[center][h1][color=slategray][b][u]Roog[/u][/b][/color][/h1][/center]

It was like nothing they had ever seen before.

Great peaks, snow capped and jagged as the maw of some vast beast, rose high into the heavens. Their mighty sides were blanketed in a dense hide of the richest, deepest green imaginable; pine trees and conifers so vast a dozen vallamir could not encircle the trunks even with their arms outstretched. Gentle cuts bore their way through the forests, hinting at rivers and streams beneath that rushed silver and shining in the crisp air of that most far northern refuge. At the coastline where emerald met sapphire strands of brilliant pale stretched aimlessly, invitingly, and with a promise of rest and bounty. It was truly a sight beyond imagining.

The chosen of Roog stood with gazes thrown across the horizon as, one by one, more reached the edifice of rock and stone that served as the plinth from which they could admire the beauty of nature set free. Some awoke with jovial laughter, others cried tears of joy, but most were silent; this was the homeland Great-Wolf had so promised them, before them now in all its splendor and majesty. 

The presence of that great and powerful wolf, so black that the light of the world seemed to pool into his hide and disappear forever, enveloped them. Roog strode up between them, those warrior Cenekyn and the numerous tribesmen that had reached the summit as the migration continued below. His pelt licked at the rich air, flickering calmly in the wind as tongues of black fur bit at the fuel all around him. His eyes, bronze of cast and steely in their determination, surveyed the world before him; it had been long since he had set his eyes on this place and the trees had grown ever still. Beautiful.

“Great-Wolf,” came a feminine voice choked by a warrior spirit, “It is as you said; your words did not do it justice, Great-Wolf.”

Roog’s gaze did not falter, instead following the contours of the landscape with a deep and unrequited love. He knew exactly what she meant as they all peered over the edge of the world, his own memories having deceived him; it was even more beautiful than he remembered. Around him there were expressions of agreement, the sounds of hands clapping together or striking backs in excitement. Roog basked in it all as lizards basked in sunlight, bathing himself in the beauty of the viridian north. Each of his senses were awash with a symphony of pleasures, a reminder to that lupine heritage held deep within his heart that this was exactly where he belonged.

“Look!”

The cry gained the attention of all around and even Roog, lost in a trance, was pulled from his dreaming. Aesc, Cenekyn and closest companion to Emla, stood with his hand thrust forward and his index finger locked on a point far in the distance. Roog’s gaze followed his to see great clouds of steam billowing from creatures in the waves, whales so large Roog could think of only one creature larger. On the shores scattered an inumerable herd of elk, their otherworldly songs filling the air. The Valla smiled and cheers were given, the promise of plenty replete before them even as they gazed down at the world from the heavens. 

“You gift us with such bounty, Great-Wolf, to offer us such a home,” came the voice of Emla, her eyes turning from the beautiful sight to that of the lupine deity at her side, “Our children’s children and forevermore will live by your kindness.”

Roog considered her words carefully as the Vallamir around him began to descend back down the mountainside, the migrating tribes visible along the slopes as thousands of the Valla moved through the valleys and crags that surrounded the great mountain that stood imposingly over their new homeland. At last he stood and followed them down the hill, his mind wandering all the while.
[hr]
Within a month camps had been raised throughout the rich valleys that stretched out beneath the shadow of the great mountain. Its name had rippled like a wildfire through the numerous camps and bivouacs that now dotted the landscape, visible either by their placement or the plumes of smoke that climbed into the sky from their campfires. The imposing, snow-capped peak had been named Dun Haen and though the original source of the name was now long lost through the tribes the name had stuck. It soon became common for each new brook and glen to be named, so ferocious were the appetites of the Valla to follow in the footsteps of their kinsmen. Afterall, had not the Man-Father of their kind urged them to speak their own names? Surely, then, they should name the lands that would be theirs.

Roog had watched with fascination as their dwellings rapidly increased in number. They were simple things, using the natural world around them more than their own considerable ingenuity. The immense fallen trees that dotted the landscape were carved into, numerous hovels chopped out with adzes and other chopping tools. Caves were lit and occupied, leaves laid as beds and fires kept burning for warmth. Some even built simple tents, draping hides over stacked branches as they had during the journey to the north. Their homes were chaotic and unique, each a reflection of their maker, and the camps were ever more numerous as the final edges of the migration reached the roots of Dun Haen and settled beneath its protective embrace. 

