands below looked; like a resting deer, unsuspecting of the prowling wolf. Undasis was that wolf, Kraken the teeth and Woman the mind. Svieand had proven himself to be an enemy to The Sea's all-consuming will, and so he must be made an example of. Perhaps the Cold One could even earn himself some respect, if he didn't respond like a petulant child...





"Now, you're gonna just grab that paddle and push off the beach, there" The well-muscled Sviebarden man moved his arms dramatically as he spoke, motioning how one would launch the canoe from the sandy Sviebard shore and into the waiting sea.

Aestus nodded vigorously in response. Upon seeing the opportunity, he had lunged at the chance to finally learn such a beautiful art as sailing. From the age he could first splash around and play in local creeks and rivers, he had been enamored by water. Often times, seeing fish slice through the liquid so simply, he had dreamed of doing the same. A foolish dream, he knew, but that desire to feel at one with the rivers never left him- on the contrary, it followed him like a plague.

From a young age he never followed his parents to the temple to worship with the others, despite their urging and pleading for both him and his soul. They often expounded the dangers of atheism to him, how one that lived a life separated from the gods might as well have never lived any life. What his loving- but perhaps misguided- mother and father never noticed was just how much of an impact their words carried.

At fourteen, his mother passed away from some unknown illness. It had started years before, her body shriveling away and seeming to dry up and waste to nothing right before the eyes of her mourning family. They all knew she had not long to live, but knowing that never makes it any easier. When he heard the news, Aestus had ran from his home as quickly as his feet would carry him. He didn't know why, he didn't know where he was going, he just knew that he needed to be alone.

As fate would have it, the young Aestus did not stop running until he reached a softly flowing river. He had been there many times before, of course, but he now understood something that was lost on him before: the river was shriveling, beginning to dry up and waste away in a drought. It did not have long left. He kneeled before the river, salty tears streaming down his face. Woman of the Water, he prayed, I've heard tales of you my whole life. Ever since I was little, people told me about that you were the one who watched the rivers. I love the rivers, and I...I He started sobbing, I don't belong here, really. Please, mighty Undasis, take me away.

That prayer was a long time ago, and no answer had come. As he grew and matured to the twenty-five year old he was today, Aestus came to terms with the loss of his mother. He often wondered whether any greater force had heard his pleas. But that wasn't important, what mattered was today- and today he was working to learn sailing.

"So...are you gonna do it, lad?" The Sviebarden boat instructor's gentle but firm question awoke him from his reminiscing.

Once again Aestus offered no verbal response. He gripped one of the two canoe paddles tightly in both his hands, and shoved off. To his earnest surprise, the miniature ship sailed smoothly and gently on the peaceful waves.

That is, until the tsunami came.


There was no warning for the disaster, and no consultation for the pain. The relentless wave toppled over itself again and again, but never lost momentum. Fortunately for Svieand's people, only five men were hit by that initial offense.

Unfortunately for him, Aestus was one of them. It was an odd and ironic feeling. Water is perhaps what he loved most in this world, and it was now trying to kill him.

The wave easily consumed his small canoe, and Aestus found himself quickly sinking to unknown depths. The tsunami had held more force than a thousand men could muster, and from the feel of it...he had broken a few bones, particularly those on his limbs. He tried to paddle himself upwards, as he had seen fish do, but his right arm would not move below the elbow, and both his legs felt like steel.

No. No. He was not ready to die. Lord Undasis, he prayed, I beg you to spare me. I have naught to offer you, but I will do such as a mortal may for your cause. Please, Kraken, have mercy. Please, Woman of the Water, hear my cry.

It seemed that either Undasis could not or would not hear him, for he kept falling further from the surface. He could not swim, and he would not be able to hold his breath much longer, his face was already turning as blue as the ocean. This, apparently, was his destiny- to be brutally executed at the start of his life by the thing he loved most.

He would be a fool to convince himself that he had any opportunity to survive. But he could die on his own terms, at least. He let go. He opened his mouth and let the water enter him, so that he may perish in a dignified manner...

To his unfathomable shock, the sea-water drifted into his body as easily as air. It didn't hurt, it didn't sicken him, and, most importantly, it did not kill him. Words cannot express what he felt in that moment: shock, fear, joy, gratitude, disbelief, and so many other emotions all rolled together.

A voice somehow even stronger than the tsunami tide spoke: "Mortal...why have you asked me for mercy? I am not mercy, I am force incarnate."

Was this truly the Kraken of legend, speaking to him? To lonely Aestus? "I do not deserve your mercy, O Kraken, but what else do I have to ask for? If I cannot be spared in this life, please allow me to have peace in the next. Take my soul, remake me into what you please, but do not curse me to walk once more on the land, and allow me not to be taken by Escre- who will reincarnate me into someone other than myself. Allow me to live as you do, as one of the waters. Please, it is a man's dying wish."

The Kraken's cruel laugh echoed through the mortal's mind. "Very well, fool, but you know not what you ask. Prayers will not always be answered in the manner you wish, when the gods have other plans. Did you not pray to me before, to take you away? I have done so, have I not? You are indeed far from home, in a strange place beneath my depths..."

With that final foreboding warning, Aestus's prayer was answered. The water poured once more into his lungs, but this time it did hurt, it did sicken him and, in a way, it did kill him. His young, somewhat weak body died, and his soul rose up from the corpse.

Kraken then went about fashioning a new body for his soon-to-be servant. In a moment of inspiration, the Sea God decided to create his hero's body after the form he and Woman had taken at the start of the universe, when the merged together at the touching of the Orb.

He plucked the floating soul from the water and fused it into the new body. Undasis's hero had been born.



When Aestus awoken from his temporary slumber, he found that Kraken's promise (and threat) had been followed out. He was now a new lifeform entirely, one that had never been seen before on the face of Galbar. He lifted his hands, and found that they felt as strong as steel and as sturdy as rock. He looked down to his feet and found that they weren't there- in their place was a single, strong fish tail, obviously built for paddling through the sea.

Other men might have panicked at such a transformation, but Aestus felt only exilaration. He knew that somehow, somewhere, this had been planned. This was his purpose, to be the first of Undasis's beloved children.

"A fine form, is it not? But you have no time to admire it, you have work to do. We have blessed you as our own, and you must prove to us your loyalty. Tell me, what do you think of Sviebard?"

Aestus answered honestly. There was not point in lying to a god, especially Undasis. "It is beautiful, and, truthfully, I love the islands."

"Interesting...now sink them. Do not doubt! You have been given the power, you only have to make the choice. If you will it, these islands will begin to flood, and I will finish the rest."

He was horrified. It was not his want to kill these people, but he knew he must do it. Undasis had willed it, and their will was the will of the sea. Perhaps he would not have felt that way before his transformation, but now that he had been made the Hero of the Sea, he saw it all so much more clearly. If Kraken commands the death of Sviebard, then Sviebard will die. So it must be.

Aestus swam through the waves, and came close the the shore. He lifted up his hands, and he felt all rivers, lakes, and pools in the isles swell to absurd sizes, spilling out into the land.

