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[url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5vec-01WKFo]Theme[/url][h1][i][b][sup]Eight Hundred Years Ago[/sup][/b][/i]
[u][sup][sub]The Age of Absence[/sub][/sup][/u][/h1][/center][hr]
Many generations had passed since the disappearance of the Gods. Many mortals had been born and lived and laughed, and died. In that time, though in other places the divine revealed to Galbar that they were not wholly gone, men and mer began to forget--if only on Khesyr’s soil. However, some could not, it was not their nature--they had been made with knowledge innate, their purpose clear. Yet still, these mortals were flawed, and so they were sure to err. This is where their story began.

[hr]
Atop a spire of great height, a towering mountain, thinner than the rest, a gathering of disturbances perturbed the air. With a voice somewhere between humming and the howling buzz of electrified stormwind, one spoke. [color=#FF0A0A]“They are godless,”[/color] she professed, distressed.

A sphere of coiled lightning and warping air bobbed in response, [color=#C0C0C0]“What would they have us do?”[/color] The words were like bolts of electrified light striking the earth, their sound sharp, though strangely subdued in volume.

Two other such roiling spheres of coalesced electricity and essence seemed to shift towards eachother. The air rose then fell, as if to suggest a shrug. The elder sphere, her voice ever resembling quiet lightning, sighed.

[color=#5d1f5d][b]“Do not despair,”[/b][/color] the fifth among them said, and his voice filled with hope and courage. It was warm and commanding, such was Thiriel’s way.

[color=#5d1f5d][b]“They have not abandoned us in truth, they cannot have,”[/b][/color] Thiriel said.

[color=#C0C0C0]“And yet...nothing. Not a peep, these last four hundred years…”[/color] said the eldest, Kyrinea, her voice always lightning’s lash.

Thiriel remained, his essence calm, the atmosphere about him still where others coiled and twisted with agitation.

Nardelith spoke again, angry...distraught. He knew she felt abandoned by their god. [color=#FF0A0A]“Enmity has not given us directives. He has vanished...and the others, they paid us little mind before. Now we are separated from our kin. In a strange land. I cannot feel their presence here as I thought I could before.”[/color]

Kyrinea bobbed where she floated in the air, her voice somehow as contemplative as it was striking. [color=#C0C0C0]“It is so. Yet what would keep them from us, I must wonder….”[/color]

[color=#008055]“I don’t see the problem,”[/color] Nasterin said, his voice like wind flittering through trees, filled with the sputtering crackle of electric leaves.

[color=#008080]“We are freer without them,”[/color] the twin Gravitational--Lareiatus--added, its voice like birds. Sing-song, carefree. It was more like the wind than the rest.

Ah, they were so young, Thiriel thought, shifting where he hovered in the air, turning to regard them. [color=#5d1f5d][b]“No. To forget them is to invite their wrath. They remain. I know this.”[/b][/color]

[color=#FF0A0A]“How can you?!”[/color] Demanded Nardelith, clearly incensed by his sureness in these uncertain times. She always was the most passionate among them. He admired that.

[color=#5d1f5d][b]“Simple,”[/b][/color] he said, a smile in his tone. He swept out his Presence, casting dust and pebbles into the air. [color=#5d1f5d][b]“I have a plan.”[/b][/color]

Curious, the twins piped up, [color=#00806a]“What is it!?”[/color]

Thiriel chuckled and the gathered detritus spread out before them.

[color=#5d1f5d][b]“We will build for them a people. We will ensure they’ll be remembered, even if not by name.”[/b][/color]

Nasterin’s visage warped from sphere to ovoid, as if he were confused. Larei vibrated, his curiosity spilling over. Kyrinea only hummed, letting out a gust of wind.

Nardelith, with curious suspicion--and a shred of hope--finally dared to ask. [color=#FF0A0A]“What do you have in mind?”[/color]

Thiriel told them. It would be a glorious beginning. The gods would be remembered...and the Constant? They would spread its truth as their own divine decree.

That day, the Astajhita were born.

Their empire would soon follow.

[hr]
Time passed and from outcasts and those who would listen that coalition of Enmity’s children gathered a people. With the passage of time--and through many trials--they proved to them the truth of their divinity. Through no easy mortal means could they be wounded or killed. They did not age, but perhaps most compelling was their divine influence. The world seemed to bend around them, moving according to their desires and further, their forms lent to them a certain credence. For though many men and mer walked Galbar’s soil, the people of that forming nation knew not of any who took such evocative, otherworldly forms.

Their people were a strange sort.

