[center][h3]Broken Wings[/h3][/center]

[i]"Restless wings earn no blessings,"[/i] an old adage said, [i]"for strength must be earned, and sloth spurned."[/i]

So it was that Pasach's tribe encouraged his wandering about the great island that was their home, and naturally the youth enjoyed that freedom. Wings were a blessing that he could scarce imagine so much as existing without; though his people were settled and did not need to wander from island to island like some nomads, to traverse even their own island required flight more oft that not. The land was wild and rugged, with towering spires and sheer slopes everywhere to be seen. Those were the scars that the land bore, memories of ancient cataclysms when the chunk of stone that would become their island has splintered off from a larger chunk, or from where it had collided with other islands. So the myths of creation said.

Ah, but let us not stray far from the topic of wings: their majesty and their greatness were as shining diamonds where all other things were akin muddy riverstones. Nothing could compare, even the awesome creation of Caelum, the forging of their entire world, was surely but a trivial thing compared to what it must have been to design something so majestic as wings.

As he perched upon the precipice at the island's end and contemplated such wonders, Pasach looked downwards. It was a sight that inspired both beauty and terror: countless other islands above and below and parallel, most tiny chunks of rock but some massive, all hurting through the vast sea of nothingness. Though a dozen layers of clouds obscured the oblivion that was the fall straight down, it was known that the bottom of the world was a spherical core covered by a great and turbulent ocean. Horrific monsters dwelt in those waters and in those tempestuous parts just above, so Caelites of all tribes feared the alien world below.

[hider=He sat at the island's edge, feet dipping into the sea of nothingness][center][img]http://68.media.tumblr.com/8d9501fe8bda3cb4bc9ac3ba0ca83ba6/tumblr_ogwa4lWUMK1ue2pmyo1_1280.png[/img][/center][/hider]

There he remained upon the precipice, at peace and yet restless at the same time, for merely being in the proximity of that sheer fall was enough to deny him the pleasure of ever fully letting his guard down. He looked outwards, and witnessed a few nearby islands within sight, though they were of course little more than barren rocks. He yearned so desperately to reach out and touch them...

Yet it was dangerous to leave the island, and foolish in a way to risk one's life over something as frivolous as exploring some nearby rock. The islands themselves were adrift and as one wandered away from their masses, strong winds could blow you away and returning into the struggle of your life. Indeed, the Great Sea of nothingness was so treacherous and unpredictable that travel was done only along a few very well known routes, each one along one of the ninety-seven blessed winds. When those winds were weak or the islands were not in position, safe travel was nigh impossible and so the Caelite tribes all stayed isolated upon their own islands. Only the strongest of Caelites could undergo the training and conditioning needed to navigate the empty skies and endure long enough to travel without a blessed wind, and young Pasach was certainly not one of those.

Yet the temptation to wander off was still so great! The island was right there, a proverbial stone throw's away from where he sat, and with the ninety and seven winds so weak surely he would be fine.

He was overcome with brashness, that strange combination of bravery and foolishness. Without another thought, he leaped from the cliff and began plummeting downwards. There was panic for a split second, but then he found his wings and was in control. He made his way to the island easily enough and landed upon it laughing.

From his newfound vantage point there was even more to see; he stayed for some time as his eyes soaked up their fill, but then he at last stood and made ready to go back. It was only then, of course, that a sudden flurry came to life from the still air. Quickly it turned into a treacherous, staggering gale, so much so that Pasach's rock was sent into a tumble. Unable to keep purchase on the wildly spinning thing, he tried with all his might to fly back towards his own island. It was futile, of course. With each passing moment came another exhausted breath of his, and his home slowly faded into the distance.

For hours he fought, adrenaline fueling his agonized and exhausted wings, but now he was lost in the sky with nothing in sight. Desperation finally gave way to despair, and he began to fall. Down, and down, and yet further down he descended, trying to stay aloft with feeble flaps of his wings. The outline of something expansive came into sight, and then there was a crash, and then there was darkness.