Then, he felt Kraken pull the islands down.



It was a short affair. Within a matter of hours, almost half of Sviebard had vanished back into the ocean as suddenly as it had appeared.

As for the people who fell into the waters, they were telepathically offered a choice: they could be remade according to the will of the Water God, and serve his greater purpose, or they could die. Naturally, many of the frightened humans submitted to Kraken without argument. These were shaped into new creatures, and became the first Merpeople.

Many died that day, but through their sacrifice new life was made.



After the sinking of the islands, the Mermen were without purpose, and void. They had no sense of where to go or what to do, and the vast majority of them had lost memories of their life as humans (having your brain reshaped will do that), loosing all skills, emotions, beliefs, and knowledge in the process. They had been granted with an inherit ability to communicate telepathically, but, other than that one gift, they were like newborns.

The new race gathered around Aestus in search of hope and leadership, and so he prayed again:

"Mighty Undasis, these creations view me as their master, but I am no more than they are. Help me, please, to guide them, and to show them your glory"

At that moment, Aestus was suddenly granted knowledge, which he was able to convey to the others. It would not be long before they had advanced and spread across the sea.

The Merpeople had been born!

Turn 5 Might:

Vowzra - Level 4 - 10 Might - 0 Might 1 Free Point Carried from Previous Turn, 3 Might from Orabil - 2 Free Points

Arguis - Level 4 - 10 Might - 3 Might 0 Free Points Carried from Previous Turn - 1 Free Point

Vestec - Level 4 - 7 Might - 0 Might 0 Free Points Carried from Previous Turn - 1 Free Point

Astarte - Level 4 - 10 Might - 3 Might 1 Free Point Carried from Previous Turn - 2 Free Points

Sveiand - Level 3 - 12 Might - 6 Might 1 Free Point Carried from Previous Turn - 2 Free Point

Undasis - Level 4 - 7 Might - 0 Might 0 Free Points Carried from Previous Turn - 1 Free Points

Ferghus - Level 4 - 10 Might - 3 Might 2 Free Points Carried from Previous Turn - 3 Free Points

Sauranath - Level 4 - 14 Might - 7 Might 1 Free Point Carried from Previous Turn - 2 Free Point

Escre - Level 4 - 8 Might - 1 Might 0 Free Points Carried from Previous Turn - 1 Free Point

Undasis scarcely gave any long thoughts to the prayers of mortals, especially those from the humans. They never seemed to carry much depth, usually only requesting or demanding favors of the gods. "Please save this", "please give me this", "help me do this", "I want something"- how precious and blessed those few men who prayed without asking!

The Woman of the Waters thought she had finally heard such a man. When one holds prayer with a true divine, the god does not receive only the spoken words, she also receives the spirit and hidden meaning of the prayer. If a mortal asks for nothing, but only does so to make themselves appear holy or devout before the deity or before their fellows, Undasis will know. In fact, most every prayer hoped to gain something, even if it was not asked for directly.

This mortal, though, seemed to be praying with no agenda beyond giving thanks for a river, which had quenched his thirst and replenished his stamina. A simple prayer, to be sure, but a humble and honest one. There was no more true litany than one of gratitude; an acknowledgment that a god was under no obligation to you and, indeed, you had probably done nothing to earn their holy grace.

The Woman was impressed with her unknown worshiper's understanding. It was rare that she would behave in such a direct manner, but this one warranted being contacted.



The river began to bubble and broil, as if it were suddenly exposed to absurd, burning heat. Boiling bubbles gathering at the surface began to converge, and somehow took the shape of a fair lady. The water twisted like a whrilpool and made itself into a brilliant blue dress to cover her naked body, and the sands created a crown like gold to show her supreme exaltation. Weed and reeds were her hair. But, despite being formed of such mundane things, the woman now standing in the waters was beautiful and held herself with an air of royalty.

"Awaken, hero of Vowzra! This is not the time to rest, a divine is in your presence."

It was not the Woman of the Waters' true form speaking; she had concealed herself so that the hero would not be driven mad by her power.

Zerabil discolored eyes shot open, and within a moment he was on his feet. The great metal beast standing guard, who Undasis immediately recognized as a child of the Fire God, seemed equally shocked.

"Yes, mortal, I am who you believe me to be." She said, feeling him doubt what was right before his eyes, "Greetings, Zerabil, of the humble prayer. Greetings, Rejys, First of the Arma Igna." Her face broke into a sly smile, "A strange pair you two have made by my river."

"She of the Waters!" Zerabil fell to his knees in worship before the river. It was strangely similar to the actions of another mortal, many years ago.

"I have heard your prayers, child, and they were most honorable. You asked for nothing, you sought to gain nothing. You simply offered your humble thanks. A rare thing, that is."

The sun, rising in triumph behind her, was glinting off the river-water, casting a brilliant color like flame. Undasis reached down and scooped up a bit of that golden water in her hands, and, miraculously, it retained the golden shade even after being hidden from the sun's view. She lifted it into the air with her right hand, and it became a sword that appeared to be literally made from the light.

"Take this, noble hero, I suspect you may need it in the times to come. Remember me when you wield it to battle, child, and this will never fail you. No enemy can bend it, no metal can be made it will not cut. It is a most holy weapon." She left the shining blade at his feet.

And with that, she sunk once more into the river, seemingly merging with the flowing water and vanishing altogether.

If anyone were to watch the Uri go about their day to day life, you could compare them to ants. They worked hard, and quickly to catch up to the rest of the people on Arguilla. They learned from each of the races, they watched from inside their cocoons, utilizing their roots to connect with the plant life around them. They observed the humans, and they gained many of the aspects of the human psyche, the Dyun, a violent race, one that they could not gain knowledge from. Then their was the Cimex, a race whose intelligence was on par with humans and Uri. The Uri could see that they were quickly gaining momentum, once organization was achieved, the Cimex could end up unstoppable.

Uri village after village popped up all over Arguilla, their sudden appearance no doubt stunned the other races. Their growth was rapid, their population slowly growing to the number of that of the humans. They created beautiful temples in their villages, worshiping the gods that affected them the most. The god of Souls, the god of Knowledge, and recently, the god of Forges. With the appearance of the Arma Ignatius, many races learned the wonders of metal works. In the pursuit of knowledge and organization, Village Counsels were put together, and jobs were dished out to the people. Some were sent to mine, sent deep into the crust of Galbar to find metals. Others, were smith's, working with the metals, following in the foot steps of Ferghus.

This fascinated Arguis, and gave him an idea. The Uri had already developed a society, but just like the Cimex, their organization could use some work. Arguis implanted a thought into all of the Uri Village Counselors in Arguilla, simultaneously. They created a concept called the Paths. The Paths consisted of gods and the domains they rulled over, these domains would be categories in which jobs were ordered. The Path of Knowledge, encompassed jobs like scientists, politicians, philosophers. The path of the Soul encompassed jobs such as priests and those who could see the river of Souls , and so on.

