[hider=Chakravarti]
[b]Name:[/b] Chakravarti, the Matripatrihierarch; Pangendered, Panparenting Eight-Armed God of Families.

[b]Domain:[/b] Families. The domain of families encompasses the great span of intrafamilial and interfamilial affairs for all ensouled beings, from the lowest stone abducted from its family by stoneworkers in a quarry to the great political wars between the great clans of mortalkind. Chakravarti deals in mediation of familial matters, though mainly as an advocate for stability and closeness between its members: In a world of wolves and sheep, the sheep can only stand against the wolf as a flock, and the wolf can only defeat them with its pack. And for the flock to function, it must be led by a ram, a patriarch to ensure the safety of his clan and hoard the mates for himself to maintain order; the pack, likewise, is led by either a mother or a father, but no matter who leads, they must all share the prey to survive. Chakravarti represents and projects all of these aspects - the family is a tool to maintain order in society and provide a safety net for newcomers into this world. Simultaneously, however, families may grow into factions, and come together as allies or spill each other's blood in crimson feuds that may last generations. These are also part of Chakravarti, and Chakravarti will encourage both feuds and alliances if they benefit the family and the family’s honour. The family, the clan, the house, the dynasty - these are what matters; against them, the individual is nothing beyond a vessel of the clan.

Chakravarti's power specialises in granting wishes to families: fertility to a barren heir, weapons to an ambitious claimant, favours for mighty house heads and lowly untitled alike. Blessings that run in the family also come easy to the god. Lastly, Chakravarti themself does not shy away from starting families of their own, and breeds easily with all ensouled creatures in the world.

[b]Myth:[/b]
[hider=Ashaihatana and Chakravarti]
Ah, I see you are interested in the tale of Ashaihatana and Chakravarti, are you? It’s a somber tale, certainly, but one we all must hear if we are to live as the All-Parent intends.

This story takes place in ancient days. It was a hot summer morning, the kind where the sunlight poured over the mountain tops and cast the evening dew, which clung so desperately to the ricefield leaves, into a day-long exile, and the young woman Ashaihatana came staggering into the Summerblossom Temple, casting herself to the ground in prayer before the All-Parent. Lamentingly, she had spoken to the god about her family:

“All-Mother,” she had said, “my father has done it again - he has promised me to the vile Singhpiritu, an unwashed and brutish man whose manners clog his wealthy heritage in a stink of unculture.”

The All-Mother, All-Father regarded her closely and spoke, “This man - does he beat you?”

“If it had only been something that simple!” scoffed the woman. “He is a daft and uncouth specimen!”

“Does he violate your chastity against your will?”

The woman blushed. “Nothing with a shred of self-respect would ever lay with such a mole, enforced or otherwise!”

She continued crassly, “My mother insists that I must, so our line may be furthered, but I cannot!”

The All-Parent nodded slowly. “Does your father, your mother, know that you have come to me?”

The woman shook her head. “No, All-Mother - I have come on my own, for my wish is my own! Please, you must help me unchain myself from my father’s will, from my mother’s expectations! I wish to live untethered, to be free and live as the birds in the sky!”

The All-Parent pondered this: Ashaihatana was blind and needed to be returned her sight - a case they had seen all too many times. They extended one of their eight fists to the woman and opened the palm to reveal enough gold to fill her arms. “Then so be it. Take this gold and be free from your family. See the world as your own being, and return when your sight has healed.”

Ashaihatana was stunned. Without so much as a “thank you”, she filled her arms with gold and danced gleefully out of the temple, heedless to the god’s warning. She travelled the country, spending every dubloon on food, drink and the pleasure of company. For three years, the woman lived like a queen, the world itself shifting around her to accommodate her every need.

When the gold ran out, the drink was the first to go; the finest wines which her tongue had grown all-too-accustomed to, needed to be switched for the muddy water of the river. When the drink disappeared, so did the company, and soon, she had no one to enjoy her food with. She sold her clothes and donned filthy rags; she went from door to door with a crude wooden bowl, begging for just the bare minimum to scrape by; she drank from the dew of leaves when the rains were generous. At night, she slept among bushes and under stones to hide from prowling men in the streets. 

