[centre][img]http://i.imgur.com/KtaFYg7.png[/img]
[colour=black][i][b]The Timeless One, The Celestial Above, Vicegerent of Fate, Guardian of the Timeline, Master of Creation, Lord of Time[/b][/i]
Level 3 God of Creation (Time)
0.5 Might 5 Freepoint[/colour]

[hider=Summary]Enter: Morarom Oramomaro, Zinaniza Inazizani and Salisilas Lasisal
The three Tree-Arms suddenly lose the link with the rest of the Treeminds and race back to the village
The village is empty!
But wait, there are footsteps and a sound
And the sound grows and a humanoid, white-clad figure approaches
And they fall into an ocean of sound, and they awaken elsewhere

And in that elsewhere, life and death wage war over a tomb
Until the hand of a child defeats both and releases a spirit
And the purple spirit gushes into the child
And the child leaves Chronos and emerges unto Galbar[/hider][/centre]

They stood frozen for a long time, eyes wide and jaws locked. Morarom, like Zinaniza and Salisilas, gripped his Ik’Grarg’Ki tightly, his hand shaking slightly. The gargantuan Tree-Arm had never felt as he now did, and his strange tattoos raced all over his fur, taking on a pure black colour. It spoke of his confusion and distress more than anything else, and he could feel the distress of his two companions as clearly as his own. For they had never before felt what they felt now. There was [i]nothing[/i]. They could not feel or sense anyone. One moment their link with the tribe had been as strong as ever, and the next the link had disappeared.

For a minute or so each of them tried to re-establish the link, to sense the others. But there was nothing. Without a word or a command, all three turned at once and took a few hefty steps before launching themselves into a swift sprint. Morarom took the lead, with Zinaniza and Salisilas following close behind to either side of him. His grip on the wooden hilt of his dear Urara tightened even further as they approached Old Bark-Skin and the village. 

But when they arrived there was nothing there. Not a living creature was in sight or could be sensed. Only the strange Heaven-Orb remained. The three stood quietly for some time, wordless. Was it shock that ran through each of them? Confusion perhaps? They themselves could not say, for there were no words to describe it. And words did not need to describe it, for each of them felt it, and each of them could feel what the others felt. Their's was not to explain or describe, their's was purely to understand one another. An understanding deeper than words could ever achieve - and how could words achieve what they could not capture? What they could not imprison in the cell of letters and words and sentences and meanings and lack thereof. What had to be described or explained could never be understood, and what could be understood needed neither explanation nor description, for it was self-evident in the mind of a Treemind. Suffice to say, they felt as children who found themselves alone in their home, parents and brethren, grandparents and uncles and cousins, having disappeared without a trace. Could it be called a home which had not in it what made it a home? Was it home if it felt not like home? Where were the thoughts and feelings that ran through one's body and mind in every waking moment? Where were the dreams which drifted in and out of one's mind in every sleeping second? Morarom turned to his dearest Urara and spoke sadly.

[centre]'Where is the Tree-Claw and where are the Old-Trees?
Where are the nourishers, the mothers, the cubs?
Did they sprout wings and fly or did the earth seize?'[/centre]

But there came no response from his dearest, and her silence was answer enough. He placed the tip of Urara into the earth and leaned upon it, and his legs gave and his knees sunk into the soft earth, and heart-rending roar left his chest and echoed through the tribal heartlands, and to the very top of the Solitary Mount. Perhaps the [url=https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/e0/e0/91/e0e0914aabad78a2c0a5c4fd86a3aada.jpg]Guardian[/url] himself heard it, for not too long after the leaves of Old Bark-Skin began to rustle and footsteps echoed throughout the forests - or did they echo in their minds? A humanoid figure, clad in a long white robe and whose face could not be seen but for a long, white beard which came down to his lower chest, emerged from behind the sizable girth of Old Bark-Skin's trunk. He approached them slowly, and with him there came [url=https://youtu.be/pDOGSh9kgyA]a strange sound, musical.[/url] It seemed to emerge from every direction, and it seemed to have its source within their very bodies, their minds and hearts.

Even while being oddly light-hearted, there seemed to be an incomprehensible sadness to the sound. Joviality and sorrow seemed to leap into life before them and dance their bittersweet dance to the notes. And even as the music got louder and the strange man came ever closer, the world around them seemed to shift and slip away until there was nothing in existence but the sound, it solidified into a pool before them, and they fell into it and discovered it was an ocean, and they fought it and swam in it and they drowned and fell asleep in the ocean of sound. And they would not know it, but when they would next wake, they would find themselves in a land altogether wonderful and strange. But was it home?

[centre]***[/centre]

The gay grasses and moss had made of the tomb a home. The white stone had given way to the greenery of life which sought even death to overcome and slay. Though not a single ray of starlight fed the plants, they grew and danced and, perhaps, they even sang. Perhaps the sang and the crickets, upon hearing them, sang back. And the tallest grasses sang the loudest, and it was to the loudest singers that the crickets went, and to them they sang even louder and were ever more devoted. 

[centre][colour=olive][i]'Sing oh Cricket to the grass blade gay
Though no sun, your song is its sun-ray.'[/i][/colour][/centre]

But though time passed and though the grasses conquered more and more of the tomb, there was a decreed moment which had been waiting eons to bloom and reveal its deep purple flower to the world. And that moment began with a curious hand which undid all that the toiling grasses had done. Years of conquests and victories were defeated by the swift and mighty hand of man, and the rosary of life's dominion came undone and its beads spilled never to be held together again. Yet it was not the hand of a man that brought the grasses down, but the innocuous hands of a child. And they were the hands that broke and opened the tomb. And the Fated purple flower rose up and bloomed. A thick, smoky flower, but a flower nonetheless. And it floated about in the pure Chronos air and it seemed to inhale deeply of it...and it gushed into the child from every pore and opening. And it was not long before it found its way to the Gate, and Chronos was all too happy to be rid of it. And Galbar greeted it.