With this concept, many of the Uri Villages ended migrating to the east, mostly to avoid confrontation with the Cimex to the south. As more and more congregated, ideas were shared, bonds were created. Within years, their settlement grew into a kingdom. Walls of Iron were erected around the kingdom, and outside the walls were acres of land used for agriculture. More Paths were created, the Path of Creation, for those such as architects and construction workers, Path of War, for those who fought for their Kingdom, and the Path of Forges, for blacksmiths. As time went on, an official government was established, led by 7 Counselors. Each was head over something in the kingdom, be it Commerce or War, but their was one who possessed more power than the rest, and he was considered King. The Kingdom of Dusishad been created.

But while the Uri grew, so did the Cimex. Once again they evolved, thanks to the creations of Ferghus, they evolved into a form that allowed them to work with metal. There claws were replaced with hand, that of the humans in fact. Their claws grew on the top side of their wrist, this way they kept their combat capabilities. Before long, the Cimex towers were no longer stone, but iron. With the Cimex's goals reached, the King made his descion, the humans and Uri would be wiped out. Within days, the Cimexian army had been mobilized.

-=-=Invidia, the Liaison=-=-

In a solemn silence, the band of monks walked through the forest. The only path they followed was once worn into the grass by the passing of feet, for no true road connected the lands of mankind and the dominion of the Cimex. It had not been human toes and shoes that trod on this grass, however; these robed but sleeveless men, most of their faces obscured by masks of wood, were the first people to walk this path in a long time, and the first ever to walk it brazenly. They strode softly, as if ghosts, only faintly rustling the dull green blades beneath their feet. Beneath the night sky their bodies were shrouded in darkness despite the starry vault of heaven. In fact, their most betraying aspect, and the one that caused woodland animals to shy away from them in muted fear, was their scent...a sickly sweet smell, enough to make a man sick.

That aroma wafted through the trees, causing mandibles to gnash, chitinous claws to grind together, and telepathic signals to fly through the branches. Though the creatures of Vowzra and Escre shrank back from the grim parade, the wrathful presences gathering now in the shadows around the traveled path were no children of the gods of creation. They knew not the value of life, only that this land belonged to them and them alone. Their fury mounted as the strangely-garbed intruders delved further into their territory until, all at once, the Cimex burst from the treeline.

Their hateful, brutal cries signaled that it was time for the Sanguine Communion to go to work.

From their backs, beneath their cloaks, the monks removed axes. They were crafted of fire-tempered Cimex chitin, of sharpened Dyun bone, and of the teeth of a Devourer Fish washed up from the sea. As the Cimex approached, the monks calmly assembled their weapons, plugging in additional sticks, bones, or blades to make hatchets, battleaxes, war-axes, and poleaxes. The two sides met, and the slaughter began.

No matter how hard the Cimex fought, their foes just wouldn't die. Though their claws raked across the humans' bodies and drew from them vast amounts of blood, they never seemed to run out. A human seemingly mortally wounded and gushing blood would fall back, remove a reddened sponge from a pocket or bag, and crush it against their his or her upper arm. After that, the wound repaired itself, and the monk was fighting once again. The tide turned against the Cimex quickly, especially when one human consumed a larger-than-usual sponge and swelled to twice his original height. The insectoid warriors turned to flea, content in the knowledge at least that they'd be able to pass on their knowledge, and that their species would eventually evolve to overcome this new threat.

Invidia, garbed and masked, pulled his own hatchet from the husk of a Cimex and pointed it at the fleeing bugs. ”No survivors.”

Immediately, two of the monks doubled over, in apparent agony. A moment later they exploded in showers of blood, and in their place stood beings not quite human. Their arms and legs were longer, and tipped with huge claws of keratin that could splinter a tree. Their heads were larger, and with elongated jaws, crushing fangs, and fishy eyes. Patches of scales had grown on parts of their skin, and they were much taller, though hunched over. With a blood-curdling cry, they dashed off in pursuit. There would be no record of this encounter among the Cimex, just as there hadn't been for all the other times.

The monks of the Sanguine Communion cleaned their weapons and dissembled them. Some minutes later, when two more returned from the woods in human shape once more, the entire group started back the way they'd come.

-=-=-

An hour later, they had returned to the Tabernacle, where the Sanguine Communion was based. Its spacious ground floor, whose tiles were decorated with images of creatures, whether real or nightmare, and were littered with people seeking shelter and care. Small doses of the lifeblood upon which the Sanguine Communion thrived were sufficient to heal the wounds of humans without any additional effects. Pushing through the huge doors, the monks entered with Invidia at their head. Many bowed as the squadron of the Communion's nameless army moved past, but they monks coveted no hero worship, for they knew they weren't heroes. Blood, though thicker than water and not as easily tainted, needed to be kept free of such corruptions as pride and vanity, else it would become corrupt, and Invidia had worked hard to make sure no corruptions took weed in the garden he'd made. This was only one of the reasons why in the past years the Sanguine Communion had flourished.

The ordinary men and women moved to the side as the final monk, the one whose size had doubled in the fight, made his way in. Though treated with terror some time ago, these ' giants' weren't a terribly uncommon sight in the Sanguine Communion. Despite their size and strength, they maintained their humanity well, though the few who had families and homes prior to becoming monks seldom returned. Invidia always regarded them with pride, for they, having grown giant from overdose of lifeblood, best embodied fidelity to the Sanguine Communion. The disguised outsider led the monks up the stairs to the second level, where they'd put away their weapons and robes for mending and cleaning.

Leaving them behind, he ventured alone onto an outside balcony, closed the adjoining door, and waited beneath the moon. In short order, the darkness moved, and a black shape appeared beside him, one with a huge orange eye. ”Grave news and great news, Liaison. The Uri have indeed bloomed, their civilization strong. A counsel of seven leads them, and between them one is King. They surround their cities in metal, and their sovereignty is a glorious one. Their lack of care, however, has proven mightily bad. The Cimex have emulated them, growing more powerful, and last I saw their scattered forces are beginning to unite into one...an invasion army. They have a dozen soldiers for every one of the Sanguine Communion.”

Invidia stiffened. ”Each of our monks is worth more than a dozen of those insects. But we cannot be everywhere at once, it is true. We may not be able to singlehandedly defeat them...but we can serve as a rallying point for those who will. I will send emissaries to the kings of Man and Uri, and inform them of the coming threat. The armies of two races, with the monks of the Sanguine Communion to lead them and heal them, will crush the Cimex like the insects they are. I will make contact with the Great Spirit to ensure that none of the High Ones interfere. Go, brother, and spread word through the outsiders in every village, hamlet, and city. Tell them to embrace the blood of the Great Spirit and prepare for the coming fight.”

The Champion of the Dyun glanced back at the dozen remaining members of his tribe as they waited in the trees. They were weak, he knew. Starvation and near nonstop fighting (by day they fought against the Cimex and the humans, by night against the terrors the darkness spawned) had tired even the strongest of them. He also knew that they were one of the last tribes of their kind. Where once the Dyun had traversed the land in as many numbers as the humans, now there was barely enough to stave off the inevitable end of their race for a while longer. The humans had advanced, their weapons and armor soon outclassing the claws and skin of the Dyun. Their creator, Vestec, had abandoned them for the very humans they hated.

