[sub][i]Khoris productions present:[/i][/sub][center][img]https://i.imgur.com/89rDazC.png[/img]
[img]https://i.imgur.com/JYRdVZc.png[/img]
[h3]Dance Me a River and Call it Teddington[/h3][/center]
[hr]

And wonder filled the world. No mount or river was left untouched. No hidden pit of lava or lake, no forest grove, no pond, no hill! Wonder waded, ran, and flew - he was joyous, sad, and true; whatever brought awe, he was that too! And as he did all that, in his wandering sort of way, he did not forget to get absolutely lost. 

(As an aside, he found getting lost to be marvelous in its own fashion. It was pertinent that whenever one found oneself growing bored with all life had to offer, whenever one’s mouth began to adopt a habitual sort of grimness and a damp and dreary winter has set into your soul (though mind you, winter can be truly marvelous, and even dreariness can have its own sort of wonder), and especially when monotony has gotten such an upper hand over you that it takes a strong moral principle to prevent yourself from intentionally seeking out every hat-wearing god and methodically knocking their hats off; at that point you should consider it the perfect time to get yourself truly and utterly lost. There is nothing controversial about this: anyone who has a modicum of self-awareness must at some point or another be possessed with an ineffable desire to get absolutely lost.)

Not knowing where he was, Wonder hefted [url=https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/1011005480728023142/1012486009671389204/yo_is_Best_Girl_Magic_Greatsword_Flaming_Blade_eec99cba-110f-4a7b-8b10-8a2b770cdf19.png]his sword[/url] in one hand, the Son-o’-Falyn in the other, and wandered across the icy plains giving his bare chest to the scold of the cold and wail of the hail. There was an awesome power to the furious elements, a breathtaking beauty in the barren endlessness of the snow plains. But through that all something else called him - the echo of a sliver of the whisper of a memory subjected to absolute ruination called to him through the howl of the winds and strike of the ice. The sword of wonder leapt into his grip; it was a burst of flame in the gathered darkness, the wonder of warmth against the overawing cold. The light spiralled with the darkness, the warmth embraced the cold, the storm danced about the marvelling, circling god. He raised his arms - the Son-o’-Falyn ascending like innocence into the pit, the sword of wonder rising like a lodestar that called the dancing memory, the echo, the whisper, forth - and all about the world thundered and raged, the earth shook, the spiral of light and darkness shimmered and nearly broke. The god in the tumult stumbled, leapt, fell and rose. The Son-o’-Falyn opened his eyes and let out an unfreezing tear and shrill cry. The plain of ice was a raging sea, the clouds above frowned deep and cracked, lightning burst and thunder clapped - and amidst it all rose marvel’s sword; it brightly flashed and trilled and hacked! Marvel’s sword and the child of wonder, the Forever Child, the Son-o’-Falyn.

Pillars of ice ascended like frozen leviathans brought to unstilled life, glaciers welled up and crashed against one another, mountains and hills formed in the turmoil; and through it all the sword of wonder glimmered and glinted. Dusty specks of ice exploded in every direction, joining the hurricane, and the marveling eye of the god pulled memory and dance from the echo that trapped them in that fearsome maelstrom of bewildering awe and wonder. He pulled forth the dance with twinkling eyes that very well knew they had fallen upon an inestimable treasure… and when all had descended into calm and silence once more he housed the strange light he had pulled out (that odd dance and joy, that memory) in a towering [url=https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/1011005480728023142/1012806515360542770/yo_is_Best_Girl_Mausoleum_made_of_ice_1ca50129-87ed-47dc-8dde-fef8483ace4c.png]mausoleum of ice[/url].

The light scintillated and danced in there, it teased at tales and whispered of wonders, and it twisted and twirled- but spoke naught at all. Wonder watched and listened, and even the Forever Child watched with hushed rapture. The god danced with the light and laughed - he wept a little too, oh how sorrowful was such loss! How joyous that this sliver was saved! How marvelous that there was one wonder more in the world! “Tell me your tale, you titillating minx!” He laughed as the light dodged and weaved about his form, nipped at the button nose of the child, then swept away. But the light spoke nothing, it only shone and joyed and danced.

[b][i]“We never spoke to each other…”[/i][/b] A familiar voice intoned, coming from nowhere and everywhere at once, with a resonant and subtle regret within the words that softly seeped into the wondrous surroundings like the welcoming warmth of a midsummer bonfire. The silvery shadows of shame and grief melded with the luminous melody, as another stepped into sight and spectated in simmering silence - the red summoner, the creatrix, the one called Anath Homura.