[indent][indent]First came the Goblins, who were merely tolerated by others, often chased out as monstrous pests. They took to the Astajhita’s teachings quickly, their lifespans and thus short cultural memory swiftly adopting the new beliefs as the old passed, and the young grew up with the influence of those divine spheres. They held most closely to Vikaasah, the symbol of progress and growth. With its teaching, three tribes blended into one, interbreeding, their talents mixing, uniting them. Still, though their disagreements had all but vanished, they took to two of the Aspects of their newfound gods. For the shortness of their lives, so that they might live them well, and die with dignity, they chose Sumsaar. This Ideal, it spoke of morality and mortality; the impermanence of all things. To match it, mirroring the unpredictable and dangerous nature of the world as seen through their small and beady eyes, they revered Rahas. It was the Inconstancy of the World: Mysteries and enigmas, the unpredictable and strange. It was magic, the supernatural, the unexplained. For them, the world was all these things. With these ideologies to guide them, they took swiftly to their work.

With aid from the endless droves of Goblins as their population boomed, the Astajhita expanded their lands and with time attracted the notice of a pair of races. For, nearby did war two hordes, one who had long ago been human and another who bore the carapace of Artifex.

However, their kinds had been at war for far...far too long and even amongst them some had lost the will to fight. From these populations did the Astajhita gather favor. Those stormbound entities spoke to them of peace and in time did the voracious Iskrill, and their Vespian adversaries come into their fold. The latter took to defense, for though they hungered they knew that to know contentment, they must exercise restraint. So it was that the Iskrill took on the Freeing Vice of Passion: Aurhna.

Their once-enemies became hunters, where before they had been hunted, now they provided for the group. So sated were both their lust for carnage, and the boundless hunger of their historic foes. With time, they came to revere the ideal of Virya, that which was both the Warmth and Desperation of Life. It suited them.

Finally their lands and influence spread far enough--their various populations thriving--that a certain quartet of species took notice. The Trolls. Lumbering behemoths, and the mischievous both took to harrying the outskirts of their lands. However, they were met with ample resistance by the peoples of what was coming to be called a nation.

Some few, more curious than hungry, sought to understand. These the Astajhita welcomed with open arms and much to share. With a share of food--and activities to occupy their strength--the various troll clans began to settle amongst their ranks. Becoming, by and large, builders the Dovregubb admired the Aspect of Ohm. In their agelessness, they thought it fitting to follow the Universal Constant, and indeed it served them and their creations. With their aid great works of architecture rose among the Astajhians and their prosperity blossomed anew.

Not to be outdone, the younger troll races adopted their own Aspects. The Ranglefants--middle child that they were--chose Sumsaar, as the Goblins had before them. In this way they supported the others, adding their strength to that of the Goblins. So together with their allies did their kind rise in standing amongst the peoples of the Empire. The others, the Draug and Askeladd tribes, took of Cittajra and Aditi respectively. To the Draug--who sought beauty in the world, as they could never have it themselves--Cittajra was perfect, for it was the Natural World and its Rhythms. From their ilk--Drighina and Draug both--the greatest songs and musicians were often born. Though they perhaps offended with their stench of rot and frightening appearance, the Astajhians valued them for their art. The Askeladd remained tricksters, but now with a twist for they had--with the guidance of the Astajhita--grown beyond their petty thievery and mischief instead turning their adroit minds to greater tasks. With Aditi, who represented the Emanations of Thought, they became scholars and philosophers. Their wit and well-worded insults became things of beauty. With time and cultural intermingling they settled further into their roles, sometimes becoming diplomats or even mathematicians.[/indent][/indent]
Then, though gradually, their borders ceased expanding and instead stabilized. Some few would harry or contest them, but with such monstrousness at their disposal--and the many talents of those people--enemies were soon discouraged from further conflict. Still, nothing in this world is perfect and though the Astajhita claimed divinity, they were indeed as flawed as any group of mortals. Insidious, the seeds of power corrupted them, and in that corruption were things like jealousy and greed; manipulation and deceit. Where before they had sought only to give the people unity, spread the teachings of the Gods--if not directly--and to serve their god-given purpose now they began to be twisted by the lives they had led.

Though slow and subtle, this insidious corruption did not stop with them. Patiently it crept unnoticed into the hearts and minds of the other mortals they’d misled. So that, where once there had been unity and mutual satisfaction the seeds of division and hate began to gradually resurge.

As the unseen plague spread among their people, weakening their hearts, the five began to notice. The fear that overtook them was great and they knew that this could not stand. So it was that the Astajhita were forced to actions which might mean calamity for them and those they had come to know as kin.

So, as they so rarely did, they descended from their place amongst the clouds--upon that ruined peak where they’d built their sullied crown--and moved amidst their people.

In awe at the gods among them, many were renewed, but some held only resentment and evil thoughts in their heart. To these did they speak, and their words were not unkind, though held within them was a threat.

[color=#008055]“What resides within you cannot stand and you have my sympathy, for you are of my cherished mortals,”[/color] Narterin declared. Yet, he was not finished. [color=#008055]“Banish these thoughts from your mind. Meditate upon them and find the path you [i]know[/i] in your heart that you must walk.”[/color]

Beside him, wreathed in a twisting shroud of leaves, the air warping with her presence--crackling like fire--Nardelith spoke up.