The Champion hated the humans for simply existing. And he hated Vestec for elevating them to their position as his favored. But there was nothing he could do about. Nothing his tribe could do about it. All they could do was try to kill as many humans as possible before they were slain. With that in mind, The Champion stepped from the trees and let out a screech, sending a bolt of pure chaos energy towards the village on the mesa, his tribe waiting for the human response.

All of the best warriors of the Strong Tribe were summoned by Ialu. They filed into his Mighty Hut, one by one, until there was hardly room for an ant between the men. Even then, there were many more waiting outside, not important (or timely) enough to have been allowed inside. In any case, they would hear the chieftain's news soon enough.

As in for the chieftain, he merely sat in the back of the room, something concealed behind his back. When at last the room was filled to the brim and the men quieted, he rose to his feet. As soon as he was standing tall, he stooped down once more to grab an object. He held it high, and a wave of confusion and revlusion swept through the room: it was the severed head of a Dyun, and fresh enough to still have wet blood on its stump.

"They attacked one of our hunting parties early this morning. They killed Boku the Hunter and then fled before the others could slay them all. Boku, our brother, lays dead."

Anger surged through the room. Confusion as well, as the Strong Tribe hadn't seen the Dyun's ilk in many years, though evidently it would seem tht some of the beasts were still lurking in woods and hills.

"What shall we do? What do we do when beasts invade our lands? When they strike down one of us?" asked Ialu, a mad look creeping into his eyes.

"Repel the monsters!" cried out one hunter.

"Slay them all!" answered another.

"Strike back!" roared one.

Ialu had grown to be a competent leader in most regards; however, in inciting violence and driving his men into a bloodthristy fervor, he was second to none. He had a way with war, his renown, his fortitude, and his hatred all pouring into any that would heed his words, overpowering their other senses and intoxicating them with an insatiable hunger for battle.

"Yes, we shall strike back! Ready your spears and cutters; the hunt begins soon."

Without another word, the men poured out of the hut like ants from their mound. They equipped the tribe's iconic armor of dragon scales and leather, found their spears, and also carried swords. The swords, or 'cutters' as the tribe called them, had been gifts from a strange metal being that had come to teach them metalworks. Of course, Ialu had banished the thing eventually, for it did not recognize the Mighty One and would not cease its ranting about some lesser god. Still, it had left behind the cutters, and the Strong Tribe had slowly began to adopt them as a replacement for their crude clubs.

As Ialu and his warband assembled and began to march down the ramp, they saw the Dyun waiting for them in plain sight. Without a word, one of the creatures, a rather formidable looking one, raised some sort of cutter. This blade was not like theirs; it had a twisted look and even from where the men stood, they could feel that unholy cutter radiating an aura of destruction. Without warning, the one holding the cutter flung a bolt of some sort of vile and corrupted Wi.

The blast of pure chaos flew straight towards the top of the village, colliding with the Mighty Hut and instantly engulfing it in fire. It then proceeded to richochet about from hut to hut, spreading fire, terror, rage, and utter chaos throughout the entire village. Enraged, Ialu and his hunters charged their enemies with wild shouts.

The Champion sent his tribe forward to challenge the human hunters, all thirty six of them. Needless to say, it was a short fight. Even if the Dyun had been able to pierce the dragon scale armor they were wearing, sheer numbers would have killed them. As it was, most were killed by the first human they met.

Then the mob turned it's attention to The Champion, howling for his blood as they charged. The Dyun waited, letting himself savor the moment. It was not often one got to slay so many humans, after all. As the first human reached him, lifting his spear to impale the Dyun, the Champion struck. His sword cleaved through the dragon scale armor like butter, and the human fell in two halves. More chaos energy burst from the sword, killing the entire warband. The causes of death varied. Some were roasted, others exploded, some drove their own weapons through their skulls, while others still simply collapsed into dust.

The Champion clicked and chittered to himself in joy, preparing to move onto the rest of the village, when he noticed that one human was still alive. With an angry snarl at the impossiblilty, another example of Vestec's abandonment to him, the Champion raised his blade once more, charged forwards, and stabbed at the human.

One of the Dyun charged wildly at Ialu. He levelled its spear and ran at the thing as well, the dragon's tooth easily piercing its chest. The fight contineud for a few moments, the chieftain watching with sadistic glee as his tribe drew their cutters and easily cut down the ragged survivors of the initial spear charge. At last, it seemed that they were all slain. It had been over too soon; Ialu might have been growing soft, or his tribe too strong, for he had only claimed that one kill before all the rest of the Dyun had been felled.

But then, in an instant, his entire warband was slain. One man suddenly eviscerated himself. Another exploded, another was engulfed in fire...Ialu could only watch in horror, his own body somehow unaffected by whatever hellish force had done this. The chieftain was utterly dumbstruck, for the first time in his entire existence. Paralyzed, he merely stood and watched as what must have been at least a quarter, if not a third, of his entire tribe's warriors fall to the ground.

Suddenly, he saw motion in his peripheral vision. He turned and found himself eyed down by the one with the strange cutter. The monster charging alarmingly fast and moving to stab him, Ialu leapt to the side. This one did it, Ialu thought.

Suddenly shaking with rage, his mouth frothing, his eyes promising no mercy, he roared. Lowering his spear and gripping it with both hands, he lunged it forward to impale the Dyun champion as it wheeled back around to face its last enemy once more.

The Champion hissed at Ialu, untold amounts of hatred clear in its beady eyes, deflecting Ialu's spear with his sword. The blade cut through the haft as easy as water, and then The Champion diagonally at Ialu's chest.

A voice spoke in the human's mind, deep and rough as if used primarily to scream in rage or victory. No advantages. Prove yourself worthy of being chieftain of my tribe. There will be two challenges in this fight, on equal terms. Beat this monster in skill and strength, or die a weakling.

Ialu's head was privy to more voice than one. His own dark thoughts and rage, hissing at him like snakes and telling him to slowly and tortuously kill the wretch before him. Another voice, one that Ialu vaguely thought could be the Mighty One. The Mighty One had never spoken to him before, yet now was a poor moment. Ialu was beyond focussed.

His own inner urges, the ones that had guided him his entire life, told him to block, stab, slash. It was those voices, not in his head so much as in his gut, that he obeyed like a slave. Having leapt backwards to avoid a slash to his chest, he drew his cutter out of its crude sheathe like lightning. Not one to allow a foe to charge and gain any momentum, he was then the one to leap back into the fray. Wildly swing flurry after flurry of blows, most only hacking through air as he was afraid to touch his sword against the Dyun's cursed blade.

After what felt like an eternity but had only been perhaps ten seconds, Ialu found a savage swipe coming straight for his throat. Awkwardly he raised his blade, the thing barely slowing the strike enough for him to duck beneath it, though in the process Ialu's swords had been knocked out of his grasp. Disarmed, he fell to his knees, as if to beg for mercy. Instead, he snatched up a massive dragon's tooth, the tip of what had been his spear. It was the very same tooth that he had plunged through the dragon's eye, the tooth that had made him legend amongst mortals.

