[center][h3]Of Wondrous Heights and Despondent Depths[/h3]
[b]Part One[/b]
[img]http://i.imgur.com/OazNv9k.png[/img]
[color=00BFFF][b]Storm's King; The First Gale; The Embodiment of Change
Level 3 God of Change (Air)[/b]
39 Might 5 Free Points[/color]

[color=0072bc][b]Vizier Ventus, Majordomo to Zephyrion[/b]
Level 7 Hero
31 Khookies[/color]

[color=Tan][b]King Akthanos[/b]
Priest-King of the Firewind, Lord of Vetros, Sovereign of the Vetruvian Kingdom, Zephyrion's Prophet
Fifth Ruler of the Primurid Dynasty[/color][/center]

By day, the sun loomed above as the merciless master of this desert and its baleful glare scorched the sand and men alike. The dry air and hot winds offered no respite, and merely breathing taxed men. At night, however, the Firewind was an alien place. The light of Galbar's moons lit the sky and reflected across the waters of the Mahd, gently illuminating the way for the army that marched down its banks. A faint and cool breeze came from the waters of the sacred river, though its chilling kiss made the lightly clothed men shiver.

Onward through the night, those two thousand men that had been levied into the army marched at the heels of their prince. Their equipment was lacking: they wore naught but light robes and carried spears and javelins tipped with flintstones. Those that had made lengthy preparations had crafted shields from the wood and fronds of date trees and bands of animal hide, while others had nothing of the sort. Still, for what they lacked in weaponry they made up for in resolve and spirit. Here they marched to defend their kingdom and homes from the barbarians that rode those strange creatures called horses and heeded a false prophet.

The Horse People worshiped the Eternal Sky and feared the terrible beast Y'Vahn just as the Vetruvians did; and yet, still they hated one another. The Horse People of those steps claimed their own venerated elders that could commune with the Sky and burn offerings to appease their God, yet the Vetruvians begrudged them no tolerance. Just as there was only one sky, there could only be one prophet. That was King Akthanos, and before him another great King followed by another, all the way back to the great Primus who spoke with God himself and lived to see a hundred years pass by before ascending to the sky and leaving his dynasty behind to rule in Vetros.

The Horse People too had followed Primus, yet they had forsaken the path before they saw the blessed Mahd and in doing so brought a great curse down upon themselves! Woe be to those forsaken tribes, for they lived not under the Priest-King or his empire and the wind would ever spurn them.

So it was that bands of the vile Horse People occasionally rode south from their homes on the steppe to raid the farming villages upon the Mahd, and in turn the Vetruvians oft ventured north to skirmish with the hordes and steal the herds of their enemy. Like night and day, the cycle continued.

[center]==--``~~~~``--==[/center]

A thousand lifetimes away were the gleaming spires of the Celestial Citadel, and yet Zephyrion's gaze looked on all the same. From the very uppermost reaches of the heavenly palace, he had watched on in seclusion for many years. He was not concerned with the scurrying of Illunabar, stray elementals, and all the other denizens of the lower levels; in many ways, he had ceased thinking of that area as home and relinquished it to Teknall. Let the Divine Mason have his trees in the courtyards below if such trifles were what contented him! As in for Zephyrion, he wrought things of a larger scale.

A rush of wind came from below, and then there was a second vortex upon that balcony where the First Gale rested. [color=0072bc][b]"Ah, Your Majesty,"[/b][/color] Ventus greeted.

He was met with silence, though fortunately the Vizier was an immortal djinn and one of the few beings whose patience could outlast that of a god's. He remained there for a long while, and finally Zephyrion cracked, [b][color=Gold]"What is it that you come for? Not the joy of conversation, to be sure. I would never deign expect so much from you, Illunabar, Teknall, or any of my other 'guests' in [i]my[/i] palace..."[/color][/b]

[color=0072bc][b]"Is that why you brood alone atop these great heights, then, and avoid them all? Are you so petty as to long for their attention just as men with parched throats crave water?" Zephyrion, yo-[/b][/color]