Roog’s mind wandered ever since he had first looked across the valleys, slopes, and shores of the Valla’s new homeland. He had watched with ever growing anxiety at the race he had helped create and the lives that they would live and lose. Even so fresh upon Kalgrun they had formed families, tribes and communities; for them there was a future blossoming with hope and purpose. For the demigod of Demise, this was an all too poignant reminder of who and what he was. Roog was faced with the oppressive thoughts of his immortality, the unnaturalness of his life without end, and the awareness of a future without steady purpose.

Atop the jagged hills, dusted with the gentle frost of the crisp air of the night before, sat Roog. A tree of monumental proportions had set claim to the wind-beaten hillock, its roots digging deep and running far. The tremendous trunk climbed into the heavens from a foundation of fingers, branches spreading out wide high above the rocky ground. Its hide, bark as thick as a man’s arm, shone the color of sienna and rust. Beneath its thick boughs and shaded canopy, Roog watched and waited. He had been there since the work had set out, unable or perhaps unwilling to assist with the construction of hearths and homes. He was a creature of nature, of forests and of hills; where could such a thing belong in this endeavor?

Roog’s eyes shut as his whispered thoughts came back to draw him into the realm of imagination and dream. Contemplation took the Wolf God and his mind fell away, to thoughts of his life and accomplishments and his deeds to come. The gentle bite of the wind, the rustle of leaves and grass, the sound of birds in the heavens and of insects below; a symphony, a melody, and a dirge to the young wolf’s ears. [i]Perhaps[/i], the words flowed in Roog’s mind, [i]this was all as it should be?[/i] The thoughts poured from the deepest recesses of Roog’s imagination, offering an answer to his innumerable questions and doubts. Perhaps this was all Roog had needed to do, that his path was at an end? What passed for a heart in the beast, a simple facsimile of flesh and flame, seemed to beat with purpose as black blood flowed through his veins. 

Immolation, exhulation, and freedom sprung to the forefront of his mind. Roog’s eyes opened, serenely now, as he surveyed the landscape before him. Who could ask for a more perfect setting, for a last sight for which to come to an end? A flower, carried by the wind, gently flowed through the air past Roog’s vision and off into the distance, hugging the curves of the hill as it sailed down the slop before dropping out of view. Roog’s eyes widened and revelation dawned on the Great Wolf.

[color=slategray]“The choice is mine.”[/color]

Roog’s eyes closed as he thought inwardly, feeling distinctly ever muscle, every sinew, and every tongue of flame. His body was bared for himself as his senses dove deep into his own form. The beating heart at his chest, unneeded for his life and but a pale image of the hearts that beat in the bodies of every creature, vast or small. It began to slow, the beats thumping as drums in his mind, a siren song welcoming home. The meat of that old, great wolf that gave his flesh to Roog showed its age, weakened every second the beat slowed. All the while the fires grew, began to consume. Pain hit Roog but he pressed on, letting the fires of his form consume himself. His eyes opened one last time, to be graced by that perfect vision, before the tinder caught and erupted in black, lightless flames. In that very last moment, Roog felt at peace.

High atop the hill, visible from camps dotting the valley, Great-Wolf set ablaze before collapsing to smoldering ash and sputtering flame.
[hr]

In the end, there was darkness.

In all directions that deep and all encompassing oblivion stretched, invulnerable to perception and uncaring of time.

This void, so utterly thorough in its oppressive emptiness, reached on forever without end.

It was so very wrong.

Red.

There was suddenly red, a blood drop rent from a wound in the darkness; a pin prick that bore crimson fruit. The droplet ran and flowed, leaving a line behind it that reached out into the long stretches of oblivion. From the ruby-cinnabar vein the darkness recoils. 

Like flames the red spreads, coursing down into the darkness, and at last it is revealed to be hair; fiery, carmine hair. 

In spools it began to collapse, as a bun released and flowing freely at last. The tower of hair reached from above down as far as perception would allow, a river of flame in this invalid oblivion.

A figure fell from the wound, riding the tide of that was crimson locks, roaring flames, and flowing blood all at once. Skin pale as snow and baring that carmine mane.

The hair was hers.

A face, her face, was surrounded in crimson, framed by the flames as her eyes opened and stared, calmly, into the darkness. Her mouth opened and whispers flowed forth, beyond understanding.

A flurry of images, of acts and deeds; her deeds, numerous and odd. She was conflict, she was passion, she was flame.

An image of a place so far away as the beggar imagination filled the space, noise accompanying it. A hound, huge, flanked the woman as she sat; where she was, it could not be surmised.

The sanguine drop plopped into reality below her, spreading out, widening, growing and deepening. It was a lake where bubbles flowed down, into a threshold that led right back to the woman and her hound.

