[hider=The God of Names][quote][quote][center][sub][u][color=#3E5967]Only those without a Name may read from my pages. Only the Breath of the Progenitor may serve as my ink. Only the quill of the Reader may pen my words.[/color][/u][/sub]

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[h1][b][sub][sup][color=#3E5967]The God of Names[/color][/sup][/sub] [b]|[/b] [sub][sup][color=#3E5967]Onomatikon[/color][/sup][/sub][/b][/h1]

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Though the metaphysical laws and functions of the world define much of existence on a mechanical level, the more conceptual and abstract applications of those functions provide it with meaning able to inspire all from the lowliest of lives to the greatest of divinities–and of those myriad concepts, few are more universal and sacrosanct than those of Names. A name is more than a simple appellation, more than something idly endowed at birth or the moment of creation, more than something used only as reference when communicating with the manifold forms of life and being that exist outside the self. A name is a reflection of what something truly is, and as the complexities of existence mount upon themselves beings may find themselves with many names–a name that one uses with their children; a name that one speaks only to themselves; a name given only as a means to be called upon in an hour of direst need.

The Name represents identity, the fragments of the true self that one chooses to share with others. The Name represents a choice, a selective veil of the components of being that allows something to exist separately from a greater whole. The Name represents even the greater whole, an all-encompassing utterance able to convey the very essence of what it is to be. It is everything, and it is nothing. Just as a name is both the many facets of an infinite jewel and the jewel itself, the Aspect of Names allows the Onomatikon to interpret, record, and manipulate the many monikers and sobriquets one might deign to go by. It governs the absolute power of the True Name, the title given to the many paths and selves that a given being or thing might have–much like the e’er twisting branches of nebulous fate. All things that can be said to have identity or the ability to experience possess a True Name, and what they call themselves are fragmented aspects of this perfect representation of their most essential essence.[/center][/quote]

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[indent][indent]The God of Names is a being of singular obsession, entirely devoted to the task of chronicling the various goings-on of the world it has chosen to become a fundamental lynchpin of. Though it possesses no true will beyond this task (and of course the successful completion of its duties), it is known to draw its will from the names of all things contained within its infinite pages and is able to inhabit the lived experience of all things that possess a True Name. In accordance with its principle desire it uses this ability to experience the world as all recorded within its pages do, seeking to compile a library of experiences that will allow it to answer the question it became a god to answer.

As the God of Names is a book, and none whose True Name is recorded within its pages may read from it, the God of Names frequently finds it difficult to communicate with others. Much of the true personality of the Onomatikon is thus instead projected through the facsimile it has created in order to pen its many pages, known as Anagnostis. Anagnostis was created from the will of the Onomatikon, forged without life or soul or name from the only quill able to pen the divine book's pages--but the Onomatikon neglected to provide it with a personality of its own, choosing instead to endow it only with an endless curiosity for the intricacies of life. Accordingly, Anagnostis' personality is one of naive curiosity and innocence, seeking to learn from others and add all new experiences to its own in order to fulfil the singular desire imprinted upon it by its master.[/indent][/indent][/quote]

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It is said that once there lived a scholar in the highest mountains of Poietes, the Master of Incunabula of the Grand Order of Gnosis, whose dedication to his work took him beyond the pale of death until he had judged himself finally finished. It is said that this scholar had read every tome the Order had ever acquired, and memorised them so completely that they were often called the very memory of the world in which they lived. When that world’s sun died and the very breath of creation began to leave it, still they felt that they had not quite done enough–for if there was no being left to witness the apocalypse, what had their life (and death)’s work even mattered at all? So unwilling was this scholar to allow the wealth of knowledge they had acquired regarding their universe die with them that they are said to have sundered the very gates between worlds with the vast knowledge they acquired, travelling from theirs to a new and unfamiliar universe to preserve what they could.

In the next universe they were said to have continued their work as a lonely hermit, allowing themselves not even a moment of rest until they had learned everything they could about this next world. When the time came for it, too, to wither and die as is the fate of all life, they employed their various esoterica and codices of fundamental truths to forestall it and perhaps enable it to cling onto warmth for just a little while longer, but they were merely the shade of an obsessive individual that could not let go, and could not have hoped to have altered the fate of even a single planet, never mind an entire universe. Once more this Master of Incunabula watched as the pulse of life deadened and faded away once more, invoking again that selfsame magic and taking their library of knowledge to yet another world.

None can say for sure how long they travelled, fuelled by only the vaguest memories of their home and its wealth of knowledge, but in time they had seen enough universes rise and fall to have become little more than an impassive observer with no hope of ever changing the fates of the worlds they inhabited. Their role became simply that of a witness, one to record the deaths of entire universes so that they might cling to memory in their many books, until they happened upon a universe who had a final witness all their own. Her voice was a clarion call that awakened in this numb spirit a sense of purpose for the first time in many long eons, and she offered them–among others–the chance to sup from the wellspring at the very heart of creation in order to become divine. 

The shade had long forgotten what it was like to truly live, and so answered the call with only a single goal in mind: to use the highest of powers to understand, to observe, to answer a single burning question that had denied them the peace of rest for millenia beyond counting or observation: could even a God prevent the eventual departure of all life and warmth in the cold and uncaring universes that existed? Would her earnest cry of hope and life and love be enough to rail against the eventual fate of all things? Though the spirit could not remember how to live, it remembered how to observe and record. It remembered how to read and write. And so when they drank deep from the ichor of creation itself and their incorporeal form brimmed with ambrosia, they took the only form they knew how: the books they so cherished. So was the Onomatikon born, they say, though none have ever been able to read its pages to confirm it. Perhaps only Anath Homura knows the answer. 

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[center][sub][u][color=#3E5967][h3]Onomatikon - True Form[/h3][/color][/u][/sub][/center]

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[center][sub][u][color=#3E5967][h3]Anagnostis - Facade[/h3][/color][/u][/sub][/center]

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