Like the fang of a viper, the tooth shot upwards. Ialu intended to plunge it straight into the Dyun's hamstring, maiming him and rolling to the side to avoid any counterattack as he did so.

The Champion screeched in victory, swinging his sword down to kill the human. Then suddenly there was pain in his leg, and rather than cutting down the human in a fountain of blood, he was slamming his sword into the ground, sending up a small puff of dirt. Screeching in rage this time, the Champion tried to pull the blade out. But it stuck fast, and the Dyun let go, lest he get the tooth shoved in his spine as well. He faced the human, his claws clenching and unclenching as he waited for the inevitable attack.

The voice urged in Ialu's head Beat him to death with your fists. Make him suffer for what he has done. Prove your strength over this abomination.

Lost in his battle trance, Ialu nonetheless discerned the word 'fists' amongst the words that had been thunderously echoing in his mind. He threw his tooth at his foe's chest, and while the Dyun's claws fumbled with it, Ialu swung a fist in a mighty blow that could have felled a tree. Unable to raise its claws in time to block it, the Dyun was struck in the head and sent violently onto the ground.

Leaping onto his enemy, the Dyun sprawled on the ground, Ialu slammed his fist into its head, time and time again, until his knuckles cried out in utter agony. He looked down, and saw that he had reduced the pathetic beast's head into what could only be described as a crimson puddle. With one last cry of rage at the beast, for his fallen hunters, Ialu collapsed to the ground, laying on his side mere inches from the corpse of his mortal enemy. Sprawled all around were countless other mutilated men and Dyun, but he was too exhausted to think about them. These past few moments had been taxing, even for the seemingly invincible and unbreakable man that Ialu he thought he was.

The voice spoke again. You have done well, Chieftain of the Strong tribe. You have proven your strength to slay your enemies and your ability to rule without my help. You have proven you can survive my wrath, and resist the urging of your weaker members to worship lesser gods. You have but one final test before you. The Cimex gather for war. You must unite humanity to beat back their assault, but the southern tribes are too weak to be mobilized and turned into a strong army soon enough. However, there is a tribe to the north, growing in power. They know me by the name of 'Vestec'. They have conquered other tribes, and are preparing to invade the south. They are a nation of warriors, guided by my hand, ready to be lead by you. Simply slay their leader, and they will kneel before you. Of course, their leader has also proven himself. Only one of you can be my chosen. Create your own army, and challenge him, or die and let your tribe serve him. Only the Strongest will be able to beat back the Cimex. Prove yourself worthy of that title.

The voice returned to Ialu's mind, and this time he heard it with a new and sharp clarity. His mind no longer on batle, the exhausted hero could only marvel at the weight and power behind each word: never before had the Mighty One deigned to speak to him! This was a glorious day indeed.

More than ever, Ialu now felt that the Mighty One was a cruel and merciless master. He had sent the Eternal Winter and the Night of Terrors to test the tribe's resolve. He also had sent the Dyun and Cimex to test their strength. Now, he deprived his greatest follower of rest and already had another challenge in store.

Still, for all the Mighty One's cruelty, Ialu could only be grateful. It was not kindness that built strength or paved the path to greatness. The voice had said that only the Strongest could defeat the Cimex, and so Ialu was already certain of his victory. His name was legend, his body unbreakable, his tribe strength incarnate and in name.

Zerabil remained on his knees in awe of the divine being before him, and as she sunk back into the waters, he put his hands on the ground and allowed himself to prostrate before her, muttering words of gratitude and praise of the divinity. He remained like that even after she had disappeared and several minutes had passed. The feelings of great honour and gratitude were great, but what rocked his mind and soul more than anything else was the enormity of the epiphanic, euphoric experience running through him. The mere presence of She of the Waters before him, even in a form that would not utterly destroy his body and mind, created within him a pleasure and insight he could not truly grasp. He had not felt this when standing before his Father, that had been very different. She of the Waters brought upon his parched soul the liquid embrace of water, the loving touch and fragrance of femininity, the wisdom of an ancient divinity, and the suffering of a god - and what a suffering was that!

Even as she disappeared, he felt his very soul crying out in grief at her departure, as if screaming, 'Do not leave me, my Lady! Oh let me bask before your glory for even a second longer!' but it was to no avail, she was gone and Zerabil remained there, prostrating himself before the river where she had appeared to him. Perhaps an hour passed before he raised his head, sand clinging to his forehead and nose, and he looked upon the place where she had been. His heart was still beating at speeds he did not know possible, his yearning to see her again only increased by the second. He crawled towards the river and clutched at the cold water, attempting to bring her back. The water caressed his hands, much as her presence had caressed his very soul, and he gave out a small, longing sigh.

'Thank you, oh most honoured and beautiful goddess. I shall carry your presence in my heart always, and I shall carry words of your glory to the ignorant, and I shall carry the warm taste of death to all who wage war upon and reject your splendour and majesty.' his vow taken, he cupped the water of the stream in his hands and drank deeply, as if drinking enough would satiate his aching to see her once more. He stood up and turned to Rejys who was standing there still as a statue, and he wiped the water from his lips. No words passed between them for a few seconds, and then Zerabil spoke.
'Did you feel it too?' he eyed the metal being.
'Perhaps,' it said, its usually monotone voice trembling ever so slightly - so slightly that Zerabil thought he may have just imagined it, 'But I Would Say That...Perhaps It Is Rather Heretical To Take Only One God As A Cherisher And Sustainer Above All Others After All...' Zerabil smiled at its words, it was the sign of an open and curious being to change their mind after evidence and experience satisfied their need for evidence. He had found in Rejys a great companion indeed.

'Is...Is That Thing Safe?' the great metal being pointed towards the glowing, ethereal sword which lay on the ground between them. Zerabil approached it, its brightness dazzling him slightly. It was truly an alluring weapon. As he reached for it, Rejys backed away slightly, as if preparing itself for an unpleasant surprise. But when Zerabil picked the sword of light up, nothing happened. At least, not outwardly.

In his right hand, the ethereal grip of the sword fit perfectly, its warmth and radiance seemed to fill his hand completely, and even his wrist shone with the light of the weapon. However, the inner elation and and wonder Zerabil felt could not be any more different from the silent indifference of his appearance. The warmth and light of the sword seemed to reach into his very essence and light it up, it filled all the dark and empty spaces with its glory and with attachment to the goddess who had so enraptured his heart, and had yet to let it go, not more than an hour before. As the sword filled him, the white of his right eye slowly began to shine, and the pitch black pupil turned a rich gold. A blissful smile brightened his seemingly indifferent face as the sword of light, the Morning Blade, disappeared completely and found within his very self a scabbard.