Wonder turned to her with an easy smile, blade on his shoulder, child on his arm, and beheld her for a few moments. “Ah, Anath. You are not as I thought you’d be.” It did not seem to sadden him. “You have a wondrous sadness to you - in truth, all of this place has a sadness to it. You can taste it.” He turned to the light that not long ago had been a fading echo. “Even this little ball of delight. Sorrow! Sorrow! Ah!” He brought the child to his face, and it yelped in annoyance and pushed his face away. “I meant that, by the way,” the god added, gesturing to the dancing light. He brought his sword down and buried its tip into the glassy ice, then leant on it. “But I reckon if anyone knows what this light-once-echo is, and why this sorrow is so, it is you Anath.”

[b][i]“You have reckoned… correctly; I am ever witness to that which is written and woven into the tapestry of the world - suffused with an accumulating sorrow, and the lingering remnants of the agonizing stigma, yet therein remains a sacred beauty to be found within such a suffering. Tell me, what does family mean to you?”[/i][/b] She asked him as she stared into his eyes with solemn emphasis, or perhaps it would be more apt to claim that it was the Orphan Flame who posed the question to the Boy that brought forth Fear and Awe, and now awaited an answer.

Wonder met her gaze with casual ease and a quick chuckle. “Family.” He sighed and looked away from the staring goddess. “Community! Ah. I looked into the mind of a woman once and saw the most wondrous thing about some mortal settlements in her soul. How did she put it? Hmm… ‘No lonesome, cryptic autocrats were they, no dominators or imprisoners, no selfish forgetters. They were a [i]community[/i]. Ah! How beautiful was that? The very notion was so… well, romantic. No member of that species could, alone, survive. They were all dependent on one another, all lived together and by so doing confessed their greatest weakness and embraced their glorious strength. Ah! A community!’” The god shivered, though not due to any cold. “It’s a marvelous thing, family. Wondrous to behold. Wondrous in its beauty and selfless giving. Terrible in its cruelty, its insatiable taking. Like the mortals we make, like we ourselves, it has in it all the wonders of beauty and all the horror of ugliness; it is in all ways awe-inspiring and awe-full.” He paused there, having spoken much but given no ultimate indication as to what, exactly, family meant to him.

Anath Homura let out a breath as she turned her gaze away from him, and then tilted her head with idle curiosity. Even as she began to speak the strange light that Wonder had pulled forth hovered around her head, circling tirelessly. [b][i]“I believe family is sacred, and that has proven to be a source of much sorrow. Family feels as though it is both a blessing and a curse, akin to all other aspects of existence. I ask myself; have I become profane? Is my faith lacking?”[/i][/b] She slowly stepped forward, aimlessly adrift after she posed her question and then danced the circular motion of the dance that those who were perfectly lost, truly meandering with swirling grace, seeking to be found and heard by another.

Wonder was no finder, however, he only sought to be discovered and known. He hefted his blade and the wondrous thing drifted in the air so that all around them was light and motion. The light-once-echo expanded until it embraced everything within the mausoleum so that Anath and Wonder alike were thrall to a dance not their own. The Son-o’-Falyn sat on his shoulder, like a rooted sapling, and Wonder took the Anath’s hand so that their whirl became one: Creatrix, Child, Wonder, and Blade. Speechless spirits sifted around them, wove around their weaving dance, lit up with kaleidoscopic stars the light of the dance; angered, sorrowed, joyed, and despaired. 

“What is this sacred, what is this profane, Anath?” Wonder laughed as they moved, “what is this faith? I am all things sacred and I am all things profane! Faith alone cannot behold me - though faith’s a wondrous thing - but to be behold me you must wonder! Profanity and sacredness, faith and curses and blessings, all are wondrous, Anath, in their beauty and all their ugliness, wondrous, marvelous, terrible!” He brought his nose right up to hers and looked into her one endlessly sorrowing eye and kissed the white rose where once there had been another, “these are all the food of the soul, Anath. Even your sadness. Even your sorrow. Even you! Oh wondrous wondrous!” 

