[center][h3] Eidolon Plains - The Defiant [/h3][/center] [center][h2][color=gray]Apostate[/color][/h2][/center][center] [color=beige]...raises an army...[/color][/center] Sophia stalked the plains, healed by the ambient silence. In the distance, she saw a wren pecking at the ground. She loaded her sling with a stone, and began to swing it. She released the stone with unerring aim and struck the small, evasive creature dead. Walking over to the prize, she wiped the stone into the grass in a vain attempt to clean it before returning it to its sack. She bundled the bird into some hide and started carrying it back to the band. She wasn’t sure why she bothered. Mateo, the herd-lead, was likely going to snatch it for himself or one of his lackeys and let her eat grass. Their band has always been lacking. Their first herd-lead thought it would be disrespectful to take anymore than a small herd of xo from Avros’ supply. This mistake meant that their band never possessed horse nor spear. The only reason that Sophia had a sling was because another band stumbled into obtaining it, but didn’t have the skill to use it. She was regulated to gathering back then, but had the foresight not to turn over everything she collected to the band. This was technically taboo, but Mateo would have never used the things she kept as well as she did. Trading for the sling was the best thing she had ever done. It felt right in her hands. Meanwhile, Mateo had only lessened their band. He had mistreated their salter until they had left for another band travelling north. Sophia thought herself foolish for missing the opportunity. Travelling far distances by yourself would only lead to the shrouded maid’s clutches. Nearby xo-herding bands were friends with Mateo. The sniveling coward would give their own precious supplies away to remain in a favorable position despite his incompetence. One half of the day, he will sit around doing nothing but let the story-teller yap and tell the same story over and over again. The other half, he will shout out commands that make everyone else do worse at their job. Her only other option was a wool-eye band. They had plentiful resources, and their lazy bones only moved to new pastures once each season. However, you had to proclaim that Avros was the descendant of the sun spirit. She was happy to accept that the sun spirit existed, but Avros was a mortal with mortal ancestors. They shouldn’t be praising the Almighty Sun, they should be revering the Great Multitude. It was why she was hesitant to travel north, because maybe they believe in something as ridiculous up there. When she crossed the shroud and joined them, she knew that she would be right. Besides, they claimed land that they weren’t even grazing and had even hurt people to greedily keep it from others. Being so lost in her thoughts and passions, Sophia had barely realized that a figure had appeared on the horizon, only noticing it as its features came into view. Standing alone amid the scraggly berry bushes of the plains, was a man. What stood out the most was that even at this distance, Sophia knew she had never seen this man before. He stood inspecting a berry he had plucked and despite the mellow weather and light wind of the day, he was oddly bundled in furs and strange white wrappings. The assembly of clothing was greatest on his back, giving him a cape of sorts, while his front was scant, exposing his arms and chest — only to hide parts of them again in the strange wrappings. Even his face wasn’t free from the odd accessory, with the top left quarter secreted away behind the same cloth. Despite all these oddities, the large black object tied to his hip pulled Sophia’s vision the most. It was long with what she could only assume was a handle poking upwards from the belt, while the other end dragged in the dirt below. Believing that the old handle was a weapon, and immediately noticing that he was not the kin of Avros, she immediately reached for a stone from her bag. She loaded the stone which had slain the bird, still moist and red with its blood. She demanded, “Are you invader or spirit?” “I’m a spirit,” Apostate answered, tearing his only visible eye away from the berry. His right eye was a slate grey, like that of smoke. “Do you eat these berries?” Not lowering or disarming her weapon, but not raising it either, “No. Those berries cause sickness. What are you the spirit of?” “In a way...” Apostate flicked the berry away and took a step towards Sophia. “I’m your spirit. You have hate in your stomach, don’t you?” Mulling over, she replied, “And what if I do? I still have my ancestor’s will in my heart.” she said, patting her chest. A deep groan rumbled from Apostate, as if in pain. “Who is it? Who is hurting you, the others..” He looked around, as if there were other people present. “Something is keeping you in place, in a status that hurts you. Something you hate, something you wish to defy... “ A pause. “What’s wrong?” Apostate stared at her. At this, she lowered her weapon. This spirit wasn’t as threatening as the stories told. Perhaps this one was just old and feeble. She puffed out her chest, “If my foolish band tried to hurt me, they would be the one going to the salter.” she paused. It was a common expression, but one no longer true for them. She didn’t spend a great deal of time reflecting on this. A thought crossed her mind and she muttered it outloud, “Defy? I guess.” she stopped herself. “You want something,” Apostate stated, “what do you want?” Glancing about, she replied, “I want to return to the quiet of bird song and light footsteps.” Apostate closed the distance so that they were at a respectable talking distance. The god watched Sophia in silence for a while before asking, “what’s keeping you from what you want?” Replying as if the answer was obvious, “Isolation is death. I will meet the ancestors with pride, not as a fool.” “Then what can we do to change the situation so you can have what you want without the use of isolation?” Apostate’s