And so it was that Ashaihatana staggered once more into the Summerblossom Temple, falling to her knees out of exhaustion before the Eight-Armed, Pangendered God. She folded her hands in prayer and begged, pleaded that the Matripatrihierarch give her more gold to return to her life. To this, the God of Family answered:

“You ask for gold to return to your life as a queen, yet you spare no thought to your mother and father, both of whom have searched the countryside on their own to find you. You seek the means to rejoin your lost friends, forgetting that the only ones who would give their lives for you, ask not for gold, but for love. You are still blind - both to your sins and your duty.”

The woman cast aside her bowl and yelled, “I will not go back to them! I will not marry that oaf, and I will not bear his children!”

The All-Parent nodded and said, “You will not have to, for in their effort to find you, your father caught a vicious cough and perished; unwilling to give up on you, your mother persevered, only to suffer the same fate.” One of their two left arms leaned forward to pick up the woman. “Before you came to me, you were never alone; now, after you have lived your own life, you finally are.”

Upon hearing these news, Ashaihatana was overcome with grief. Her weak body broke down in the god’s palm and she wept ceaselessly for the rest of the day. The All-Parent beheld her patiently, waiting until the moment she said, “All-Mother, how can such an unforgivable child like I ever be salvaged? What is left in me that is good?”

The All-Parent spoke thus, “You have put yourself before your own family, and nothing can ever heal this wound. The family is all, so you must become nothing.” With that, the god caressed the woman over the head, her hair falling off with the passing of their fingers. “You will travel the world and tell people your story - counsel the selfish sons and daughters of good parents and show them the importance of the house, of the clan.”

The god set her down again. “From today, you are no longer Ashaihatana. You are to take your mother’s name, Vishinayaha, and present yourself like this, ‘I am Vishinayaha, her ungrateful daughter seeking redemption for my selfish ways.’”

“I am Vishinayaha, her ungrateful daughter seeking redemption for my selfish ways,” she copied. The god nodded for her to leave, and the nun did so. For without family, what else was she to be?
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[hider=King Onuhi’le’le and Ka’haluati]
Long ago, in the distant ocean kingdom of Kanani’i, there lived a young prince by the name of Onuhi’le’le, and he was the fairest man on the entire reef. Wherever he went, people turned their heads to admire his glistening, aquamarine scales; his broad, powerful shoulders; his strong, vibrant fins. A master of sports and a trained poet, one needed not wonder how he drew the eyes of every woman in the kingdom. His father’s vassals would often complain that whenever he travelled his kingdom with his son in tow, the men had to chain their women to the corals so they would not throw themselves at the prince. The king and prince would laugh at this all throughout their journey.

Then came the day whereupon the prince was to marry. A line from the palace gates to the capital city outer wall filled with frustrated parents trying their best to pretty up their daughters for the prince’s hand in marriage. Taking multiple wifes was not uncommon in his family, and Onuhi’le’le was not one to break with tradition. In the end, he took nine wives, and he gathered them all before the altar. From the ocean surface descended the Eight-Armed Matripatrihierarch, landing upon the altar in a serene, cross-legged seat. The attendees knelt before their All-Parent, and Onuhi’le’le spoke,

“Ka’haluati - I wish to take these nine women to be my wives. They have all shown most motherly qualities towards my cousins, and they have all been born into good families - kind blood runs in their veins. Please, my father, allow me to take them as my own so I may further my line in your name.”

Ka’haluati regarded the women and the prince, one of their eight hands reaching to touch one of the closer women. She quivered, but only slightly. Ka’haluati spoke, 

“An eager father takes many wives; as does the greedy. You know well my rules, my son - your father has told me so. Can I trust you, then, to treat all the children these women may have as your own? Can you devote your time and effort to your sons and daughters and teach them gentleness, kindness, patience and love?”

Onuhi’le’le drew an oyster shell knife from his belt and cut his palm, revealing the cut to Ka’haluati and everyone else in the palace. The god nodded and placed their palm on his head.

“Then you have my blessing. Take these nine to be your wives, and ensure your children share in their kind blood.”

The prince turned to embrace each of his wives and the attendees applauded. This was surely the beginning of an age of greatness for the kingdom.

