[center][h1][color=598527]Reathos[/color][/h1][h2][color=8dc73f]God of Death[/color][/h2][/center]
For an impossibly long time something had been bothering Reathos. Like a fly was buzzing around him. And right when he could grasp it, the insect was gone. He kept looking through his mind for the answer. What had he forgotten? What did he miss? Or rather, what could be happening that he did not see? He knew his brothers and sisters were fast at work, making their own creations. Not always in harmony. With his mind he went through his Cursed Crows. Witnessing deaths with smiles, and screaming murders covered in blood. It was all the same to him. For a moment he saw Vestec. The dangerous god of corruption. Creating a variety of creatures, but each with certain shared features. They were no doubt sentient. But most of the things looked far less bright than Toun’s Hain. Another crow a little later noticed the creation of the Empire race. The things were made in a clever way, and the touch of Vulamera was evident in them. But nothing, not a single thing, looked out of the ordinary. Which meant that something was very much out of the ordinary, but he just didn’t see it yet. Something had been breaking his rules, and he would find out what.

Be it luck, or fate, he did not know. But in his crow form he carelessly flew towards the Deepwoods. After all, even god should be allowed to rest from time to time. He had literally all the time in the world. With the murder that always followed he landed on a branch near the Eenal Tree. For a god, time means little. Years passed as if they were seconds sometimes. But Reathos found himself within the dense forest at just the right time. It was deep autumn. Red and orange leaves decorated the trees that would soon die. Though the winter dead of a tree was far less harsh than other creatures’ ends. When the long cold passed and springtime approached, the bare trees would awaken from their slumber and grow once more. It was a far more gentle cycle to Reathos. Trees did not scream or beg like creatures did. Maybe that was why Slough dictated that trees would die and be reborn in an endless cycle of growth? He could not know. The workings of the goddess of life were an enigma to Reathos. She made mistakes, and he rectified them. As with the Heraktati. But she did far more things right. Seemingly without effort. While Reathos had to take real time and effort to carefully construct his apex predators.

As he looked how the animals below gathered food for their nests the first drops of snow fell from the clouds. Soon a very thin, white blanket of snow covered the ground, the plants, and the Eenal tree. Which was the only one remaining beautifully green surrounded by bare branches. The white of the snow made Reathos remember the Avatar of Illunabar. White as a rose. A happy memory, which brought him to realization. With a haste only capable of a god he took off. With purpose that could only be leveled by gods.

The caves were a labyrinth. Mortals would sooner die than find their way out. Leave alone that they would manage to find the Wraith Stone. In his crow form he swiftly went through the corridors and twisting tunnels. Until he came before the entrance of a green glowing cave. Midflight he turned into his True Form. In the middle of the hall stood the proud black obelisk. Around it were layers upon layers of different kinds of greens. All souls. Before it stood the Black Throne. Upon which the Chained One sat. For all the time that Reathos, or any other living being, was absented the Avatar looked like a lifeless corpse. But upon its master’s arrival, the thing slowly came to life and looked up. Reathos, his mind linked to his own fragment, now fully understood what was annoying him for so long.

[color=a2d39c]“Bring before me the souls of those who were not born on Galbar.”[/color] He demanded from his Avatar. Who dutifully, yet slowly, nodded. A few dozen chains shot from the ground up towards the Obelisk. Grabbing the souls and forcing them to take the form on they once had when they died. Eventually they were brought before the god of death. Many of them cowered. They did not look like Hain. Yet their general shape seemed to be the same. He approached one and touched its forehead with his armored hand.

[indent][i]A boar, blood. Wounds. Pain. The vision faded.[/i][/indent]

It was the memory of this man’s death. But Reathos did not care for his end. He wanted to see which of his siblings were responsible for its creation.

[indent][i]A baby boy in his arms. The mother, panting under a tree. The child was covered in blood and screaming. But it looked healthy.[/i][/indent]

An older memory, but not the right one. Once more did Reathos push deeper.

