[center][b][h3]Prothos[/h3][/b][/center]
Prothos spilled into the main hall of Illyuss, his tattered clothes transforming in a fizz of salt spray into a magnificent cerulean and jade tunic and cloak. A small octopus scurried from beneath his cloak and curled its tentacles around his strong, tanned arms. Wherever he walked a pool of salt water formed and then dried almost immediately. He strode luxuriously through the hall stopping to gaze out the tall windows to catch a glimpse of the rivers churning below. Longingly he sighed and look at his gathering brethren, the other immortals, the other gods of the world so far away, but instantly within reach. How long since he had seen them? How long since he had walked in Illyuss? 

These thoughts were but a passing tide and the old god focused on the task at hand. To choose a king was an important step towards ending the chaos that plagued the world-that was true. But more important was anticipating who would be drafted as one of the four.. 

"Ah [color=gold]Onhiel[/color] good to see you again. Fancy a Hurricane for our meeting?" said Prothos, jokingly. "Ha! Of course not. Let us commence the meeting..."

Prothos sat near Onhiel. The octopus on his forearm curled around the arm rest of the large wooden chair and lay motionless. From his tunic, Prothos first pulled a large whelk and placed it on the table before him. Then he produced a foggy cylindrical glass jar of salt water, stopped with a cork in front of him. The octopus moved with surprising speed and simultaneously unstopped the jar and swiped the empty whelk shell up, pouring his master a cup of fine Lemurian sea water. Prothos smiled, moustaches twitching. "Many thanks, little brother."

Prothos was surprised at Onhiels offer of Kingship. He smiled and spoke: "My thanks Onhiel. I accept your nomination. But I will wait until our brethren have spoken to vote."

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[center][b][h3]Lemuria[/h3][/b][/center]

For the Lemurians life was continuing much as it had for ages. The fleets were at sea, trading among the coastal cities. The clergy dressed in cloaks of kelp and turbans of sea-grass gathered at their coral temples, all of the portents promising an auspicious day. An important decision was to be made, said the signs. They carried through with the ancient traditions, copying sea-charts and shucking oysters. Listening to the cries of the laughing gulls and the crashing roar of the ocean. These were the things that were always done. These were the things Prothos encouraged. But the signs showed a new age was dawning, and what would occur the priests could not tell.