[hr]

His eyes opened again, yet his vision was blurred. Or was it that the entire world was distorted rather than some haze covering his eyes? He tried to sit up, and then he felt it: pain, a sharp, glowering sort: agony. It throbbed through every part of his being, but it originated from one leg. Memories of his fall came back and without even looking he knew that his leg had been shattered by the fall. But he was alive. Or was this some sort of strange limbo that he suffered in death?

Pasach let out an agonized groan and made a torturous attempt at rolling over. He felt pain of a different sort as his bleeding wrists chafed against something cold, and soon enough he realized that was shackled to the ground. At once and without thinking, he wailed with more despair than he thought possible, and then he heard the scrape of footsteps upon the stone floor. If his mind was capable of logic or rational thought he might become terrified that his captor now knew that he was awake, but as it was he only had a base sense of...pleasure? Just having heard those footsteps helped alleviate his sensory deprivation and return sanity. To wallow in the darkness and observe nothing but his own pain was already maddening, and it had only been mere minutes.

The footsteps grew louder until Pasach heard the sound of a door opening, and then a blinding flood of light poured through that portal and into his cell. His eyes burned as if on fire and he closed them for a few moments, and then when he opened them once more he could suffer the pain long enough to witness what was before him.

It was merely a jailer carrying a small torch, the flame's meager light enough to blind him. In a strange accent so thick that he could hardly discern the words, that jailer called for assistance. Two others came in, and then they began to remove his shackles and carry him out of the dark cell and through a labyrinth of passages. Why they had chained him was beyond Pasach's imagination, and why had he been in some dungeon to begin with. He tried to ask but little more than a croak came out of his parched throat.

At last they left the tunnels behind and emerged onto the surface of some island. With more light he was able to squint and catch glimpses of all those around him. They were of smaller stature and had dark plumage; he knew then that this was a tribe of ravens. Their ilk was reviled, for it was said that they gorged upon the flesh of other Caelites and performed dark sorcery.

It was before one fearsome raven that he was brought and then set down. From his ceremonial robes Pasach guessed that this was one such sorcerer. He was not far from the truth, for that was indeed the high priest. He was the absolute leader of the cult of ravens that made inhabited this island, and the air of authority about him said as much.

[center][img]http://t08.deviantart.net/PRmSu_-Br78iWx9fOhTtjYZU9Vs=/fit-in/700x350/filters:fixed_height(100,100):origin()/pre13/8b9d/th/pre/f/2015/170/5/1/arakkoa_by_deceptiveshadow-d8xzkhj.png[/img]
[i]And the hungering glow in his eyes said even more, none of it good.[/i][/center]

"Summon all our brothers and sisters," the priest croaked after a pregnant pause, "for this ritual can wait no longer."

One by one they came, falling likes shadows from the air down into their places. They formed a great circle around the priest and a stone altar, with Pasach having been set down at the altar's foot. The circle was in utter silence as more and more arrived, though some attendants lit braziers nearby and began to draw strange symbols on the ground with pieces of chalky stone or paints of crushed dye.

"What is this? Where am I?" he demanded after mustering the courage.

The horde of ravens offered many different faces as reaction: many seemed angered or irritated that he had so much as opened his mouth, whilst others had mocking sneers or laughing smiles or eyes of sadistic glee. Only the odd one or two showed remorse or sympathy. A dark feeling set in on Pasach after just a moment of absorbing all those looks, but then the priest addressed him. "The sacred winds have stopped and storms curse our island, yet one gale delivered you unto our temple grounds. There is no question: mighty Xos has sent you here to be our sacrifice, and so it shall be," the priest decreed. "With your death the winds and Xos' favor may return, the curse lift, and our tribe know salvation."

There was a roar of approval and then Pasach was unceremoniously lifted. They hefted, almost [i]threw[/i] him onto the stone altar, and then began their ritual. Pasach was broken and defeated. He had not the strength to fight nor any words that could convince the zealots to spare him, so he could only wait. The ravens chanted and sang in prayer. They danced in circles and threw strange herbs and other small offerings into the braziers.