[indent][i]Coughing, clay, mud, sand. Water. The man was using his first breath to cough. Gaining life had been a weird experience to say the least. Eventually he pulled himself together, and rose. Seeing 2 figures near him. Both women. One was just like him, yet different in almost every way. Her general appearance was the same as his. Two arms, two legs and a face. But her features were softer and less bulky than his. The other shape looked much like the first. Yet still even more different. With wings and a fairness Reathos had not yet witnessed. Then a third figure appeared.[/i][/indent]

He pulled his hand away from the soul. [color=a2d39c]“Brother…what are you doing?”[/color] Reathos asked himself. The memory had given him insight. It gave answers to questions he never asked. And made him ask even more questions he did not want. His brother had disappeared, such was true enough. And Reathos would not have cared if Logos merely vanished. But instead his brother was making a world for himself. Alone. Why?

He looked back at the cowering souls of man. So different they were from the Hain, the Empire or the Rovaick. Yet so much alike. Reathos knew that once the sentient beings started to develop themselves, natural predators would be less of a match against them. Even now he had seen glimpse of Teknall, hiding himself like a Hain as Reathos controlled a crow. Teaching valuable skills to several tribes. It would not take long before animalistic predators were outmatched by the intelligence of sentient beings. Reathos was put at ease a little by the idea that were several sentient beings already. No doubt races would fight each other. But just like with Slough’s life, he could not risk to trust his brothers and sisters. Their creations would be flawed. They would be given mistakes like mercy, and would err by desiring peace. And even if the sentient beings would fight each other constantly, it would only fuel their growth, destroying Galbar in the process.

His creations would bring balance through annihilation one day. They would purge Galbar, systematically but not thoroughly. Only the old had to die, to let the new grow. Eventually they would turn back to where they came from. To vanish once more. The design in his mind was growing more complex by the second. He realized that there were but few places so inhospitable to the creatures of Galbar that none would dare set foot there. Maybe he could put them underground. But no, even there his creations would be found. There was one place where none would dare come. But to survive there, his creations could not be natural.

On his way to the destined place of his creatures, he encountered one of Toun’s white giants. He had seen them before. And was always rather fascinated by them. They had no soul, never ate and were constantly walking without pause. And while they did not carry a soul, their True Name did float above them. It was made of odd symbols. Numbers. [color=a2d39c]“Forgive me brother. But I must gain insight.”[/color] He whispered in the air, not really expecting Toun to hear. In his crow form he descended, and on the ground before the White Giant he turned into his True Form. With his left hand he merely had to click and a burst of green energy exploded from the creature. It dropped dead instantly. Reathos, with his powers, started to dissect the being. What fueled it? How did it keep moving through the ages? Eventually he found it. A siphon. The being didn’t run on food and water. It walked on pure magical energy.

Reathos took the siphon with him towards the southern tundra, together with a large murder of crows. The place was sufficiently cold at its core that no creature in his right mind would go here willingly. He dropped the siphon in the snow and ice beneath him and got to work. From the ice, stone and snow he fashioned several siphons. And for each siphon, he slew a crow and filled the siphon with its blood. The blood was marked by Reathos, and would serve the magical essence required to make the siphon work. Then he started working on the ice. Unlike clay, ice was much harder, and far less easy to sculpt. With force he had to cut out the humanoid shapes giving them 2 arms, 2 legs, a head, a body. Until he made several rows of frozen, ice statues. Their features were sharp and straight. With little room for anything that might be considered beautiful or fair. Instead they looked vicious and dangerous. They radiated a certain forceful menace. And again, for each statue he killed a crow, and placed the eyes in the frozen sockets. His creatures looked dangerous, powerful, and dreadful and it was not like he wanted them. They had to have a single softer feature. Just to make sure that they were not monsters. He turned the irises into the color of deep frozen ice. A dark azure one would rarely find in this world. After all the hard work, he took the creatures to the edges of the tundra, where there was still snow but also wood and other harsh plants. Each statue he gave a siphon, and waited. At midnight, they started to move. Reathos did not want his own creations to see him. Such thing would not be right. Gods had no business to directly meddle with mortals. And his creations, after all, were still mortal.