deep voice was thick with curiosity and familiarity, as if they had been conspiring friends for a while. Sophia's golden-brown eyes narrowed upon the strange spirit, “Will you haunt my ever waking and dreaming hour with questions until your curiosity is sated?” “Maybe,” Apostate answered. “But I see your point.” The god fell to silence again, but stayed completely still — as if awaiting something. And for several minutes, the pair stood in silence. She was not as still as the god, but she didn’t move her feet from the ground. Having a moment to think in peace, she replied to immobile spirit, “I do not trust that you shall not follow me if your questions are left unanswered. What I want is to belong to a powerful band, one that I can speak of to my ancestors without them needing to console me afterwards. But that can not happen while they are led around by the foolish Mateo and those that scrounge around for his scraps. Am I now freed from your insidious curse spirit?” “Finally!” Apostate boomed and ripped his massive blade from its place. With a dramatic flourish he pointed it in the direction of Sophia’s home. “You are young, I can see that — you also talk too much,” Apostate chastised without looking from his pose, “so out of my grace, I will grant you gifts to help teach you the way to deal with oppressors such as… [i]Mateo[/i].” He spat the name out more than said it, as if the man had insulted Apostate directly. Sophia was stunned. She was trying to recognize if she had passed some type of test, or had only fallen deeper into the spirit’s insidious machinations. One word in his short speech clung to her, “Oppressors?” Another deep groan rumbled from Apostate. “Yes,” he all but chewed his answer, “oppressors. They think of themselves at the detriment of others, if they are people, at least. They cause pain, and secret desire. Hate, the want to defy them, the need to defy them — so that the oppressed can express their truth. A fire in the dark!” He slammed his blade into the ground, and a burst of flames jumped out from where it struck, only to quickly evaporate into smoke. A low growl, “the stupid let them be.” Sophia heard the words, but attempted to truly understand. Either they were great wisdom, or important to understand how to undo whatever curse was being placed upon her. She did not know yet. However, she dwelled on his last comment and then beginning to connect everything together, she blurted out, “Are you claiming that I am stupid?” “Are you stupid?” Apostate looked away from his vogue to stare at Sophia. “Does Mateo do whatever he wants and no one ever thinks to stop the man?” Having abandoned Eidolon social graces in her discussion with the spirit some time ago, she retorted, “I have hid away the things I have collected. Things that he would have taken and squandered.” “You are worthy of my gifts,” Apostate replied. He repositioned himself. “Ask anything of me.” Sophia thought for a moment. Was this last step before redemption or the abyss? She called upon all the knowledge that she had, her history, the stories that she knew, rumors told among friends, whatever she could remember. Then she remembered a small detail that gave her courage, “My ancestors were strong and hearty, but they were cowed by false modesty. This one mistake has cost our band greatly, and has made us lesser. I shall not repeat their mistake. Spirit of Wisdom, I ask to rectify the stain left upon my legacy. I ask that you grant me a horse and a spear. With them, I shall rally my band and return to them the pride that has been stolen from them.” she said with complete earnesty. “Easily done,” Apostate said. He wrenched his embedded blade like it was a lever and a geyser of smoke erupted from the crack it formed in the ground. The smoke swirled above before bounding back down towards the earth with a crazy winnie. As it landed, hooves pounded into the dusty grass and as the smoke subsided, a great horse stood in its place. The horse was immense, dwarfing any horse Sophia had ever seen let alone dreamed of. It’s body was dusty grey and speckled with black, leading to a completely black muzzle. It’s mane and tail were wispy and white, and instead of falling with gravity, they seemed to swirl and curl like vapor reaching for the sky. “He cannot die, he cannot grow tired, he will outlive you, and he will find the next who needs him.” Apostate crossed his arms, his errant blade still sticking out of the ground that spawned the horse. The creature stomped its hoof, a puff of smoke blooming from the impact. “He is made of hevel, but you may ride him — for he has chosen you by my decree.” Hesitant, but determined, Sophia climbed atop the steed. She sat upon its back awkwardly, until she felt something change inside her. Her position shifted to be more natural and comfortable. She somehow knew how to command the horse to start walking, and did so, riding in circles. While she had this ephemeral knowledge, she still lacked experience to give it context. While partially distracted she replied to the spirit, “He shall outlive me? Then my precious descendants shall know his glory.” “Indeed he will,” Apostate answered. He held out his hand and a staff of smoke swirled out of it, only to fall back into his grasp. He gripped the shaft and the smoke began to shift in place. Finally, a spear of bone laced with glossy black metal formed. It looked heavy, but the head of the spear was seamless and sharp, reflecting the sun vigorously. “This weapon is light and sharp in the hands of the weary, the oppressed, the ones in need of justice — but heavy and dull in the hands of the greedy and wicked.” With little else he tossed the weapon sideways towards Sophia. Sophia instinctively reached out and grabbed it. It held little heft in her hand. She finally returned her sling to her belt to better wield her new weapon. She held it to the sky triumphantly. She had seen others do it, and was repeating their motions. It wasn’t as satisfying as she thought it would