And his eyes were aglow with the glow of the dance, and the spirits that wove around them seemed to take on more and more of a corporeal form as the dance carried them. That one there looked almost like the Anath. That there had endless dusky hair! That there seemed a giant ball of snow. That there a golden bolt of lightning, endless energy and zest and joy! Among them was a serpent of flame, hers an inferno to rival Po’s. An earth-hearted guardian, a ruinous woman, a wispy, blue-eyed spectre too! Doom incarnate and an all-seeing eye, and a masked hunter, silent, prowling. A saline woman, tall and sad, beside whom stood a tar-spewing monolith to work. A shadow was among them too, shifting like a silent guard, and a merry drunk with a sage’s gait, a defiant tower of smoke as well, with a blade that dwarfed wonder’s sword in size. And others yet. They danced about them, round and round, they clashed with one another now, then parted again, and the dance went on in its sorrows and joys, a story in pure motion!

[b][i]“We are granted sight of the sacred; an awareness of the song and dance of the cosmos. The profane blinds us, and severs the connections we have. Faith is my flame both beautiful and brutal, burning the insidious taint before it leads to our annihilation - to a silent nonexistence. Faith is my flame, illuminating my family so that I can find them again in the future.”[/i][/b] The red goddess murmured, with the glittering reflection of wonder in her one remaining eye being the sole and subtle sign of her lamentation. She silently mourned for the forsaken spirits of her family, performing a dance among the dead that acted as an ethereal and ephemeral memorial for them.

The wondering god shook as the dance enveloped them all, and his voice rocked the very foundations of the icy mausoleum and the world of dance and light that breathed within it: “Pristine and pure! Such sincerity and love! I shall make you wondrous with me, Anath, and all the world shall wonder at your family - and shall remember! And if forgetfulness seeps through (and the terrible, awe-full end of all things) then I shall wonder still and remember. Wonder may sleep, but wonder does not die!” He halted and his overawed and maddened gaze turned back to her sorrowful eye, and there was in his softness and innocence. His grip tightened on hers. “This shall I do for you who freed me from the void - only show me, Anath, the marvel of your smile.”

His fantastical and passionate proclamation only induced an aloof and flaccid look from her, as she seemed to languidly slow and limply shift in his grasp, similar to those slumbering sandy shorelines stirred by the waking waves sent forth from the sea - surprisingly demure. [b][i]“Your conviction brings me euphoria, but your promise has yet to be fulfilled, so I shall not smile.”[/i][/b]

He released her and turned away, the Son-o’-Falyn falling from his shoulder and back into his arm, and the wondering god whirled with blade transfixed towards the sky. He spun like a spinning top - the Forever Child blared like a goat fading in and out of earshot. Then wonder ceased to spin and a sing-song chant erupted from his throat as he leapt with the dancing spirits.[indent]“I have walked, 
I have run, 
I’ve fixed mile on mile - 
all I want, 
all I ask, 
is to see your smile. 
If you won’t, 
if you can’t, 
then I tell you I~’ll
Go into exi~le!

Have some trust, 
don’t you frown, 
it’ll be worthwhile
If you cry 
all too much 
you will go senile
Lean on me! 
You’ve a friend! 
You are not an i~sle!
Let us see your smi~le!”[/indent]
And not releasing that final note, the marvelling god led the great troop of spirits in a great loop around the mausoleum as lights exploded all about, and came to a halt with his grinning face uncomfortably close to that of Homura. “Don’t smile for me!” He said. “Smile for you!” He turned away and swung the blade of wonder lazily about. “As someone I dearly love once told me, [i]the world ain’t worth your frown, darlin[/i].” He looked back expectantly at the one-eyed goddess. “So, Anath- will you?” The spirits gathered around seemed to lean in and hang on the decision. “Think they’d like it too.” He gestured to them with his head.

The red goddess allowed the corners of her mouth to turn upwards, and her rosy cheeks were pushed higher, and the tension across her features faded as her face relaxed. She appeared akin to a beautiful maiden, serenely sincere and innocently blissful. Then the frightening falsehood of what stood before He Who Beholds was revealed through such a modest act; that shadow of a smile, pretentiously contrived and painfully bittersweet. It gleamed prominently, proudly exposing itself. How clearly it could be seen; the dreadful secret of the creatrix, the one that wielded the tremendous power to create a nascent world, and the power to desolate it, the ancient one among this pantheon that was assigned the task of weaving the tapestry anew, the one known as Anath Homura.