Stunned by the multitude of experiences, Zerabil turned back towards the stream and knelt by it once more, closing his eyes in silent contemplation and breathing deeply in an attempt to get his emotions back under control. For one still newly-born, no amount of knowledge could make up for the discipline and focus experience would give him. For now though, he embraced with joy the waves of emotion surging in his breast, and he let them carry the helpless log of his thoughts wherever the waves wished.
Using the emotions as source of power, he reached out to the stream with his energies and scooped some water out. A small coconut-sized orb of water, jiggling and trembling precariously, floated before Zerabil. Summoning that knowledge which the Chaotic One had gifted Mankind, he froze the orb and brought it to his hands. It was cold, his hands warm, but the orb did not melt and its coolness did not lose any of its potency. He would ask Rejys to create a bracelet or amulet of some kind, and the ice of this most holy water from this most holy place would be the jewels within it. He threw the orb into the air and set it floating half a metre behind his head.

'Lets go,' he said to his companion as he slipped his coat and leggings on and picked up the weapons his Father had provided for him. He doubted he would be using those much at all.



So it was that Zerabil set out into the world with the might of the Lord of the Forge on one side and the blessings of She of the Waters on the other. He knew that his purpose was not to simply be a Prophet and Son of the Celestial Above, no. He was a Prophet of the gods as a whole, whether the gods he so adored recognised him or not. It mattered not whether they acknowledged one so unworthy as he, for their blessings upon him were already more than he could ever comprehend.

He journeyed long from village to village, preaching to the people and attempting to find loyal disciples. Mankind was no longer the utterly pure race of people whom the Celestial Above had blessed and gifted with gifts, for the Chaotic One had also gifted them with gifts of his own. Many were the villages which were less than welcoming - what village, after all, would want to worship a god beside the Celestial Above, or another beside the Earthly Below? And there were some who claimed to worship none but the Knowledgeable One, for they had heard of him through the Uri who worshipped none but he. Others still, though those were rare and far between, worshipped the Lord of the Forge, for they had seen his creations and chosen to follow him.

Zerabil was insistent, however, and wherever he went he brought with him knowledge and wisdom. He spoke eloquently about the Celestial Above and spoke at length of the Earthly Below, and he spoke with humbleness of that most Knowledgeable One, and about the Lord of the Forge he spoke with fire and energy. He did not stop there, however, for who was it who had blessed Man with Wi? She who had rained upon them strength after strength when they were weak and hunted by their foes from all directions, Our Mother of the Wi. And who was it, also, who had blessed them with the Seasons and made life possible, was not She of the Seasons worthy of worship and praise? Who was it who had created the oceans and the rivers and the lakes, and rained upon them sweet, life-giving water from the skies? She whose beauty and grace were unparalleled, and her might and wrath unmatched? She of the Waters whose kindness matched his wrath, and whose mercy overwhelmed his cruelty. And whose terrifying power had brought about dragon-kind? Was a being so mighty as the Great Reptile not one worthy of worship? And who was the one who plagued them nightly with their deepest fears and yearly with that Week of Terror, and had blessed them with the knowledge of Elemental Wi? Was not so glorious a being, even if he brought upon them untold misery and despair, worthy of being worshipped and glorified? Perhaps if they honoured him as it befits a divinity such as he, the Chaotic One would look with more kindness upon them. Indeed, ever since the annual weeks of darkness had began, they were more in need of the kindness of the Chaotic One than ever before. At the least winter did not return during that week of curses and blight. It seemed that She of the Seasons was far more benevolent towards Mankind than she had been in the past. Praises to her for that!

Needless to say, his words were rarely accepted by the great majority of people, but there were many individuals who came to him and professed faith. Some of those remained in their home villages to continue the promulgation of the true faith, while others left their homes and followed the Prophet. There were villages he came upon whose link with the Celestial Above was yet pure and they saw the truth in his words as a community and would profess their faith. As the years passed, the young Prophet gained a great following of people who were with him wherever he went. All were young men and women ranging from their late teens to their late twenties - for Zerabil had made it a habit to advice those who were married or who were aged to remain in their villages and homes where they served the gods far better.

Zerabil taught those who followed him using the knowledge he had been granted by his Father. They domesticated horses and became skilled riders - Zerabil himself captured a family of polar bears in one of his lone journeys in the colder north, and bringing them back with him he had taken to taming them. The largest of them became the Prophet's steed.

Five years from the fateful day of his birth, Zerabil and his followers, who were perhaps one hundred and fifty at the time, came upon a village which was unlike all others. It was set upon a hill and a high wall surrounded it, and around the wall was a river which Zerabil could only say was man-made, there was no natural river like that! The bitter winter had frozen the river over, however, and snow covered the land.
'That is where the dragon slayers dwell,' Jrolfir told him when Zerabil asked about it. He was a youthful believer, not older than twenty three years, and had joined Zerabil not two years into his journeying, 'it is said that they are led by a demon who cannot be cut or burnt, and they worship a strange being. They call it the Mighty One.' Zerabil nodded slowly. Perhaps this 'Mighty One' they worshipped was simply one of the gods and they merely knew him by a different name.
'Tell the people to camp here for the day. Let them water the horses and eat and rest. I will go and I will see this town, perhaps therein are a people whose hearts lean towards faith.' Jrolfir nodded his head in reverence before backing away and doing as the Prophet said.

Zerabil set off for the village upon his steed, Otso, leaving his people to rest and eat. As he approached the narrow path leading to the entrance of the village, Otso suddenly froze. Zerabil looked down at the bear, but nothing seemed to be wrong with him. He did feel energies swirling around the beast's legs however, as though somebody were attempting to root him in place, and Zerabil had the smallest feeling that the energies were swirling around him too. Perhaps the Wi would have been effective against weaker beings, but Zerabil had barely noticed. Nevertheless, he allowed himself to stay in his place and waited, having detected the source of the energy.
'Who goes?' a shout reached him as a head popped over the ramparts of the wall.
'A friend of those in whose hearts is love for the gods.' came the Prophet's reply.
'There is only one god! All others wane before his might.'
'Perhaps I would be able to convince you otherwise, if you would let me in and show me to your lord. Is this any way to greet one who calls you to guidance and light?' at his words, another head appeared and there was some muttering before the gates were opened and the energies around Otso's feet dissipated. He rode on through and was taken to the village square, the guards giving Otso a few suspicious glances. They had probably never seen such a creature after all, it was much further north before polar bears could be spotted.

Their leader, the demon Jrolfir had told him about, was out hunting. In his place, a mean-eyed man clad in dragon-scale armour and wielding a spear whose tip appeared to be a dragon tooth, and a sword at his side, met him.
'What do you want, preacher man?' he asked roughly, and behind him the people of the village, warriors and others, gathered and stared at the strange man before them, and some gawped at the huge bear the guards had allowed in.
His hair was the purest white, tied in a rough ponytail and with strands here or there. His right eye glowed completely white, its pupil golden, while the other was pitch black, and three scars ripped across the right side of his face - Zerabil had gained them during his fight with Otso and thought that he would honour the great bear by leaving them there. He was dressed in a great fur coat, and beneath that was a green cotton shirt reinforced with leather. He wore thick trousers and fur and leather boots, his hands were gloved and in his right hand was a long wooden spear with a metal tip. His neck and the lower part of his face were covered with a red scarf, and had they been able to see beneath that, they would have seen an amulet of metal and ice. His appearance was certainly not normal for these people. But then again, when you travelled all over Arguilla and met with all kinds of people and had knowledge such as Zerabil, it was no surprise that he would look and dress differently. He had yet to come across a people who dressed in dragon scale armour however - it just went to show that Mankind would never stop surprising him.