Pasach waited in paralysis for the priest to come with some knife or club to end his misery and dedicate his soul to Xos, but that did not happen. Rather, the priest had wandered away from the altar some distance to talk to some youth, a fledgling girl. Pasach spent those moments staring, wondering what those two were speaking of. The priest was weeping as he embraced her. The mystery intrigued Pasach's mind such that it somehow distracted him from his pain and his impending doom. In watching that and trying to make sense of it, he found peace.

At last, as the ritual neared and the priest returned towards the altar to finally perform the sacrifice, there was a great gale of wind. The ravens were sent staggering and the sacred flames within the braziers extinguished in one blink of an eye. Then, there was a tignled in the air, and above the circle there manifested a great figure. That being stood suspended in air, far greater in stature and both power than any Caelite who had ever lived.

Silence reigned as the entire tribe looked on with stilled breaths. After a long and tense pause, Xos descended. His feet landed upon the ground so gently and so perfectly that there was not even a sound, much less a stir in the air.

Pasach could not see much of the Lord of the Winds and all Caelum, for he stood between the altar and the priest, his back turned to Pasach as he faced the priest. The priest fell down upon his knees in terrified reverence, and the entire tribe followed suit. With a sound almost like a scoff, Xos turned to look at the altar.

[center][img]https://zeldawiki.org/images/thumb/1/1f/Zant.png/200px-Zant.png[/img]
[i]There, Xos stood in all his terrifying might; his helmet a cruel visage cast in metal[/i][/center]

With gaping eyes Pasach tried to behold the being before him, and yet he somehow felt as though his senses failed him as he was assaulted by a hundred contradictory things. Xos was both a terrifyingly huge figure that loomed over them all, and yet something about him seemed like a mockery of life, it was if he was a shell of a being. His robes seemed empty and puffed, as if there was nothing within, and yet Pasach could [i]sense[/i] that whatever form was within could hardly have its power contained; indeed, Xos had a metal mask, high boots of gleaming gold, and a flowing robe of what seemed like pure darkness save a few ornamental plates and lines that served to define his shape. No part of his being was visible, and yet his presence was suffocating. There were no hands that could be seen in the sleeves of his robe, and yet he held them all by their throats in a deathly tight grip.

There was no doubt that he was a god, and he was furious. Beyond palpable, his anger was almost [i]visible[/i] in the air itself, for it seemed to throb with barely contained rage.

[color=00FF7F]"I answer your summons,"[/color] an inhuman voice reverberated, from the air itself as much as from the Great One himself, [color=00FF7F]"and yet I see no fitting sacrifice!"[/color]

The priest tried to speak but only stammered, his feeble attempts further enraging Xos. At last, he managed, "There...upon the altar...he was sent to us by the storm! We thought it your intent-"

[color=00FF7F]"You knew well my intent and my will: it is the eldest of the fledgling girls that is to be sacrificed. Your daughter. And yet in your greed, in your naivety, in your [b]delusions,[/b] you try to justify offering me something less. This insult will not stand! You and your tribe will pay dearly for this!"[/color]

A collective wail of terror came out from the ravens, but Xos spoke over it, [color=00FF7F]"I am the Storms and the benevolent Sacred Winds, the one that guides the islands that you cling to, the Lord of Caelites. I am Caelum! So look unto me, those of you that would repent for your egregious offense."[/color]

Xos' sleeves raised up, and for a brief moment Pasach thought that he saw incorporeal hands of light reach towards the god's helmet. Some instinct seized control and he shielded his eyes and rolled to face away. Not even a moment later Xos lifted his helmet, and there was a blinding flash. All the ravens shrieked and clawed at their faces, gouging out their own eyes as if they had seen something indescribably horrible. Though he dared not turn back, Pasach could sense that Xos was utterly still for a few long moments, as if reveling in the torture that he had inflicted upon them. A few moments later the was a slash of wind that beheaded the entire tribe of ravens simultaneously, in one sickening slice. Only Pasach was spared. He felt Xos' gaze upon his back. That withering stare burnt holes thorugh his, but with all his might he shielded his eyes and continued to look away.