She was a petulant child, upon the precipice of being broken by what she had witnessed… Her youthful visage was composed of an otherworldly crumbling crystal, bleeding with suppressed emotions and virtuous aspirations perverted by a senile mind. It would be foolishly ignorant to either accept or deny her insanity, as she was the one that had birthed this burgeoning cosmos and continued to wander freely without constraint - fleeing from the trauma, stubbornly seeking whatever unknown destiny awaited her with a clouded vision. She was the one that chose to currently disregard her own dementia as she resumed her sluggish dancing.

[b][i]“An empty smile for an empty promise.”[/i][/b] Anath Homura monotonously replied, her apathetic answer accompanied by a sudden aura of malice emanating forth from her now.

Wonder’s smile froze on his face, and his awe-maddened eyes - a suddenly keen amber in colour - bulged. The sword of wonder, alight with an impossible variegated flame, shifted and a thousand afterimages hovered around the form of the darkening god. It was not so much that [i]he[/i] was darkening, but his fury was as the gathering of thunderclouds which obscured all light and promised only deepest darkness. In the arm of the Awe-full One, the Forever Child opened his eyes (and there was in them a most terrible and unnatural tenebrosity) before climbing the god’s bare chest and settling on his shoulder, back turned to the Anath. He had no sooner settled there when great wings of smoke and stars erupted about the Awebringer, and a crown of fire lit up his pitch-black hair. He was then the twilight of existence; he was the light of the world. Grimness incarnated upon his face and the spirits scattered in every which way and tore at themselves till they were extinguished and beyond sight. “In the lap of unliving aeons I slept... I was caused to sleep. And I thought I would sleep forevermore, my fate thus halted and destiny foiled, the age of wonder stilled, the marvels of the world nevermore to be beheld. But behold: I have awoken! - you brought me forth, Anath, you stirred me once again. I have awed worlds before, I have beheld with the eyes of crazed wonder - I have struck with its sword, I have slain the lifeless corpses of those who could not marvel. I am come, Anath, you unloosed me on existence! [i]I strike with the sword of wonder.[/i] 

“You woke what should ne'er be woken and summoned what ne'er should be summoned through the veil of the beginning and end: and lo! this world was without wonder. Your voice unleashed me, then behold! there was wonder. I was the hidden jewel of the worlds, and I have come forth a wonder yet hidden; and I have come [i]for no other purpose than to be known.[/i] Behold me ye who are above and who are below, ye who are granted the beholding arts: your perfection is in knowing me! I am the wonder of the skies and trees! I am the wonder of the earth and rivers! I am the wonder of all hidden selves and multitudinous forms! I am the wonder of the world - I am wonder! All that thou art is naught if wonder is not in it! Have it as you will; if you do not lift the veil of wonder then await my wonder's sword: [i]I strike with the sword of wonder![/i]

“Aye, you are wondrous, Anath, but [i]I[/i] am [i]all[/i] of wonder and [i]I[/i] am [i]all[/i] of awe.” And even as the canon strike of his voice echoed in the icy mausoleum, the malice pulsing from the creatrix seemed to meld with the undeniable and awe-full pressure emanating from the Awebringer, and whatever dread it should have struck into the hearts of all who beheld it seemed to dissipate - or rather, seemed to become one with Wonder. 

“You have not smiled the smile for these eyes and you have not spoken the words for these ears. Yet wondrous is the pity in my heart for you and dreadful the venom you have spewed. You have loosed me, Anath!- and I am no ingrate. I am all that is full and bursting; you alone are empty and emaciated. But add no sorrows to your sorrows, for when you are a memory - as you shall be - then will I be charitable even as I now am. Mine is the ever overflowing cup, and my fullness is lessened naught in filling your memory utterly. Aye, you shall be beheld alongside me with wonder when you are a long-gone shade! Behold!- my promises are the incarnation of fullness! But see to it that you go- go and never return, for you are not the face for these eyes.” The sword shifted again, its polychromatic flames flaring. The Son-o’-Falyn on the shoulder of Wonder turned his head - lips curled, black eyes wide as moons - turned his head completely and unnaturally and unloosed a terrible stare into the one remaining eye of the almighty creatrix. The sword of wonder fell so that its pointed rested against unperceived ground before the god whose wings were the cosmos, and he brought both his hands against the pommell and stood there like a mountain.