'I do not want anything from you,' he said with a loud, powerful voice, his breath coming out in a vapor and convoluting over itself before dissipating into the cold mid-afternoon air, 'I merely come as a guide to those who will be guided.' the people looked at each other, many of their faces suspicious. Some looked fearful and kept looking towards the town's gates, as if expecting somebody to walk in any moment...perhaps they feared their overlord. No good could come of that, none at all.
'I come knocking at your door with light and truth, to abstain from your glorification of the Mighty One and to give the gods their right. The Mighty One is to be honoured, and the Celestial Above is to be glorified - did it not create us and all living beings? - and the Earthly Below is to be thanked - for does it not gift us with life, and to it we return? - and She of the Waters is to be praised - for does she not bless us with rivers and lakes, and does she not rain upon us from the heavens water pure and sweet? - and Our Mother of the Wi is to be extolled - for did she not bless us and strengthen us when we were meagre and weak and at the mercy of our foes? - and the Lord of the Forge is to be venerated...' and so Zerabil preached to the people, and so they listened. As he spoke, there were among them those who grew angry and shouted at him, calling him a heretic and a fool. Others walked away while others still stood and listened, albeit with fear and reluctance in their eyes, and there were some - and Zerabil saw them - who thought he spoke sense and in their hearts they believed.

But as he rode out of the village later that afternoon, there were none who followed him and none who objected to the few rocks which hit his back. He paid them no heed and returned to his people, and his were a people who loved him and he them, and who followed him and revered all the gods. He gave the village of the dragon slayers another look, wondering to himself why he felt the presence of the Chaotic One here - his people were in the north, not here. He had the strangest feeling that while this had been his first encounter with this village, it would not be his last.
The Prophet and his people, Vowzra's Victors, camped there that night, and at dawn the following day they set off once more, ever onward.



Orabil towered above the pilgrims, and Zerabil looked upon the hallowed tree, allowing awe to fill him. It had been ten years since his creation, and he had brought his followers to their true home. They had travelled long, coming upon villages of plant people where they had preached, and many had followed them. They had then circled back around and passed through all the villages they had been to before, bringing all the believers who had remained behind with them as they journeyed to Orabil. His initial group of youth, Vowzra's Victors, had grown to three hundred. Along with those whom they had initially left behind, there were now almost a thousand believers. They had all come home, to Orabil, the Living Tree, the Tree of Light.

They made camp in the shade of the great tree and every now and again a group would leave the camp and go up to the trunk of the great tree to touch it. When Zerabil went, he was accompanied by one hundred of his most loyal believers, those chosen from the ranks of Vowzra's Victors. These were his Hallowed Hundred, he had blessed every one of them and they were loyal and steadfast in faith unto death. Zerabil had been a kind leader to them, but he had been an almost cruel drillmaster when it came to the training and learning they did.

Meditation had been honed into an art, if their focus could be sculpted it would have been a masterpiece of stone. Their Wi had been stretched and tested in skirmish after skirmish with Dyuns and Cimex alike, but most of all it was against the Terrors of the night. Zerabil had taught them not to fear the darkness, but to prepare for it and conquer it.
'There is no Night Terror. The Terror in the Night is merely the manifestation of that which we must overcome. It is doubt, and fear, and despair. Every night is fought within. Conquer the night that lies inside you, and the Terror disappears like the illusion it is.'
Rejys had forged for each of Vowzra's Victors a weapon. Zerabil's was the spear, and Jrolfir carried a mace. Rejys himself, who was foremost of the Hallowed Hundred, remained true to his sword and shield. Some had requested armour similar to that of the mighty metal being, and those walked around like colossals and were unstoppable against the Terrors. Zerabil had not taken so much to the armour Rejys so readily forged when the resources were available - his own body and Wi was armour enough, and he told his followers that on many occasions. Nevertheless, he did not fail to thank the Lord of the Forge for his blessings and mercy upon them all, and the believers could not be more grateful. Zerabil doubted that Rejys was too thrilled about some of the requests he had been getting - only a week ago an elderly woman had come demanding a large pot.
'Can You Not Request It Of One Of My Disciples?' the metal being had asked.
'Don't you get cheeky with me you little ruffian! Put some armour on them and they think they rule the world! Whose going to feed you tonight, eh?' she had snapped at him, swinging a staff at the armoured head.
'I Do Not Even-'
'None of that cheek, you hear! Now get on with it,' and with that she had left the odd pieces of scrap metal with him and wondered off, muttering something about all the floods she hoped He of the Waters would wreak upon such ungrateful subjects.

Zerabil chuckled at the memory and glanced at Rejys as they trekked towards Orabil. Ever the gentleman, he had hammered out a fine pot for her.
'I s'pose it's good enough,' she had muttered, before giving off a terrifyingly witch-like laugh and running off gleefully with it. If Rejys had a face, he would probably have been gawping in disbelief at such cheek just about then.

When Zerabil reached the tree and touched it, he was filled with wonderment and given further purpose. Not even for him did the tree open its eyes or its mouth, but its wisdom reached him and he set about creating a permanent settlement for the believers by the great tree, and over time it grew into a fine town. Zerabil set out a dual system of governance; on one side a Diktat was elected to rule for six years, and on the other Zerabil acted as an advisor. The Diktat had his own Council, generally made up of those believed to be pious and those whom the Diktat selects. In the vicinity of Orabil, all was peace and no defenses were needed, and when night came, the Terrors could harm nobody within the radius - though that could not be said for those beyond. And when the annual Week of Terror came about, a contingent of fifty Victors who remained permanently in the settlement would surround the village and protect the settlement while the influence of Orabil was down. There was little any Terror could do against these experienced and disciplined warriors and Wi-users, even less so when they were united in defense of Orabson.

Vowzra's Victors also set about building temples to each of the gods around Orabil, using stone and metal and designing each temple as befits the god's character. Using Wi and Zerabil's expert direction, the settlement and the temples were built within two years, and the leadership of the settlement was charged with taking care of the temples and looking after all who came in pilgrimage, whether they were animals or more intelligent beings.

With that complete, Zerabil set out once more with his Victors - less fifty - and took them beyond the safety of Orabil's influence and to the mountains in the south. There they set about building a fortified mountain monastery. The monastery had a smithy which Rejys designed personally, as well as a meditation garden. There was a large storehouse, a library and training grounds. The library, while filled with tomes largely penned by Zerabil so as to make his knowledge more accessible, was also a place where treasures, artifacts and relics were kept. Many of the items gathered over the years, such as Cimexian weapons, Dyun skulls and pieces of their skeletons amongst others were stored there, and future items would also find their way there.
The monastery itself was surrounded by high walls of metal and stone, guarded day and night. The natural mountainous landscape provided additional defense - any attempting an assault would find themselves facing an uphill battle, frigid conditions and thin air. Various traps and pitfalls layered the approach to the monastery and as a final safety precaution, Zerabil had two underground escape routes dug. Piercing the stone of the mountain was an arduous task at best, but with time and effort and the disciplined dedication of Vowzra's Victors, his will was done. It was the fifteenth year after his creation when Zerabil finally stood upon the iron and stone ramparts of the fortified mountain monastery, the base of the order, the Mountain's Crown.