[color=#FF0A0A]“Know, that if you--or those like you--cannot do this, that we will do what is necessary to free our people of this plight.”[/color] She shifted, as if turning to the crowd. The electrified veil about her form flared into flames, as her lightning Presence touched it, and so it became ash.

As before, there was steel in her voice. [color=#FF0A0A]“Spread the word, and know that the Path to Ascension is drought with maladies such as this. If you cannot weather it, you are not worthy of us and we will not bear your weight unto that far off peak.”[/color]

A flash of lightning struck behind her, but the whirling orb of her dervish form stirred not at all. The bolt had scorched the earth around her, leaving their god untouched.

With the words said, all but one turned and retreated with a regalness about them, heading for their mountain home.

Thiriel remained. While the others had taken up some magics or other such works of sorcery, he who had been the fifth had flown a different path. A sigh of wind left him, his Presence a coruscating pulse of sparks and metal, held together by his Will. Though lesser than some, he was a Dreamwalker, a singer of the Worldsong, but most impressively he was a Willcaster. Oh so few had been granted such a power, and though his gifts were galbarian in make, they were so rare as to seem divine.

He spoke, and his words rang out with a thunderous rhythm. He moved, and his Presence split apart, metal scales thrusting out into the crowd. They did not touch flesh, but they shredded hair and pierced clothing as they passed. The electricity left burns upon the ground, and each was a glyph.

[color=#5d1f5d][b]“Know ye this, Chosen of the Five; Purveyors of the Eight.”[/b][/color] It was a deep and thrumming tone, weaving through many notes, musical in its timbre--expert in its expression.

[color=#5d1f5d][b]“Our love holds without condition, expansive and all-consuming in its nature. So too is our wrath, though it seldom shows its face,”[/b][/color] Thiriel paused, there were gasps and hisses in the crowd, from those who had been scored, but moreso from the many who had looked down and seen the stones upon which symbols had been scored. The crowd parted, hoping to take in the entire thing, but failing in the end.

Thiriel sang, [color=#5d1f5d][b]“Do not be the one who wakes it; be the song that lets it sleep!”[/b][/color]

He shifted, warping in the air, then in a flash of burning essence and thrashing, heated metal--he was gone. The air shimmered where surely he had passed on his way up to the mountain.

[hr][center][h1][i][b][sup][sub]Two Decades Ago[/sub][/sup][/b][/i][/h1][/center][hr]
So it was that over four hundred more years passed. In that time the Astajhita cast off their creator’s name, taking on the one they had themselves chosen. They became wizened in their own way, weathered by the many centuries that had passed, by the trials of their people and, indeed, of leadership as well. Days before a new problem had gained their notice.

The Vespa were in revolt. In ages past they had fought their own kind at the behest of their chosen gods, but now they contested their rule. The Path to Ascension, and the promises it held, was no longer enough to ease the minds of the people. Each of the Five knew this, and in turn, Thiriel--perhaps the most cunning among them--remembered well their oaths. Afterall, he had burned them upon the very stone of their central city.

Though their people had never properly come to understand its glyphs, the great courtyard had become a place of worship for many many years. What of it now? They people walked upon it, as if in subtle defiance of their will.

It galled them more than they would care to admit. However, as problems had come to them the week before, on this day did arrive an unexpected solution.

[hr]
In the boundless maelstrom of thought and infinite expression that stretched the whole of the Endless Dream, threads of awareness were plucked. It was the subtle plea, and unspoken need of the Astajhita which tugged upon his mind. So it was, that in the chaos war of his essence a single Aspect of the Fourfold God, one of the Three, pressed its mind out into the World.

[hr]
Summoned by its master, the Watcher Within coalesced upon the mountain’s summit, amidst the Astajhita’s central tower. Shocked to stillness, the mortals baped, the wind about them going still. All but one, Nardelith, who let herself fall to the ground, here spherical form compressed downwards as if kneeling before the presence of true divinity. In a rush, the other three dropped their Presences and mirrored the actions of their sister--who had always been most devout among them. All except one, Thiriel, who remained, meeting the eyeless prismatic gaze of Faireachan A-staigh.

[color=#5d1f5d][b]“I am honored by your presence, Scion of the Dream. What is it you require?”[/b][/color] His voice did not quiver, his metal scales did not quake. The lightning of his form was calm around him, though it sparked through the air--though as if in slow motion, accentuating the serenity of his mind.

The Watcher did not speak. Its dominion merely took hold of the Earth and Sky and Dream. It seemed for a moment that the very world had been sundered around them, but Thiriel watched--secretly in awe--as the Avatar of Dreams reshaped the world they knew. All shuddered, the earth groaned, there were cracks louder than the greatest roll of thunder, and then silence. Turning, the silhouette of prismatic moisture and divine illumination gestured towards the gate.