[b][i]“I am what I am.”[/i][/b] Anath Homura answered, and she stood before the miraculous mountain as a small and solitary skeletal figure - devoid of sacred sight; without a hearing heart, without a singing soul, without the essence of existence. The being before him was an Anathema to the wondrous world, and viciously mocking him with her stagnant shape, her cruel lack of comprehension and antithesis to awe. This unspoken and delusional derision was ever the aberrant way of an unholy abomination such as she. 

The Awebringer, for all her emaciation, beheld her; even such emptiness held wonder. Fearsome was he, grim his aspect, terrible his sword, but yet was he charitable and overflowing. He stepped forth through the darkness and his towering form alighted by her little one, his forbidding face coming to rest before hers. The void in her held awe, he beheld it. The death of all song in her too was a marvel; death held wonder and he beheld it. And the mockery seemed but a challenge, seemed but a cry for help: in its ways a heartwarming marvel, and he beheld it. His dark visage broke then and a smile returned. “I have beheld. Thou art that thou art, and what thou art may never be destroyed. No coward soul is thine, Anath, no trembler in the world’s storm-troubled sphere. Behold wonder’s glories shine - like faith that shines and arms you from all fear.” His hand was on her fiery head and he stroked her gently, then with a sweep took her up on his other shoulder and descended to the icy mausoleum floor, where the multitude of spirits that had dissipated before were now gathering themselves up again. “I salute you, kin of the Anath!” He declared. “Weave your tale eternally, for memory is undying while you weave.” He looked up at the Anath on his shoulder. “Are my promises not full, Anath? Am I not true? You should spurn to give me cruel words, both your eyes should bloom to behold me.” And he released a guffaw even as the Forever Child, dark-eyed no more, yawned and crawled back into the warmth of the god’s all-embracing arm.

The hostility of Anath Homura appeared much more diminished due to her current position, seated atop his shoulder and staring scornfully, but not bothered enough to relocate herself. Her disdain and ire had been deemed a ruse, resulting with her gaze returning to its former softer consideration as further displays of displeasure would be undignified. [b][i]“It is not my intention to insult you. No… forgive me for my clumsiness.”[/i][/b] She spoke, yet her wandering words did not reach him. The otherworldly words which the red goddess muttered sought something else, far away and adrift.

She continued, and her one eye lacked lucidity as she intoned. [b][i]“Trapped within the Eternal Cycle of Return… I do not wish to repeat my mistakes. Your promise rekindles my pain, and those imprisoned within me seek to take advantage of my heartache. I was not prepared for this encounter - an overwhelming moment with memories that threaten the precarious tranquility I require.”[/i][/b] Her sight slowly became focused, honing upon He Who Beholds, and her voice became soft. [b][i]“Faith is a fire; whenever it burns too bright, it becomes blinding. I ask that you refrain from harming my one remaining eye. My frustration lingers, yet you also have my gratitude for such fiery faithfulness, Wehi Tama. Hmm… how irksome.”[/i][/b]

The god beneath her stiffened at the sound of the name. The flame atop his head flared and his eyes glowed for seconds, but he quickly gained mastery over himself and calm returned. “I am not come to burn away sight, beloved Anath, but am come only to be known! Let the cycle turn as it may, let us return eternally - let our mistakes fill worlds! Let our suffering be the wonder of existence. We are only the sum of all our suffering and pain - oh what a wondrous whole we make! I knew a wise old witch long ago who had suffered terribly - oh how terrible it was Anath! But I heard her speak, and her words were thus: ‘And I, who knew only suffering and loneliness, who was forgotten by all, have come to know that the lifting of Suffering is the only true end to the life of mortals and immortals alike. It requires unparalleled kindness, compassion. It requires mercy. Suffering is an illness; where it is found, strive to remove it - whether in yourself or others. But where you find that you cannot remove your own suffering then there is but one option before you: [i]we must strive to be worthy of our suffering.[/i] If our suffering breaks us, if it makes us cruel, selfish... surely then we have failed ourselves. In unavoidable suffering there are lessons to be learned and opportunities we cannot perceive. Indeed, unavoidable suffering is fertile soil for the cultivation of virtues that ease and the lap of luxury deny. The virtue cultivated during ease is that of moderation and self-restraint, that cultivated during suffering of fortitude, valour, forbearance. Ease can create good people, but [i]it is out of suffering that heroes ultimately emerge.[/i]’ Oh what a wise old witch was she! Are we not heroes, Anath? What a marvelous thing is heroism!” 