[b][color=Gold]"Silence,"[/color][/b] the god interrupted with a vigor and force to his voice that his previous words had lacked. [color=Gold][b]"I do not require anything from [i]them[/i] to sustain myself or my state of contentedness. If anything, their presence might bring irritation! It is true that fulfillment does come from within me as it might for some, though that is just as well; it keeps me from being complacent. I do not watch the skies from here to wallow in my own sorrow or avoid what will come from me...I do it so as to better marvel at my own doings below and be fulfilled in the truest realization of my own magnificence!"[/b][/color]

How eloquent in wording and impassioned in hollow words was Zephyrion that Ventus could not discern whether his Master's words were honed by truth or simply delusion. Regardless of which scenario was true (though the Vizier had his suspicions!) he knew that there was no response to be made. So instead of attempting some ill-advised riposte to Zephyrion's logic or bothering him with some other mundane topic, Ventus joined Zephyrion in that solemn vigil.

Outwards the Djinni Lord looked, and though his eyes could not simply peer across the world as could Zephyrion's, through mediation and coming to peace with himself, he focused his Astartian magic and managed to see from outside his own form.


[color=0072bc][b]"The men of the grasslands and the men of the riverlands march to battle against one another!"[/b][/color] Ventus said with genuine shock.

[b][color=Gold]"Yes, just as they have done a dozen times before, albeit never on this scale. Perhaps my Chosen People will finally earn their triumph and be rid of their foes by merit of only their own strength!"[/color][/b]

Ventus bore an expression of further shock muddled with confusion.

Zephyrion went on to scoff, [b][color=Gold]"Did you not know of this feud? Hah, perhaps you have been gone from them too long!"[/color][/b]

[color=0072bc][b]"It has been only a few mortal lifetimes...I never expected this much to change. And what is this about your 'Chosen People'? I descended to Galbar and spent many years speaking with both; I know that the nomads of the steppe and the Vetruvians in the river valley both utter prayers in your name! The legacy of both trace back to Primus, whose people you promised to protect!"[/b][/color]

With infuriating indifference, Zephyrion's retort came, [b][color=Gold]"Your meddling with them was by your own choice; I gave you the freedom to interact with the mortals just as I did, and yet I suffer no obligation to follow your whims and favor those steppe-dwelling mongrels simply because you have grown attached to them. Yes, they worship me and me alone, as they rightfully should. And yet in times past their ancestors strayed from the guidance of my Prophet, so how can they claim to be my Chosen Tribe? They are delusional; only the Vetruvians have my favor. The only reason I do not smite the false claimants is because I am a merciful god, and besides, they will test the Vetruvians and keep them from growing soft and becoming prey to worse things."[/color][/b]

The Vizier had no words, for he knew that there were none that held the power to sway his Master's mind.

[center]==--``~~~~``--==[/center]

At the head of his army, Prince Heru breathed deeply. The air smelt sweet and of blossoming flowers; in many of the farmlands upon the floodplains and river banks, the harvest was already in full swing. [i]For how many men would this be their last night? It was good that the air smelt so sweet.[/i]

The solemn silence was interrupted by one of the warriors, "My prince," he spoke with utter reverence and deference, "some of the men straggle behind. What shall be done?"

Heru closed his eyes and breathed deeply again, trudging on with footing so sure that he needed no sight to walk on. After his short contemplation, he opened his eyes once again and answered, "Order them to press on, and should words fail, turn to the scourge."

A forced march throughout the entire night at pain of being flogged was perhaps harsh, but it was necessary. How much more blood would flow at the riverbanks and taint the sacred Mahd if he failed? How many more orphans would mourn lost fathers, how many more faithful would be led astray if their prince faltered? Beyond simply defending the hinterlands from the wretched Horse People, this battle meant seeing the empire blossom another day or wilt in the sun. That was why his father, the Priest-King, had sent Heru to lead the army, and that is why Prince Heru could not fail.

The eerie silhouette of an Onyx Phantom flitted over one of the moons that hung in the sky, illuminated for a brief moment. That omen was seen by many a watchful eye, and it left a foreboding feel in the air long after the phantom had flown away to haunt another place. [i]A portent of death.[/i]

The battle finally came at dawn when the two forces clashed at a series of riverside villages that had been occupied by the marauding Horse People. Heru's night march had left his men fatigued, but it had bought them an element of surprise. Those same date trees that surrounded the first village and nourished its locals now sheltered the ambushing men; truly, the sacred date trees offered life to the Vetruvians in more way than one. Like demons springing out from dark caves, the Vetruvians came out from the morning shadows of the trees and descended into the village. They slaughtered their enemies there, hen rapidly advanced upstream to the next village.