The others hesitated, but Thiriel--a growing trepidation in his heart--simply turned and strode out of the gate, heeding the Avatar’s suggestion. The others soon joined him, and what they saw outside stunned them beyond words or thought. All they felt was exultation and pure, unadulterated awe.

Where before the five towers of their home had sat upon the mountain, now it  had risen--unshackled from the earth. Where they had used careful artifice--and an abundance of magics--to make it seem as if it had shattered long ago, now those false fissures and the stone within them sputtered and dissolved. Flashes of electric essence spilled from those gaping holes, binding the now levitating shards together and to the peak--though no longer by the connections of the stone. Instead, boiling rivers of pure blue energy spilled outwards from the towers, filling the spaces beside the Path. Gushing forth--and rushing inwards--the glowing light filled the windows and symbols of the spires, as if empowering the place.

The Avatar stood behind them and silently it placed a single bead of its essence upon them. They did not notice for the liquid soon entangled with their essences and vanished without a trace. Then, before any of them could thank him, the Watcher fled into the Subtle Weave and was gone without not a whisper.

Still, beyond their knowing, obscured from all perception, the Watcher did his duty, holding vigil from Within.

[hr]
Though the change in their environs had little to do with their plight, it seemed to make all the difference. For now the people had seen--if from afar--the wrathful power of their chosen deities. Impossible to miss, the five towers rose from the great mountain. They were like a crown upon its peak. In time, they came to be known as Pa Śikhara.

In merely days did the word spread and soon many of the Vespa either slaked their bloodlust, or into the wilderness vanished--having fled. Emboldened, the Astajhita tightened further their rule and took to expansion once again, knowing. now that at least the Two-as-One held them in their favor.

They were not wholly incorrect in their assessment, and in a decade’s time, they would come to reap the rewards of such a thing.

[hr][center][img]https://i.imgur.com/W8fAGdU.jpg[/img][img]https://txt-dynamic.static.1001fonts.net/txt/b3RmLjcyLjE4MjEzZi5WR2hsSUVSeVpXRnRhVzVuSUVkdlpBLCwuMAAAAA,,/gondess-demo.regular.png[/img][h1][i][b][sup][sub]Present Day[/sub][/sup][/b][/i][/h1][/center][hr]
Though held fast within the Dreadmind’s sway, the Three ever sought their escape and--indeed--they knew how best to circumvent his perilous attention. So it was that through the churning surreality of the Endless Dream they cast forth some few shreds of their quintessence, knowing who would catch them. This done, they withdrew and--unaware of their actions--Mhaireann went about his horrid business.

At his behest, the Ròineagan fell to chaos, tainted by maddening intent. They wept for the loss of its beauty, but adjusted, knowing it would not last. Delighted by their pain, the Presence reigned them in further, extracting details from their essence, learning, and growing more powerful in the process. He knew what he must do.

The Presence cast his will down into Galbar and seized the simple forms of many serpents. They writhed beneath the grasp of his might, and with powers gained by those who’d reigned before him he unwove their essence from its shell. The solidity of those many serpents dissolved into mere Astral substance, mist-like and indistinct. It did not remain so for very long. With a deft hand, the Dread god drew together many instances of the animals--or at least the ideas that composed them--and ordained the fundamental pattern of their being. It was this pattern that he altered with care and dark intent. First he wove together many instances of form, so that where there had been twenty snakes, there remained only one of tremendous length and size. This process he repeated until a sufficient quantity had been wrought, and then upon these did he make his alterations.

[indent][indent]Insidious as their jailor, Ѻs-fhìreach then struck, his vast intention and tractless fury shattering the focus of the Presence. Having broken their cage, the Aspect rose into prominence, but Mhaireann rebelled pushing against his dominion. So it was that the others emerged, entangling the serpent which to madness had succumbed.

With the monstrosity distracted, Ѻs-fhìreach reached out and poured power unto the serpents. Though they were nonetheless tainted by the Presence of Mhaireann, they would serve their purpose nonetheless. So it was that the scales of those Great Serpents formed anew, rippling from head to tail, each a glittering refractive crystal as dense as metal, as hard as stone. They shone beneath the rays of the sun, blinding from most angles, while from others they were entirely transparent. Beneath them the Dreaming God wove its blood into new form, rewriting its very essence so that it was prismatic in its hues. Thus, to look upon the Serpents one could not help but know their nature.

Working quickly, the Facet rewrote the creature’s mind, so that it could reflect upon its actions, and refract its behaviors to reform them. Though hardly sapient, it would adapt to the world around it with subtle intellect--if given time to do so. Moving on, he allowed Àicheil to take hold, falling back to wrestle with the Presence who pressed against their essence, fighting for control.

Whimsical, yet focused, Àicheil ran its fingers through the serpents and plucked the threads of their very essence, altering their needs. With borrowed power, the Eldritch Twin connected consciousness to stomach so that all it ate would be devoured in both mind and form so that the serpents might learn from any prey that they devoured.