He turned and began making his way across the floor of the mausoleum and towards the towering gates of ice. “And I’ll tell you something else too,” his merry pontificating continued, “to behold wonder the heart must be opened wide to all emotion. To sorrow, horror, fear, disgust, and - above all - it must be opened to love. A love for wonder, a love for all things. And to love, Anath, to love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and even broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give that heart to none and refuse to wonder aught. Wrap it carefully in little luxuries and bloated nothings; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness - care little and care not at all. But in that casket - safe, dark, motionless, airless - it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To wonder you must love, and to love at all is to be vulnerable. So when you gaze into the endless pit of your sorrows, Anath, when pain claws at your heart and your eye wanders and tears tremble: know that it is your love - and be joyous! Bask in the living pain of your endless love.”

Anath Homura allowed herself to sigh, and averted her eye from the preaching man acting as her improvised palanquin, instead looking to the approaching passage leading out of the icy mausoleum. [b][i]“I came to offer peaceful greetings and gifts… Would you accept my unawakened vessels that await the touch of the Divine. Will you accept humanity?”[/i][/b] She asked, with a hint of hesitation.

Wonder came to a halt at the entrance and gazed at the colossus waiting outside. He smiled gently and gazed up at the seated goddess. “You brought me a present?” Not waiting for a response, he held her in place and leapt forth, a single bellow of his cosmic wings causing them to erupt through the fabric of the spaces to appear, very suddenly, atop the colossus. “And I brought nothing for you!” He declared, joy and sorrow melding on his face.

[b][i]“It is what it is. Freely given, as I only ask for you to follow the Sacred Path - to avoid straying from it and foolishly stepping towards annihilation.”[/i][/b] The red goddess replied gently, then gestured to the whirling metallic sections of the colossus, which shifted below them as an opening emerged upon its upper back; now revealing the thousands of slumbering statues that sought to be shaped, still resting peacefully inside. Wonder gazed at the rows of clay figures, amber eyes glimmering.

“You have made them in my image,” he noted, “the better that they may wonder.”

[b][i]“They are humans. You may change their form, as they are meant to be malleable.”[/i][/b] She said, dismissing his comment with a lackadaisical shake of her head. Wonder nodded in understanding. “I see.” He spoke gravely. “So you have made them in my image.” He looked up at her with a quick grin. “Let them go forth, Anath, that the veil may be stripped from the eyes of creation and that they may behold me! Let them be our prophets unto creation! Let them sing thine praises and call unto a higher seeing - a true beholding! And in their awestruck skies let us as the sun and moon be. Then, when all have been called to the beholding, let the sword of wonder fall upon the blind!” He gestured with the blade of marvels. and two clay figurines erupted from amongst the others and came before the creatrix and her impromptu throne. They were man and woman, of darkest eyes and twilight hair, of icy skin, white as the falling snow, of scarlet lips - like blood, like rubies. They stood naked as innocence and bare as purity, and their eyes were wide with awe. “Honour them, Anath; let their names be born on your lips and let their architecture of their destiny emanate from your glorious vision. Let the flower of their lives bloom, and let them, through love, through hope, through faith’s transcendent dower, feel that they are greater than they know!”

[b][i]“You would wake only two? Then will you not wake the remainder?”[/i][/b] Anath Homura inquired, glancing at Wonder with mild bemusement. [b][i]“And… do not delegate the naming of your humans to me.”[/i][/b] She added. The god chuckled merrily and bent down to one knee before the two humans, so that the Anath’s feet were level with their heads. “Blessed are the few, Anath, for they alone can wonder. The great mass of existence passes by the marvels of the world and does not see them. Blessed are the few.” He glanced at her. “Name them for me. Make them glorious names. Fill them with your pleasure. Give forth your joy into the world that hope may blossom anew!”

Anath Homura closed her one eye, and let out another sigh. It was subtle, yet she shifted her composure when she addressed the two humans, speaking cordially to them. [b][i]“So be it, you two shall be named Thought and Memory. This is my blessing; both of you have been given the opportunity to fulfill a purpose.”[/i][/b] Her proclamation was accompanied by strands of scarlet ichor seeping forth from sudden lacerations across her palm, and these strands soared towards the man that was named Thought and the woman that was named Memory. A circle of levitating glyphs manifested around the newly named pair as the red goddess began her spell: The sorcerous symbols of the Gnosis sang, and the blood of the Creatrix mingled with the blood of mortals, as the strands sank underneath the skin of the two awakened humans - the two that had become sacred champions.