be. But nevertheless, she replied, “For good or for ill, I find myself in your debt. The horse was favored by Avros, and thus it is favored by my people. Those oppressed by incompetence shall follow the hoofbeats towards renewed glory. As for the oppressors.” she said, she raised the spear again, “I believe that is the purpose of this tool, is it not?” “It is,” Apostate answered, “in the right hands, it will make quick work of those who stand in your way.” The god held out his hand, and from his fingertips emerged a steady stream of smoke. The steady streams swirled together in the palm of his hand until it thickened into a sphere. Furtherstill, the sphere hardened until a glossy sheen reflected the daylight off of its stormy exterior. With the glass orb firmly in hand, Apostate held it towards Sophia. “Take this, as well, and know my name as Apostate, the god of defiance.” Sophia took the sphere, however she was distracted by the steed and spear, and simply repeated, “Apostate, defiance.” “And do not lose my last gift,” Apostate warned, “or all you have gained could be lost.” Sophia nodded. As the trance of excitement faded, she looked down upon her hand. Her heart-marking color had changed from the gold-brown of her ancestors to smokey grey. For good or ill, the spirit’s influence ran deep into her core. Pushing away her doubts, she rode to her band to save them from an honorless journey to the shroud. [hider=Summary]Sophia hunts a bird with her sling, and begins an internal monologue about how bad her situation is. Her band is poor due to her ancestors refusing to take more than a small herd of xo from Avros’ inheritance out of respect, and thus they have neither horses or spears.. Her band-leader Mateo takes what the band gathers and wastes it. She recalls how she obtained the sling. She was a gatherer who didn’t return everything she collected to the band, against the traditions of her people. She used something had kept for herself to barter for it from a band who had obtained it without knowing how to use it. She elaborates on Mateo’s incompetence and how it drove their salter north. She berates herself for no following, but travelling long distances without a band is foolish and she has the deeply held spiritual belief that Avros was born of mortals keeping her from joining the nearby sun-worshipping sheep-herders and making her hesitant to leave to distant lands. Eventually, she stumbles on Apostate and notices that he has something that looks like a strange weapon on his belt and he lacked the heart-marking of an Eidolon, and thus threatened him with her sling demanding to know if he was a spirit or intruder. He identifies himself as a spirit, and they begin bickering over questions. Sophia being too suspicious and prideful to answer them truthfully. She eventually asks the spirit if she knows cursed with him endless asking questions and replies maybe before being as still and silent as a statue. They stand their awkwardly for a few minutes before Sophia believes that if she doesn’t tell the spirit something, he will haunt her forever. She complains to the spirit about how she wants to be a part of a proud and powerful band, and that Mateo leadership is ruining them. Apostate is pleased by her honesty, and tells her about oppressive people and how only stupid people let them continue to exist. Sophia is smart enough to realize that applies to her and takes offense. Apostate taunts her about it, and Sophia replied about how she technically stole from the band’s supplies. Pleased again with her budding criminal activity, the spirit offers her anything. Sophia is hesitant, but remembers her ancestor’s hesitancy to take from Avros’ supplies. She asks a for a spear and horse because those are things she knows to be very valuable and are important social symbols in Eidolon culture. Apostate creates the Steed of Hevel, a large horse made of smoke and declares her the Rider of Hevel, until she dies and the horse chooses a new rider. She also obtains the Spear of Sophia, a bone and metal spear light in the hands of the oppressed, but heavy in the hands of the oppressor. He also hands her a indestructible glass orb and states that her other gifts will be lost if she loses it. Sophia is distracted by her new possessions to fully notice Apostate identify himself, and so registers his name and his domain, but glosses over the fact he called him a god. Something the Eidolon do not have a concept of. When she started to calm down, she noticed that her heart-marking had turned from gold-brown to smokey-grey. Trying not to think about it, she rides off to her band to claim leadership for herself. [/hider] [hider=Vigor] Apostate begins with 8: 1 vigor spent on another indestructible glass orb 1 vigor cut to 0 (defiance) spent on creating the Steed of Hevel: A large and powerful horse made of smoke. It is only mountable by whoever it chooses (usually whoever is in need of it) and then remains with their rider until their death. The horse itself is immortal and will immediately search for a successor upon the death of its rider. The successor must be an oppressed individual who needs him to defy their odds. 1 vigor spent on bestowing Sophia with the Championship: Rider of Hevel. The Rider of Hevel, while maintaining the usual excellence of a hero, is not immortal, and upon their death, the Steed of Hevel will seek out and choose the next Rider of Hevel. Those with the title instinctively become attuned to the horse, and can ride it without fail. 1 vigor cut to 0 (defiance) spent on creating the Spear of Sophia: This spear is a medley of smooth bone and glossy black metal. It is completely seamless and extremely sharp. If it is in the hands of the oppressed, weary, or those seeking justice, it will be light and sharp. If it is ever to fall in the grasp of the greedy or oppressing, it will present itself as extremely heavy and dull. Total spent: 2 Ending vigor: 6 [/hider] [hider=Spirit] Rider of Hevel: Spirit: Started with 0, +2 [/hider]