From her minds eye flowed white, her eyes closed but her true eye open; that purifying light that battled the darkness. 

Suddenly, there was light.

Serenity and harmony; tranquility and peace. Through efforts of conflict, of passion, and of flame were these won. The darkness, oppressive and wrong, receded. 

Now there was only light.

The woman faded, her hound and her lake already gone. Her voice poured forth from her mind, strange and melodious all in one.


[center][color=darkorange][i]BEAR OVER RED WATER[/i][/color]

[color=darkorange][i]I AM[/i][/color]

[color=darkorange][i]𝔖   𝔢   𝔦   𝔥   𝔡   𝔥   𝔞   𝔯   𝔞[/i][/color][/center]

[hr]

Roog woke, his eyes opening wide and bloodshot. His chest heaved with new breaths as he was drawn from Death’s door. His breaths were labored, his heart pounding, and his skull aching. Slowly his lungs began to slow, his heart began to calm, and the pain in his skull subsided. Viridian, ivory, and sapphire sought shapes revealing trees and clouds and skies. 

Roog sat up, his muscles raging at the change, and his stomach lurched at the sensations. The world around him, now showing in its beautiful light, seemed to watch with anticipation. The taste of blood filled Roog’s mouth, catching his attention; his blood, black and glistening. 

Thoughts began to wander, to what had happened, to his promised end; the feeling of ash beneath his skin, no doubt his own, drew his gaze downward.

The wolf-that-was started, for it was not black fur and paws that were below him.

Legs, that of a Vallamir but with skin of pale grey, sat crosslegged before his eyes. His gaze did not wander, locked on feet and calves, and thighs. Slowly his hands raised into view, revealing fingers marked not with claws but blackened, pointed nails. Heart racing, Roog let his hands wander to his face and felt nothing of his wolfen form. A nose, short and squat, hugged his face with lips below. Canines thrust out as before, smaller than a wolf, but evident nonetheless. His forefinger slid into his mouth, feeling jagged teeth become flat at the back. A mouth that was not his. The other hand wandered, feeling hair where once there was flame. As it fell before his eyes it was black, just as his hide, but did not flicker and burn. 

The once-wolf forced himself to calm, to consider what he had seen; a vision had come to him in his death, a sign that his end was not as it should be. The oblivion he had first found was wrong, destructive and oppressive in its nature. It was an erroneous end, fallacious and unfounded; it was not the end he had sought nor the one he knew awaited him.

The woman! The red, the hair, the flame! 

He poured over the memories, seemingly fading yet so sharply detailed; his death had revealed much to him and that darkness, the enemy of the serene oblivion he so sought, seemed to battle with him over those thoughts that so threatened its reign. Roog contemplated, remembered hound and lake. What did it all mean? And the woman, what did she say?

[color=slategray]”Seihdhara . . . Bear over Red Water . . . Who are you . . .”[/color]

Roog breathed deep, hearing the air rush into his nostrils and fill his lungs. A more flesh and blood body than before, different in the extreme. His eyes opened once more, surveying his surroundings. These hills were still so young, had so much more before them.

[color=slategray][i]As do I.[/i][/color]

The thought washed over him as an avalanche, the sensations of icey waters awakening him to the truth. Of course he hadn’t seen true oblivion, it was no wonder he had been thrust from the end! His life had so much more before him, so much more to do, and this Seihdhara, whoever she was, had known the same. She had embraced oblivion, the true and serene end, in her own time; she had taken the righteous path, one of embracing nature rather than forcing to herself an end. That dark abyss, the false end, invalid in all its forms was to opposed, not rewarded. It had to be defeated, or at least ignored, so that the serene peace deserved by all living creatures could truly be embraced.

Roog stood on shakey legs, limbs he had not once stood upon. He stood in his nakedness, skin grey and daubed with ash from his own end, and looked onto the valley that was before him. Down the hillside he stepped, one foot carefully after the other, before speed took him and his strides became leaps and bounds. Flames roared in his chest, a reminder of what he was, of the freedom he had now found in his first demise. The wolf, of flame and flesh, roared in his heart reminding him of his true self; he could return to it, simply allow it to consume his form as his new form had done to it. Reincarnation, a life born anew. Roog smiled broadly, jagged teeth pearly white and in stark contrast to his grey skin. 

As he reached the bottom of the hill, as valley stretched from slope and stream flowed calmly in its babbling way, Roog was met by men and women. They stared with wide eyes, mouths agape and empty breath. The crowd was large, surprisingly numerous for any day. A woman, one Roog immediately recognized as Emla, stepped forward with her eyes filled with tears.