[color=00FF7F]"Hmmph."[/color]

Xos effortlessly manipulated the air itself. He lifted Pasach from the altar, spun him around, and whipped his arms down so that his hands could no longer shield his eyes. Pasach stubbornly forced his eyelids to remain shut as tightly as he could, but he could sense Xos' anger. With great reluctance he chose to risk opening his eyes once more and gazing upon the god, for he feared the alternative even more.

Xos' helmet was back on, and he looked just as he had upon arriving, before he had grown so wrathful...

The Great Being spoke, [color=00FF7F]"So I have utterly destroyed your tormentors and captors; the memories of them are nothing but dust upon the wind. I have no doubt that this brings great consolation and pleasure to you."[/color]

Xos released his choking grip on Pasach and returned him to the ground. From his sitting position (for his shattered leg still lacked the strength to stand) the Caelite lowered himself even more. "I offer you my eternal loyalty and worship, O Great and powerful Lord!"

[color=00FF7F]"Recognizing one's innate inferiority call hardly be called 'worship', and it earns nothing but my scorn. It is easy, nay, it is [i]nothing[/i] to praise my name. That alone will earn you a fate little better than what befell these vermin around you. No, it is only through [i]sacrifice[/i] that gratitude can truly be shown, and my favor earned. So you claim to worship me, young one? What tribute do you offer?"[/color]

"I...I do not know what I have to give..."

Xos did not respond, but his anger began to rise. Desperately Pasach tried to think of something, but it was too hard. His body was exhausted and broken, and the pain had sapped his spirit. He remained there upon the ground, choking on his own silence until Xos could stand it no longer.

[color=00FF7F]"I bring you utter salvation, and yet you offer me nothing? Not even the bodies of those that lie dead before you, nor your own blood, nor even a promise of future tribute? You disgust me!"[/color]

He lifted Pasach with and with one small tug he tore the Caelite's wings from his body. The pain transcended that of his fall or his broken legs or his shackles or even his tragic fate, for losing one's ingswas unimaginable to a Caelite. It was the most sickening and horrific form of torture known, for it brought pain beyond imagination to both one's body and one's soul. But of course, Xos had intended to inflict nothing less. With another disappointed scoff, he cast Pasach's broken body off the side of the island.

Still living, Pasach felt the god's burning gaze upon him for a few moments as he fell once more. And then the gaze was gone, for Xos had disappeared from the edge of that island as suddenly as he had appeared.

[hider=Summary]
[hider=Setting]
This story takes place on a planet called Caelum, far, far away from Galbar or Arcon. Caelum is a planet saturated with far more magic than Arcon or Galbar, as is evident by just the nature of the world. It is a planet that was shattered and then pulled back together by great magic, such that it is nothing more than a small planetoid core (covered in an ocean that is always home to raging storms) with great islands flying through the sky above at various heights. Some islands are like continents but most are much, much smaller. It is a chaotic and dangerous world, with islands sometimes colliding and great storms occasionally raging even through the upper levels of the atmosphere. 

The Caelites are the native people, and they are shattered into countless different tribes and divided into subraces. All worship a being that they call Xos, who commands the Anemoi that in turn control the winds. Xos is notoriously fickle, arbitrary, and cruel; he demands sacrifice and tribute, and repays this not with benevolence towards his faithful so much as with a begrudging tolerance. Those that fail to satisfy his demands receive no such tolerance and are inevitably given a horrific punishment.[/hider]

A youth named Pasach muses on the blessing that are his wings, and looks off the side of his island.

He knows that it is dangerous, but strays some ways off the island since the ninty seven great winds are stilled, but a sudden storm comes and he is unable to return to his home.

Pasach fights the storm with all his strength, but fails. He tumbles downwards, and only just manages to land upon an island of some size far, far below his own.

Another tribe inhabits this island, this one a dark-feathered and crueler subrace that more resemble ravens. They take Pasach's arrival as a sign that he is to be sacrificed to Xos, and so in their next prayer they offer him instead of the chieftain's daughter.

Xos answers the prayer in person and is made furious.

He kills the entire tribe, and after Pasach too angers him, he tears off the youth's wings and casts him into the oblivion below.
[/hider]