[hider=DONE][center][h2][color=green]Bey[/color][color=orange]re[/color][/h2][/center]

[center][b][h3][color=green]Domai[/color][color=orange]n: Luck[/color][/h3][/b][/center]

Luck can either be [color=green]good luck[/color] or [color=orange]bad luck[/color]. What defines luck is a turn of events unexpected or up to chance, whether this turn of events is contextually good to the perceiver or experiencer determines if it is good luck or bad luck.

Some examples of [color=green]good luck[/color]:
Finding loose currency, ripe for the taking.
An enemy’s arrow serendipitously missing you.
Stumbling onto the answer of a question
Winning a chance game or bet
Being in the right place at the right time

Some examples of [color=orange]bad luck[/color]:
Losing something important to you
Tripping, falling, dropping, or accidentally ruining something
Contracting a low chance disease or getting smote by an enemy’s attack that should have missed
Losing a chance game or bet
Being in the wrong place at the wrong time

As you can see, luck never creates the circumstance or context, but rather hands out unexpected turns -- finding money on your stroll, getting unexpectedly hit on the battlefield, stumbling on a loose rock. Usually Lady Luck has to use what is on scene to create this chance of luck (the arrow, the money, the disease, something to trip on), but in more extreme cases, Lady Luck would have to first present the item to the scene herself, but creating that item does not fall under luck -- unless it directly affects luck.

[center][b][h3][color=green]Bas[/color][color=orange]e Form:[/color][/h3][/b][/center]

	Beyre is a young god, and while god’s are immune to the effects of aging, Beyre feels young and as such, presents herself as a young woman in her prime. She’s rather slim and would otherwise be unassuming if not for her complexion being split down the middle with her left half fair, rosy, and bejeweled with her green left eye while her right half is a strange orange tint stamped with her equally orange right eye. 

	Being a terrible but otherwise constant liar, it helps that her complexion is always at a battle with itself, each half conquering the other as her moods change and so does the luck in the air. She’s a moody one, and her fickle mood explains the ever changing shift in luck. 

[center][b][h3][color=green]True F[/color][color=orange]orm:[/color][/h3][/b][/center]

	Beyre’s true form is monsterous like her mother, but in a different way. It’s a haze of possibilities standing before you, each one different and chaotically overlapping the one next to it. A rush of images, chances, all personified by some ghastly figure too difficult and maybe impossible to look directly at.

[center][b][h3][color=green]Myt[/color][color=orange]h:[/color][/h3][/b][/center]

	[i][color=green]Long a[/color][color=orange]go...[/color] or was it?[/i]

	Dust sanded the air and it was a miracle that more people weren’t choking on it as they screamed and cheered. The wheels of the Red City’s most famous charioteers were still hot with friction as the crowd stampeded the track. Marcu, the most popular racer of this age ([color=green]or w[/color][color=orange]as he?[/color]) was already beginning to be pulled from his winning chariot and hoisted onto the shoulders of his beloved fans.

	Cheers roared while his opponent, an equally respected charioteer by the name of Remundu, tried to respectfully hide his sulking. His own fans couldn’t blame him for sulking or even being sour; it was an unusual race that Remundu nearly won, if not for a seemingly good trace of luck for Marcu -- [color=green]or was it just b[/color][color=orange]ad luck for Remundu?[/color].

	The winner was already being planted on his feet while his crowd barraged him with questions.

	“You were neck and neck! What happened?” A loud man roared, unsure of the race he just saw. 

	Marcu scoffed, waving the question away as if it was a fly. “We weren’t neck and neck, I was just waiting for my moment to cut him off.”

	“I thought I saw his wheel shake?” Another voice cut in.

	“Yeah!” A young girl agreed. “I saw his wheel rod start to snap, he had to pull back before it was torn off.”

	“Psh!” Marcu shook his head and started back to his chariot, the crowd following him eagerly. “He should have taken better care of his chariot then, no?”

	“I’m pretty sure his wheel hit a rock and it jostled the frame,” a clear fan of Remundu reminded.

	“Skill then!” Marcu growled as he walked. “He should have moved aside.”

	A red haired woman with green eyes took her turn. “A case of luck, imagine if the stone was in your path.. You two were neck and neck, not you or him had a place to go!”

	Marcu shook his head. “It was hardly luck; anyone with any skill would be able to avoid-” Marcu suddenly stubbed his toe on a stone and came falling forward. A large man tried to catch him but bumped into two others attempting to aid their clumsy hero. 

	[i][color=orange]CRACK![/color][/i]

	The sound of a skull bouncing off of solid wood rebounded, Marcu’s head jostling off the edge of his chariot’s wheel. A spattering of crimson leaked out of his mouth and he jerked and spasmed on the ground. Another roar sounded, this one of fear and cries for help.

	[i][color=green]Either way, don’t be too proud, don’t be too confident, don’t feed your ego and give a little thanks to Lady L[/color][color=orange]uck, preferably before a big game. Seriously, just throw a little coin in the bowl under the altar, it can save you from her fickle moods... Maybe not little.[/color] 

	[color=green]Oh wh[/color][color=orange]o knows...[/color][/i]
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