The sword of light descended upon the critter's head, bringing its miserable existence to an end. In the darkness of the cave, little could be seen except the luminescence of the blade and the one glowing eye of the one who held it, with a golden pupil in the middle.
'Was that the last of them, Battle Brother?' a voice came from behind him.
'No, Battle Brother Jrolfir, I can sense the last of them deeper within. Leave them to me. You gather the others and collect whatever is worthy of being stored in the library. They shall serve as a reminder of the existence of this pitiful race of Xenos. Future Brothers will no doubt delight in the tale of their ignominious demise.' Battle Brother Jrolfir bowed deeply and left the cage, his armour clanging as he went. It was now the norm for Battle Brothers of the Hallowed Hundred to garb themselves in full armour, and Zerabil had taken to donning the odd breastplate and shoulder guard.

He stepped further into the cave where the last of the Xeno filth dwelled. In these last fifteen years, they had battled Xenos of the Cimex and Dyun types endlessly, but it had been the Dyun who faced the full glare of their fury. Today, their fury would find closure and the first of the Xeno scourges would be annihiliated. Tale had reached them of the extermination of the Dyun Champion not days ago, news which gladdened the heart of every believer and defender of Man. Some had asked him if he felt any loss at not having destroyed the Xeno himself, but to feel such would have been folly.
'It matters not who exterminates the Xeno scourge. What is important is that they are exterminated. The wellbeing of Man over-rides all desire for glory.'
'Why do they hate us so, Battle Brother?' a newly initiated Brother asked. It was in fact Huyin, the five hundred and first, and the latest, initiate into the Order.
'Life, Brother, is so much easier when you have someone to blame.' Zerabil had replied cryptically, turning away and leaving the young initiate blinking in confusion. He would process it, Zerabil knew, and he would understand. He was of Vowzra's Victors after all.

Zerabil descended and found himself entering a wide and high chamber of sorts, which also proved to be where the cave came to an end. He turned his head slowly towards the group of Xenos cowering by the far wall. There were five of them, two adults, two children, and one only recently born. As Zerabil approached, one of the adults clicked at him but did not move. If he did not know any better, he would have thought it was telling him to please leave them alone. The other adult was holding the newborn.
'Give me that,' he said coldly, pointing his Morning Blade at it. There was silence for a while. Zerabil knew they had understood, 'and that one too,' he pointed at one of the children. The clicking of the two adults grew more frantic and at last they seemed to reach a decision. They chose death.

The adults turned upon their children. Realising what was going on, Zerabil struck with speed. Before the one holding the newborn could do anything, he was upon it, severing its head from its shoulder and clawing the newborn from its hands. He had watched the extermination of many of these newborns, it did not bother him so much that she would choose to kill it, but he had other ideas.
The other adult had finished off one of the children and had turned on the other - the one Zerabil had asked for. It worked out rather conveniently after all, he thought as he froze the remaining adult from head to toes before giving him a mighty kick. He split into a good few chunks. The Morning Blade quickly dissipated, sheathing itself into him and Zerabil turned upon the remaining child and picked it up. These were the survivors, the only ones remaining of these Xenos. Perhaps he would be able to find better use for them.

Emerging from the cave entrance, he watched his Battle Brothers as they scoured the area for anything valuable enough to be worth adding to the library's collection. It was most important when one went about their duties as a Victor, that they not allow emotions to blur their vision and mind. One had to come with focus and vision sharper than the very swords they tore their foes down with. When one allowed feelings like hatred and anger through, then they were no longer carrying out their duties; they were simply wreaking mindless death and destruction. At the same time, however, it was important that one's heart not become hardened and that they not lose compassion and mercy. Even in the heat of battle, Vowzra's Victors had to remember that where mercy was an option, then it was a good option. The ten Battle Brothers who had come with him, now finished scouring the bodies, approached him, Battle Brothers Jrolfir and Rejys at their head, and Juras coming up behind the rest.

It was Juras who commented on the Xeno children.
'Are those the last of the Xenos, Battle Brother Zerabil? Shall we honour them with a swift death or let them feel the long and tortuous wrath of Man for all their kind have done?' Zerabil looked at the two ugly things in his hands.
'No, Battle Brother Juras, I have other plans for these two.' he said simply. Juras frowned at this.
'I hope, Battle Brother, that you do not plan to show them mercy. It is our duty to-'
'I know what out duty is, Battle Brother,' Zerabil gave him a reassuring look, 'but whoever is not merciful to others will not be treated mercifully.' Zerabil's meaning was clear. Whether he planned to show compassion to these creatures or not was his pregorative, not anyone else's.
'Then let there be no mercy for the merciless, Battle Brother. These Xenos brought Mankind to the brink of extinction, their merciless ways never came to an end, even to this day. Let there be no mercy.' Juras' face was crunched up in anger.
'Your emotions get the better of you Battle Brother. That is not the way of the Hallowed Hundred. Clear your mind and trust in your Battle Brother.' realising that he was not in his right mind, Juras bowed deeply and excused himself to go reestablish his calm.
'Have you gathered all things of value?' Zerabil asked the others, who responded in the affirmative.
'Then come, let us be gone. Time is a sword, if you do not severe it, it will severe you.' And so, once Juras had returned, the ten Battle Brothers of the Hallowed Hundred prepared their steeds and set off for the Mountain's Crown.

Before they had reached the base, a rider came to meet them, telling them that an emissary had arrived at Orabson with a letter for the Prophet. Leaving the two Xenos with his Battle Brothers, who continued on to the Crown, Zerabil rode the aging Otso harder than he had in a long time. The bear may have been old, but by the gods he still had fight in him!
'Time is a sword, my friend,' he muttered as he thought of the signs of his own aging. Already his face was beginning to crease and he looked everyday the fifty year old he was not. So it must be.

Arriving in Orabson, Zerabil was barely given time to rest before the Diktat and his Council were upon him. A man had come, he managed to work out. The rest was them talking and shouting over each other. In the end, he asked for the letter and they watched in apprehensive silence as he read. Upon completing it, he nodded slowly.
'I see...' he had received news from his scouts that the Cimex were acting strangely recently. Vowzra's Victors made it a rule not to infringe upon the territory of the Xenos, it was only those who strayed into the realms of Man who were dealt with. It would seem that this would have to come to an end. The full fury of Vowzra's Victors would have to now be mustered against the Cimex, and it was certainly not going to be a task as simple as destroying the primitive Dyuns. It mattered not, they would quell the CimeXenos.
'Write back to the Sanguine Communion, and write also to the Uri and the kings of our realm. We must meet and plan for this threat. Invite them all here, to Orabson.' the Diktat and his Councillors scattered and Zerabil gave a long sigh.

Things were only now truly beginning.