This next battle was more bloody, for the morning sun had begun to rise and a few stragglers had escaped the first attack to warn their kin of the coming onslaught. Though the Horse People hadn't the time to mount a proper defense, they still fought valiantly and exacted a blood toll upon their enemies.

It was at the third and final village that the most blood was spilled. In a fit of vengeance the invaders had butchered what citizens of that village they might have otherwise left or taken as slaves, and then they had sallied forth to meet the opposing army upon the open field, for the Horse People were at their strongest in open terrain where the mobility of their horses gave them an even greater advantage. 

Heru led from the vanguard of his own men, and as the horsemen charged the Vetruvians took up the challenge and advanced as well. Their spears were long and sharp and their faces grim and determined, so it was only natural that their cowardly enemies faltered and chose to begin the battle with a half-hearted skirmish. Mounted archers rode chose to the ranks of Vetruvians and fired their bows, though many of the light arrows were stopped by shields or cloth armor. The Vetruvians returned fire with their atlatls, using the weapons as an artificial extension of their arms to throw javelins farther than any normal men could.

That light skirmish continued for some time, though as noon drew closer the sun's heat began to wear down upon men and horse alike. Both sides knew that they needed to make their move soon or there would be no battle, and so the barbaric Horse People took the initiative with their usual strategy of dogmatic belligerence. The cavalry put away their bows in favor of light lances, and then they charged to directly engage the enemy lines.

They had fought the Vetruvians in the oast and knew the folly of simply charging into a spearwall, so their commanders developed an ingenious strategy on the spot. A small force would make a halfhearted attempt at a direct attack upon the the rows of spearmen, while the greater part of the horde would ride out to flank them and from attacking from the side, force the Vetruvian spearmen into the Mahd. A final detachment would ride to the very back of the enemy lines to fully cut off a retreat; the Vetruvians would be pressed in from three sides. There would be nowhere to turn but to the Mahd, and that river's water would surely claim many a man that did not know how to swim.

What they had not expected was the sheer willpower of their enemy. The light contingent that attacked the spearmen head had their charge instantly broken, and with the fervor of battle in their hearts the Vetruvians advanced forward and totally repulsed the horsemen. Barbarians and the beasts that they rode were both impaled by spearhead after spearhead, pierced until they ceased moving and rivulets of their blood flowed toward the Mahd.

When the charge came from the side, it sent shocks through the ranks. It had not been unexpected, but the Vetruvians still managed to be forced back. The men at the sides were pushed back by the flank and gave ground to regroup and fill in the gaps in their spearline where men had fallen. As they did so, however, they inadvertently forced the entire mass of soldiers to shift to the side, and those on the oppsoite side were being pushed towards the river just as the Horse People had planned. Caught up in the fight as they were, those engaging the flanking force were oblivious and continued to yield ground as needed They were content with simply holding the enemy cavalry at bay and slowly whittling them down, but for the men being forced into the Mahd, it was a matter of life and death. Terrified for their lives, they had no choice but to draw their weapons and turn upon their own fellows. Using their owns spears, they forced those nearest to them to move back away from the river, and so it was now the men in the middle of the ranks that were in great peril; on one side men were desperately pushing away from the river, and on the other side the spearwall was buckling at the enemy's advance and pushing backwards as they sought to yield ground. The men in the middle had nowhere to go, and found themselves quickly being crushed from both directions.

The battle dragged on. So it was that the Horse People had their tactic work to some extent, though they tasted not the sweet fruit of the easily won victory that had been expected. Instead, they tatsed their own blood. Countless perished on both sides, but in the end it was the Vetruvians who triumphed. After sustaining great losses, the Horse People had signaled a retreat and rode back for the Golden Barrens in disgrace. 

As in for Prince Heru, there would be a parade and great feast in Vetros when he and his army returned, yet he felt no joy. Before any such celebration would happen, he was left with the task of tending to the countless fallen. As was Vetruvian custom, the bodies were burned so that they did not come back to suffer in undeath. The ashes were scattered into the Mahd so that they would flow downriver and nourish the farmlands. In that way, from death there would come new life.
 
