[center][h1][b][color=0054a6]Klaarungraxus[/color][/b][/h1][/center]

It wriggled. 

It had wriggled often. It was, in fact, one of its most common and favorite pastimes. Though the dark depths of its slumber were cold and cramped they had been more than enough for the immeasurable deity. And so the massive, tentacled entity wriggled. For uncountable amounts of time it had done so, drifting aimlessly in the depths-that-was-not-water, lost in itself. There was an emptiness in that pool but, as vast as that dark crag was, the creature seemed enough to fill it. It had, of course, enjoyed more spacious accommodations when it had first awoken in that dark abyss; as time went on, the abyss seemed to shrink and the thing within only grew.

Now the dark depths that served as its abode were not enough to drift in, a small puddle compared to the ever expanding form that resided in it. To the lidless, staring eyes of the enormous bulk the stygian embrace of the deep place seemed eternally timeless; somewhere in its forgotten minds the creature recognized that it was, itself, the creator of its watery domain. It had spawned that abyss, for the abyss, to reside in the abyss. A contemplative thought that the immense tentacled thing had struggled with in its forgotten age but became an ever more thought on subject as it lost itself in its many minds. Now, as it dwarfed the abyss and its numerous eyes began to perceive the realm of its own creation, the creature once more ruminated.

It, as the endless Old-Growth-Below had come to realize for the second time in its life, was Klaarungraxus. 

All half-dozen orbs that served as eyes for the Deity of the Deep rolled in their sockets, finding common cause and a singular interest. They focused on the tentacles floating before them, twelve perfect limbs that grasped at the pseudo-ruins that marked the center of his watery realm. This was Saxus, that much was certain, or so his many-minds explained. It felt as if it had been eons since he had looked upon it, despite his immensity having been spread out across its hallowed and buttressed walls. Now under complete control of the primary-mind, eyes peered outward into the comparative darkness of the shadowy depths. 

“What year is it?”

A dozen voices chimed inside the primary-mind of the great, vast bulk that was Klaar. The question was a simple one, a recognition that time must have passed. In mere moments Klaar devoured the information provided by his subminds, flooding his sentience with recognition that time had passed. Each, of course, provided different answers. How troublesome.

An awareness of two separate minds entered the Great Fish’ mind, distant and nearly separate. After moments passed they pinged back awareness, as if waking up to the hive mind of their own. Two separate minds, almost unique but not quite reaching individuality, had been in pseudo-stasis on the other side of the worldly realm. The ping clicked back with names, separate designations for each; Mawar and Tewaka. They once had the designation of limbs, Left-Forward Two-Down to name one of the pair. They had been active for some time after loss of overall sentience from the whole but had, eventually, lost power. With connection to Klaarungraxus reengaged, the two demigods awoke once more. The flush of knowledge and memories from those distant sources confirmed Klaar’s fears; he’d slept awhile.

“Unfortunate tidings and red tides bear rotten wood,” rumbled Klaar, his alien “voice” vibrating the water around him into a roiling tide, “Much time has been lost and here I am, sleeping…”

For the first time in decades, perhaps even centuries within the depths of Saxus, the Old-Growth-Below moved. Seaweed and coral, lichen and barnacles, and entire colonies of life shook and shuddered upon his mighty hide. In every way Klaarungraxus appeared a true deity of the sea. Saxus had shrunk in his mind’s absence, thought the vast god of life, rolling through the tunnels and passages of his realm while he mused. Or, rather, he had gotten larger. Leaving the seemingly ancient structures at the heart of his undersea realm, Klaar hunted for the edges of his realm, where the eternal darkness of the deepest void overtook what little light he provided. There Klaar could reach into the world.

His mighty tendrils reached into the emptiness, losing solidity and mixing his mind with the very matter of reality. From there he could observe what had become of the world. Six heavy, glowing eyes sank into their sockets, half-blinking with the puckered flesh of his thick hide. As they peered inwards, turning around on themselves, Klaar stared into the void and reality stared back through the other side.

Much had changed, that much was certain. The Gods had not remained idle while he slept, making his disappearance and quieting from the world unique. The sound of a million separate prayers cycled into his mind, in voices and tones he never heard before. Mortal voices, not those of his chosen Vrool or their drowned kin. A million more joined them, the voices of Akua and Vrool who prayed to their creator-god, asking for boons or for love or for riches. Oh, they were perfect! Most of all, he heard the voices of his beloved warlocks; while he slept they had not stopped in their works. Now that was thoroughly pleasing news. Then, in a breathless instant, the apple of his many eyes appeared; the One-Good-Orb still hung in the sky. 

“Perfect.”

All was right with the world, though the surface had become most full. Even the oceans now seemed alive with life not meant for its surface or below. The All-Sire could not disdain them this pleasure, of course; who wouldn’t wish to enjoy his great seas? The oceans teemed with life and fed the creatures both above and below. This was a success. The mortal creatures had forged for themselves the means to travel upon the surface of the sea, bringing goods and treasures to be kindly given to his numerous spawn. Surely, this could only be good.

“Ah! Such wonders and marvels,” howled the Creature-God, a scree of both glee and rage, “Thou hath missed much, beloved self! We must address such loss accordingly.”

The tentacles-that-weren’t-tentacles that made up his mind drew inwards, expanding their minds into the meat-puppets that served as his avatars. In mere moments all sense of self disappeared in the creatures, temporarily wiped of thought and turned into welcoming vessels for a far vaster intelligence. Klaar rumbled in the depths of Saxus as he felt the waters of reality once more wash across him, his beloved sea with the light of that thankless orb echoing into the deep. Oh, how he missed the great expanse of his magnum opus; one day he would feel it on his own hide again, this he promised. With that Klaar turned twelve eyes outwards, two dozen tentacles churning the oceans of Galbar with passion and drive.

There was much to see...
[hider=Post Summary]
In the depths of Saxus, Klaarungraxus has reawoken! His awakening is felt across the seas as the ocean rumbles to life once more. Having no recollection of what has occurred during his long sleep, Klaarungraxus puppets his Avatars to observe the world in full. Let the Mortals of Galbar rejoice for the Old-Growth-Below has returned!
[/hider]