The initial response to their life was fear. It felt like they awakened from a coma into a world they did not know. Reathos witnessed this from afar. A jab went through him. It made him doubt his role. He was a destroyer after all. But just like with the Heraktati he started to care for his creations. The idea that they were still fearful of a world they had to dominate felt wrong. They needed guidance. A shepherd that would led them. If only for the first few years of their existence.

Among the confused beings suddenly a female collapsed onto the ground. Violently coughing and then even screaming. She was clawing at her own head, as if a force was pushing into it, uninvited. But eventually she stopped, stood up again and walked on. As if nothing happened. The group of frozen beings still looked at her, as she walked up towards a nearby rock. She had the undivided attention of all creations of Reathos, as she started to speak in a voice that was not her own alone: [color=a2d39c]“My children. My brothers and sisters. Hear me now.”[/color] Through his god eyes he saw the true name of the girl. [color=a2d39c]“I am Nimueh. But I am also Reathos. Your god, your creator. Through Nimueh, I shall guide you. Through Nimueh, you shall grow into a truly powerful race. I name you Pronobii. Children of Ice.”[/color]

And thus it came to pass. Reathos, controlling Nimueh, first taught them cryomancy. Just like the Heraktati, the Pronobii and all things Reathos’, the art was crude, powerful and effective. The Children of Ice had a clear talent, probably because their very being was coldness. Reathos pushed the talent of his creations further. The Pronobii, with the teachings of Reathos, made more complex shapes out of ice than spikes. Soon the first sword-like weapons appeared. Reathos pitted the strongest Pronobii against each other often. In duels that sometimes lead to the dead. A culture of constant fighting formed among the Pronobii living together. In return against the weapons, frozen shields were made. And Reathos’ Children dueled daily. For every dawn, Reathos through Nimueh, told stories about how they were destined to march across Galbar one day. They would march in glory of him. To fight the overabundance of life, so each sentient being would know its place once more. But to do so, they must be strong. So they must train. And train they did.

But as he guided his children, he could not forget the pure irony of what he was doing. Not just now. He had created life to kill life. Not once but twice. The Heraktati and the Pronobii. It had been enough for now. The animal kingdom had its apex predator, and the Pronobii would ensure that in the future the races of Galbar would not consume and exhaust the planet. He would have no need for more creatures for now.

[hider=Might summary]
-1 Might: Creating the adapted siphons
-1 Might: Granting the Pronobii Lesser Eyes of Reathos
-1 Might: Creating the Pronobii
-1 Might: Creating his Prophet-Hero Nimueh (He doesn't know she's a hero, nor does he know)
-1 Might: Teaching the Pronobii cryomancy

-1 FP: Teaching the Pronobii how to make weapons
-1 FP: Teaching the Pronobii how to make defenses
-1 FP: Teaching the Pronobii the idea of community
-1 FP: Teaching the Pronobii the fight culture

4 Might remaining, 0 Free points remaining
[/hider]

[hider=Summary]
- Something was bugging Reathos. He doesn't know what. Snow makes him remember the white avatar of Ilunabar. Which makes him remember his own avatar and descends to the Wraith stone

- Reathos encounters dead human souls from Arcon. He accesses the oldest soul's memories and sees Elysium and Logos

- Reathos fears that the vast amount of sentient life will one day threaten to destroy Galbar. He makes the blueprint for his own race from the human souls

- Reathos creates the Pronobii by infusing ice statues with adapted siphons and his crows' eyes.

- Reathos decided to guide his creations through their early stages by controlling one of them. Nimeuh. She will become his hero after he releases control of her.

- Reathos teaches them cryomancy, weapons and defenses crafting, the idea of community and gives them a fight culture. He also likes to sit with them at dawn telling them about how powerful they one day will be and what their purpose is.
[/hider]