-- 

It was not to last, however, for the prince had been as greedy as he was eager. It quickly became clear that nine women were far from enough for the prince, and after being crowned king, his bastards became as common around the reef as mussels. The king’s lustful ways sparked jealousy and melancholy among his wives, and their children learned nothing from their once-wise father beyond his sinful and neglectful ways. The princes grew wild-tempered and unruly, and the princesses grew envious and undisciplined. Thus, when the king presented his daughters for eligible partners, none would accept even the most generous terms of marriage; this harmed the king’s standing with the chiefs around his kingdom, who had always intermarried with the royal family to keep their familial bonds close. When the king took his sons to meet with his vassals, they would always bicker and fight with the other men, no matter how peaceful the day would begin; this harmed the king’s standing with his vassals, who had always admired the royal family’s ability to keep a cool head when no one else could. Sinful as the king had become with age, he punished his selfish children the only way he knew how: through violence. Upon seeing his fall from grace, Ka’haluati descended into his kingdom once more when the king was upon his deathbed, surrounded by councillors, vassals, lords and princes, all fighting and brawling over the title of heir. The Eight-Armed God asked,

“I once said the eager father takes many wives; as does the greedy. Which one were you?”

The king did not answer, and Ka’haluati frowned sternly.

“May every virtuous parent bear many children in my honour - the clan must prosper; the family, grow. Yet be warned, ye who do not care for your children: They are your flesh; they are your blood, and your flesh and blood are holy matter. So must you treat the children as holy matter, and in turn, they will revere you and your house, and the world will continue in harmony. Forsake your flesh and blood, and it will shun you and your house, and the world will descend into chaos.”

And chaos swallowed Kanani’i for good.
[/hider]

[b]Base Form:[/b] Chakravarti takes the form of a pangendered, eight-armed human. Standing three metres tall, they are very much a sight to behold. Their hair flows down over their shoulders like a waterfall of black, spotted with small bronze bells and pieces of jewelry. Atop their head sits a tiara of gold and silver with a spider-eye arrangement of fine stones. 

Their body is lean and neither particularly feminine nor masculine, but also incredibly so. For one blink, their body may appear most womanly, with smooth lines, wide hips and evident breasts underneath wraps of bandages and several platinum, gold and silver amulets; the next blink, the chest appears thick and broad with muscle, and the curves flatten into hard, authoritative lines. Blink again, and they might be somewhere in between, shifting with every change of perspective. Their most clothed half, the legs, are dressed in baggy pants of the finest silk, held up by a belt fashioned from gold chains.

Chakravarti is frequently seen bearing one or several artifacts fashioned by themself: [b]Sirpinghali[/b], a sword which cannot be used to murder a relative; [b]Urusimahajir[/b], a bow which can only fire as many arrows as the archer has children; [b]Rajmubakadar[/b], a sacred rope that when tied around the wrists of two newlyweds will cut off their hands should they divorce one another; [b]Asayamasa[/b], a compass that guides the way to one’s nearest relative; [b]Loxmengeraj[/b], a conch that speaks the name of a forgotten ancestor to its user; [b]Surumisipir[/b], a bell which when rung will determine one’s familial belonging; and lastly, [b]Pirumilajir[/b], the lotus sprout which can only bloom in the hands of a family heir. (For OOC reference, all these artifacts will be made during the Apocalypse or timeskip. Necessary MA will naturally be paid.)

[hider=Base Form]
[img]https://i.imgur.com/t1TJm0X.jpg[/img]
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[b]True Form:[/b] Chakravarti’s True Form, as a family god, is to first explode into a cloud of smoke. The smoke blankets the local area like a thunderstorm on ground level, and all mortals in the area find themselves initially confused. Then, footsteps can be heard: Out of the smoke slowly, but surely appear all the past family, clan, house and dynasty heads of the mortals caught within the cloud, as though brought back from the dead. They all act like they did when they were alive and will most likely berate the mortals for bringing the clan into disrepair, despite what the reality is. To some, this form will be utterly horrifying - being shamed by one’s ancestors can be a gruesome experience; a few others, however, might see this as an opportunity to learn from the old to repair the new.

[hider=Musical Theme]
[youtube]https://youtu.be/7w6RMduYDcY[/youtube]
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