“G-Great-Wolf? Is that you?”

Roog looked on at astonishment and confusion, surprise tinging his features with no attempt made to hide his thoughts. Realization dawned as he saw baubles and objects in their hands, the Wolf-in-Heart putting together the reason for their gathering. In his selfishness, his desire for an end, he had left them. They had watched as their protector, their guardian, their creator had set ablaze. Grief had taken them, as it had him for each life he had found snuffed out before he could reach them on the great migration to the North. His features hardened, his visage pulling inwards and his lips tightened with displeasure and disdain; how truly cruel he had been, selfish beyond reason. Where his voice faltered a nod would suffice, Roog acknowledging her question and offering positive response.

The crowd dropped in an instant, whispered prayers going out over the host as they bowed in unison. Roog watched as gifts were held close, what were to be his grave-goods in the great beyond. They were meager things, arrowheads and eating bowls, but great treasures fit for a king in their young eyes. Even in this time of great grief and sorrow, these people offered their heart ten fold what he could possibly imagine. For this, Roog was ashamed. His gaze turned back to the hill, to the thoughts of his first demise, and the site of his vision. His blood began to boil, to thoughts of the Red-Woman, and determination burned bright in his eyes. He turned, stepping close to Emla and lifting her to her feet.

[color=slategray]“Rise, all of you, I implore you; do not offer me praise. I am undeserving of it.”[/color]

The crowd rose to their knees, some even standing, but most looked on with a reverence born of awe. Emla, who stood after some physical prompting, stared at the now Valla figure of Great-Wolf with tears still holding at the edges of her eyes.

“But how, Great-Wolf? You died beneath the Reodweir. We all saw the flames of your end.”

[color=slategray]”I was mistaken, Emla, for I sought an end I did not deserve; I found darkness, the invalid end. I am reborn with a vision of purpose. The end I so sought was not true oblivion but a falsehood that entraps the minds of those who wish only for peace. I have seen a woman, whom must be found; she did battle with this end, embraced harmony. I must find her.”[/color]

“And where shall we find this woman, Great-Wolf?” came the voice of Aesc, now standing beside Emla with a defiant and warrior cast burning across his visage, “We are with you, Great-Wolf, till the end.”

Roog considered the man’s offer and watched as each man, woman, and child among the gathered throng rose; among their ranks were Cenekyn and ordinary Valla, all having arrived to pay homage to their fallen god. His chosen, bedecked in the armor he had helped them wrought, and armed with obsidian spears that shone in the light of the midday, stood rivaled in determination alongside their no-less valiant comrades, unbound to the Wolf God by oath but just as filled with reverence and glorious intentions as those so armed by the Wolf himself. They were all beside him now, unwavering in their faith in this new path he had so quickly set before them, and Roog was humbled by it all.

[color=slategray]“I do not know,”[/color] Roog conceded, his shoulders only slightly slumping before rising again. His hair, before simply jet black strands, seemed to flow together into flames that rose into a raging mane of passion and purpose. [color=slategray]”But I know this. This Seihdhara, Bear-Over-Red-Water, has found the truth. Her life was of conflict, passion, and flame; she fought the false end to a standstill and embraced peace in her life. This I must do, to walk in her footsteps.”[/color]

Roog raised a hand to the heavens, directed up at the hills of his end and the tree that shadowed his demise. A smile broke his lips, jagged and toothy yet beautifully pale and pure. His bronze eyes seemed alight, as fiery as his dreams.

[color=slategray]”With my own two hands I will build there. A place for all to follow in the Red-Woman’s path. A monastery for the Cenekyn and all others who will seek to do battle with that false end and welcome true harmony into their hearts. I will find the Red-Woman and I will learn from her oblivion the truth of mine own; her own actions will light a fire for generations. This oath I swear.”[/color]

The naked man that was a wolf ascended the hills, a crowd following behind him at a distance born from veneration. With his own two hands, as the wolf-man swore, Roog set to task. His fingers dug deep into the heart of the mountain, dragging forth bricks and great slabs. One by one the walls arose, power surging through Roog’s form that seemed to alight an aura around him of flame. Minutes turned to hours and hours turned to days, the ever growing throng observing in silent worship the trials of their God. Trees were felled by hands alone, great boulders pulled from the mountainside and howled into shape. Not once did the man, bare in the icey breeze, tire or slow. That grey skinned Valla, Wolf-in-Heart, worked through night and day. The very power of his divinity flowed from him into every stone and timber, leaving an aura of flame in them all. 