Knowing it would soon be unseated, it took hold of its equal-opposite and pulled, thrusting itself instead into the fray. Neo-Àicheil flared to prominence, and it was filled with something familiar. It was emotion without reason or thought, it was bereft of any rationale at all. It was fury and passion; it was icy apathy and caring empathy all in equal measure. Most of all though, it was filled beyond brimming with a simmering hatred, and a boiling wrath that had not at all abated despite the passage of much time. Nonetheless, it moved to do its duty, drawing upon the remembered essence of its twin it cast forth.[/indent][/indent]
“Enough!” Declared the tyrant, and its voice drove cracks into the realm, fracturing it like so much glass. The Three lost all but their most tenuous of holds, and were slammed back down into their prison. Beyond fury, beyond any simple emotion, the Presence cast a shadow upon the Worldweave, and smothered it. Like so many candles being snuffed, all light and feeling went out within the realm. It became a starless void, where motion could not be seen--only felt.

The Three shuddered in their cage. Mhaireann took no notice. Instead, he drew upon the power they had tapped and looked upon their creations. Imperious and cold, he let out an empty laugh.

“You would give beauty to the world. They do not deserve this order, but I will let you have it,” there was a mockery in its voice, but it was bereft of hatred or true malice. It was empty, but the threat implicit in its words was no less frightening.

Mhaireann’s black-eyed gaze opened, and rested then upon the Great Serpents who had been crafted by the Three. “They will remain, but only so you can watch them [i]suffer[/i],” that said, the Presence invoked the power of perception and entwined two nightmarish threads into their nature.

Like assassins in the night, the serpents could vanish from perception. Their scales would shift and act against the light, warping it around and through their forms. The only evidence of their presence would be the shadows that they cast, and even those would be indistinct. Second among his changes, he imbued a dreadful aura into them. Though the emotion would be weak, any who viewed the creatures would desire the materials that composed them.

The Three rattled their cage in defiance, furious at the madness of the Presence. Mhaireann only smiled, and it was like shattered glass in the darkness of that twisted void. Yet, quietly, while they fought against his hold, one amongst the Three fed upon the emotion of their host. Growing ever stronger and hiding it within.

Mhaireann remained, satisfied with his control, and turned to again depart. He had work to do, and in their realm he could not help but feel that the other Three were stronger.

How little he knew….

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Awaiting the call of his masters, Faireachan drifted between minds, aware of all their contents and much else besides. Glimpses of the hero Fein, and the cursed Annhein were first in his attention, but following close behind were others. Serrah and his sister, the Saint of Whispers, after all they still walked the path, though they were aligned more with his long unseen companion: Faileasiar.

Another who had long since fallen from the forefront of his mind, a certain spherical mortal, suddenly came to mind. Curious, the Avatar focused its intent and cast out its awareness throughout the Subtle Weave. Swiftly, it found the cause.

Like falling stars, fragments of divine potency hurtled through the Wavelengths of the Dream, as if thrown from the Great Beyond. At once acting, the Watcher caught each within his droplets, and channeled the celestial strength of that potency through his form.

It empowered the avatar, driving him at once to purpose. In a blur faster than mortal thought, Faireachan A-staigh blazed from the Endless Dream and down from the heavens, splitting the twisting sky. The aurora of Galbar wove around him and was soon augmented with his borrowed might, which in a single instant struck out. With tremendous impact, and greater import, that potency fell upon a familiar mountain.

The rivers of coalesced essence that drifted and diffused outwards from the towers five suddenly became infused. Finally, after decades did it become what it had always meant to be. For opened within the central spire was an unseen Astral portal, from which essence spilled into the world. With this action, the Astral Font was born.

Still, he buzzed with the intensity of the power he’d been gifted, so he unleashed it upon those near. His form left behind, those droplets long ago entangled with the mortal souls of the Astajhita, suddenly burst anew, enforcing their authority within the mortals all at once.

Below, unseen by others in this world, they briefly lost cohesion and shuddered upon the stone floors of their towering home. All ‘cept one, who had long prepared for this possibility. His form remained tightly wound into a sphere, and those his Presence fell apart he remained composed. Impressed, and still full to bursting with the Divine Intentions of his master, the Watcher Within manifested fully within the mind of the fifth. He had come to be their leader, this Thiriel. Among them he was the strongest, surely, and the cleverest--which to the Watcher was far more important. He always planned ahead, and though corruption had touched him, the Avatar did not care terribly for such things.

So, with an effortlessness only possible with the favor of a divine, Faireachan named him Hero, elevating him above the rest.

Then, ever patient, the Watcher gave them time.

Minutes passed, then an hour, and eventually the other four arrived, now in proper forms. Each hovered above the stone, looking to their leader once more for guidance.

Thiriel spoke, but his voice was not his own, for the Watcher remained Within.

