[center][h1][color=Maroon][b][u]The Birth Of A God[/u][/b][/color][/h1][/center] [hr] Nothing. It was the nothing before the nothing, before it had a name. There was no consciousness. There was hardly even a potential for consciousness. The very universe had no shape, no breath. Every particle that collided and atom that fused existed in a state like that of the unborn. Nothing could remember, because there was nothing to remember. Then came the cascade. Lifeblood bubbled forth, and from its frothy genesis, an array of fantastical celestial beings. And from those beings came life. Small, painfully delicate life, which could be snuffed so easily. Only through trial and error did these boundless beings come to value it, and sculpt it, and protect it. The first life had been a trial, one that failed. The life that came after that, for the most part, grew stronger and moved on. But that first life, the small furry thing that had been held in Gibbou’s hands, remained. Not the soul that had sprung it to motion nor the breaths that it drew, those were both long gone, having been spirited away by another Higher Being. What was left, however, was a stain. A ghost of a thought that had never been thought, for the brain had no ability to think it. It was an emotion that was like the imprint of hand, traced with ink on a wet paper, many miles thick: This wasn’t fair. So the Lifeblood had taken this thought that wasn’t a thought into itself and there it was planted, a single impression that was smaller than a seed. But seeds can grow, and things without thought can continue to feel. A bird, torn to bits. A hunter, starving to death, surrounded by food of the wrong kind. A weak fawn, destroyed by a rising mountain thrust by the most powerful of beings. A million voices crying out into the world, their only thought besides pain before silence: This wasn’t fair. And so that seed grew. And the Lifeblood felt it. Sometimes it would act because of the seed, sometimes the seed was drowned out by other voices. Sometimes the mother was killed to feed the child. Sometimes the young and glorious would die to save the old and wicked. The more minds there were, the more hearts that beat, the more there were to feel it: This wasn’t fair. An ape shunned for her ugliness. A human revered for her beauty. Little lives of unbelievable ease. Destitution as the light left because of the mistakes of those in power. A new god, doomed to curse others instead of to create. Tragedy wielded like virtue. When no evil was noticed and no good deed went unpunished, the thought grew and writhed. It smoldered and exploded, like blood pounding in the ears and pouring out the eyes: [color=Maroon]This was not fair.[/color] The Lifeblood buckled and shook. It fought back, pushing down the swelling powers, trying to stay whole. [color=Maroon]This was not fair.[/color] A race born in darkness. The weight of the sandblasted deserts pushing down upon them. [color=Maroon]This was not fair![/color] Ten thousand hands, stretching from the darkness, reaching to the sun and clamoring forward to escape and experience her light. [color=Maroon]This was not fair and it can be changed. I can change it.[/color] The Lifeblood exploded. A beam of energy and consciousness shot through the spaces between worlds, quickly followed by another. They had to exist. They had worked too hard to tear themselves away to remain shapeless. [color=Maroon]I will change it![/color] The first, and stronger of the beams, touched down in the Blood Basin, pulled by something it could not yet define. It coalesced into a ball of divinity, invisible to the indifferent cacti and scurrying reptilian life around it. In its haste, it had leapt unprepared from the Lifeblood, and now struggled to find a shape. Should it mirror the Gila monster that peered curiously at it from beneath a crag? Or maybe grow thorns and waxy green skin? It wasn’t sure. Oraelia’s harsh presence in the sandy wastes battered at its ability to properly think, making it sluggish and confused. Even when the transparent ball of power limped and rolled to one of many caves, the hot air from the baking sand continued to swoop in, leaving it less and less coherent. Another beam touched down, this one more bouncy and exuberant but no better defined. It went to soar across the desert plane, searching for the sapience that might further coalesce it, but a single non-verbal grumble from the elder godling drew it back to the caves, waiting for night. And night did come. With it, the cold-blooded creatures that basked all day went into hiding. The plants retracted into themselves. The Mananuki returned home, soaring above the still, invisible divines, fleeing the plunging temperatures out in the dunes. And as Gibbou began to peek over the dusty horizon, the first power began to remember. A little less shapeless, it took to the sky, unfurling wings that embraced the cold and crisp air. Not wanting to be left behind, the other godling flew as well, though this time it did so with feet designed for travel of all kinds. Above the cool sand and stone they prowled, divine senses searching for something that drew them. And on the last hour, moments before the sun would rise and they would retreat once more, it found what it had been looking for, and circled like vultures. [hr] Akule’s heart twisted in despair as he stared up at the spot where the faces of his tribe had disappeared, many hours ago. At first, he had thought they were off to find yucca strands to twist into a rope to hoist him up. He had busied himself with building little sand sculptures along the base of the gulch’s wall, testing his injured ankle every few minutes to no avail. But when the sun set, and the chill wracked the land, he began to grow uneasy. A rope didn’t take that long to make, and he hadn’t heard the sounds of their returning footsteps echoing around the jagged tear in the earth that had him trapped. Even in perfect health, it would’ve been a difficult climb, with outcroppings that turned a 90° wall into a 