Thirty three days passed, night and day flowing like water, and the crowd did not relent. Entire villages moved, small hovels and settlements growing around the hill and the vast lake and many rivers beneath its sight. At the base of the hill a pile began to grow, of gifts carved of wood, of bone, and of stone. Daring would overcome some, crawling up the slope to place their offerings ever closer, hoping to garner some of the divinity of their beloved God and his trials into their little gifts. 

On the eve of the thirty fourth day, as sun threatened to rise, the great monastery in the hills seemed to roar to life. Warmth exuded from the monastery, a promise of hope and deeds to come. Roog, the naked and grey God that had died and returned, stepped forth from the great gates of his monastery with swelling pride. Not at his works, despite the loving care that he had devoted to each and every stone and timber laid into its creation. Instead, his pride was for the people he had sired; before his eyes whole villages had arisen, numerous and dotting the landscape hugging his hillside. At the foot of the hill, unwavering in their devotion, stood the hundreds of Cenekyn sworn to uphold their oaths of protection to their people.

Here he would teach them, for this would be their home, and would learn from them as he had today. They would be his equal partners in this endeavor, seeking the Red-Woman and the enlightenment she had found. A name had come to him when the very final stone had been placed, the lintel of the great gate now holding vast doors of carmine wood. This monastery, which would house generations of Valla on their pursuit of enlightenment, would be his crowning achievement with his new form; proof, evident in its beauty and grace, of the righteousness of his path. It would be Yn-’e-Kynweir-Alwyld, Where-Heavens-And-Nature-Meet.

With that the Wolf-in-Heart stepped forth from the gateway, standing before all to see, and let fire embrace him once more. As black flames consumed his mortal form the howl of the divine wolf filled the air and out strode from the inferno the lupine god of the harmonious end.

[hider=Summary]
The great migration comes to an end as the Valla reach their destination, spurred on by Roog and protected by the Holy Order of the Cenekyn. 

The North East of Kalgrun is settled by the Valla devoted to Roog and communities are formed all cross the thrust of land on the north eastern side of the continent.

As the Valla continue their work establishing villages and homes in this new wilderness promised to them, Roog is faced with a realization of his own existence. The ever pressing desire for a true life and, perhaps more importantly, a true end closes in.

Emboldened by his feelings of success and an assumed completion of his purpose on Kalgrun, Roog commits suicide by allowing the divine flames that make up half of himself to consume the other. Beneath the great tree, now known to the Valla as the Reodweir, Roog meets his own demise.

Roog is thrown into a hallucinatory state, a vision of a demise and accompanying oblivion that does not match the one of his dreams. It is a dark place, oppressive in its emptiness rather than peaceful in the freedom of oblivion.

Roog is struck by a vision of a woman, the color red, and of fire that drives him further into his hallucination. The woman reveals herself with two identifiers to the Wolf God; Bear Over Red Water, and Seihdhara.

Roog awakens in a new, Vallamir shaped form. Contemplating his vision, Roog realizes the mistake of his divine suicide and the purpose that still lies before him. Inspired, Roog makes his way down to his people.

The Valla, brought to grief by the perceived death of the creator, had prepared to perform a burial ritual; instead, they find their god now in Valla form and completely naked. 

Roog realizes the unintentional selfishness and cruelty of his actions, of simply ending his life, and rebukes himself for the actions. Realizing that to achieve enlightenment he must strive to do battle against this false end, both spiritually and potentially physically, Roog seeks to follow in the footsteps of this Red Woman.

Roog, offering a path of determined enlightenment to the Valla and his Cenekyn, swears an oath to construct a monastery by hand from which to plan his efforts and lead all those who desire it onto the path of enlightenment. 

After thirty three days Roog finished the construction of his monastery, named by Roog in the Valla tongue as Yn-’e-Kynweir-Alwyld, Where Heavens And Nature Meet. Roog then sets alight his Valla form, revealing his new found capabilities to veer between his mortal and divine forms.
[/hider]

[hider=MP Expenditures]
Starting:
6MP, 4FP

Expenditures:
3FP on the creation of the Monument called Yn-’e-Kynweir-Alwyld, Where Heavens and Nature Meet. This Monastery is constructed for the Cenekyn as a training ground and stronghold, to attain enlightenment through discipline and trained skill and to serve as a post from which to sally forth to defend the Valla. (Martial Combat Portfolio)

1MP on Roog’s demise and reincarnation into a Vallamir, semi-mortal form. (Reincarnation Portfolio)

2MP on Roog’s ability to allow his body to consume itself and rapidly reincarnate between forms. (Reincarnation Portfolio)

Ending:
3MP, 1FP
[/hider]