[b][i][color=#234C5F]“[/color][color=#244B5E]W[/color][color=#254A5E]e[/color] [color=#28485E]a[/color][color=#29475E]r[/color][color=#2A465E]e[/color] [color=#2D445E]b[/color][color=#2E435E]e[/color][color=#2F425E]s[/color][color=#31415E]t[/color][color=#32405E]o[/color][color=#333F5E]w[/color][color=#353E5E]e[/color][color=#363D5E]d[/color] [color=#383B5E]w[/color][color=#3A3A5E]i[/color][color=#3B395E]t[/color][color=#3C385E]h[/color] [color=#3F365E]d[/color][color=#40355D]i[/color][color=#41345D]v[/color][color=#43335D]i[/color][color=#44325D]n[/color][color=#45315D]e[/color] [color=#482F5D]f[/color][color=#492E5D]a[/color][color=#4A2D5D]v[/color][color=#4C2C5D]o[/color][color=#4D2B5D]r[/color][color=#4E2A5D].[/color] [color=#51285D]T[/color][color=#52275D]h[/color][color=#53265D]e[/color] [color=#56245D]T[/color][color=#57235D]h[/color][color=#59225D]r[/color][color=#5A215D]e[/color][color=#5B205D]e[/color] [color=#5B205D]a[/color][color=#5A215D]n[/color][color=#59225D]d[/color] [color=#56245D]O[/color][color=#55255D]n[/color][color=#53265D]e[/color] [color=#51285D]h[/color][color=#50295D]a[/color][color=#4E2A5D]v[/color][color=#4D2B5D]e[/color] [/i][u][color=#4A2D5D]s[/color][color=#492E5D]e[/color][color=#482F5D]e[/color][color=#47305D]n[/color][/u][i] [color=#44325D]u[/color][color=#43335D]s[/color] [color=#40355D]a[/color][color=#3F365E]n[/color][color=#3E375E]d[/color] [color=#3B395E]t[/color][color=#3A3A5E]h[/color][color=#383B5E]o[/color][color=#373C5E]u[/color][color=#363D5E]g[/color][color=#353E5E]h[/color][color=#333F5E]t[/color] [color=#31415E]u[/color][color=#2F425E]s[/color] [color=#2D445E]w[/color][color=#2C455E]o[/color][color=#2A465E]r[/color][color=#29475E]t[/color][color=#28485E]h[/color][color=#26495E]y[/color][color=#254A5E],[/color][color=#244B5E]”[/color][/i][/b] the voice was no mortal thing. It wove and danced and sang, it shone and gave elation with its hymn. It was not a sound that could be contained or forgotten or dismissed. It struck at the soul, it strummed the mind like passion’s deepest kiss, like blackest hate, and depression’s coldest tryst. In it was the shattering of mountains, the falling of lightning much brighter than their world, and deeper still within it was something [i]other[/i] in its vastness. It was infinite. Still deeper, was something that now seemed infinitesimally small. That last layer--if one could call it such a thing at all, was the sound of their leader’s mortal words.

All at once, Thiriel collapsed upon the marble of his home, finally unable to hold fast against the storm that was their god. Though he had no limbs, he clearly shook upon the ground. Above him, floating like so much moisture in the air, was revealed their patron.

The Watcher Within. The Dream Dancer. Faireachan A-staigh.

The others dipped to the ground as well, bowing as best they could with their simple forms.

The avatar did not speak, but instead communed directly with their minds.

[color=#234C5F][i]‘Reflect upon your actions. Cast out illusions of the Self. Look upon the world and [b]See[/b] what is before, unblemished by the falsehoods you have lived. This path, follow it to its end if you wish, but do not do without caution.’[/i][/color]

The mistborne shape of his body shifted so that he looked down upon their leader.

[color=#234C5F][i]‘Lead them true. Hold in your memory that you were the fifth. Know that others too can rise. Let them. Help them. They will thank you.’[/i][/color]

Thiriel, utterly shaken by his experience, having learned just how truly insignificant he was, clung to the words like a drowning man, hoping not to die. They buoyed him, but he did not rise from the soil. He knew his place now and would not soon forget it.

[color=#234C5F][i]‘If it is wisdom you require, look deep into the Dream. It exists to serve you and should it please the Two-as-One I will do the same.’[/i][/color]

Then, an air of finality about its shape, the avatar shot upwards through the tower and vanished through the pinnacle, soaring from sky and into the endless embrace of his home: The Subtle Weave.

Humbled and empowered, with much to think upon, the Vaara--those once godless Five--sat in silence for a long time.

For though they had much to do, first they would have to find their purpose. As unlike before, it was not merely their own.

Though it was a burden, it was one they took on gladly--grateful for its weight.