[center]==--``~~~~``--==[/center]

From the balcony of his great home atop a hill, the King of Vetros looked down upon his city. The Mahd was just visible in the distance beyond the many homes hewed of mud brick and sandstone; sunlight reflected beautifully and scintillated like a thousand gems atop the waters of the river. A light breeze offered him some respite in the shade of his balcony, and the pomegranate that he ate tasted as fresh and succulent as the days of his youth.

[i]'It is easy to see how our ancestors thought this land blessed,'[/i] he thought as the wonder of the moment yielded once more to worry and lament. The shuffle of footsteps came from behind, and one of Akthanos' attendants came with news.

"My King," he said as he knelt and turned his head to the ground, "word has come from upriver. 'twas a great triumph; the host led by your son drove back the invading Horse People, though the victory was won at no small cost."

A small smile crept onto the king's face, and for a moment then he did not look so old. "By Zephyrion, we are blessed then. A celebration will have to be had."

The smile had faded by now and Akthanos had spoken with little joy; though that was one burden lifted from his shoulders, the mantle of leadership was still crushing in its weight. Talk of celebration reminded him only too much of how paltry the city's grain stores were, of how taxing the latest drought was, of the growing discontent and impiety of the masses, of how word abounded of a swarm of locusts come from the dead lands and Mangroves far to the south...

The Priest-King wiped some of the pomegranate's juice from his mouth and long white beard. "Now I bid you leave me to my own peace, faithful one," his words came.

"As you wish I must do, Great One," answered the servant as he sprung back to his feet and left without another breath.

Akthanos soaked in the view for a while longer, and on that lonesome balcony he contemplated his life and his world. At last, the daylight began to wane, and the Prophet turned his back upon that blissful view and entered the Great Temple of Zephyrion that was also his abode. Now, rather than returning to his own quarters to retire for the night, he knew that there was more to be done. He procured a small torch, for the temple's innermost sanctum was dark and his sudden inspiration was not enough to illuminate his path on its own.

Carrying only that light, he went descended down a long flight of stairs. This Great Temple was many things; prayers and weddings were had in the main chamber far above, and the Priest-Kings of Vetros dwelt within the second floor. Yet below it all was a dark and rarely visited wing. Down there were the catacombs that held the worldly remains of long-gone priests and kings, and the vaults that contained what remained of Primus, the old Priesthood, and their legacy. In truth, it had been many years since Akthanos had ventured into the bowels of the temple and even then it had only been for a cursory glimpse; no man alive truly knew their way through the labyrinth below the temple. Most didn't even know that it existed.

It was a dark and dusty place that Akthanos now, the somber hallways echoing with the first sound of footsteps in decades. After some time, Akthanos came across a recess that he knew to hold the tomb of his father. The thought that he would cross that spot never even entered his mind as he had walked; it had been forty years since his father's death, so long that Akthanos rarely even thought back of those days. It conjured back the memory of what his father's face had looked like, something that had been elusive for the past decade or so...but beyond that, Akthanos remembered the water gardens where he had played as a child, and how vibrant the world's colors had been when his eyes were that of a youth's. He still remembered the sunlight, even in these cold and dark tunnels, and even as he knew that his own life was nearing its end.

He knelt before the recess and spoke to his father in the uneven tone of a child. The words gushed out; he spoke of the sorrow that he had felt those forty years ago, of how he finally understood the burden of being king, and of how wrong it was that he had left his own father alone in these crypts for so many long years with nary a visit. Time passed, and a while after the last tear rolled off the old king's cheek and fell unto the cold stone floor, he rose. Unimpeded by emotion, he could now press on.

He passed another small chamber and upon a quick examination, he recognized it too. It was in there that his father's relics had been stowed away; all of his possessions save those that he had chosen to be buried with. Akthanos spotted one fine knife made of bone with the most beautiful and intricate etching upon its surface. He nearly claimed the thing as his own right there (for it was his father's, and therefore his right to inherit) but respect for the dead and the sanctity of this place stayed his hand. He set the knife back down, where it would sit and accumulate dust for untold time before ever feeling the warmth of another hand.