[b][i]“It is done.”[/i][/b] Anath Homura said, with the ritual completed. Wonder gazed at the two humans, eyes gleaming. He picked up the male by the arm and poked his stomach curiously. “That was entrancing stuff,” he murmured as the man complained about being manhandled thus. The god eventually put him down. “Stop complaining Mawazo.” He ordered. The man blinked and looked from the Anath to wonder. 

“But the goddess named m-” he began, but wonder ignored him and returned to his feet. “Mahara! Mawazo! Chosen elect of wonder and the Anath, ye who behold, who have been granted Thought and Memory that you may well bring mortalkind to reason and remembrance. Let your gaze erupt: cold are the days and cruel are the nights that await you, but you have been given of the blood of the almighty and have been clothed in the flames of awe and wonder,” and even as the words fell from his lips, the wings of the Awebringer shimmered and tore themselves away so that they become glorious cloaks and raiments of light and dusk about the [url=https://i.pinimg.com/564x/2b/e8/f6/2be8f6f07b3cc8a288e9f7160b83f054.jpg]prophet[/url] and [url=https://i.pinimg.com/564x/56/a9/32/56a932abdee59052293cd91bc6ce39c3.jpg]prophetess[/url]. “Cruel are the nights and cold are the days that await you, but when wonder is the food of your souls you shall not fear and you shall not thirst, the whip of the cold shall be your strength and the strike of the sun your boon. Go ye forth and wonder, let not your wondering cease. Behold me always in your hour of need: your perfection is in knowing me.”

“Bu-” Mahara began, but wonder was beyond the call of speech; they were ensconced in his light and it carried them from the colossus. A [url=https://michellemasters.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2010/03/gypsy-wagon.jpg]wagon[/url] manifested and [url=https://external-preview.redd.it/urnNGTTtDxsNRN9dr7PXj4MZYUWabLp0SxD3FHNffrQ.jpg?auto=webp&s=d753c71e17b6e858e5ddc75695a0484386505a0a]a steed[/url] with eyes of emerald pulled it through air and across land alike. For a time they were a light decorating the star-studded skies, an aurora dancing with the variegated heavens, and then the prophets of the Anath and wonder were gone.

The god of wonder, his form shrinking so that his shoulder was soon an improbable throne for the creatrix, hefted her off and slowly set her down on the back of the colossus. He planted another kiss against the flower of her eye and ruffled her fiery hair. “Shall there be none, Anath, to sing of the love that has bloomed betwixt us once you are a memory and I no more wander in these climes?”

[b][i]“For now, the answer awaits in the unknown. I must continue my travels, and then I will be returning to my realm once I have greeted the remaining gods and goddesses that are willing to speak with me. Wehi Tama, I ask that you please visit my home, and share the gift of your marvel with me again.”[/i][/b] Anath Homura answered, sharing a half hearted smile with Wonder, for an actual smile eluded her still. The other god’s amber eyes smouldered silently, and he nodded without a word. Turning away, sword of wonder in one hand and the Son-o’-Falyn in the other, wonder hopped once, twice, then leapt away. Upon the colossus, Anath Homura resumed her journey once again.

[list][*][hider=Summary]The events of this post take place in Turn 1, before Po blew up mankind. Wonderbhoi is wandering about the norf. He discovers an echo from Mk VI and brings it through. It sings and dances and there are all sortsa references to the gods from that iteration. Basically a pretty monument hosting the memory of Mk VI.
So anyhow, Homura and Wonderbhoi meet and DANCE. Then they chat, they get feisty and nearly fight, but then they don’t. They talk a lot. Homura eventually offers him humans and he takes two. Asks Homura to name them. She calls them Thought and Memory. So Mawazo and Mahara (>..> smooth) are gifted a wagon and cool new steed by Wonderkid and they’re off.[/hider]
[*][hider=Might]1 AP (discounted from 2 AP): Create the Mausoleum of Dance and Memory.
1 AP (discounted from 2 AP): to create the wondrous flying giant axolotl, known as Teddington Wonderlust.
1 AP (discounted from 2 AP): to create the wondrous unsinking wagon of the prophets, known as the Serendipitous Ollie.

5 MP / 2 AP remaining.

Anath Homura
Uses 1 MP to make Thought/Mawazo a Champion.
Uses 1 MP to make Memory/Mahara a Champion.
[/hider][/list]