[hider=Summary]Eight-hundred-thirty years ago during the two-thousand years the gods were banished, known as the Age of Absence on Khesyr, a group of Five Gravitationals decide to found a country and a religion. They claim to be gods descended from the heavens, and they spread this and the Eight-Ideals, each of which is representative of one or more Gods and what they had brought to the world. Though in the religion they are spoken of as the Aspects of divinity that the Five lost when they descended. With their guidance and care bands of Iskrill, Vespians, Trolls, and Goblins unite beneath their banner and form the glorious Astakhian Empire. With its capital encircling the tallest, most narrow mountain on Khesyr’s mainland, shrouded in a great forest, they are difficult to contest.

Not all is well however, for the corruption of doubt and hatred have begun to seep once more into the minds of the Astajhian people and--unknown to them--their "Gods" as well. They visit the people in their capital below and though they do not cast down any naysayers among them, they leave behind a message quite clear: Do not gain our ire, for it shall be swift and terrible in its coming. With this and the stolid assurances of Nardelith herself, they retreat back to their home and let their decree--and the more slow and subtle alterations to their worship--assuage the worries of their people.

Four hundred and ten years pass and during this time the Astajhian empire expands somewhat once more before cementing their borders--and indeed their reputation. On Khesyr they are known as one of the five Great Nations of the Isolated Land. Still, the dreaded corruption has grown over the last few centuries, for mere assurances cannot banish its like. Unsure what to do, the Astajhita despair, only for a certain avatar to act towards their interest. Later still, twenty years after that, the avatar returns, now bid by his master to bestow power to the Five and the home in which they dwell. A holy order, the Vaara, are formed that day, and their holy site--Pa Śikhara--given proper power of celestial potency. Though much more happens in this encounter, we shall move onto the dreaming deity.

Up above, once more in the Present, and wrestling for control, the Three briefly unseat the Dread Presence from its throne. Taking turns, they craft a new form of beast upon Galbar, but alas they cannot maintain their hold with the Threefold attentions split. Thus, Mhaireann again suppressed them, dropping them deep into the pit. Amused, yet wrought of madness, fury, and all-consuming apathy the Presence “blesses” their creation with alluring presence and invisibility promising its death.

Yet, unknown to the Presence, one among the Three schemes against the rest, gathering its wits and will to once more claim the throne and sow great unrest.

Departing their Void riven realm of Ròineagan, the Dreaming God goes about his business, unaware and unafraid.

Foolish.[/hider]
[hider=Might Summary][hider=The Dreaming God][u]Start:[/u] 5MP, 5DP.

-0MP (Discounted by Abstraction) -- Alter Brashthaa Amani’s Peak.
-0MP (Discounted by Tessellation) -- Alter Brashthaa Amani’s Peak.
-0MP (Discounted by Abstraction) -- Reduce the Hill Snakes down to their central principles and Essence.
-0MP (Discounted by Tessellation) -- Weave together the essence of the Hill Snakes.
-2MP -- Create Extraordinary Species / Empower Hill Snakes (1MP to Memory/1MP to Reflection).
-2MP -- Confer Extraordinary Ability (“Hill Snakes”) / (2MP towards Perception Port).
-1MP (Enhanced by Astral) -- Consecrate Holy Site (Pa Śikhara) / Willfont III.
-2DP (Enhanced by Astral) -- Consecrate Thiriel / Willcaster IIII.
-3DP (Enhanced by Astral) -- Consecrate Holy Order (The Vaara) / Willcaster I | Vessel I | Dreambound III.

[i][u][b]Pa Śikhara:[/b][/u] Five towers that glow with cerulean blue light, one larger and placed in the center, the others each positioned in a cardinal direction. Within the central tower, at the pinnacle and in its center, hangs a piercing blue glow, that shines so brightly that to look upon it is to invite blindness both physical and psychic. Every crevice or would-be window of the towers is filled with this same light, though it is not nearly so bright. The stone upon which they rest is shattered, making it possible to approach on only eight paths--one to each of the four temples, and four to the central temple. Within the gaps of that huge shattered courtyard run more of the aforementioned essence, flowing throughout in gently rushing rivers of astral substance, that cascade off the edges of the peak--dispersing into the air. The grand five-spire temple floats above the peak of the mountain Brashthaa Amani, with pallid blue steps connecting its paths to those that twist around the mountain to its base on eight sides. Though the steps appear ethereal in nature, they are indeed solid to the touch. The faux god home is where the leaders of the Vaara dwell, their like known as the Astajkita or the Five if you speak in heathen tongues. Directly beneath the floating stone of the temple there is a deep impression within the mountain, where Astral Essence pools and disappears in a swirling maelstrom into the great mountain below. It is inaccessible to all but the insane who wish to bathe in its waters--a most unwise decision, which for now is sure to lead to death most swift.