120° one, and excessively sharp shale protrusions that cut into his hands and left him sore and bleeding. The third time he had tried, he had fallen hard, sending bolts of agony through his already damaged ankle. If they weren’t coming back for him, he would die here. And given that the hunting party had been comprised of the slightly older men that mocked him for his recklessness and whimsy, it really didn’t seem like they’d return. He whimpered, and the gulch whimpered back. He was utterly alone. Then, a presence, right behind him, practically breathing down his neck. The feathers on top of his head stood on edge, and he prepared to be eaten by some awful lizard. Akule whirled around, as fast as he dared with his foot the way it was, but there was nothing. He stared right through the feeling, looking at the sunset-colored stone turned black and eerie by the moonlight. The presence pulsed again, and this time, he heard something, something that send his heart plummeting down into his stomach and lines of pain dancing around his ankle [color=Maroon]“Why do you sit here?”[/color] Akule gulped. The elders always said the gods were watching, but he never truly believed them. Their minds were addled from being out in the sun too long. But this? This felt too insistent to be a symptom of dying in a pit. This was real. He wet his dry, cracked lips with a dry, cracked tongue and spoke as loud as he dared. “I sit here because I am trapped. The scale is too difficult, and I am injured.” The response was derisive.[color=Maroon] “Is your kind not built for climbing?”[/color] Fear left Akule, replaced with indignation. “I tried, okay! It’s too hard! I’m too tired, I’m too thirsty and hungry, and my ankle hurts too much. Even if I try to hop along to a less difficult wall, it’s impossible, because all the walls are impossible!” He sniffled, shuffling around in the dirt to make his point. “I’m going to die here.” With a feeling akin to being slapped by a hard gust of wind, the being shook him.[color=Maroon] “Get up. If you really want to escape, then you will climb. You have no other choice.”[/color] “I can’t,” Akule insisted, “I just can’t.” [color=Maroon]“No, you just won’t.”[/color] It shoved him at the cliff face again, refusing to take no for an answer. Anger bubbles within Akule. “Who do you think you are, telling me what I can and can’t do! I already said, it’s impossible. I already tried, and I already failed. It’s no use.” [color=Maroon]“I suppose you’re right. Maybe you can’t do it. If you could have, you would have already.”[/color] The voice sneered as heavy impressions appeared in the rock and grit as the invisible god walked away and leaving Akule by himself. “You’re a God, aren’t you?!” Akule screamed, tears beginning to form on his face, “So help me out a little! You could whisk me up in an instant!” [color=Maroon]“I am not that kind of god.”[/color] “Then maybe you’re no god at all!” Akule was on his feet now, limping after the footprints of the invisible one, which were already being blurred by the canyon winds, “You’re just a bastard! You probably aren’t even real, a trick in my head caused by dehydration!” The voice did not respond. Akule let out a scream in anger which echoed through the canyons and slammed his fist against the canyon wall, cracking the stone and breaking his skin. He began to sob the tearless sobs of an Alminaki, the mournful keens lamenting his own death being the only sound in the canyon. When he finally opened his eyes, all the sorrow spent, the footprints that he had been following were gone and he was truly alone again. He turned his face up to the sky, wanting to get a few last glimpses of the stars before his death. Then he noticed something. The canyon wasn’t nearly as steep here. Sure, it was still an impossible climb, but it was rather straight. Akule sighed. If he had both his ankles, he may have been able to climb it. Another cruel twist of fate. He ran his hand against the rough wall until it caught into something. The place where he had punched. It had cracked violently, the soft stone puckered outwards around a new indent. Akule frowned. He dug out the sandstone around the patch, clearing away the loose rock. Soon he was able to hook his entire hand into the crevice he made. It might even fit a foot. Akule lifted up his good leg, wobbling in pain as he had to support himself on the broken ankle, and placed it in the hold. He leapt up, just barely catching a natural crevice with his off-hand. He was holding himself off the ground. Akule’s rage boiled. That bastard of a god had abandoned him. A figment of his own imagination had thought him as useless as all the other men in the hunting party. How dare they! It wasn’t fair! He never chose to be smaller or weaker! He never chose to fall into this pit! Akule growled and let loose another punch of rage into the wall. Rock and blood splattered everywhere, but he felt nothing. He tore the loose stone away once again and when he punched again, another foothold. He hopped up to the next rung he had made. He punched again. He hopped again. Then punched again. He gouged at the wall and tore away the stone until his hand was a bloody stump, the fingertips frayed and shattered— one of the square nails had fragmented into many splinters that had been driven into the flesh, and two more had merely fallen off. So he switched hands. He tore up the side of the canyon, clawing ever higher. A piece of stone exploded beneath his fist and lodged itself deep into his eye. Blood wheeled outwards, gushing down his face and staining his chest as the slush that remained of his eye oozed down his cheek and splashed with a squelch onto his thigh. He stopped moving so slow, stopped clearing out the stone and began kicking the wall to go faster. Sharp shards of sandstone speared into his palms and the sole of his good foot, all while his second leg dangled uselessly below him. The blood soon blinded the man, hiding the world in a sea of red, but he kept on going. A deep rage flamed within him. This was not fair. This was not fair. He would not die here! He Would Not Die! Suddenly, a punch connected with thin air, the mangled stumps of fingers touching nothing until they carried the man’s body forward and plunged into loose gravel and sand. In a haze, the man threw himself up and over the lip of the canyon wall and flopped spread-eagle onto solid ground once again, panting in pain and exhaustion. Finally safe and looking up at the endless blue sky though one eye, the man became Akule again. He felt that familiar presence again but did not react, too spent to even groan. It could’ve gloated, could’ve laughed at the way he had destroyed his body, but did no such thing. [color=Maroon]“Hard work requires sacrifice. But I think you will find it was worth it.”