Walking on through the tunnels, he then found a wall covered with plaques. He held his torchlight high to illuminate the stone tablets, and then set about reading them one by one. He saw accounts of the time under his father's rule, and then some familiar stories too: one tablet described the fateful first battle between the sons of Vetros and the Horse People, another of the strange arrival of a great and powerful being called Ommok that claimed to be king of some faroff land to the north beyond the Mahd, though Akthanos had always thought that story no more than a wives-tale, for it was known that to the north there lied nothing but a terrible jungle devoid of civilization and a vast grassland ruled by the nomadic bands of Horse People.

Going further into the network of twisting tunnels, he passed the tombs of more predecessors, and there were more tablets to be read as well. Some described strange humanoids with exoskeletons, crafted by some lesser deity and then abandoned by him to wander the world on their own. Many other tablets told tales of the kingdom's early days and the various Djinni Lords of the area and how to appease them...much of this was common knowledge still passed on to this day, though Akthanos did notice minor discrepancies. It would seem that time had distorted the details. Other things were some that Akthanos had never before heard; he was left to wonder whether that was because they had been since disproved, or perhaps because such knowledge had simply been deemed unimportant and forgotten.

With great interest, Akthanos read and read...particularly intriguing were some of the eldest tablets, whose tales were of a being that was the mightiest Djinni Lord of all and who had come on many an occasion to [i]speak[/i] with those that would listen and tel them the secrets of the world. This Great Spirit of Knowledge was only called 'Viz'zer', which was strange indeed. The Vetruvians revered the mighty Djinn of the Firewind and Zephyrion's dominion and knew them all by name, and no mention of a great lord called Viz'zer was ever given nor tribute offered to him. Even the name of the djinn itself was strange; normally the lords of nature took on names that had some more literal meaning and reflected their own nature. [i]Or was it the other way around, and men named things after the great elementals?[/i]

The Priest-King mused on such things and read on. He had come in the hopes of finding some lost knowledge that might give him certainty and strength, something that might tell him what to do and be the salvation of a crumbling kingdom. Though he had found nothing of the sort, curiosity nonetheless bid him read on, for there was so much to learn and he was yet to even reach the oldest glyphs. His hope raised, for perhaps there [i]was[/i] some great secret locked away in these depths after all!

It was then that Akthanos found himself squinting to read on in the faltering light, and with alarm he looked down to see the reason: his torch had burned precariously down, and soon it would offer no more light! With all the haste and resolve that he could muster, Akthanos began to make his way back out of the tunnels. A tinge of panic touched his heart, for he struggled to find his way out and remember from where he had come. Without the flame, he knew that he would be lost, and yet the flame was fleeting...

There came a sudden draft of musty air down a long tunnel, and the torch was extinguished. In a blink of an eye, all light had vanished and now utter darkness reigned.

[hider=Summary]
Ventus managed to spread much of the world's technology to Vetros and the humans in the surrounding area. Though Ventus didn't come up with anything new and groundbreaking to offer them, the Vetruvians now know of agriculture, primitive weaponry and warfare, writing (through hieroglyphics and engraving), and have become especially adept at construction when compared to the other civilizations.

Zephyrion is not acting as his usual self, and the relationship dynamic between he and Ventus is somewhat changed. He has not made contact with the others in the Celestial citadel in a long time, and has kept to himself at the uppermost heights. He's been spending all of his time watching Galbar below in an attempt to find joy in the things that he has made.

Prince Heru and two thousand levied men are sent fourth from Vetros, now the seat of an empire, to battle with an invading force of Horse People from the Golden Barrens beyond the desert. The two forces meet upriver upon the banks of the Mahd River, and after a bloodly battle starting at dawn and lasting to mid morning, the Vetruvians are triumphant and drive back the nomadic horde.

The aging King Akthanos, the great-great-grandson of Primus, faces civil unrest, foreign invasion, drought, and hordes of vicious locusts from the deadlands in the south. Suddenly struck with inspiration, he searches through the ancient vaults of his forefathers' palace for answers and forgotten knowledge. But at last, the light of his torch dwindles and an inexplicable draft kills it flame before he can find his way out. Akthanos finds himself alone and lost within the labyrinth of dark tunnels.[/hider]
[hider=Might & Khookie Usage]
-10 Khookies for Ventus to spread various preexisting technologies in their refined forms to Vetros, giving it some love where Zephyrion was reluctant and he other gods unwilling
[/hider]