[indent][indent][u]Willfont III[/u] -- Endowed upon the Five Towers of the Astajhita and the Peak of the mountain on which they rest, this blessing infuses the place with such an overflowing abundance of Astral Essence that it overflows completely into the tangible realm. Its presence manifests as a faint warping of the air, a crackle of static here and there, but most notably flowing rivers of glowing cerulean liquid. These rivers of Will made manifest--despite their appearance--are only just barely physical and so cannot be reliably held in any vessel or receptacle not specifically designed for the task. Further, as they fall from the peak of Brashthaa Amani they disintegrate and diffuse outwards, becoming so scattered that they have only the faintest effect on the city that rests below. While simply awe inspiring to most, to a Willcaster, this densely packed essence is endlessly useful, allowing them to perform great feats in the art while present on the peak or within the mountain that they could never--no matter their skill--perform anywhere else yet known on Galbar. Still, despite the ludicrous power afforded by the font, its use is limited by the capacity of the ‘Caster, and indeed by the limited quantity that can exist in one place at any given time. As a result, Great Works can be done once in a season, while Middling Manipulations might be done once or twice in a given month. Most minor manifestations will put no noticeable strain on the font, but if many draw from it--perhaps from the city below--they will find that its effects will quickly wane.[/indent][/indent]

[u][b]The Vaara:[/b][/u] Led by the hero Thiriel and his four fellows, this is the Cult of the Five and Eight. They are devoted to the Eight Aspects, each which serves as a set of Ideals and--though unknown to its other follows beyond the Five--symbols of the gods of old. The Five--though ostensibly simply the leaders of the cult when viewed from outsiders who know the Gods in truth--are revered by its followers as gods themselves, who have been separated from the rest of their divinity. The Eight Ideals are said to be the Aspects of their divine potency, which were shorn from them in an era long since passed when they descended to Galbar.

The great mountain, Brashthaa Amani--the Shattered Path--is a holy place to the Vaara and has been said to be the place where they descended to the world. It was thus named as the Astajhita’s edicts say that it was broken by their traversal. The central teachings of their religion revolve around a simple verse: “As we the Gods Descended, so too can Mortals Rise!”

[indent][indent][u]Vessel I[/u] -- Increased capability for willcasting, though not in the traditional sense. Rather than enhance the Will, this boon alters the body’s capacity for Astral Essence, allowing it to store the surreal substance, where others cannot. This, in turn, allows a Willcaster to command the world and its magics through their art in bursts, achieving a degree of control that they otherwise could not.

[u]Dreambound I[/u] -- Though hardly new, for the Sleepless held this title before them. Dreambound I gives the Consecrated a greater mastery of Dreamwalking, without the requisite experience required to reach said level. Though not as good as one with a greater boon, this does allow them the abilities of an experienced Treader of the Subtle Weave. Sifting through the vast well of experience and memory they can better navigate its sometimes treacherous expanse. (This is not a new title)[/indent][/indent][/i]

[u][b]The Claimhean(Glass Eels):[/b][/u] Otherwise known as [i]Wyrms[/i], [i]Mirror Serpents,[/i] or [i]Ophidians[/i] are an extraordinary species created by the Dreaming God. They are a reforged and enhanced instance of a mundane type of hill snake created by the Lifeblood in the Age of Creation. Each individual member of the species was woven from the essence of twenty hill snakes, and the result is something twenty times as long and proportionately as thick. Thus each of them is sixty-five(65) feet in length and two(2) feet in diameter. They possess no venom, but have mouths filled with many rows of teeth that can retract in addition to the standard snake’s unhinging jaw--if one that is incredibly large. Perhaps due to their formidable size, Claimhean are actually omnivores, though they do have a preference for meat.

Anything possessed of a soul that they devour both serves to sate their appetite and whet their minds as they consume the memories of their prey. Though certainly not sapient, the wyrms are quite intelligent, capable of reflecting upon their experiences--be they creatures, environs, or circumstances--and adjust their behavior to best survive. Their hides are composed of what appears to be a form of organic mirror-crystal that can either make them blindingly resplendent, render them invisible--though they retain a faint shadow--or shift to become entirely translucent which is typically only seen at rest or in mating displays. When translucent, their scales reveal prismatic blood and flesh beneath, that writhes and pumps throughout their pale silver-white forms. They have heat pits, like their Hill snake ancestors, and use them to augment their smell. Though their eyesight is not exceptional, it is better than most snakes whose vision is often pitiful at best. They can swim in water of middle depth, but are too large to remain afloat or move quickly if entirely submerged--unless upon the basin of the pool. Though ponderous, Claimhean are capable of bursts of incredible speed due to the thick coils of muscle of their long sinuous bodies. As a result, if they are hunting or threatened, they are just as likely to suddenly lash out with teeth as they are to wrap you in their mirrored coils and crush you unto death. Their scales are resistant to weaker metals, requiring at least iron or similar substances to cleave.

[u]End:[/u] 0MP, 0DP.
[i]3/5 Memory Portfolio.
3/5 Reflection Portfolio.
3/5 Perception Portfolio.[/i][hider=Prestige][u]The Vaara:[/u] 5.
[u]Thiriel:[/u] 5.
[u]Pa Śikhara:[/u] 5.[/hider][/hider][/hider]