[/color] Akule spat up blood. “I’m destroyed,” he wheezed. “Infection and blood loss will claim me before I can crawl home. That, or heatstroke will. Look— the sun is already rising.” [color=Maroon]“Or maybe they won’t, and maybe you’ll live. If you have the drive, you will make it so.”[/color] Akule felt a cool breeze wash over his mangled body, like the soft touch of a lover or the comforting arms of a mother. Suddenly, he could see again. His matted hair and feathers were no longer drenched in blood. His fingers no longer stung. He looked down at his misshapen palms; the fingertips were still gnarled, the nails still missing. But they too had healed, flawlessly. He touched his face. The puckered hole where his eye had been had lost its swelling and seemed to be sewn shut. His lips even felt moist and full, unlike the parched sand they had been before. [color=Maroon]“For every ounce of blood you have lost here, an ounce stronger you shall be. That is my gift to you, and all like you. Now what will you do?”[/color] “I will go home.” [color=Maroon]“And what will you do to those who abandoned you?”[/color] He cracked his new knuckles. “I will make them pay.” [color=Maroon]“You could do that, if you want,”[/color] laughed the voice as Akule felt strong arms lift him to his feet, [color=Maroon]“Or perhaps you could do something else. Whichever you want. Now go, and exert your will upon these lands.”[/color] Akule looked up with his one good eye, bracing himself against the strangers arms, and locked eyes with him. In any other state of mind, he would’ve been terrified. The god was beautiful, in a horrible way. He was the cliff face Akule had just labored up, his skin the red of newly shed blood. He was the light leaving the eyes of a hated enemy, with his own being an otherworldly black, barely touched by a splash of deep purple. Unknown symbols danced in silvery arrays across the tapestry of his skin, shying away from the reptilian hands and feet bearing the same charcoal shades as a dying fire. His tufted hair poofed out in all directions, a crown of russet that caught the rising sun. When he spoke, Akule could see a mouth full of needle-like teeth, the terrible gatekeepers to the dark abyss of a throat behind them. [color=Maroon]“You will spread your tale of a brush with death and a brush with the gods. Some will call you a liar. Others will follow you to the ends of the earth, and beyond. Whatever you do with this power is yours. But above all, you will make sure they know the name of the one who saved you.”[/color] “You?” [color=Maroon]“No, you. And my name, they will come to call Fe’ris.”[/color] The ghastly god vanished, and Akule returned to his tribe. [hider=Summary] Starting from the very first life, the bat that Gibbou made, a single thought was impressed on the universe: this was not fair. As time went on, as more life grew, more things were able to feel this thought with more capability to understand it. Soon, with the advent of intelligent life who could feel it so strongly and realized they could do something about it, the Lifeblood broke, releasing the god that would be Fe’ris and another, weaker, energy that followed it. Cut to a young Alminaki named Akule who has fallen into a very steep canyon in the Blood Basin and been left behind by his hunting party. He has hurt his ankle and given up on ever making it out alive when a voice asks him why he is just laying there. After explaining it is because he is doomed, the voice tries to get him to try climbing again but Akule knows it is impossible. He realizes it is a god he is talking to and asks for the god to just save him, but the god refuses, instead proclaiming him to Akule to be hopeless and not worth saving. Akule sees footprints of the invisible god walking away and gets incredibly angry at the god, limping after it until he breaks down crying. When he comes back to himself, he finds that the god had led him to an easier, but still challenging, part of the cliff and that he can crack the stone by punching it to make handholds. Infuriated at both the god and the hunting party for leaving him behind, he begins to climb the cliff face by punching the stone to make rungs to climb, mangling his body in the process. His palms and feet are torn to shreds, many of his fingernails are shorn off or shattered, and a shard of rock gouges out his eye, but he pushes through in a blind rage and finds himself exhausted at the top of the canyon, on the verge of death. The god compliments his efforts, but Akule says its all in vain, because even though he reached the top, he will still die. The god laughs, saying “Each ounce of blood you lost is an ounce of strength you gained” and lifts him to his feet, closing all his wounds but leaving the scars. Akule opens his one good eye and sees the terrifying yet beautiful visage of Fe’ris who charges Akule with going back to his home and spreading the word of the person who saved him. When Akule asks for Fe’ris’s name so he knows who to thank Fe’ris smiles and corrects him. It was Akule who saved Akule. Fe’ris goes back to being invisible and then Akule returns to his tribe. [/hider] [hider=MP breakdown] Fe’ris: 4 MP/5DP -0, healing Akule (he isn’t a hero now, the blood comment was just a pep talk) 4MP/5DP [/hider]